Sunday, 30 November 2014

Stay Where You Are and Then Leave ~ by John Boyne

The best thing about this book, 'Stay Where You are and Then Leave, by John Boyne, is the delightful, endearing Alfie Summerfield, the novel's central character.  His name has a definite warmth to it, but it is not for that that we come to care for him.   Perhaps it is this five year old's love of hard-boiled sweets, or his desire to accompany his father to work everyday on his milk round, or even that he falls asleep on the stairs listening in to his parents discussing the outbreak of the war.  For all of these reasons and more, he wraps his tiny fingers around our hearts at the beginning of the book, and never lets them go.
The story compares Alfie's world, just as war is declared, with the world four year's later, as the war comes to an end.  It is heartbreaking to see how people and places have changed: nothing is untouched.  Boyne cleverly illustrates how war can destroy whole communities, even when the battles are fought hundreds of miles away.

Alfie is resourceful too, secretly helping his mother to make ends meet, by shining shoes at King's Cross Station.  Alfie and his mother have an intimate, caring relationship, yet they still keep secrets from one another - all because of the war.  His relationship with Georgie, his dad, is also very close, which is why we come to hate the war almost as much as Alfie.  When the war takes Georgie away from us, Alfie and the family at Damley Road, we are all left bereft and constantly fearful that he will not return.

Boyne uses this little boy to recreate the war experience of so many families who lived through the Great War.  Our anxieties are Alfie's.  He cares little about who wins the war, the battles, the generals. the rights and wrongs of it all.  What he cares about, is getting his dad back in one piece, and by the end of the book, we feel just the same.

The book deals with conscientious objectors, shell-shock victims, internment camps on the Isle of Mann, and  ladies who pass out white feathers for cowardice.  As such, it deals with many aspects of the war and allows younger readers, and older ones too, to enter into the lives of those who lived one hundred years ago.  Boyne has timed the  publication of this book to coincide with the one hundred year anniversary of the commencement of WWI, and I think it is as good a time as any to introduce young readers to the experience of those who lived through the war that they said would end all wars.
A good read for eleven to thirteen year olds who have a taste for history.

Friday, 31 October 2014

The Man in the Wooden Hat ~ By Jane Gardam

This short novel, of just 233 pages, is the sequel to the wonderful novel, 'Old Filth', a book which is so much better that its title suggests.  The story follows the life of Edward Feathers, retired judge, and his wife Betty.  This novel, re-tells their life stories, but this time from Betty's perspective.  I say that, but in reality, in touches on Filth's story too.  Thoughts and feelings expressed in the first book are often at odds with those in this novel, and it adds a lovely realism to the text.  The events are filled-out and facts augmented.

Don't we all recall different versions of our lives, that those closest to us might not even recognize?  Memories cannot be relied on as truth, and so it is in this novel.  How we remember things and how memory is essentially unreliable, is at the core of this novel.

What is so endearing about this book, is that nearly every scene carried a lovely poignancy because it relates to something else that has happened, in previous chapters or in the previous book.  For example, the first time that Betty meets Veneering's son, Harry, he is under a table, eating.  She loves this little boy from the first.  
But when one remembers back to 'Old Filth', we recall how Edward used to eat under the table too when he was first sent away from his home in Malaya.  As the reader of these novels, only we can see the truth, can see how the characters know only part of the story, and this knowledge is delicious.   It makes gods of us and makes the characters all the more dear to us.  Betty cannot possibly know, as we do, this interesting fact about her husband, and here Gardam makes her point: people are so complex, that they are often unknowable. 

What I like about the book?- Simple - I love the character of Old Filth. (Filth stands for the mocking phrase - Failed in London Try Hong Kong - which is a joke, as Filth is always immaculate and has an outstanding career. ) From the very first, when we meet the little motherless boy, cast our of his home in Malaya, with a father so caught in his own grief on the death, in childbirth, of his young wife, we are hooked.  In the second novel we watch wait to see if  Betty will love him as he deserves and know, before she does, that she loves him.  We despair when their wires get crossed, when one does not realise how the other loves them.  

The plot itself is not a roller coaster ride; it just reflects the lives lived by so-called Raj orphans, the basic events in life that we can all relate to.  In fact, we are told the ending close to the beginning.  In this story, we find ourselves going round in circles, uncovering more and more about the characters, regardless of plot.  This story belongs to the characters, the plot is immaterial.  

