Sex and Lies by Leïla Slimani

The Moroccan-born Leïla Slimani has made her name writing novels of propulsive intensity. Lullaby, the story of a nanny who kills the two children in her care, was the first to be published in English (it was also the most read book in France in 2016). Adèle, about a sex addict who takes little pleasure from increasingly violent and self-destructive sexual encounters, came next. It was while on a book tour of Morocco discussing Adèle that Slimani hit on the idea for Sex and Lies.

Many young women approached her at readings, wanting to tell her about their own sexual experiences, and it is these stories — that ‘shook me, upset me, that angered and sometimes disgusted me’ — that she has collected in this slim volume. In her introduction, Slimani references Scheherazade and says it is ‘because she reclaims her right to tell her own tale that she becomes not merely the object but the subject of the story’.

This Mournable Body by Tsitsi Dangarembga

Tsitsi Dangarembga’s debut novel Nervous Conditions (1988) was the first by a black Zimbabwean woman to be published in English. In 2018, it was named by the BBC as one of the top 100 books to have shaped the world. Dangarembga published a sequel, The Book of Not, in 2016 and This Mournable Body is the third book in this series, although it can be read as a standalone novel.

Dangarembga returns to the story of Tambu—a teenager in Nervous Conditions, now a single middle-aged woman. Having recently left her disappointing job as an advertising copywriter, she is living in a women’s hostel in Harare.

Her lack of options haunts her: “Fear, your recurrent dread that you have not made enough progress toward security and a decent living, prickles like pins and needles.”

House of Glass by Hadley Freeman

Hadley Freeman didn’t attend the funeral of her paternal grandmother, Sala — who died when she was 16 — in spite of loving her. She had avoided her grandmother when she was alive, recoiling from her neediness, and her dying didn’t immediately change how Freeman felt. In this beautifully written memoir, she has now uncovered what lay beneath her grandmother’s oppressive affection.

Sala Glass had been born in the Polish town of Chrzanow, 12 miles from Auschwitz. One night in 1918, Polish men and women rioted through the town, ransacking synagogues, smashing Jewish shop windows and attacking the Jewish population. Freeman’s great-uncle Alex (who was 12 at the time) ran out to join the Jews fighting back but to his horror, he recognised his brother’s former tutor as a leader in the assault, alongside others whom the family thought of as friends. He later said: “Something in me died in the face of this inhuman explosion of savagery. From that day, my childhood was over.”

The Glossy Years by Nicholas Coleridge

Nicholas Coleridge’s memoir is a rather bracing read: amidst all the gossip and glamour of his life as a magazine supremo, he refers to being molested by a schoolteacher as a young boy, having to identify the body of a colleague who has just died and his father’s Alzheimer’s. This gives the book a rounded sense that it is not a superficial skim through parties and escapades (such as the time he followed the woman who would become his wife, whom he had met once, to India so he could “accidentally” bump into her) that one might expect from the former chairman of Condé Nast. The stories are staggering nonetheless: he gives a funny account of the £100m lawsuit Mohamed Al-Fayed, the then owner of Harrods, brought against Vanity Fair which Coleridge eventually settles with Al-Fayed’s PR man in a steam room (chosen as there was no chance of either of them wearing a wire there).

American Dirt by Jeanine Cummins

American Dirt, the third novel from Jeanine Cummins — who made her name with a memoir about the gang rape and murder of her two cousins — has been described by the crime writer Don Winslow as “a Grapes of Wrath for our time” and  selected for Oprah’s Book Club, which almost guarantees a book bestseller status.

Since then, it has been the subject of an intense backlash, partly because Cummins is a white writer from Maryland — her Puerto Rican  grandmother notwithstanding — and critics have accused her of cultural appropriation in crassly depicting a Mexican family attempting to cross the border into the United States. 

Cummins’s decision to write the novel does not, however, appear thoughtless.

Square Haunting by Francesca Wade

Group biographies are having something of a moment, and Virginia Woolf seems to feature in many of them. In her first book, Francesca Wade has taken the unusual step of not examining Woolf in the context of family, lovers or other members of the Bloomsbury Group, but positioning her alongside other radical women thinkers who lived in Bloomsbury’s Mecklenburgh Square between the wars. 

This area of London has been historically praised for its serenity, not least by Isabella in Jane Austen’s Emma, who comments: “Our part of London is very superior to most others! You must not confound us with London in general, my dear sir. The neighbourhood of Brunswick Square is very different from almost all the rest. We are so very airy!”