Our all time favorite reads. If you ask us for a recommendation, we'll start with these.

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The Portuguese language has travelled far and wide across the globe. Its rich literary community includes authors from Europe, Latin America, Africa, and Asia. Discover Lusophone authors old and new in translation.

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Small ou independent presses are publishing houses that do not make part of the big five companies that publish most of the books in the world. These independent publishers are some os the great taste makers of our time, taking chances on books beyond their commercial appeal.

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The Vintage Minis, are the perfect collection to sample some of the world's most renowned authors, each in a subject they are experts in.

Vintage Minis

Our booklists are curated from the diverse personal tastes and interests of our team. We organize these lists around themes to highlight exciting reads that you might not otherwise encounter.&nbsp;

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If you are anything like me,&nbsp;you are probably very excited for the premiere of Christopher Nolan's The Odyssey, and if you are anything like me as a reader, you have been fascinated with the ancient world, and specifically ancient Greece, from a very young age. The Odyssey is arguably&nbsp;the&nbsp;most influential story in the Western canon (alongside the Bible), defining what we now think of as a hero's journey. Besides that, it is also a phenomenal historical document of attitudes in antiquity towards religion, gender, hospitality, and, more importantly for our purposes, storytelling.&nbsp;Full of monsters, family drama, and angry Gods, Odysseus's journey continues to influence art in all forms and many indirectly. From <a href="https://goodcompanybooks.com/shop/product/ulysses-1/41695703171158">Ulysses by James Joyce</a> to countless modern retellings, it is an imperative work for all who wish to consider themselves truly well-read.&nbsp;

This summer, I am doing a deep dive into all things ancient to keep the spirit of Homer alive long after I leave the cinema. Here are a few of my recommendations if you'd like to do the same.&nbsp;

I. <a href="https://goodcompanybooks.com/shop/product/the-odyssey/41758482006102">The Odyssey by Homer, Translated by Emily Wilson</a>

Of course, there's nothing better than the source text itself, but specifically, I recommend Emily Wilson's translation. Besides it being this translation that was used by Nolan when devising the movie, <a href="https://www.telegraph.co.uk/books/authors/emily-wilson-translation-interview-odyssey-wine-dark-sea/">Wilson was the first woman to publish a translation of The Odyssey in English.</a> Her translation is rooted in accessibility and giving the text a new life in the 21st century. Although controversially written in iambic pentameter verse, Wilson's is a great gateway translation for a more hesitant reader of the classic who also wants to experience beautiful language.&nbsp;

II.&nbsp; <a href="https://goodcompanybooks.com/shop/author/natalie-haynes">Any book by Natalie Haynes&nbsp;</a>

Haynes, like Wilson, is a classicist, but she has made a career as a novelist, specifically of ancient Greek retellings. With topics ranging from a contemporary adaptation of the Theban Cycle to nonfiction books on the Greek Myths, Haynes ' oeuvre is full of high-quality fiction and extremely accessible nonfiction. To keep on theme with the Odyssey, my recommendation is that you start with <a href="https://goodcompanybooks.com/shop/product/a-thousand-ships/41340231155798">A Thousand Ships</a>, a retelling of the Iliad, from the point of view of Helen of Troy (or is it of Sparta?)

III. <a href="https://goodcompanybooks.com/shop/product/circe/54944716783997">Circe by Madeline Miller&nbsp;</a>

While better known for her debut <a href="https://goodcompanybooks.com/shop/product/the-song-of-achilles/54944706756989">The Song of Achilles</a>, based on the titular hero's life, her sophomore novel Circe is truly, in my opinion, Miller's best work yet. Following the life of the witch-goddess Odysseus encounters during his voyage home, Miller traces Circe's life long before the events of the Odyssey and long after, giving the relatively minor figure of Greek mythology a well-deserved moment of protagonism.

IV. <a href="https://goodcompanybooks.com/shop/product/the-silence-of-the-girls/53530732953981">The Silence of The Girls by Pat Barker&nbsp;</a>

<a href="https://goodcompanybooks.com/shop/author/pat-barker">Pat Barker's Trojan Trilogy </a>is an extremely interesting take on both the Iliad and the Odyssey,&nbsp;embarking, over the course of now three titles, into the lives of the many affected female characters who have historically been sidelined. From captured princesses and enslaved concubines to witches and human oracles, Barker brings a thoughtful feminist lens to the great ancient epics.&nbsp;

V. <a href="https://goodcompanybooks.com/shop/product/the-penguin-book-of-classical-myths/58364660547965">The Penguin Book of Classical Myths by Jenny March</a>

This collection of the Greek myths is a great companion for both novices and nerds of antiquity. A comprehensive guide with everything from the origins of the world to all the minor characters and Gods you might. Also, if you want to learn about the Odyssey (or refresh your memory) from a trusted source without reading the entire text, March has a phenomenal chapter on both The Odyssey and its precursor, <a href="https://goodcompanybooks.com/shop/product/the-iliad-1/41695682396246">The Iliad.&nbsp;</a>

VI. <a href="https://goodcompanybooks.com/shop/product/the-oresteia-1/58364660023677">The Oresteia by Ted Hughes.</a>&nbsp;

<a href="https://goodcompanybooks.com/shop/product/the-oresteia/53523142541693">The original Oresteia</a> is a trilogy of plays written by Aeschylus in the 2nd Century B.C., detailing the domestic drama of Agamemnon's household before and after his return from the Trojan War. One of the most important figures in the Iliad, Agamemnon, is key to Odysseus' departure from Ithaca and to Odysseus' later preconceptions about what he might encounter upon his return home. In this version, we see renowned English poet Ted Hughes' interpretation of this incredible saga, with his signature poetic style.

