We asked the Booker Prize 2024 judges to explain what impressed and delighted them most about each book on this year’s shortlist – and why they are relevant to today’s world
The Booker Prize 2024 shortlist has been announced and features five women, two previously shortlisted authors, and meditations on exile, identity and belonging. The books were chosen by our panel of five judges: artist and author Edmund de Waal; award-winning novelist Sara Collins; Fiction Editor of the Guardian, Justine Jordan; world-renowned writer and professor Yiyun Li; and musician, composer and producer Nitin Sawhney.
Here, they share their thoughts on the six books they have selected for the Booker Prize 2024 shortlist and explain why – if you haven’t already – you should add them to your TBR pile.
How would you summarise this book in a sentence to encourage readers to pick it up?
A powerful, genre-defying, revisionist exploration of slavery, identity and the pursuit of freedom that subverts all expectations and further establishes Percival Everett as a masterful storyteller.
Is there something unique about this book, something that you haven’t encountered in fiction before?
There is so much that is unique about this book. The narrative experimentation that challenges traditional linear storytelling and genre conventions; the blending of magical realism and realism; Jim’s selective use of language, from faux ‘slave dialect’ to a more educated, formal diction; and the depiction of growing self-awareness and identity reclamation all feel fresh, despite the book presenting initially as the retelling of a classic novel.
What do you think it is about this book that readers will not only admire, but really love?
While the book deals with the horrors of slavery, it also examines universal themes of identity, freedom and justice. Everett challenges us to question, and reflect on, the nature of morality, the corrupting influence of power and the indomitable resilience of the human spirit.
Can you tell us about any particular characters that readers might connect with, and why?
As the central protagonist, Jim is the character with whom readers will likely feel most empathy. Everett skillfully draws us into Jim’s internal struggle, his yearning for freedom and the love of his family. We feel his pain, anger and determination viscerally, making his journey deeply resonant.
Huck is also a very powerful character. The complex, evolving relationship between Jim and the young Huck is a key source of our narrative empathy. The two individuals form a deep emotional bond as Huck comes to see Jim differently. Readers will be moved by Huck’s gradual awakening and his desire to stand by Jim.
Although it’s a work of fiction, is there anything about it that’s especially relevant to issues we’re confronting in today’s world?
At its core, the novel examines the dehumanising effects of slavery and the pervasive, institutionalised racism that underpins it. These themes powerfully resonate with ongoing struggles against systemic oppression and the legacy of slavery in contemporary society.
Jim’s use of language and his reclamation of his own identity speaks to the universal need for self-determination in the face of oppression. This struggle for autonomy and agency remains highly relevant in today’s politicised climate on a global scale.
Is there one specific moment in the book that has stuck in your mind and, if so, why?
Yes. Where Jim discovers his wife, Sadie, and daughter, Lizzie, have been sold. It acts as a devastating moment as it destroys Jim’s hope of being reunited with his family. It perfectly captures the dehumanising reality of slavery and the ability of ‘owners’ to tear families apart by treating them as mere property. It is also an emotionally charged epiphany moment and catalyst for Jim evolving into a determined opponent of slavery and slavers.
How would you summarise this book in a sentence to encourage readers to pick it up?
This brief yet miraculously expansive novel covers a 24-hour period in the lives of six astronauts aboard the International Space Station as they observe the deeply moving spectacle of the earth beneath them.
Is there something unique about this book, something that you haven’t encountered in fiction before?
By positioning the entire planet within a single narrative frame, Orbital blurs distinctions between borders, time zones and our own individual stories. This is a vantage point we haven’t encountered in fiction before, and it is infused with such awe and reverence that it reads like a love letter, an act of worship.
What do you think it is about this book that readers will not only admire, but really love?
This novel is superbly crafted and lyrically stunning. Sentence after sentence is charged with the kind of revelatory excitement that in a lesser book would be eked out of plot alone.
Can you tell us about any particular characters that readers might connect with, and why?
A particularly compelling thread is the story of the mother of one of the astronauts, a Japanese woman whose life – from her precarious infancy during the bombing of Nagasaki to her moving, solitary death – is woven indelibly into the narrative.
Although it’s a work of fiction, is there anything about it that’s especially relevant to issues we’re confronting in today’s world?