Still, this book is deeply satisfying and provokes readers to reconsider what we actually know about ourselves and those we love.  It even makes us question love itself; can we ever truly love another person, appreciate them or, know them. This is a very unsettling and quite a radical concept, hidden away in what appears to be a very traditional novel.   

The book considers marriage, motherhood, rejection, infidelity, betrayal, self-deception, the end of empire and the invisibility of the elderly; quite an achievement for such a short novel.  
As for the title of the book - again a strange choice -  I have spent some time thinking about what it means and I have come to the conclusion that it refers to guilt.  Of course, it specifically alludes to Ross, Filth's friend, who wears such a hat.  It also could refer to the sculpture made from bog oak that Veneering let drop in the museum; he had a wooden hat.  Because of its connection with both of these men, it strikes me that the wooden hat symbolizes guilt.  

Whenever Betty does something she oughtn't to, without Edward's knowledge, Ross appears.  Sometimes, it is not clear if Betty had conjured him from her imagination, or has dreamed him up.  This adds to the mystical quality of Ross and makes him seem all the more dangerous to Betty.  He haunts her, just as guilt does, knowing, as he does, all her little secrets.  He appears out of nowhere and prevents her from leaving Edward - the same can be said of guilt.

Like 'Old Filth', this book, which is much better than its name suggests, is one of my favourites - I am sure that I will read and re-read it, for such good books are meant to be treasured and valued.  Next - to read the third and final novel from he series: 'Last Friends'.  Published in 2013, it has a lot to live up to - but I think Gardam, now in her eighties, is up to it.
  



Sunday, 28 September 2014

Out of the Dark ~ by Ken Kinsella

Earlier this year I attended the launch of Ken Kinsella's book, Out of the Dark 1914-1918 : South Dubliners Who Fell in the Great War, a 430 page tome, that took over 13 years to research and write.  When I held the heavy book in my hand, I first was reminded of James Joyce and that reported quote of his regarding Ulyses...'if it look me seven years to write it, it had better take you seven years to read it'  etc..etc.

But Kinsella's book is altogether different.  The author has taken great pains to make this a text that even those with a limited interest in history can digest quite easily.  Simply put, Kinsella has researched all the men from South Dublin who died in World War One, and collected the information together in this book.  But this is much more than just an ordinary reference book, Out of the Dark  is a detailed patchwork of interrelated stories, based on a place-centered pattern. This clever structure enables us to see how whole communities were effected by the war.

Each chapter begins with a geographical description of the place where the soldiers grew up - its contours, its rivers, its landscape - adding a sense of realism and rootedness that seems to highlight, all the more, that these were Irish soldiers, Dublin men, who went away to war.  Merging history and geography together in this way, cleverly reminds us who these soldiers were, and fixes them to a place that still exists.  They are not just lost in memory, assigned to some ancient battle long forgotten.  No, they belonged to Kilternan, Dundrum, Rathmines, Carrickmines and Foxrock etc. places that Dubliners are so familiar with in our day to day lives, and as such, cannot so easily be forgotten.  I, for one, will never see these places in quite the same way again.


Donald Lockart Fletcher from Shankill,
who died tragically during training.
In Kinsella's book, we see the impact of the war mapped out, its shadow spreading across the South Dublin landscape in a very visual, geographic way, that has never been done before in this genre.  There is more than just a black and white regurgitation of statistics here; the information lifts off the pages, as the contours of a 3-D map, vibrant with the details of each locality and its individual people.   It covers a wide sweep of the South Dublin landscape, then zooms in to closely uncover the tragic stories of those who died in The Great War.  The move from macro to micro analysis, is compelling and quite cinematic in style, something that would translate easily to the small screen I am certain.

Yet, it does even more than that: it moves laterally through families, shining a light on the lives of those who were left behind, the long forgotten fiancee, mother, father, brother, whose lives were also inevitably touched by the huge losses in the 1914-1918 war.
Kinsella deftly makes connections between families too, noting uncanny twists of fate and coincidences that wouldn't be out of place in a work of fiction.  Consider the story of local boys, Joseph Plunkett and his close childhood friend, Kenneth  O'Morchoe, which features in the chapter on Kilternan.  In the 1916 Rising, they came to face eachother in Kilmanham jail, the former facing execution, the latter in charge of the firing squad.  There are varying versions of how the story played out, but Kinsella's research finally uncovers the truth of things - but you will have to read the book to find out what happened next.

