Happy Wednesday, everyone! Woah! Just like that, we are nearly in the fourth month of the year. I hope the first quarter of the year has been kind and great to everyone. I know life isn’t a walk in the park, but it is my fervent prayer that everyone’s year is going well. Regardless, I hope the rest of the workweek goes smoothly.

That said, the middle of the week also brings a fresh WWW Wednesday update. WWW Wednesday is a bookish meme hosted originally by SAM@TAKING ON A WORLD OF WORDS. 

The mechanics for WWW Wednesday are quite simple: you just have to answer three questions:

  1. What are you currently reading?
  2. What have you finished reading?
  3. What will you read next?
www-wednesdays
What are you currently reading?

It’s already the middle of the week, which means we have only two more days until the weekend. I hope everyone makes it through the workweek. In observation of the Holy Week, Thursday and Friday are holidays here in the Philippines, so two extra days to rest. Anyway, my 2026 reading journey is going as planned. After spending the first two months of the year reading works by Latin American and Caribbean writers, I am now in the midst of a European literary adventure. While I had not originally planned to read works of European literature this month, the realization that I had listed several works by European writers in my reading challenges prompted me to pivot toward them. Like my earlier foray into Latin American and Caribbean literature, this pivot has reintroduced me to familiar names while also introducing me to writers whose oeuvres I have yet to explore. My current read has taken me to another familiar name in British writer A.S. Byatt.

It was must-read lists that first introduced me to Dame Antonia Susan Duffy (Byatt is her former married name). Her Booker Prize-winning novel, Possession, was ubiquitous; it would also be her first novel I would read. Nearly a decade later, I am reading my third A.S. Byatt novel, Still Life. I was not actually planning on reading her novel. But since I am in the midst of a foray into the works of European women writers – this is in line with March’s main motif, Women’s History Month – I decided to include it in my ongoing reading journey. I just learned that it is the second book in Byatt’s Frederica Quartet. Oh well, there is no turning back for me. Originally published in 1985, the novel commences in 1980 when Alexander Wedderburn visits an art exhibition at the Royal Academy of Arts in London, specifically to see works by Van Gogh. He was waiting for his friend from the past, Frederica Potter. This opening sequence establishes the tone for the rest of the story, or at least that is how I feel.

From the present, the story moves to Yorkshire, to the past. In December 1953, we are introduced to Stephanie, Frederica’s older sister. She was married to Daniel Orton and was six months pregnant. While she loves her husband and unborn child, she was filled with regret for the opportunities she has lost. As the story moves forward, we learn more about her and the rest of the family, including their younger brother, Marcus. While Stephanie was confronting how her life had changed, her brother was grappling with his own demons. As I have just started reading the book, I haven’t gone far yet. As such, my impression of it is limited; it does not help that I have not read the first book in the quartet. Regardless, I am looking forward to how the story develops. Should I not be able to complete it before Friday, I will be sharing more of my impressions of the book in this week’s First Impression Friday update.

What have you finished reading?

I had a slow start to my March reading month, and I also ended it on a slow note. In the past week, I was able to complete just two books. Still, it is a decent number. The first of the two books I read in the past week is by another familiar British writer, Hilary Mantel, whom I first encountered a decade ago during random ventures into the bargain book store. Her Booker Prize-winning novel, Wolf Hall, was ubiquitous. However, it would take me over a decade to finally secure a copy of the book and read it. I felt that time that the book was not for me. A decade later, I would encounter Mantel again during the pandemic after her latest novel, The Mirror and the Light, was longlisted for the Booker Prize. After the pandemic, I secured a copy of all three books. Last year, I read the first book in the trilogy, and as part of my venture into the works of European women writers, I resolved to read Bring Up the Bodies. It has become imperative for me to read the trilogy after Mantel’s passing back in 2021. I do lament the fact that it is only now that I am reading her works.