In offering us a vision of our planet as borderless and interlinked, Harvey makes the case for the futility of territorial conflicts, and the need for co-operation and respect for our shared humanity. This is a theme that couldn’t be more sobering, timely, or urgent.
How would you summarise this book in a sentence to encourage readers to pick it up?
Sadie Smith, an ice-cold American spy, thinks that infiltrating a ragtag group of eco-activists in rural France will be no challenge to her impressive capabilities, but she gets drawn into the deepest questions of human history and individual agency.
Is there something unique about this book, something that you haven’t encountered in fiction before?
It’s quite something to wrap a thought-provoking novel of ideas into a page-turning spy thriller, and to achieve a narrative voice that is so audaciously confident – and then subtly undercut it. This is a political novel on many levels: it includes radical leftists, utopianists, a reclusive guru obsessed with Neanderthals, the shadowy forces of ruthless capitalism. Through it all Kushner examines how the individual interacts with, and disrupts, ideologies. That could sound dry – but her prose is so juicy, her narrator so jaunty, her worldbuilding so lush, that it’s anything but.
What do you think it is about this book that readers will not only admire, but really love?
Novels that investigate what it is to be human can veer into the sentimental; this one is utterly flinty and hard-nosed. And yet, there’s mystery at its core – both the mystery of human origins and of individual identity. ‘What is it people encounter in their stark and solitary 4am self? What is inside them?’ As with the caves that play such a key part in the book, Kushner taps into something profound.
Can you tell us about any particular characters that readers might connect with, and why?
Sadie wouldn’t want us to connect with her – she’d be more likely to bamboozle, manipulate and possibly shoot us – but she’s fantastically good company on the page.
Although it’s a work of fiction, is there anything about it that’s especially relevant to issues we’re confronting in today’s world?
The global corporate land grab and desecration of natural resources is an extremely hot topic. And in a wider sense, the nature of truth is very contested right now, across social media, and across the political and philosophical spectrum. Whose version must we accept as what the novel calls ‘dominant reality’? Or do we try as best we can to construct it ourselves? In ‘Sadie’ we have a character of extraordinary force who is used to imposing her will on the world – from her name to her origin story, she is literally her own creation. The novel probes the fault lines of her own and others’ versions of reality with incredible skill.
Is there one specific moment in the book that has stuck in your mind and, if so, why?
Creation Lake is as good at moments and sensations as it is on ideas: how it feels to drive fast along an avenue of trees, to chug warm beer, to lurk in the cold darkness of a cave, to gaze for hours at the stars. But it’s also constantly surprising and funny. There’s one absurd, wrongfooting moment when a character is revealed to have a pig in the trunk of their car, for what seems to them a perfectly good reason. We’re all driving with a pig in the trunk.
How would you summarise this book in a sentence to encourage readers to pick it up?
Starting with a wounded soldier on a French battlefield, this powerful and lyrical kaleidoscope of a novel is created from the scattered images and memories of four generations of a family across all kinds of lived experiences.
Is there something unique about this book, something that you haven’t encountered in fiction before?
There are very few books that can achieve a pitch of poetic intensity sustained across a whole novel. Through broken stanza-like paragraphs and chapters that move between different members of the family across a century, Held achieves the feat of being deeply moving and asks the question ‘Who can say what happens when we are remembered?’ with tenderness.
What do you think it is about this book that readers will not only admire, but really love?
We loved the quietness of this book: we surrendered to it. The large themes are of the instability of the past and memory, but it works on a cellular level due to the astonishing beauty of the details. Whether it is the mistakes that are knitted into a sweater so that a drowned sailor can be identified, or the rituals of making homecoming pancakes, or what it feels like to be scrutinised as you are painted, the novel makes us pause.
Can you tell us about any particular characters that readers might connect with, and why?
It is the relationship between John, the recovering soldier who turns to photography and the artist Helena that opens the novel: we feel so drawn to them as they navigate how to support each other. In a book where we move across so many generations, we gravitate towards the interstices between parent and child. Helena and her daughter Anna provide an arc of tenderness throughout the novel.
Although it’s a work of fiction, is there anything about it that’s especially relevant to issues we’re confronting in today’s world?
