We Move by Gurnaik Johal – “short story writing at its finest”

Krishna Srinivasan on 26 April 2022

We Move, Gurnaik Johal’s debut short story collection, is set in the London district of Southall, famed for its large South Asian population, especially of Punjabi background. Think Bend it Like Beckham, with hundreds of shops boasting the best Indian food, clothes, jewellery and more. Naturally the narratives centre around various members of the immigrant population and how they have made their lives in England.

Johal’s exploration of his characters’ hidden lives is what is most exciting. He rightly subverts cultural stereotypes and his audience gains a deeper understanding as a result. What dark secrets does the local Indian’s cook have, who you thought was the most straightforward man around? What about his famous chef daughter, or her newly religious sister? 

In three cleverly interlinking stories, each titled Chatpata, Johal explores with a keen eye what really occurs beneath the actions of those with otherwise outwardly conventional lives. At the end of the second story, Chatpata: Ahankar, Aman observes her closet gay Dad cooking and ironically wonders, “If only she could have a simple and straightforward a life as him.” Johal sneakily winks at us readers as we know things are not this way.

This is not the only time someone is comparing their life to that of a family member. Take The Red River, which ends with mother, Renu and her son, Karan playing, and her feeling “how happy she was that he could be so loud, that he would never know quietness like she had.” 

Johal is interested in the intersection between the lives of different generations in immigrant families and the stark contrast in their experiences. Aman may run a high-end dinery in New York but her parents are former farmers from rural Punjab who struggle with her swanky menu. In the final story, We Move, Lata casually drinks wine and dances with her Mum, Meena, and friends, but when Meena does the same twenty years ago, she is forced into an abusive arranged marriage.

The immersion of many of his stories into the world of British Indians is bold and fruitful. Johal speaks their language, he doesn’t shy away from casual mentions of their backstories and interestingly doesn’t translate words like ‘kuzhambu’, ‘nani’ and ‘apneh’, which had even me, as a first generation Indian, googling definitions. A lesser writer would have done so. It is up to us to find out what these words represent, for in We Move’s Southall setting, these words are used as easily one would say ‘fish and chips’, ‘tea’ or ‘football’.

This acute insight into people’s lives is not found in all the stories however, and that is a significant downfall, for this is what makes We Move. Johal is guilty of writing too much at times and saying too little, and in certain stories like The Piano and Freehold, it seems there is not much beyond the surface.

The most brilliant story in the collection is the first one, Arrival, which won the coveted Galley Beggar Press short story prize in 2021/2022. Arrival is subtle, sweet, and stunningly crafted. In less than five pages, Johal shows how Divya leaving her jilted lover has unexpected consequences for Chetan and Aanshi’s boring, suburban life. They are galvanised into adventurous holidays, cooking exotic meals and trips to IKEA. The decline of Divya’s relationship paralleled with Chetan and Aanshi’s growth is beautifully rendered by Johal, who is expert at exhibiting the tiny quirks and irregularities that those who have been together a long time cherish. Arrival is short story writing at its finest.

Johal in only 23 and has released a strong collection. His next book, a novel, is set in India and is assessing the impact of the mythical river Saraswati on its surrounding population. He has also made a Spotify playlist containing tracks mentioned across the stories. In We Move, you’re given the ingredients to enter Southall and explore. A sentimental, talented and fastidious writer, it will be interesting to see what more Johal has in store for us.

Send Nudes by Saba Sams review – “10 short stories that are brilliantly crafted and subtle in their delivery.”

Krishna Srinivasan on 28 March 2022

‘So she left, walked home through the park, with an image in her head that wouldn’t shift: her body as a nut cracked open.’ This is one of a hundred stunning lines from 25-year-old author Saba Sams’ debut novel, Send Nudes, a collection of 10 short stories that are hard to put down, brilliantly crafted and subtle in their delivery.

Send Nudes chronicles the lives of several Generation Z women who have just come of age and explores their reactions to the absurd situations they find themselves in. These situations come about within the patriarchal society they live in, such as in Here Alone where Emily finds herself being used to make her date’s ex-girlfriend jealous. She is ignored and left discarded like a plastic wrapper, finally finding comfort through food, a pleasure she indulges in with hesitation. 

It is not only patriarchy that Sams pays attention to, but also the ills of capitalism and its resulting inequality. In Today’s Square a working-class girl is promised a holiday by her mother, but the onslaught of COVID and financial difficulties render this impossible. These characters go from point A to B rather easily and their actions show a resigned acceptance, but a whole load of internal monologue complicates things.

