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A Claustrophobic Vision of Near-Future EnglandRosa Rankin-Gee’s highly anticipated follow-up to Dreamland (2021), titled My Only Boy, delivers a darkly funny and politically charged dystopia. The novel paints a terrifyingly familiar picture of an England that has just elected a far-right populist government. For the reader, the gap between current reality and the novel's fiction feels increasingly suffocating, making the narrative function as both a gripping story and a stark warning.The Exploitative Mechanics of 'Gigr'At the heart of the narrative is Elle, the communications director for a gig-economy behemoth aptly named Gigr. The company connects desperate workers with immediate shift labor. The novel opens with Elle managing the reputational fallout of a worker's suicide—a tragic but common occurrence, as public sector wages no longer cover basic survival. Gigr's algorithms ruthlessly calculate the absolute minimum a desperate person will accept to pay for emergency healthcare or food, highlighting a brutal new era of automated exploitation.Moral Decay and the Human Cost of Algorithmic LaborThe narrative engine is driven by a tangled web of romance and corporate corruption. Elle, historically secure in her lesbian identity, begins a confusing romance with Ed, a newly famous gay author, while simultaneously engaging in a questionable affair with her much younger subordinate, Luisa. This power dynamic forces the reader to grapple with Elle’s increasingly loathsome, yet understandable, moral compromises. As environmental degradation worsens and white-collar crime deepens, the characters survive on a brittle diet of dark humor, alcohol, and repression.Setting: A near-future England plagued by extreme weather, violent crime, and massive wealth inequality.Core Conflict: Elle's internal justifications for violating labor laws versus her crumbling personal relationships.Thematic Tone: Cynical, flippant, and darkly comedic, contrasting sharply with the grim reality of the plot.The Enduring Relevance of Political DystopiaWhile the novel's final third occasionally struggles to balance its cynical humor with the intricate realities of corporate crime, Rankin-Gee’s sharp prose remains a standout. My Only Boy serves as a brilliant, albeit unsettling, mirror to our current socio-economic anxieties. It predicts a future where human rights are continually eroded by corporate efficiency, cementing its place as a vital read for understanding the psychological toll of modern political despair.

The Lead: A Cryptic Journey Through GreeceThe title of Rita Azevedo Gomes's lyrical but frustrating docu-essay about her travels in Greece cuts both ways—expressing impatience with classical ideals or critiquing modern society that has betrayed ancient standards of beauty and harmony. The film presents a tension between nostalgic aspirations and sobering reality, with texts recited over travelogue images from Athens and the Cyclades.The Artistic Vision: Myth Meets ModernityGomes adds a layer of fictionalization to her exploits, reading a poem by João Miguel Fernandes Jorge based on a 2007 journey to Greece. The poem tells of Irma, who romances a young man named Ion on the island of Delos—birthplace of Apollo and Artemis—but the affair founders against incongruous modern elements like Chinese cargo ships traversing the 21st-century Aegean. The tension between myth and modernity hangs over the film like red kites hovering above ancient ruins.The Personal Context: Beauty and TranscendenceTwo-thirds into the film, Gomes reveals what originally drove her to seek refuge in Greece: an ominous medical diagnosis that has since receded. Her preoccupation with finding consolatory beauty and transcendence is only fleetingly present in a visual collage that feels haphazardly aligned with dense texts. The crew reads many texts on camera—including excerpts from Byron and Keats—but this alienation device comes over inert and uninspiring.The Cultural Resonance: Poets in a Modern WorldSinger María Farantoúri, whom Gomes watched on her first visit to Greece, supplies some focus with lyrics that keep 'the old flame burning.' As she sings, 'The people always find new kings—but we are poets and we remain alone.' Gomes positions herself in this camp, 'far from the polis,' suggesting a deliberate distancing from contemporary society's values and priorities.The Critical Reception: Sphinxlike EnigmaWhile the film presents a visually rich experience, its sphinx-like nature proves to be both its strength and weakness. The reviewer suggests that Gomes's 'forlorn ramblings' may intentionally reflect how degraded modern sensibilities can no longer serve up classical concision. The film's cryptic nature may be part of its artistic statement, but ultimately leaves the viewer wanting more clarity and connection.