Members of the Findlater family
who lost two sons in WWI
Each chapter shows how families were decimated by the war, like the two brothers of the Findlater family.  It forces us too to consider the wider context: how groups of local women must have grieved together for their sons and how young women would have condoled together over the lost of their young men, as dreams of future lives together disappeared over night.  A promise of future happiness came to nothing for one Sybil Chambers, who exchanged her beloved William Halpin for the sum of 550 guineas, the amount left to her in his will, signed while in France the year the war ended.  Perhaps she had sensed, as he clearly had, that he might not arrive home to her safely.  And Kinsella does not end there; he follows the next generation forward too at times.  We learn that William's brother, George survived the war, but his only son went on to be killed in WWII.  In this book, the plot lines go sideways and downwards as well as forwards and back.

The book is dotted with poetry too, giving a philosphical edge to the information and something for us to quietly ponder. The greats are all here, Owen, Ledwidge etc., but there are other, unknown poets also, friends of fallen soldiers, who, like, L.A.G. Strong, could only voice their deep felt emotion through poetic verse.

Ken Kinsella's book is for anyone who has an interest in families, history, genealogy, The Great War, geography and poetry - in short, it is for everyone.  It would make a great Christmas present, especially in this centenary year of the war's commencement.  I am very excited about this book, and not just because it contains information about some of the soldiers that I am researching for my War Stories project, but because it is a mammoth piece of social history and research.  It tells a story that needed to be told, and in return, needs to be read.  I know of at least two people who will be getting this book in their (rather large) Christmas stocking this year.  Do you?

Thursday, 31 July 2014

Life After Life ~by Kate Atkinson

Simply put - I loved this book.  Life After Life - by Kate Atkinson, is a book you will not be able to put down.  It is a definite choice to add to your 'must read' list this summer.  Its fascinating structure, is like nothing I have ever read before and kept me enthralled throughout.
The story is based on an age old question: what would we do differently if we could live our lives over again? As such, the novel  is quite philosophical at times, prompting its readers to consider the big ideas: life, death and fate.
I mean, if you could go back and live your life over, what one thing would you change?  Avoid ever meeting your ex?  Stand up to that bully in school?  Somehow prevent Princess Diana from visiting Paris in August 1997... or maybe from marrying Prince Charles in 1981?  But surely if you could go back in time and change history, you would make it momentous: foil the September 11 plot, murder Hitler?  These are the thoughts that must have pulled at Kate Atkinson's mind as she danced her way through this novel, and it certainly feels like this was a pleasurable book to write.  The characters can live forever - dying, then being reborn, over and over : they can survive anything.  There is something very satisfying, as a reader, to know that the people in the story will make it through; that no matter how bad things get, they will be okay.  . This very plot device enables Atkinson to deal with some very disturbing issues, such as rape, domestic abuse and murder, in a palatable way.  And in turn, she makes us, as readers, face the idea in our own lives: no matter how bad it gets, where there is life...

The protagonist, Ursula Todd, is born in 1910, in rural England, as the snow begins to fall, but lack of medical assistance and a complication at birth, means that she dies immediately.  In an instant, she is reborn, as the snow falls and the story begins again, made possible because one detail was changed: this time her mother had a small pair of scissors at hand to cut the cord.  And so the story progresses, moving swiftly through the Great War period, and up to and beyond World War Two, with Ursula dying many times, and being reborn over and over.  And so we come to realise that the title, 'Life After Life', actually refers to a series of lives, following one after the next and not a reference to the afterlife that one usually associates with dying.

One thing that I noticed in the book, was that, perhaps, it was not only Ursula who could go back in time and change history.  It seems that her mother too, made notes on how to do things differently 'next time round' - like when Ursula died the first time - 'remember to keep a small pair of scissors nearby', she tells herself.

 I thought it interesting too that the only thing that Ursula wanted of her mother's, years later, was the carriage clock, which her mother, in turn, had taken from her mother's home.  This special clock, with its associations time and perhaps time-travel,  passing from mother to daughter, is a very interesting concept and added a layer of detail to the story that was delightful.

Indeed, there is much food for thought in this novel, but more than anything, it is a hugely enjoyable read, with characters that live and breath, and will haunt you long after the final page has been turned and the book returned to the shelf.  Simply put - read 'Life After Life, by Kate Atkinson, or spend the rest of the year wishing that you had.

Thursday, 12 June 2014

'Wolf Hall' and 'Bring up the Bodies' ~ by Hilary Mantel

A 'Must-Read'.