Sams is interested in how modern technology – smartphones, social media, selfies – distorts women’s perception of themselves. See the title story, Send Nudes, where the protagonist struggles with her appearance, or Tinderloin, in which a Tinder match has disastrous consequences. Her characters don’t fit into the standards expected of young women and they suffer as a result. They are rebellious without meaning to be, and different without wanting to be. An important message from the collection is that only very few women fit into these standards of beauty and behaviour, and the toxicity and self-hate from this is inherently damaging. 

The best story in the collection, by a mile, is Overnight, a truly harrowing depiction of sexual assault, told through flashbacks at a rave. The relatability of the settings – a rave, a party, and school uniform shopping – make it all the more horrifying. The fine-drawn nuances of this type of scarring situation are so confidently rendered and stay with you for days.

Altogether, these socially relevant themes, combined with deadpan dialogue and a fluid prose style give the collection a visceral energy. It is the kind of book that people will fangirl over, and rightly so.

In Britain, Sams is part of a generation in which the female artist has taken on a renewed importance. Last year we saw the release of critically acclaimed albums from female musicians: Arlo Parks, Joy Crookes and PinkPantheress to name a few. In literature also, we are seeing a similar situation, where the poster girl is Sally Rooney.

Sams’ style of writing is almost identical to Rooney’s. In this area, Saba Sams has brought nothing new to the table. But innovation in prose style is not what she is after; it is content in which she has made remarkable strides. She has significantly widened the picture from Rooney’s obsession with bourgeois romance troubles and middle-class professionals moaning of how awful life is whilst professing themselves to be avid Marxists…

Stories should reveal something to the reader by taking them into the depths of a character’s inner life, a place which said reader cannot access otherwise. Sams does this down to a T. Her stories are rich in narrative and reach peaks that warrant further exploration. Her short stories leave the reader pondering over their conclusions. 

But the peaks also show something else: that many of the stories have the potential to grow into novels. Sally Rooney’s Normal People began life as a short story. Saba Sams should realise this and soon release a novel – a form in which I expect she will fare greatly.

John Keats: Still Relevant 200 Years Later?

Benjamin Forrest on 6 March 2021

John Keats was one of the key figures within the second wave of romantic poets – alongside the likes of Lord Byron and Percy Shelley – and he is remembered as one of the most brilliant poets in British literary history. Is this praise deserved or is the work of Keats only held in high regard by literary snobs and upper-class pseudo-intellectuals? Well, it is likely a mixture of both. A lot of Keats’ work is shrouded in obscure references to Greek mythology or language which has become outdated since the time period it was penned, but if you manage to look beyond the initial pretentiousness you will find many of the key themes still resonate with modern audiences – even 200 years after his death.

Keats was a man driven by passionate emotion but (like every great artist) was unappreciated in his time, his work only gained recognition for its genius after Keats died of tuberculosis in 1821. He experimented with different themes and ideas – from gothic stories of nymphs and snakes in ‘Lamia’ to Shakespearian style sonnets to a retelling of a novella from the 14th century in ‘Isabella, or the Pot of Basil’; the versatility shown within Keats’ poetry is quite incredible. In many ways, perhaps it is better that Keats died a relative unknown, as it allowed him to express himself with a total freedom. It did not matter what he said because it was only going to be read by a small audience, thus allowing him to be totally vulnerable to his own emotions within his writing. This is something that should resonate with young people today: the free expression of your emotions not clouded by societal devices or the outdated stiff upper lip attitude favoured by older generations is something we can all aspire to.  

The story of John Keats is akin to the story of a modern-day rock star: a tortured, unappreciated genius taking ungodly amounts of psychedelics only to die at the age of 25 – he was more rock ‘n’ roll than Mick Jagger. Whilst the 80-line-long ‘Ode to a Nightingale’ might not be as catchy as ‘Dancing in the Street’, it certainly has a lot more meaningful substance to it (and isn’t accompanied by quite such a terrible music video). After all, Keats was only 21 when his first poem was published (‘O Solitude’); he was experiencing and expressing emotions that have been felt by nearly every young person at some point in their lives. If people read Keats more regularly, perhaps if it was not thrust upon unwilling A-Level students so forcefully, they would discover the themes of love, conflict, melancholy and confusion – which is surely relevant to most young people today. Confused, depressed and incredibly high: young people today have more in common with John Keats than with soulless pop stars forcing their vapid and commercialised slogans down the throats of consumer. 

Over the years, Keats’ writing has become a voice for the outcasted, despondent and intellectual – most obviously signified by the mention of him within the lyrics of The Smiths’ 1986 song ‘Cemetry Gates’. 200 years after the death of John Keats, there is still a place for his poetry within our society – whether that is in the dusty libraries of National Trust manor houses, the lyrics of 80s indie pop songs, the bookshelves of hopelessly stressed A-Level students or simply in the hearts of those who appreciate his incredible writing. I suspect that 200 hundred years from now people will still be discussing the importance of Keats’ poetry.