Who? Where?
“Soho Press is an independent book publisher based in Manhattan. Founded in 1986, Soho publishes 80-90 books a year across its Soho Press, Soho Crime and Soho Teen lists, and is known for introducing bold literary voices, award-winning international crime fiction, and groundbreaking young adult fiction. “From Webpage

First encounter?
In 2006, I read the first in Cara Black’s mystery series about Paris, intrigued by the idea of an insider’s view of the city, grit included, and in 2010, I revisited the series for the ongoing Paris In July reading challenge. The only reason I haven’t read further with this series (now twenty books long, I believe) is that I am drawn to nearly all of their crime series; their varied locations and sleuths seem endlessly appealing, that I stutter in selection. I’ve collected more of them than I have read. (The Nina Borg series below is terrific, for instance, and I’ve been very tempted by the series Janakay highlighted earlier this week.)

Read Indies: Hosted by Karen and Lizzy

Other Soho Press Reading:

Colin McAdam’s A Beautiful Truth (2013) (LOVED this!)
Teresa Dovalpage’s Death of a Telenovella Star (2020)
Adam Wilson’s Sensation Machines (2020)

Lene Kaaberbøl and Agnete Friis’ Nina Borg series:
The Boy in the Suitcase 2008; Trans. Lena Kaaberbøl (2010)
Invisible Murder 2010; Trans. Tara Chace (2012)
Death of a Nightingale 2011; Trans. Elisabeth Dyssegaard (2013)

RECENT READS: Fuminori Nakamura’s Creepy Psychological Storytelling

When I heard about My Annihilation (2016; Trans. Sam Bett, 2022), I knew it was the perfect excuse to wade into this author’s storytelling. Which meant starting with The Thief (2009; Trans. Satoko Izumo and Stephen Coates 2012) and The Kingdom (2011; Trans. Kalau Almony 2016), two companion novels.

Just that paragraph? Almost as long as one of Fuminori Nakamura’s books. Okay, not quite. But they run about two hundred pages, with very short chapters and generous margins and fonts, and they are so compelling that I’m sure most readers encounter and complete them in a single session. The language is simple, only the occasional metaphor (like “the bicycle lying on its side like a corpse”), so the pace is extra-relentless.

Consider this passage, which I won’t attribute to avoid specific spoilers. People commit atrocities in theses stories—ordinary people—seemingly ordinary people. And even when you think you understand the dimensions of their actions, surprises await:

“Everything changed at home. The event was called an accident, but that didn’t change the fact I’d tried to kill her. I lacked a framework to explain the workings of my inner world, and even if I could I’m sure they would have been reduced to murder.”

Fuminori Nakamura’s seventeenth book, My Annihilation (2016; Trans. Sam Bett, 2022), is compelling but also philosophical, as readers assemble the story unfolding beyond the narrator (a manuscript within the manuscript, a letter, a recording, unprinted files). It’s not simple but it’s clear, the focus on bigger issues, as explained in the author’s note:

“Questions about what it means to be human, and what it means to exist in the world, are central to me-as they are for many authors-and in this book, I wound up exploring these questions at length.”

These questions also knit together The Thief and The Kingdom. When he sat down to write The Kingdom, he aimed to write a “sister novel” rather than a sequel. They have the same number of chapters and, as further explained in their Afterwords, their page counts differ by only one page, because they “just needed to be written that way.”

“Two novels where you could read either one first, or even just enjoy one on its own,” he explains. For me, the conversation between the two stories is almost more interesting than the stories themselves.

In one, for instance, a man rides the trains, looking for marks: “A wallet shows a person’s personality and lifestyle. Just like a cell phone, it is at the center, forming the nucleus of the owner’s secrets, everything he carries on him.”

In the other, a woman notes: “I wanted to avoid crowded trains as much as possible.”

In one, the succession of trains—the cars strung together and extending backwards and forwards, as well as their comings and goings—figure into the plot.

In the other, these scenes are recalled as another character stays in a hotel: “These doors seemed to express the hallway’s will to maintain the silence. I walked quietly past that succession of rectangles.”

In one: “Not again, I thought. I had no recollection of taking it. But of all the wallets I’d acquired that day it was definitely the most valuable.”

In the other, the narrator remarks: “I don’t remember when I started carrying this knife.”

How do we really understand someone else’s personality? How are different aspects of their selves exhibited in varied situations? How do we chart our own changing selves, mark the point at which something fundamentally alters to impact the trajectory of our lives?

Another quote from one of the novels suits them all, to varying degrees:

“THERE ARE SEVERAL WAYS TO GET INSIDE A PERSON’S HEAD. SOMETIMES IT’S SO EASY IT’S ABSURD, THOUGH AS YOU CAN IMAGINE, THERE ARE TIMES IT DOESN’T GO SO WELL.”

To which I would say: There are several novels via which Fuminori Nakamura can get inside a reader’s head. It looks so easy it’s like reading a newspaper, and as you can imagine, there are times when you want to look away but cannot.