Kane Parsons' Historic Achievement Kane Parsons has become the youngest film-maker to open a film at number one at the North American box office for his directing debut Backrooms. The Success of Backrooms Parsons, 20, is seven years younger than the previous record holder, Josh Trank, who was 27 when his debut Chronicle recorded a $22m opening in 2011. Backrooms stunned industry observers by taking $81m in its first weekend in North America – which was also a record for its studio, A24. The Film's Background Backrooms, described by the Guardian’s chief critic Peter Bradshaw as “an icily brilliant and genuinely disturbing conceptual horror film” is based on Parsons’ YouTube series of the same name, inspired by the “creepypasta” of the same name, referring to a fictional space of infinite, interconnected spaces. Addressing Controversy Parsons’ age has led to claims online that he did not in fact direct the film, with actor Mark Duplass responding: ““Hmmm, with all due respect I don’t remember seeing you on set. When I was there, Kane was 100% in control. More so than many directors 3x his age.” Parsons himself also commented on the rumours, saying: “This is actually all true. They don’t tell you this, but 96% of all movies released in North America and Europe are actually directed by the same person. They call him ‘The Older Gentleman’. He has had all of Hollywood in a chokehold for decades now.” Comparison with Other Low-Budget Horror Films Backrooms' box office success follows that of another low-budget horror film, Obsession, directed by Curry Barker. Barker, at 26, is six years older; his film was released on 15 May with a $17.1m opening weekend in North America, and has now recorded $104.7m after four weeks.

Early Reading Memories Virginia Evans shares her earliest reading memory, reading either 'The Velveteen Rabbit' by Margery Williams or poems from 'Where the Sidewalk Ends' by Shel Silverstein with her sister. Favorite Books Growing Up Evans loved mysteries and fantasy worlds, reading many Nancy Drew books, 'The Boxcar Children' by Gertrude Chandler Warner, and 'The Wind in the Willows'. She enjoyed books about things that can't exist, calling it escapism. The Book That Changed Her as a Teenager At 15, Evans read John Steinbeck's 'The Grapes of Wrath', which gave her a new understanding of what fiction can do and how words can portray complex living. The Writer Who Changed Her Mind Evans praises Joan Didion, saying every time she reads Didion's work, she is changed in some way, seeing the world, people, and politics differently. The Book That Made Her Want to Be a Writer In college, Evans read Jhumpa Lahiri's 'Interpreter of Maladies', which inspired her to write, making her think: 'I have to do this, I can do this, I will do this'. The Author She Came Back To Evans tried Jane Austen's 'Pride and Prejudice' too young, but when she came back to it in her late 20s, she enjoyed it tremendously. Books She Rereads Daphne du Maurier's 'Rebecca' Steinbeck's 'East of Eden' The Book She Could Never Read Again Evans devoured the Millennium series by Stieg Larsson but was too disturbed to read it again. The Book She Discovered Later in Life Evans didn't read 'Little Women' by Louisa May Alcott until her adult life, relating to the mother character and identifying with Jo's struggles as an author. Current and Comfort Reads Currently reading: 'While I Was Gone' by Sue Miller Comfort reads: 'The Uncommon Reader' by Alan Bennett, 'Beautiful Ruins' by Jess Walter, 'I Capture the Castle' by Dodie Smith

Translated Fiction Review Roundup A collection of recent translated fiction has been reviewed, showcasing the diversity and complexity of global literature. The reviews include: 'Sisters in Yellow' by Mieko Kawakami Sisters in Yellow by Mieko Kawakami, translated by Laurel Taylor and Hitomi Yoshio (Picador, £16.99) Kawakami’s latest opens with a bang, as narrator Hana learns that her old friend Kimiko has been charged with abduction. This MacGuffin takes us to their friendship in late-1990s Tokyo, when teen Hana and the older woman open a bar called Lemon: “Yellow attracts money.” But it’s a turbulent ride and soon Hana is in a world of organised crime. “The world is crazy. I feel like I’m living in a manga.” She’s not the only one, and you need an appetite for Kawakami’s style, which prefers to explore rather than explain – people come and go, buildings burn down, cancer is diagnosed, almost at random – but the relentless rush means there’s no time to get bored. At its best – as in a scene where Hana’s unreliable mother wants to borrow 2m yen for investment in lingerie that helps “your spine and organs move back to where they’re supposed to be” – this is a story both absurd and horrifying. 'All Flesh' by Ananda Devi All Flesh by Ananda Devi, translated by Jeffrey Zuckerman (Pushkin, £12.99) “Forgive me for starting this story with bodily, unpalatable origins.” You may as well – it’s all like that. In an unnamed European country, a schoolgirl “born with no urge but to consume” is getting bigger and bigger. “My gut, my ass, my thighs – they were all set on reaching the farthest corners of the world.” She blames her gluttony on the need to silence the voice of her dead twin sister, who was “absorbed into my tissues” in the womb. She hates school, where other kids mock her, as though her own self-disgust weren’t enough. After a blackly comic scene where she gets stuck in her bedroom doorframe like “an uncooperative cork”, she falls in love with the lonely carpenter who arrives to widen the door – but there are more twists to come. This powerful story is deeply physical, but driven by a compelling voice describing the torment of a girl who is “the psychical mirror of our time … immoderation made manifest”. 'The White Desert' by Luis López Carrasco The White Desert by Luis López Carrasco, translated by Rosalind Harvey (Granta, £14.99) This unpredictable book, comprising five linked stories about a Spanish couple, opens with the end of the world and gets weirder from there. A balloon debate about a post-apocalyptic scenario turns nasty when one participant pulls a knife, or thinks he does. A plane crash-lands on an island. “Can [we] go and get our luggage … Lots of people have, you know, soiled themselves.” What links the scenes is a sense of disconnection in our connected world, but the book subverts expectations: when a group of people celebrating New Year’s Eve go missing, it turns out to be a game of hide and seek. Footnotes peppered throughout suggest we’re viewing all this from the future (“Emirates was a well-known passenger airline …”), and discovering what the white desert is turns everything on its head. For readers who like to do their own joining up, and who want a playful, original take on our precarious lives, this is a thought-provoking treat. 'The Home of the Drowned' by Elin Anna Labba The Home of the Drowned by Elin Anna Labba, translated by Elizabeth Clark Wessel (Harvill, £16.99) “You could have waited, you bastards.” In 1942 Lapland, a village occupied by the semi-nomadic Sámi people is flooded by a new hydroelectric plant’s dam. One family watch as their goahti (peat-covered hut) disappears under the water. “It wasn’t the nicest goahti,” says Ánne. “No, but it was mine,” says her sister Rávdná. When Rávdná wants to build a house to replace it, the authorities refuse permission: the Sámi way of life has been rejected but alternatives are not permitted. A local newspaper half-heartedly offers to publicise their case, but “we receive a lot of angry letters if we use any foreign words”. When the government tells local people the new dam “will lift us out of poverty and injustice”, the words reek with irony. This intimate story of infuriating discrimination is, Labba says, based on real events in Sweden.