VI. <a href="https://goodcompanybooks.com/shop/product/greek-myths/58364659663229">Greek Myths by Jean Menzies&nbsp;</a>

DK makes the best books for the insatiably curious little reader, and this primer on Greek mythology is no different. Full of in-depth fun facts and beautiful illustrations, this book is for both young readers and the young at heart.&nbsp;

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A Very Greek Summer

What do you want to know, you nosy munchkins?&nbsp;

After drafting a first version of that, I kid you not, it's not as eventful as you&nbsp;would&nbsp;expect&nbsp;it to be.&nbsp;

My name is Antonina, but you might know me as Tosia. Pronunciation of the latter sounds like torch in Portuguese, and as much as I appreciate a linguistic "you're on fire" joke, it turns me off by now. Hence the juggling of my names.&nbsp;

Bookseller was my first title at Good Company, and I danced into Events Management quite naturally over the course of the first year of the bookstore. Spending hours on the floor with other booksellers turned out to be the most inspiring time at work, and as much as I love the hypothetical space of the mind, I take the most pleasure out of seeing the idea's journey to real life, when it takes shape, it turns and jumps over the bridge, and looks for a travel bud, gets lost and finds itself again, and this metaphor is too long and ends now. Let's talk about you for a second.&nbsp;

Why do you come to cultural events?&nbsp;Do you want a new experience,&nbsp;learn about&nbsp;something new, or discuss something you know?&nbsp;Are you looking for a connection, building a community, or a space to be seen? Do you have a thought to share, a book to recommend? It's a give-and-take, and that's what makes it dynamic and surprising at times. It doesn't hurt that the audience here at Good Company is a deeply stimulating and sophisticated one with a critical mind and sublime taste, which makes our events one-of-a-kind.&nbsp;

A big portion of my day involves responding to your messages with brilliant, mostly, ideas, and I read them thoroughly.&nbsp;Here&nbsp;lies quite often&nbsp;the story of origin of many events&nbsp;like&nbsp;Art Talks with Jeanne Couailler, Write Now with Patricia Anzini,&nbsp;or&nbsp;many book clubs that meet monthly at the bookstore.&nbsp;

When the tables turn, and I have to be the one writing a message, I stop being so confident, my palms get sweaty, and I lose ability in all my languages. The most nerve-wracking encounter had to be writing and then, luckily, meeting Kalaf Epalanga for the first time when he visited us for a talk on his novel <a href="https://goodcompanybooks.com/shop/product/whites-can-dance-too/55745251803517">Whites Can Dance Too</a>. He came in with all his swag and sway, full of humility and open heart, and after experiencing his presence and observing curious people in the room who came to talk to him, I realized I want to do this.&nbsp;I want to organize events that&nbsp;make&nbsp;people&nbsp;gather,&nbsp;discuss,&nbsp;have an experience&nbsp;with like-minded people, and go home with a few more contacts in their phones and a few more memories to feel nostalgic about one day.&nbsp;

You still don't know what my day looks like. Mind your own business and let me tell you something more interesting. How does an event come to life? That involves something I like to call&nbsp;flânerie, which is, bear with me, adventuring beyond our bookstore for cultural gatherings, talking to you and trying to understand what is important to you, me, and Good Company, because if I&nbsp;am able to&nbsp;hit all three, we have a perfect event.&nbsp;

When the idea is right there upon the palm of my hand like a tiny big-eyed frog, firstly, I look around for anybody who recognizes this particular species and can help me feed it with all the right things. Then we lose ourselves in questions and answers until we know exactly what to do to keep it alive. After gathering all the information we needed, we gently passed the frog to Mary, our social media manager, to make a fancy dress for our frog, and here I realized that the botanical metaphor wasn't the best one to start with at all.&nbsp;

This is to say,&nbsp;some events you see take a lot of time to prepare or even define in the first place,&nbsp;hence my day is never the same.&nbsp;Sometimes you will find me building a page on our website for the next event, sometimes I'll be at the cafe taking your order or at the table having a meeting with our next event host. Once a month, you can meet me moderating the Lusophone Book Club, which is probably where I show up as the most unfiltered version of myself to drag out the guts of Lusophone Literature and dissect it  with you.&nbsp;I've also had to be technical support during the events, which for a bookworm is a completely new world, and now I am the person in the office&nbsp;that&nbsp;everyone asks where the extra cable for the sound system is.&nbsp;

The newest part of my job is moderating author talks, which I did when we hosted <a href="https://goodcompanybooks.com/search?term=bruna%20dantas%20lobato">Bruna Dantas Lobato</a>, Brazilian author and translator. Preparing for this type of event is never the same; sometimes I have a history with the author, sometimes I base the conversation on the latest novel.&nbsp; The event with Bruna was a time when I knew where to start. As a translation nerd myself, I knew we were going to dive deep into the meanders of language, exophony, and self-translation, and Bruna did not disappoint; she is absolutely a joy to listen to. On days like that one, when we host incredible people and a great audience, I finish my day with a glass of wine and a prolonged conversation after "Closing Time" has been played from the speakers.&nbsp;

You still don't know what my day looks like. If I had a daily routine to describe here, it would kill my&nbsp;flânerie. Just imagine it's a tiny big-eyed frog, my job is to keep it alive.&nbsp;

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Cultural Flânerie: Day in The Life of the Event Coordinator 

<a href="https://goodcompanybooks.com/shop/product/zami/41340181348438">Zami: A New Spelling of My Name: A Biomythography</a> was first published in 1982, when Audre Lorde was 48 years old. In these memoirs, she narrates the first 25-ish years of her life: her childhood growing up as the youngest child of immigrant parents in Harlem, her experience being one of the 13 Black girls in a Catholic school, moving out of her parents' house at 18, and her subsequent independent living in New York, Stamford, Mexico, and back to New York again.

