As we approach International Women’s Day, here are six recommendations for books written by women – of all backgrounds and styles, which highlight the breadth of female authorship. Women have always written – and have always been at the cutting edge of genre innovation. In a literary climate where it seems easier and easier to read books by women, here are a few underread gems for you to add to your TBR.
Emergency, Daisy Hildyard (Fitzcarraldo, 2022)
Within the burgeoning subgenre of “cli-fi,” aka ‘Climate Fiction,” (a label I am not a fan of – surely everything written today is in some ways inherently about climate?) Daisy Hildyard is one of my favourite new voices. Maybe this is helped by the fact that she was one of the Creative Writing Fellows here at UoM last year, and I met her multiple times and got my book signed, but regardless, Emergency is great. Described as a “novel about the dissolving boundaries between all life on earth,” it addresses climate change, industrialisation, and species decline, both in her native Yorkshire and globally, through the lens of a young girl and a much older, introspective narrator. It is moving in its attention to detail, describing at length the intimacy of a burrow, or the recurring image of the cow who distressingly gets stuck in mud. Alongside this we hear about memories of a deceased childhood friend, or watching Jarvis Cocker mooning Michael Jackson at the 1996 BRITs. I can’t recommend this one enough for fans of lilting, wandering narration and very little plot.
Twelve Words for Moss, Elizabeth-Jane Burnett (Penguin, 2023)
Elizabeth-Jane Burnett has no intention of fitting into the genre of nature writing on any terms other than her own. You can’t go wrong with any of her works – flawless across the board. Her most recent, Twelve Words for Moss, is maybe one of her most exciting so far; well, exciting if you like the sound of reading about immersing yourself in wetlands to examine the mosses for two hundred pages. A thrilling mix of memoir, prose, and poetry, Burnett takes us through the ecology of Devon, Kenya, and everywhere in between. It’s a plea to be more attentive to the small details of the world around us, to take a closer look and to connect oneself to the world we inhabit.
Recitatif, Toni Morrison (now Penguin, originally 1983)
Toni Morrison’s only short story, originally published in ‘Confirmation: an Anthology of African-American Women,’ in 1983, was recently republished by Penguin in a standalone book. And with it has come a whole new readership. Following two young women, Twyla and Roberta, through over three decades of American history, charting their changing relationship against a backdrop of racial turmoil. As is often the case with Toni Morrison, both women are richly written, changing and growing in subtle and profound ways across the story’s tiny length. It’s only nineteen pages, or forty-five minutes on audiobook. Amongst her pantheon of incredible writing, this one stands out to me not just for its brevity, but for its slight ambiguities – not once in the story does she explicitly say which of Twyla and Roberta is black, and which is white. It’s a question she leaves completely unanswered.
The Neapolitan Quartet, Elena Ferrante (Europa, 2011)
Admittedly, I am only halfway through this quartet, and they also don’t hugely qualify as ‘underread,’ but I have to include them. The pseudonymous Elena Ferrante’s sprawling masterpiece details, much as Toni Morrison does, the relationship between two friends, Lila and Elena, throughout the changing landscape of 1960s Naples. Their lives are often tragic and just as often quietly beautiful, and through it all, they have each other. Even in periods of distance, they are always there, looming in the background of each other’s lives. Although you will find yourself relying on the helpful character index at the front of the book, Ferrante’s writing will suck you in and not let go. I’m dying to get to book three.
Wrong Norma, Anne Carson (New Directions, 2024)
Anne Carson has always been a fascinating figure to me, and this book is nothing less than a marvel. As she herself describes it on the blurb, Wrong Norma is “a collection of writings about different things, like Joseph Conrad, Guantanamo… my dad, Saturday night. The pieces are not linked. That’s why I’ve called them wrong.” It’s a book about everything – sometimes more conventional prose poetry, sometimes the form is so abstract it is impossible to categorise. My favourite portion of the book is called “ Lecture on the History of Skywriting,” in which Carson adopts the voice of a cloud taking you through their week and their various writings and musings. It also, at one point, switches into Arabic. Honestly, this book has to be seen to be believed, and I am so deeply obsessed with it. Please track down a copy if you can.
Hour of the Star, Clarice Lispector (now Penguin, 1977)
An ongoing resolution I’ve made to myself is to read more books from countries I’ve never read anything from, which led me to the great Brazilian writer Clarice Lispector. The Hour of The Star is amazingly compact; at just over a hundred pages, it can be read in one afternoon, or savoured over a weekend. I read most of it in a sunny park last summer, and it really came alive. We follow Macabea, a young woman who grew up in extreme poverty, trying to make a new life for herself in São Paolo as a typist. She drinks Coca-Cola, tries to copy other women, and goes to the movies. Although it ends sadly for her, her struggles and her gentle personality make her a sympathetic, compelling character. The book itself is strange, haunting and altogether delightful, and I will certainly be picking up more Lispector.