The Concept of 'Mind Children' A few months ago, an AI researcher from Europe attended a dinner party in Silicon Valley. During one of the many courses, the host addressed his guests, all of whom worked in AI. The researcher paraphrased his message like this: “Isn’t it amazing that we are the last generation of humans who will need to think about procreating biologically? We were lucky enough to be born at a time where we can simply upload our consciousnesses instead.” The Book That Sparked the Conversation The book in question was Hans Moravec’s Mind Children: The Future of Robot and Human Intelligence, which was first published in 1988, and which at the time, according to economist and futurist Robin Hanson of George Mason University, caused a big splash in a small pond – the community of robotics and machine-learning experts to which Moravec belonged. The Data Analysis Moravec’s book is more philosophical treatise than technological manual, but the central idea is that cultural evolution has long since taken over from biological evolution as the most powerful force shaping humanity. The logical extrapolation of this is that the information that encodes our future selves would soon be packed into hardware and software rather than DNA. The Impact Analysis Angela Aristidou, who studies the real-life deployment of AI at University College London, is not surprised that Moravec’s book is enjoying a revival. She says that what in 1988 might have read like science fiction – and still might to most of us – looks eminently realisable to those in the know. The Prediction Hanson shares his conviction that the revolution is inevitable, as soon as AI attains something experts agree to call human-level intelligence. “We are going to generate an explosion of things like us in the future, who will be different from us in many ways,” Hanson says. “To the extent that they have minds somewhat like ours, they are our mind children.”

Uncovering Family History Through Fiction Maggie O'Farrell's journey into her family's past began with a childhood myth about an ancestor who worked on the first maps of Ireland. Years later, a hand-drawn map and an old photograph led her to discover the truth about her great-great-grandfather's role in the Ordnance Survey. The Mapper's Story O'Farrell's ancestor was a labourer and translator who worked on mapping divisions in Ireland during the aftermath of the great famine. His task was to ensure that the changes caused by the disaster were marked on the new post-famine versions of Ireland's maps. A Window into the Past The photograph showed O'Farrell's great-great-grandfather with a child on his knee, wearing a worn jacket and a low-brimmed hat. A hand-drawn map, beautifully rendered in coloured inks, revealed a tiny medallion with a red-jacketed soldier and O'Farrell's ancestor. The discovery sparked O'Farrell's curiosity about her family's history and the history of Ireland. The Impact of the Great Famine The great famine, which occurred between 1846 and 1852, had a devastating impact on Ireland, with over a million people dying of starvation or famine-related disease, and another million forced to emigrate. Fiction as a Tool for Discovery O'Farrell believes that fiction comes from what you don't know, and her book 'Land' is a testament to this. The novel tells the story of a man, Tomás, and his family, striving to emerge from the long shadow of the great famine. A New Perspective O'Farrell's book offers a new perspective on the history of Ireland and the impact of the great famine on families. Her research and writing have shed light on a little-known aspect of her family's history and the history of Ireland.