The title announces Lorde's prerogative not to be 100% truthful; she cautions that there are mythical aspects in her writing that should be considered, and that some details should be taken with a grain of salt. However fun it may be to spend these 300 pages doing detective work of sorts, attempting to separate fact from fiction, it is a much richer experience to assume that what Lorde tells us is how she perceived those events, whether they'd pass a fact-check or not. Over time, most of our memories lose rationality and impartiality. We remember things as we felt them, not necessarily as they actually happened. In a way, an emotional autobiography introduces us to Lorde's life in a much more honest and profound way than a rational or factual one would, which made me thoroughly enjoy this format. The margin she gives herself to insert information that is not factual or has not been absolutely confirmed comes with a certain freedom in her details and memories, allowing her to let go of minutiae and open space for a more authentic glance into her own psyche. What deeply moved me in this book was Lorde's wise insights into her own life and patterns, even as she remained oblivious to other subjects. Whether this was purposeful or not, we will never know.

“A powerful woman was something else, quite different from an ordinary woman, from simply 'woman.' It certainly did not, on the other hand, equal man. What then? What was the third designation?" (p. 14)

This question is posed in the second chapter, and its ramifications are present throughout the rest of the book. This "third designation" is explored by Lorde, both personally and through her relationships with women like her. It is, however, a very innocent and curiosity-filled exploration. Lorde is intrigued by the infinite alternative means of existing within the oppressive society she was born into, and from this admiration blooms her discovery of her sexuality. The fascination Lorde feels towards the women in her life allows her to more easily accept her Queerness, so much so that it comes almost naturally to her, something atypical in the 1940s.

Those relationships form the emotional core of the memoir. Zami is ultimately a book about women loving women in every possible sense of the word. Romantic partners certainly occupy many chapters, but friendships often leave an even deeper impression. Women feed one another, house one another, lend each other money, recommend jobs, share books, and offer language when none previously existed. The concept of "sisterhood" is ingrained in these women's minds and day-to-day actions, from sharing couches and the little food they had with each other to unfailing emotional support, and even though -- as Lorde points out -- that concept became mainstream decades later and treated as a brand new invention, black and queer women had been practicing it as a way of survival:

“We not only believed in the reality of sisterhood, that word which was to be so abused two decades later, but we also tried to put it into practice, with varying results. (...) However imperfectly, we tried to build a community of sorts where we could, at the very least, survive within a world we correctly perceived to be hostile to us; we talked endlessly about how best to create that mutual support which twenty years later would be discussed in the women's movement as a brand new concept. Lesbians were probably the only black and white women in New York City in the fifties who were making any real attempt to communicate with each other. “(p. 210)

One of the greatest strengths of Zami is its refusal to shy away from criticism and observations that remain relevant, even decades after its first publication. She is never only Black, only a woman, only a lesbian, only working-class, only the daughter of Caribbean immigrants. These aspects constantly overlap, sometimes reinforcing one another and sometimes creating tensions that Lorde herself struggles to articulate. Today, after decades of discussions around intersectionality, it is almost startling to remember that Lorde was writing from lived experience before much of this vocabulary became widespread. She never needs theoretical language to convince us that identities interact, making Zami feel compatible with contemporary gender and queer theory.&nbsp;

These tensions are well explored throughout the chapters, accompanying her in every stage of her life. Even within queer spaces, race creates distance. Within Black communities, sexuality creates another form of separation. Lorde points out that the racism present in Queer communities was not an accepted criticism, and how even when she felt at home creating a community of Black women, any mention of her love towards women was eligible to create a barrier and further distance her from belonging.&nbsp;

The writing itself deserves special mention. Unsurprisingly for someone primarily known as a poet, Lorde's prose is intensely lyrical. Certain descriptions linger in the mind long after finishing the chapter. Food, clothing, streets, weather, skin, and music all receive the same careful attention. The city of New York becomes almost another character, changing alongside Lorde as she grows older. Her prose moves fluidly between concrete observation and abstract reflection, creating a rhythm that feels oral, as though you were sitting at a kitchen table with Audre Lorde, sipping coffee and smoking by the window, as she recounts those memories aloud.

At times, however, that poetic style can also become disorienting. The chronology occasionally blurs, transitions between episodes are abrupt, and some characters disappear almost as suddenly as they are introduced. Normally, this would frustrate me, but within the framework of a biomythography, it somehow feels appropriate. Memory itself is not chronological. We remember according to emotional significance rather than linear progression. Some years occupy dozens of pages; others vanish in a paragraph.

