Stephenie Harrison

British author Ali Smith has never been what you’d call a conventional novelist. Whether she is using a hotel as a metaphor for the various stages of life, examining the impact of uninvited guests or re-envisioning a classic Greek myth, Smith has proved she isn’t afraid of taking chances or pushing boundaries.

Smith’s novels tend to begin with a slightly outlandish but irresistibly intriguing premise. Her latest novel, There But For The, is the story of Miles Garth, a man who attends a dinner party only to lock himself in his hosts’ spare bedroom partway through the meal and then refuses to leave. Leave it to Smith to take a seemingly simple and straightforward (and absurd!) idea and transform it into anything but.

A postmodern writer at her very core, Smith uses multiple narrators, ranging from a 10-year-old girl to a woman on her deathbed, to tell the story. Although the title of the novel is itself a frustratingly incomplete fragment, readers will find it fitting: Each of the narrators offers only a snippet of insight into Miles, none of them truly being privy to his entire person. It is only by sifting through and synthesizing these wisps that a larger picture begins to emerge.

This isn’t to say that by the end everything is made clear; this is one novel that will have you puzzling over it well after its final page has been turned. There But For The isn’t the kind of book you read in order to find answers, but rather to ponder questions. This is a novel that is deeply cerebral and is guaranteed to get your synapses firing. For those who relish a bit of an enigma and are looking for something extraordinary when it comes to fiction, There But For The delivers in spades.

When Mia Fredrickson’s husband of 30 years asks for a “pause” in their marriage while he pursues a relationship with a much younger colleague, Mia enters a tailspin that ends with her recovering in a psychiatric ward. Fleeing from a life that is no longer her own, she slinks back to her childhood hometown. Finding strength in the place where she first took root, Mia takes additional solace in the presence of her mother, who lives in a nearby extended care facility, and her young neighbor Lola, who juggles raising two young children with the demands of her fractious marriage, and in teaching poetry to a group of 13-year-old girls. As Mia slowly ensconces herself in the lives of those around her, she takes the time to reflect on where she has been and where she is headed; what results is a mesmerizing and powerful meditation on marriage, the differences between the sexes, aging and what it means to be a woman.

The Summer Without Men is Siri Hustvedt’s fifth novel, and a truly breathtaking one at that. Borrowing from science, philosophy, poetry and literature, Hustvedt boldly burrows deep into the feminine psyche, exposing the dark doubts and insecurities we all keep locked deep inside. Mia’s candid musings on the cruelty of young girls alongside the harsh reality of growing old are unflinchingly honest, and Hustvedt’s bravery in presenting an unvarnished portrait of the “fairer sex” is exhilarating.

Late in The Summer Without Men, Mia suggests that “there is no human subject outside the purview of literature,” a principle embodied by this very novel. Rich with both the pleasures and sorrows that make life complete, this is a powerful and provocative novel that will have astute readers reconsidering where exactly the boundaries between truth and fiction lie.

Titian-haired girls with personalities to match their locks have always had a special place in literature. From Anne of Green Gables to Pippy Longstocking, brash red-heads have won readers over the years with their outspoken charm and outrageous antics. Now with Justin Kramon’s debut novel, Finny, another vibrant girl with flaming tresses joins the pantheon.

When we first meet Finny Short, she is 14 and, like most girls at that age, at odds with the world. Too smart for her own good, Finny frequently clashes with her parents, who seem to have a platitude for every occasion. Combative and sullen, it is when Finny meets Earl, who is quiet and gentle, that her hard exterior begins to soften as first love takes hold. Alas, the course of true love never did run smooth, and the twosome find themselves facing obstacles of boarding school and relocations to France, amongst the other more typical difficulties that growing up entails.

Through it all, readers will be captivated by Finny as she grapples with finding her place in the world and learning to accept herself, flaws and all. Finny is so many things: funny and brave, loyal and giving, but the one thing she most certainly is not is boring. In the pages of Finny, Kramon captures the difficult transition from girlhood to womanhood with remarkable tenderness and insight. The warmth with which he infuses the narrative is one of the novel’s strongest elements, and there is a real vitality that hums through its pages. Without a doubt, Finny is the perfect coming-of-age read for those who are eternally young at heart.

Eleanor Catton’s seductive debut, The Rehearsal, is a vibrant novel that tests its readers, both in terms of content and form. Through interwoven, nonlinear narratives, it tells the story of a high school sex scandal, as well as the first year students at a local drama institute who appropriate the tale for their year-end production. By intermixing these two storylines, reality and fiction blur together, and readers are constantly forced to sort out what is truth and what exists only on the stage or in the students’ minds.

Equally challenging is the tricky age group Catton focuses on—girls in their teens, teetering on the cusp of womanhood. We watch as Julia, Isolde and Bridget start to understand their own sexuality and the intoxicating power it affords. Gradually they are introduced to a world where one’s own self often feels like a stranger; thus, they try on different skins, practicing for the day they step upon the stage of adulthood, learning to inhabit themselves with confidence. Stanley, a drama student, struggles with these same questions, but in a different way, wondering how to imbue the characters he plays with vitality and authenticity when he does not fully understand himself.

At the novel’s dizzying climax—a music recital—Catton lays bare her central tenet like a tree hanging heavy with fruit: “Remember that these years of your daughter’s life are only the rehearsal for everything that comes after. Remember that it’s in her best interests for everything to go wrong. It’s in her best interests to slip up now, while she’s still safe in the Green Room. . . .” So speaks the austere saxophone teacher who has presided throughout the novel, goading her pupils with penetrating questions and ensnaring them with the music of jazz, which is sensual, heady and raw—the perfect soundtrack for this novel of ripening adolescence. Daring and lush, The Rehearsal was recently long-listed for the Orange Prize, and it proves a most beguiling read.