The LeadCorridors have long been more than just passageways in cinema—they are narrative spaces that build tension, create atmosphere, and advance storytelling. The Guardian has compiled a definitive ranking of the 20 most memorable corridors in film history, showcasing how these seemingly simple spaces have become iconic elements of cinematic language.The Art of Cinematic CorridorsFrom the claustrophobic hallways of horror films to the dystopian passageways of science fiction, corridors have served as powerful storytelling devices across genres. The ranking includes entries from 1979 to 2011, with films like "The Thing" (1982), "Brazil" (1985), and "The Raid: Redemption" (2011) demonstrating how directors use these spaces to create memorable sequences.Ranking Criteria and Notable MentionsThe selection process appears to prioritize corridors that have become iconic through their visual impact, narrative significance, and ability to evoke emotion. Notable mentions include:The marble corridor in "Phantasm" (1979), which became a source of nightmares for viewersThe endless grey passageway in "Brazil" (1985), created using forced perspective in a disused flour millThe baroque corridors of "Last Year at Marienbad" (1961), which create a uniquely spooky ambienceThe modern corridor chase in "The Red Queen Kills Seven Times" (1972), featuring a figure in a red cloakThe Impact of Corridors on FilmmakingThese cinematic corridors have influenced generations of filmmakers and continue to be referenced in contemporary cinema. The ranking reveals how directors have mastered the use of confined spaces to build suspense, create visual symbolism, and advance character development. Horror filmmakers, in particular, have long recognized the corridor's potential for terror, using its linear nature to create anticipation and dread.The Future of Corridor Scenes in CinemaAs filmmaking techniques evolve, the corridor continues to be a vital space for cinematic storytelling. With advances in virtual production and immersive technologies, future corridor scenes may push the boundaries of visual storytelling even further. The enduring appeal of these spaces suggests that corridors will remain essential tools for filmmakers seeking to create memorable, tension-filled sequences that resonate with audiences.

The Lead: A Provocative Debut Rozie Kelly's frank and feisty debut novel, Kingfisher, has been shortlisted for this year's Women's Prize for Fiction and begins with a case of lust at first sight. The unnamed narrator, a 35-year-old writer, becomes infatuated with a famous poet 17 years his senior, setting the stage for a complex exploration of desire, power dynamics, and unconventional relationships. The Novel's Premise: An Unconventional Attraction The novel introduces us to a "beautiful" 35-year-old writer in a complicated but loving relationship with the equally beautiful but somewhat boring Michael. The object of his sudden attraction is a renowned poet running a popular course at the same university. Despite barely knowing her, he experiences an intense desire "to be inside her," expressing surprise at his own reaction: "A woman! What was the world coming to?" The narrator's infatuation is initially fueled by the poet's success, wealth, and fame, though he also admits to wanting to subjugate her, "to push her down, to render her imperious intelligence stupid with the weight of my body." Thematic Exploration: Love, Lust, and Power Kelly shrewdly explores the different forms love and lust can take, complicated by shifting power dynamics. The relationship begins when the poet and narrator meet to discuss his (nonexistent) poetry collection, leading to an unexpected night together. As their relationship develops, particularly after the poet receives a terminal cancer diagnosis, they settle into the rhythms of a loving relationship. The narrative also explores the narrator's complicated relationship with his racist and homophobic mother, Hetty, confined to a care home, and his deteriorating relationship with Michael, who eventually leaves him for a younger partner. Narrative Structure: Stylistic Uncertainties Despite a confident start and intriguing premise, Kingfisher suffers from narrative inconsistencies. Interesting characters are established then forgotten, and narrative threads are never fully developed. The novel struggles with tonal shifts, moving from "bracing language and violent desires" to "bedside solicitude and quiet domesticity." A late-stage shift into gothic fantasy further destabilizes the narrative, with the ending dangerously approaching "it was all a dream" territory. Throughout, the narrator questions the nature of their relationship: "Who's using who here, do we think?" The answer, as presented in the novel, is that both characters are using each other, as "writers on the make; everyone is potential copy." Critical Assessment: Verve Without Fire Kingfisher possesses considerable verve and energy, demonstrating Kelly's willingness to take risks and embrace absurdity. The novel "crackles and sparks," but ultimately "never quite catches fire." While the book successfully challenges conventional narratives about love and desire, particularly through its exploration of non-traditional relationships and power dynamics, it fails to maintain its initial momentum. The narrative uncertainty and inconsistent tone prevent what could have been a groundbreaking exploration of contemporary relationships from achieving its full potential.