Lorde manages to transfer childhood innocence into her adult self, writing seamlessly. When talking about the racism she and her family experienced, there is a heartbreaking aspect of a young Audre Lorde believing the different treatment she would receive—not winning class president even though she was the smartest in her class, people spitting at her and her mother in the street, amongst others— being perceived as personal: those mistreatments were not because she was black (she didn't have a word for racism), but because there was something intrinsically wrong with her.

She can identify patterns that the younger Audre could not yet perceive, while resisting the temptation to overwrite her earlier confusion with adult certainty, thereby fostering a sense of emotional accuracy. Ironically, a book that openly admits to fictionalization often feels more sincere than memoirs that insist on strict factual accuracy.

In the final pages, Lorde does not reach a definitive conclusion about herself. Instead, she demonstrates that identity is not something to be solved or picked from. The book ends in a tone of serenity, given that she found a place—or a "new spelling" of her name—where she gives herself space to be all that defines her, no longer feeling incomplete for aspects of herself she put aside to avoid inconveniencing others. In the end, Zami is less a destination than an ongoing act of unapologetic self-definition.&nbsp;

More than forty years after its publication, Zami remains astonishingly fresh. It is a memoir, a love story, a coming-of-age narrative, a meditation on memory, and an archive of queer Black womanhood in the 1940s and 50s all at once. It is also an invitation to think about autobiography differently—not as the faithful recording of facts, but as an attempt to preserve emotional truth.

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Intersectionality & Self Mythology: A Review of Zami by Audre Lorde

As the weather begins to heat up and all we suddenly want to do is be on the esplanade with a cold drink, our team has curated a list of perfect summer reads to help you read through the warmer months. Because June is Pride Month, we decided to make this list a celebration of our favorite queer reads. From lush romances to hard-hitting memoirs, this list will have all of your lazy days under the sun covered.&nbsp;

<a href="https://goodcompanybooks.com/shop/product/the-queens-of-sarmiento-park/56202458792317">The Queens of Sarmiento Park&nbsp;by Camila Sosa Villada</a>

In a book where some characters are 178 years old and others can turn into birds and wolves, and a sort of travesti heaven exists,&nbsp;The Queens of Sarmiento Park&nbsp;is at the same time magical, as it is painfully real, detailing the lives of transvestite prostitutes that work in Sarmiento Park, Cordoba, where they work, gather, and create community to resist the everyday violence that seeks to erase them.

The Queens of Sarmiento Park&nbsp;is a story that will linger in your mind long after you’ve finished reading it, with beautiful prose that might make you cry before you’ve even finished the preface, and a necessary portrayal of voices that are often unrepresented in literature, especially in the English-speaking world.

“To them, calling us travestis was a way of insulting us. But we weren’t strangers. We were already here, the same as you, and had been for a very long time. The abundance of these lands belonged to us too. (...) I reclaim the stonings and spittings, I reclaim the scorn. You may ask how it can be that a writer proudly identifies herself with an insult. My answer is that you’re looking for the way out up there, where you think your thoughts are formed. So elevated, useful, precise. We, after years and years of holding back the travails of Latin America with our bodies, know that you have to delve deep, go down. We know it’s better to escape through tunnels than try to leap over walls”

<a href="https://goodcompanybooks.com/shop/product/zami/41340181348438">Zami: A New Spelling Of My Name by Audre Lorde</a>

"To whom do I owe the woman I have become?"

In June, our Queer Book Club will discuss Zami: A New Spelling Of My Name, by Audre Lorde. I picked it up with some admitted intimidation, for I had known Lorde only from her well-established and distinguished reputation as an activist, political essayist, and poet. Instead of the hesitancy I was prepared to encounter, instead, I was met with a tender, nostalgia-filled memoir that instantly absorbs me whenever (and wherever) I pull it out of my bag.

Amongst themes of race, immigration and war, Audre Lorde begins to understand herself as a lesbian. In a time heavily characterised by political upheaval and marginalisation, the sheer respect and reverence she felt for the women around her was a steady port. Her journey of self-discovery was not instant (because it never is), but instead a slow and gradual development of the way in which she began to make sense of her feelings through her experiences with other women. I was so moved by Lorde’s experience of recognising herself as a lesbian because of the deep admiration she feels for women, and how, in her journey of self-revelation, she was always surrounded by examples of powerful womanhood.

Through poetic prose and unflinching honesty, even in her most intimate admissions, Zami is an indispensable and deeply moving read, serving to also remember who paved the way we can so freely walk today.

<a href="https://goodcompanybooks.com/shop/product/girl-woman-other/55745195966845">Girl, Woman, Other&nbsp;by Bernardine Evaristo</a>&nbsp;

Bernardine Evaristo’s Booker Prize-winning novel is truly a book for everyone. It is an insightful work of social critique written as an unpretentious page-turner so engaging it may make you miss your stop on the bus.

The novel follows twelve characters, mostly women, including one non-binary character, and most of whom are queer, as they navigate life in modern-day Britain. It spans a range of ages and includes characters born in the UK and those of the Windrush generation.

This is a truly intersectional feminist novel about the Black experience in the UK that also recognises modern-day womanhood and queerness in its diverse female and gender-free identities. There really aren’t many novels like this.

“I wanted to put presence into absence. I was very frustrated that Black British women weren’t visible in literature. I whittled it down to 12 characters – I wanted them to span from a teenager to someone in their 90s, and see their trajectory from birth, though not linear. There are many ways in which otherness can be interpreted in the novel – the women are othered in so many ways and sometimes by each other. I wanted it to be identified as a novel about women as well.”