Bring Up the Bodies follows closely after the events of Wolf Hall. After successfully working on the divorce of King Henry VIII from his first wife, Katherine of Aragon, Thomas Cromwell has exponentially risen above the ranks. He was now assigned as Master Secretary to the King’s Privy Council. It is September 1535, and the King was beginning to tire of his wife, Anne Boleyn, his second wife. Sure, their marriage was often affectionate. However, they often descend into angry quarrels. At the start of the novel, the King and Cromwell went on a hunting trip and stayed as guests of the Seymour family, one of the “ancient families” of English nobility, at Wolf Hall. Cromwell started to notice how the King was becoming fonder of Jane Seymour, although she is often described as timid and plain-looking. Back in London, Cromwell was faced with several challenges. The separation of the King from his first wife created a diplomatic vacuum, resulting in tension with Emperor Charles V of the Habsburg territories. To de-escalate the tensions and avoid war, Cromwell was in constant negotiations with Eustache Chapuys, the Emperor’s ambassador. Meanwhile, the King has asked him to orchestrate his separation from Anne, as she brings neither peace nor a son to the king. Anne’s recent miscarriage did not bode well for her. Further, the King has started to see how her family has been scheming for his downfall. Ever loyal, Cromwell vowed to make the separation happen. Apart from earning the King’s trust, Cromwell had a different motivation for making the impossible possible. He realized that while the King had his back, the older nobles whom the King trusted looked down on Cromwell. After all, he was a blacksmith’s son, and his lack of noble blood made him inferior to them.

The older nobles underestimated Cromwell. He was an ambitious man who was persistent. He talked to everyone close to Anne. What he unearthed was a world of intrigue. Rumors have been flying around, and although some sources were unreliable, they do threaten Anne’s position. History, after all, is riddled with conspiracies and rumors that have led to the demise and fall from grace of prominent people. All it took was corroboration, even if it stems from collusion. Regardless, history has always been written by the victors, and for Cromwell, it is also written by the tenacious. But beyond the separation of the King and Anne, the novel explored a plethora of subjects, such as social classes and social change. The classist overtones run parallel to sexist overtones. Anne’s downfall was bits of sexual gossip, underscoring the double standards around sexual promiscuity that persist in Tudor England; it still persists in the present. Interestingly, I find Bring Up the Bodies a more compelling read than Wolf Hall, although both books are intriguing in their own right. I can’t wait to read the last book in the trilogy.

It was without design, but my venture into European women’s literature was dominated by British writers. This is considering that I have yet to read a work by Agatha Christie. I am not complaining, though, because they are all writers I like. Anyway, my reading venture next took me to a literary territory I rarely ventured into. Norwegian literature, and well, Scandinavian literature in general, is a largely unexplored territory for me, although I keep on hearing and reading wonderful and positive feedback about Scandinavian writers (I love Fredrik Backman). This makes Jenny Hval’s Paradise Rot an interesting case. I believe Hval is just the fourth or fifth different Norwegian writer that I have read. Before the pandemic, I had never come across her. And there is a clear reason why. Paradise Rot is Hval’s debut novel and was only translated into English in 2018. Further, Hval established a name as a singer first, as the vocalist of a gothic metal band, before venturing into writing.

Originally published in 2009 as Perlebryggeriet (Pearl Brewery), Paradise Rot charts the fortunes of an initially anonymous twenty-year-old Norwegian girl who arrived in the fictional foggy seaside city of Aybourne in Australia to study at the local university. The opening chapter conveyed how she struggled with isolation in her new town. Everything was alien, exacerbated by her struggle to find a decent place to live. As she observed everything going around her, she felt out of place. Still, she attended her classes and met some of her fellow international students, such as Fran-ziska, a fellow student from Germany who shares a similar experience of displacement. Their shared experience somehow provided a sense of comfort. Fran-ziska even helped the narrator find a place of her own. The protagonist then found herself in Hawthorn District, a desolate area near the mountains. The District was also filled with old warehouses. A renovated warehouse piqued the protagonist’s interest. The tenant was Carral Johnston, a thin girl with a playful demeanor, who immediately welcomed the protagonist; her name was eventually revealed as Johanna, or Jo. There was a warmth exuding from Carral that made Jo gravitate toward her. Carral was quirky, and her candidness caught Jo off guard, but she also found it intimate how Carral was already making her part of her world. Soon enough, Jo herself found herself opening up to Carral. We learn that she was taking biology and even sharing some hints about the life she left behind in Norway.

It was a no-brainer that Jo would move in with Carral. Together, a semblance of homoerotic atmosphere started to envelop the story as the two characters got closer. But what makes it even more interesting is how Hval made the environment a metaphor for their developing friendship. We learn about the history of the converted brewery. The interior was filled with raw materials like plasterboard and concrete. In many ways, this reflects Jo’s feelings of vulnerability and isolation, as her new home was a direct contrast to the home she grew up in Norway. Few thin walls barely provided privacy for Jo and Carral. This embodies the slow erosion of boundaries that initially set them apart. In its stead develops a tender and affectionate feeling. Paradise Rot is a deceptively slender novel that examines desire and sexual awakening. It also finds strength in its vivid language. How I wish the novel were longer. Still, it was an interesting and thought-provoking story of self-discovery and the beauty of authentic connections.

What will you read next?