War connects John, who we first encounter on a battlefield, and his granddaughter Mara, a doctor in conflict zones, 70 years later. Both of them have to find ways of accommodating what they have experienced – and both are faced with the question of how to love, and what knowledge to withhold.
Is there one specific moment in the book that has stuck in your mind and, if so, why?
John becomes a photographer in the years after the war, taking portraits of returning soldiers, ‘proof of homecoming, an argument for believing family life had resumed, evidence of various forms and degrees of survival and return.’ When he develops a negative, a ghostly image emerges of a soldier’s dead mother, a different kind of return. It is a powerful crystallisation of the necessity and fragility of solace.
How would you summarise this book in a sentence to encourage readers to pick it up?
Set in the Netherlands after the war, The Safekeep is a compelling story of obsession and secrets, exploring the stories that are kept from us as children, and the stories that we tell to ourselves about our own hidden desires.
Is there something unique about this book, something that you haven’t encountered in fiction before
This novel is quietly devastating. Within a perfectly ordered Dutch landscape and a household where everything seems to be as serenely accounted for as a still-life, two women’s relationship with a house and its possessions becomes a story of the Holocaust. It is unique to find a book that is able to navigate this through the lens of love.
What do you think it is about this book that readers will not only admire, but really love?
We loved how atmospheric this book is. The austerity of these years is powerfully evoked, the particularity of where each teaspoon and coffee cup belongs is beautifully calibrated. But we adored the dynamic of the relationship between Isabel and Eva, the way they inhabit this charged space, always aware of each other and their bodies.
Can you tell us about any particular characters that readers might connect with, and why?
This is a queer love story and the unfolding of the relationship between the two women who are central to the novel is extraordinary. We first meet Isabel, deeply distrustful of strangers and burdened with keeping the family inheritance safe, and then Eva, who is unsettling and seemingly unmoored from domestic anxiety. And we start to care about them both as they are pulled into each other’s orbit.
Although it’s a work of fiction, is there anything about it that’s especially relevant to issues we’re confronting in today’s world?
This is a novel that questions ownership of stories themselves. At its heart is one family who are dispossessed and another who occupy and claim possession. The overlapping of these stories, alternate truths held in powerful, fissile connection, is profoundly relevant to today.
Is there one specific moment in the book that has stuck in your mind and, if so, why?
There are two particular moments of discovery. There is the finding of a childhood diary, the opening up of a parallel world, a hidden family story. And the finding of a broken piece of pottery in the garden, the first tremor of unease in a world that seems completely safe.
How would you summarise this book in a sentence to encourage readers to pick it up?
Stone Yard Devotional is about one woman’s inward journey to make sense of the world and her life when conflicts and chaos are abundant in both realms. Set in a monastery in rural Australia, the novel is a fierce and philosophical interrogation of history, memory, nature, and human existence.
Is there something unique about this book, something that you haven’t encountered in fiction before?
The novel is set in a claustrophobic environment and reveals the vastness of human minds: the juxtaposition is so artfully done that a reader feels trusted by the author to be an intellectual partner in this exchange, rather than a passive recipient of stories and messages.
What do you think it is about this book that readers will not only admire, but really love?
Contemporary issues – climate change and a global pandemic – can sometimes appear as flat concepts or stale ideas in fiction, but Stone Yard Devotional is able to make both topics locally and vividly felt as haunting human stories.
Can you tell us about any particular characters that readers might connect with, and why?
The protagonist, a middle-aged woman with seemingly unbreakable connections to the world – a career, a life partner, a solid place in life – decides to leave everything behind and seek a different life in a religious retreat. This measure, though drastic, may speak to many readers who are beset by a life that is livable but missing something.
Although it’s a work of fiction, is there anything about it that’s especially relevant to issues we’re confronting in today’s world?
The novel is set in the pandemic. The characters face the concrete and horrendous realities of climate change – unbearable heat and a rodent plague. The backdrop of the novel is the world we have to find a way to understand and the world we have to find a way to live in today and tomorrow.
Is there one specific moment in the book that has stuck in your mind and, if so, why?
The returning bones of a former nun, who was dramatically murdered and yet the drama is kept entirely off-stage, is one of the masterful strokes of the novel. But the nun is not a stranger… and without giving away the suspense, it’s one of the most chilling discoveries in the first reading.