<a href="https://goodcompanybooks.com/shop/product/eros/57999181906301">Eros: Queer Myths for Lovers by Zoe Terakes</a>

Zoe Terakes brings us a collection of short stories that reimagine and retell five Ancient Greek myths through the lens of queer and trans experience: Iphis and Ianthe, Eurydice, Artemis and Kallisto, Hermaphroditus, and Icarus and Apollo. What makes these stories especially powerful is that they aren’t modern inventions imposed onto old myths. Their connections to queerness and transness have always been there, woven into the original tales.

In this collection, Zoe reminds us that queer and trans people have always existed, and that our stories have always been here too, often hidden, overlooked, or erased. By bringing these myths into a new light, they reclaim what was there all along.

It’s a book you won’t be able to put down. One that will bring tears to your eyes, make you long and yearn, and leave you feeling deeply connected to nature, the past, and yourself.

<a href="https://goodcompanybooks.com/shop/product/taiwan-travelogue-1/57867506319741">Taiwan Travelogue&nbsp;by&nbsp;Yang Shuang-zi</a>

<a target="_blank" href="https://goodcompanybooks.com/shop/product/taiwan-travelogue-1/57867506319741"></a>Translated from Mandarin by&nbsp;Lin King

Everyone has already heard of this novel’s greatness, but if you haven’t or you are still wondering if the <a href="https://goodcompanybooks.com/shop/category/international-booker-prize">International Booker Prize 2026</a> Winner will be your next read celebrating Pride Month, wonder no more.

This book offers a multilayered journey; published as a disguised translation from Japanese to Mandarin of a travel journal of a Japanese writer Aoyama Chizuko, then translated by Lin King into English. The story is happening while Taiwan was under Japanese rule in the 1930s. Two women, a writer Aoyama Chizuko and O Chizuru, her local translator, explore Taiwan through food and culture, creating a tender bond that bends the lens of colonial structures and class division of that time.

I am writing this recommendation as a reader who is still in the process of savouring this book. I am definitely taking my time as those pages contain an incredibly delicious homage to food. Not only does Yang explore the difficult topic of colonialism through cuisine, but also topics of class and forbidden love between two women.

<a href="https://goodcompanybooks.com/shop/product/tipping-the-velvet/41554288246870">Tipping the Velvet&nbsp;by Sarah Waters&nbsp;</a>

This lush epic (self)love story set in a seaside town in England is the perfect queer novel to usher in summer during Pride. Set in Victorian England, we follow Nan King, the daughter of an oyster catcher. Nan falls in love with the theater and, more specifically, with Miss Kitty Butler, a cross-dressing singer who comes to her small town. What ensues is a lush journey of self-discovery, in which Nan finds her own way to the stage, exploring many different gender identities and presentations. Waters is a phenomenal researcher who truly embodies the period’s many contradictions while shedding light on the underground sexual revolution that was very much alive in Victorian England.&nbsp;

“When I see her,” I said, “it’s like - I don’t know what it’s like. It’s like I never saw anything at all before. It’s like I am filling up, like a wine-glass when it’s filled with wine. I watch the acts before her and they are like nothing - they’re like dust. Then she walks on the stage and - she is so pretty; and her suit is so nice; and her voice is so sweet… She makes me want to smile and weep, at once. She makes me sore, here.” I placed a hand upon my chest, upon the breast-bone. “I never saw a girl like her before. I never knew that there were girls like her…” My voice became a trembling whisper then, and I found that I could say no more. There was another silence. I opened my eyes and looked at Alice - and knew at once that I shouldn’t have spoken; that I should have been as dumb and as cunning with her as with the rest of them. There was a look on her face - it was not ambiguous at all now - a look of mingled shock, and nervousness, and embarrassment or shame. I had said too much. I felt as if my admiration for Kitty Butler had lit a beacon inside me, and opening my unguarded mouth had sent a shaft of light into the darkened room, illuminating all. I had said too much - but it was that, or say nothing.”&nbsp;

This novel is the definition of Lush, from the salt and brine of chucked oysters to the erotic textures of velvet curtains and backstage laces and silks. Sarah Waters is the quintessential sapphic writer, bringing every page to life with the plurality of feminine queer identities.&nbsp;The perfect read for summer, this novel will have you aching with hunger for life.&nbsp;

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Beach Reads for June

I have been thinking a lot about what we owe to each other in this day and age. If you open up any social media platform, you will find polarizing and unsatisfactory solutions to our modern issue of connection, from the selfish to the utterly unrealistic. The fact is, everyone seems to have a hard time connecting. Consequently, I have been thinking a lot about my technology use, or rather, overuse. Even with a hectic schedule, or maybe because of it, I often find myself filling any free time with scrolling through social media, “turning my brain off,” looking deep into a digital void, and always letting it feed off of me. Because of this terrible habit, my reading life has suffered, not only because of my attention span, but because I have developed this anxiety about being disconnected from the world. So when I read the premise for <a href="https://goodcompanybooks.com/shop/product/transcription/57999195341181">Transcription by Ben Lerner</a>, I was both terrified and morbidly seduced into further feeding this anxiety, but in a “healthier” way. The narrator arrives to meet his former mentor, a larger-than-life 90-year-old intellectual called Thomas, and, by a misfortune of fate, is left without his phone and thus unable to record the interview, which, incidentally, will be the last of Thomas’s life. This then leads to a series of other conversations with his colleagues and Thomas’s son, Max, when it’s made public that the last interview of his life was created from memory rather than faithfully documented.

This question of connection is just one of the many philosophical conundrums posed to us as its readers, or rather, in my case, a listener. I chose to experience this story in <a href="https://libro.fm/audiobooks/9781250436160">audio format</a> purely for practical reasons. Still, I found that this medium allowed me to get a richer experience of the novel. The narrator, Seth Numrich, does a superb job in making each character's voice distinct and intimate, giving the narrative an almost “found footage” feel, as if we have stumbled into these interviews in an archive. Told almost entirely through the narrator’s dialogues with other characters, Transcription, on its surface, is about the life of an incredible intellectual and the rather questionable memory he evokes, and so it is first and foremost a very human novel; it dwells on seemingly unimportant details, it is dependent on memory and gut feeling. But it is also a deeply philosophical work that sneaks up on you and tears down your preconceived notions about family, illness, legacy, and memory. Lerner has achieved here in 144 pages what most authors cannot achieve in 500: a sharp novel of ideas.&nbsp;

	The core of the novel is defined by three generations facing the consequences of what came before them. Between Thomas, Max, and Max's daughter Emmie, we see a through line of generational trauma. This is clearly highlighted as we see Thomas' memory conflate the narrator with his own son, and later Thomas' hospitalization during COVID, with his granddaughter's continuous health struggles. Through these different interlocutors, we learn that Thomas is a brilliant but neglectful father, and that Max is a deeply involved parent who nonetheless fails to cure his daughter's ailments. At one point in the novel, as Max is talking to our narrator, we notice the similarities between the two men that initially led to confusion in the first half, when Thomas believes he is being interviewed by his son. The two start to blend in our minds as in Thomas', both have anxious young daughters, both struggle with the role of technology in their children's and their own lives. At one point during the initial interview, the narrator relays a dream he has had to Thomas. Thomas begins to believe it was meant for him, implanted in the narrator's mind as a message from his late wife. "A problem with Freud is he thinks we dream only our own dreams." He goes on to assert. Here, the community becomes not only part of the physical plane but also of the unconscious one. He (Thomas) and later Max retell the same stories from their individual points of view, often arriving at the same destination but not the same conclusion. Both men mention a tribe that another academic has studied, which believes dreams to be social, part of the collective consciousness, and thus an avenue for communication among themselves and with those who have passed. The novel reaches its emotional peak when Max discusses his father's hospitalization at the height of the COVID-19 pandemic. Thomas is intubated on the other side of the country, the medical staff believes he will not make it, and so they schedule a Zoom call so the family can say goodbye. Max chooses to take the call on his own so as not to alarm his young daughter about the state her beloved grandfather. Zoom fails,&nbsp; technology continuously fails: be it in connection, communication, or documentation. For Lerner’s characters what is truly needed can never be successfully achieved or even mediated through these increasingly newer/“better” tech we have come to so deeply depend on. It is only through the kindness of a nurse whose use of her personal cellphone allows Max to say his goodbyes to his father, an act of human intermediation.

“ felt so grateful for Laura, the nurse, her kindness, so grateful that I’d had the opportunity to say what I’d said. (It’s silly, but I felt connected to her because I’d said those things on her personal phone, not a hospital platform–it made it a different kind of contact, that medium. So strange to think I’d said what I’d said on a device that she’d take home, that she would touch with her hands and face, that she would charge beside her bed.) I felt that my dad was already dead, that he wasn’t suffering, and that his death, instead of severing our connection, had opened this channel between us, if that makes sense. Maybe some of it was the oxytocin and endorphins that crying releases, I don’t know, but the feeling was profound. Childhood memories I normally would have tried to block now broke over me as we walked, but gently, warmly: my dad cracking my mom and me up with his Charlie Chaplin imitation, how long since I’d recalled that? The tears on his face at the Cueva de las manos–that trip we took after my college graduation. I knew plenty of anger and pain I knew I might get hit at any moment with real grief, I knew the terror of the virus and everything else in the unraveling world was going to return, but I felt, at that moment, compassion, peace.”

Here we get to the core of Lerner’s thesis on technology and connection; he isn’t preaching a Luddite revolution, but rather is giving us a warning: what has been made to connect us, to safeguard human history and memory, is further corrupting it, making us aliens to each other. I think this becomes clear at the end but is perfectly exemplified in the second conversation between the narrator and his colleague Rosa, when, after having confessed at a conference to having reconstructed Thomas’ last interview from memory rather than transcription, he has “(…) falsified a big part of what many of us thought of his [Thomas] last, I don’t know, testament. A deep fake.”

	At the end, Lerner seems to say here that what is owed does not really matter; everything lingers. Memory is a thread woven from many different fibers, each relying on the collective strength to create something stronger that will outlast any individual's single recollection of an event. Everyone is an unreliable narrator until we have another. Thomas mistakes his child for another man, and Max lets his own unresolved trauma hinder his child's growth and relationship with her grandfather. Ultimately, what we owe to each other is to witness, not as a video, recording, or transcription might, but in the flawed yet alive way only human memory can.

	I urge you to explore this novel, which I am already craving to re-read, on your own, as I believe it will almost certainly function as a mirror and oracle for each reader’s anxiety at the moment of reading it.&nbsp;Maybe it can be a good candidate for our next Contemporary book club?&nbsp;

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Transcription by Ben Lerner

In this interview, our social media manager, Maria Monteiro, sat down with Dutch writer Sophia Molen to discuss her journey as a writer and what it is like to live and write outside of one's mother tongue.

In 2024 Sophia Molen self-published her first book,&nbsp;Violet Syrup, which follows Ophelia, a college student trying to find herself amidst an environment that feels alienating to her. Everyone around her seems to only care about parties, having fun, and doing drugs while her search for meaning consumes her.&nbsp;Why am I here? Am I supposed to be doing this? Why can't I just relax and have fun?&nbsp;We follow her through the following years as she decides to pivot her career to pursue something more creative and ventures into the unknown through travel. These trips take her everywhere from Spain to the USA, but she decides to stay longer in Bali. This new city eventually becomes a significant character in Ophelia's life, offering her freedom and lightness while forcing her to confront the finite nature of the human body. The book perfectly balances light and dark, posing philosophical questions that connect us all in our fragile humanity.

I want to start by getting to know young Sophia. How would you describe yourself as a child? Were you a big reader? If yes, who influenced you to read most? What would you say was your favourite book growing up?

I’ve always been the observant type, shy and quiet as a kid, yet social connections have always been extremely important to me. I took school seriously; it was quite demanding and prepared me for university. After school I’d head out to the streets to find my friends, with whom I’d smoke weed and get wasted. Most of them already had jobs. I wanted to experience as much of life as possible, and at that time that meant balancing my commitment to school with an even greater focus on my social life.

My mother, an avid reader, would occasionally give me books to read. With her favorite genre being historical fiction, she once handed me A Thousand Splendid Suns&nbsp;by Khaled Hosseini, warning me that it might be a painful story to read. I could sense her hesitation as she passed me the book. And indeed it was an agonizing, maddening read. I felt resentment for unjust being done to women by patriarchy and the Taliban, and as a fourteen-year-old it was tough coping with these emotions. I wished I had read more books when I was younger; that reading had been more of a routine in my life.

Violet Syrup&nbsp;starts with Ophelia at the university. I know you also went to uni to study Biomedical Science in Amsterdam. What drew you to this area? What made you choose this field of study?

My parents and school guided me toward choosing a field of study that would prepare me for employment. No one ever mentioned the possibility of entrepreneurship or artistry as an option. Within this limited range, I knew I had an affinity for biology and the medical world. So I began studying medical biology, still uncertain about whether to pursue medicine. At the time I wasn’t fully aware of it, but I felt lost and disconnected from myself.

Even though I found some challenges and satisfaction in my studies, which helped me complete my bachelor’s degree, it became increasingly clear that something was missing. That missing piece was the “light” I now refer to in Violet Syrup.

How do you think your scientific background affects or inspires your creativity and writing style?&nbsp;

When I started writing, I realized that my brain was very logic-oriented, which seemed to restrict my creativity. In scientific research, you learn to reduce and rationalize as much as possible. Scientific writing has to be simple and straightforward. Shedding this mindset was quite a process when I transitioned to creative writing. Sometimes I wonder whether my creativity would have been greater without my scientific background. Yet it’s this very ambivalence that I constantly seek in every aspect of my life: the balance between the realistic and the mysterious, reasoning and intuition.

This book, as you stated before, is semi-autobiographical so it's safe to assume that most of Ophelia's experiences are also your experiences. How do you feel about sharing your life with the public? How did you feel before publication, knowing people would have access to your thoughts, feelings, and experiences? How did you navigate the vulnerability of putting your personal experiences into fiction?

I still get the creeps at times thinking about how anyone can read my most inward feelings and thoughts, but then I remind myself of the value of sharing your experiences with others. I know the power of “feeling seen” through reading a book that articulates your own thoughts. The idea that sharing my inner journey could help others reflect on their own minds truly makes it worthwhile. But also, Violet Syrup is in the past—it reflects who I was, not who I am.

Something that I was curious about, as someone who is fluent in both Dutch and English, why did you decide to write the book in English? Do you feel like you can express yourself better in this language? I can imagine that, especially with the amount of traveling you did, perhaps Dutch isn't enough to express all your thoughts and emotions.

It was not an easy decision to choose between Dutch and English—neither language feels like the perfect fit for me. Expressing myself in my mother tongue strangely feels limiting, perhaps because I no longer speak it daily or because its vocabulary feels smaller. I also feel that having grown up speaking Dutch makes me think less outside the box in Dutch, if that makes sense.

When I express myself in English, it feels like a vast blue sky opening up before me. Could that be because the language isn’t mine? Or because its vocabulary is greater? I’m not entirely sure, but it feels like there are so many possibilities in the English language that encourage me to puzzle and play with words. Of course, this comes with the risk that my writing might not be perfect. I’ve been told that my phrasing can feel awkward at times, but that’s something I’m willing to accept. I like to think it adds a personal touch to my writing. ;)

Talking about publishing, you self-published&nbsp;Violet Syrup&nbsp;with the help of a Dutch publisher. What was that experience like? Do you have any advice for aspiring writers considering self-publishing?

My publisher is more involved in the distribution of my book than in its content. Self-publishing, to say the least, isn’t affordable and I’m still trying to cover the costs I invested in it. However, I do appreciate the full control it offers—you retain complete creative authority. My book turned out exactly as I envisioned it. It’s entirely me—from the cover design to the paper selection, and every single word.

That said, I wouldn’t choose this path for my next novels, as my experience with my publisher hasn’t been ideal.

You also illustrated your own book cover, which matches the book perfectly. I want to know about the creative process behind that. Did you illustrate it after finishing the book, or was that something you already had in mind? How did you choose the elements for the final cover?&nbsp;

During COVID, I started illustrating on my iPad as a small hobby to distract myself. I created tons of illustrations during that time. For the cover design, I collaborated with a friend who came up with several amazing concepts. Together, we decided that this design was the strongest and most fitting for Violet Syrup. We refined my illustration along the way, adding details like the blue tiles in the backdrop and smaller elements such as a wine (syrup) bottle with an orange label.

As the book is almost celebrating its first year (congratulations!!), can you share a bit about this experience? How does it feel to be a writer with a published book? How do you deal with the reviews and feedback you've received over the last year?

Writing and publishing a book has been a lifelong dream, so making it a reality has certainly been fulfilling. I try to stay detached from reviews and feedback; genuine reviews on Violet Syrup, whether positive or negative, don’t affect me much. However, dealing with reviews that state untrue things is harder to process. One person repeatedly left negative reviews with mocking tones creating different accounts every few weeks. Thankfully, Goodreads took action and it finally stopped.

I was reading the book reviews on Goodreads and more than half are 4 and 5 stars, which I assume is something you're proud of. Many people connect with Ophelia and feel inspired by her story. One review said:&nbsp;"What is better than reading a novel that makes you want to become a better version of yourself?"&nbsp;Which I think is such a special review. However, some reviews wanted the book to be more philosophical. What are your thoughts on that?

Interestingly, some people thought the book was too philosophical, while others thought it wasn’t profound enough. I think my outlook on life is quite ethereal; I always try to see matters from a zoomed-out perspective, which automatically simplifies existential topics. I personally see the art in getting to the surface of such matters (rather than diving deep into them) because there is so much wisdom in untangling complexity. This is also why I kept referring to the philosophy of Taoism in my book: it focuses on effortlessness and simplicity. To some people, might come across as not profound, and for others it might have been a little too metaphysical.

Similarly, another decision I consciously made was for Ophelia not to develop deep connections with the other characters in the book, as I wanted to emphasize her connection to the world, to God and to the universe. Had I delved deeper into the relationships and the potential drama that usually comes with such intimacy, it would have taken away from the sacred connection between her and the world.

There's a quote that was particularly important to me:&nbsp;"I could imagine people living unfortunate narratives wishing for a new life, but I couldn't help but think that there was something fundamentally wrong with me for wanting an escape without any 'real' struggles. Though I also realised it was my privileged upbringing that allowed me to contemplate such foolish ideas."&nbsp;I believe, as you do, that other people's struggles don't make our struggles less real — they're just different, but I completely understand feeling this ambivalence. How do you deal with people's assumptions about you, especially knowing you're an influencer?

The current narrative on social media is that privileged people shouldn’t show their hardships, which is likely a projection of my own inner beliefs and shadow—hence the quote you picked out. What does one do with their privilege? And how does one reconcile knowing that their struggles are less severe than those of so many others around the world? I remember that even as a teenager, I always told myself I was born lucky, and that’s why I couldn’t complain about any challenging situations I faced. Yet we all know life is full of duality—black and white, yin and yang, darkness and light. No one on earth can escape this balance, though relativity is real and I believe in doing our best for others.

I don’t like having the label “influencer” stuck upon me, since it evokes immediate judgments and ideas of who I am as a person. It also feels a little narcissistic for an “influencer” to write a book based on her own life experiences, but I try to detach myself from that vantage point. I’m just a woman who had something to share with the world.

As we reach the end of the interview, what were the biggest lessons you learned while writing this book? I know you're in the process of writing your second novel. What methods are you repeating from the first book, and what have you learned not to do?

I learned to be in a constant flux with my work and revisit it over and over again. I think it’s important to be okay with removing passages you wrote regardless of how many hours you put in it. Sometimes I’d spend days on a chapter, and eventually, decided to abolish it entirely, all the while making sure it wouldn’t cause frustration and affect my work flow.

I had quite a solid writing routine with Violet Syrup and gave myself one year to write the whole story down. Now, I’m taking it a lot slower with my second novel. I want to savor the process and fine tune it until it feels complete and perfect. Though I also doubt if we artists will ever reach the stage of perfection. At some point, you just have to be brave and bring your work into the world.

If you're comfortable, could you share a bit about your next book? I know it might take a while to complete, as you're expecting a baby soon (so exciting!), so you might pause for a bit. How do you feel pregnancy is affecting your creativity and writing routines, both positively and negatively? Will this second book also be self-published?

Whereas Violet Syrup is about personal liberation, my second novel explores living in restraints. It’s a fictional story set in Andalusia based on an event that happened to someone really close to me. Pregnancy has certainly affected my writing routine. I have different priorities at the moment, like preparing for labor and for the chaotic first months of having a newborn. This time around I will take the time to find the right literary agent and hopefully get traditionally published.

I want to thank you so much for taking the time to share your experiences and your thoughts with me.&nbsp;Violet Syrup&nbsp;was such a lovely read and I hope even more people get to experience it!

Thank you, Mary, for the interesting questions!

You can get your copy of&nbsp;Violet Syrup&nbsp;at Good Company Books in Lisbon, or through our website&nbsp;<a href="https://goodcompanybooks.com/shop/product/violet-syrup/54838349824381">here</a>.

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