I never like to lump two novels together into the same blog-pot, as it were, especially not two such exceptional books, but so seamless was the transition between these texts, that they feel like one in my imagination, and so I will break the rule just this once.

Of course, Wolf Hall came first.

From the opening scene, I was hooked.  Thomas Cromwell, a young English man, is being beaten badly by his father.  He is lying on the hard cobblestones, in agony, unable to lift his head to avoid his father's stamping heel.

How will he make his escape?  How can he survive when all the odds seem so stacked against him?  We are at once inside his head, experiencing what he experiences, feeling every hurt and ache as he feels it.  The novel is written in the continuous, present tense, making the narrative seem instantaneous, current, and so very real that one forgets that the book is set in the 16th century.  And that is my favourite thing about these book - and I have to lay my cards on the table from the start, dear reader - I loved these books - my most absolute favourite thing about the books is how fresh they feel.  They might as well have been set in 2014 in some ways, feeling every bit as real and perhaps even moreso, compared to many modern novels.


In part, it is because the book is told in the present tense, but also because the central character, Thomas Cromwell tells, the story, as if he is writing a verbal record of his life. But it is not as formalized as a traditional diary, because an omniscient narrator is also present; but the reader hops willy-nilly, in and out of Cromwell's consciousness throughout.

I must explain early on that the Cromwell at the centre of this novel is not Oliver Cromwell, the most hated of men (on this side of the Irish Sea at any rate).  No, this is the story of King Henry VIII's influential adviser, Thomas Cromwell, and how he came to hold such a position of power, beginning, as he did, as the son of a blacksmith.   It is almost completely impossible not to google Thomas Cromwell while reading this novel. Hilary Mantel has created such a vibrant, detailed account of sixteenth century England, that it is difficult to separate what has been imagined and what has not.  I continually found myself wondering, 'Did Cromwell actually say that?  Did he really think that?'

Clearly, Mantel has meticulously researched the period and the lives of those who populate these epic, historical tales.  We learn about the ins and outs of Medieval life, the working of Henry's court; the clothes and styles worn by people of fashion, (or not as the case may be). But we also see, first hand, the corruption of those in power (some things never change), petty sibling rivalries, bitter family squabbles etc.

Like I said, there is something of the moment about these novels. Mantel has managed to described the world of Medieval England with an immediacy that is beguiling.  She acts as an archaeologist who has resurrected these ancient characters and draped them anew, and presented them to modern readers, pumped fresh blood into their veins, fleshed them out with new passions, new feelings, new life.

In this way, Mantel reminds me of William Shakespeare.  It is the very humanity of Hamlet, King Lear and Othello, that allows these ancient creations to live and breath still in our imaginations, more than four hundred years since they first graced the Elizabethan stage.  It is just so with Thomas Cromwell.  Mantel has managed to do just that, filling the gaps in our knowledge about these historical figures, with her own imaginings.  She speculates on how they might have felt on getting married; when their first child was born; how they spent Easter, and even the family's involvement in the Christmas nativity celebrations.

Who cannot relate to such familiar, family events?  It is because these characters' lives are draped with the familiar, cloaked with the ordinary, that the world they inhabit feels so wonderfully real.

One of my favourite moments in the book is when we are presented with the delightful imagine of Cromwell's young daughter Grace, dressed for the nativity play performance.  Her home-made angel costume, replete with long, peacock feathers, is lovingly made by her proud father.  This touching scene could be taken from any of our childhoods. Mantel chooses these universal memories to move us, prompt us, to imagine this 16th century world and, like the Thomas Cromwell of her novel, she manages it all effortlessly.

And so we are all left waiting for the third, and final, installment of this trilogy.  History dictates how this story will end, so we know, at least on one level, what awaits the blacksmith's son.  Yet, we can rest assured that the story will never have been told in such a way before and that Mantel will take us on a journey like no other, but it will be familiar in a strangely ordinary, human way.  We only hope that we will not have to wait too long.

Sunday, 8 June 2014

The Gallery of Vanished Husbands ~ by Natasha Solomons


Already a big fan of Natasha Solomons, I couldn't wait to read her latest novel - hoping against hope that it would be just as good as 'Mr Rosenblum's List', or 'The Novel in the Viola'.  Was I disappointed?


Well, 'The Gallery of Vanished Husbands' is a novel that follows the life of 30 year old Juliet Montague; mother of two, Leonard and Freida, and the wife of 'vanished husband', George.  The latter left home on her birthday, and hasn't been seen in seven years.

She is just tolerated by the tight-nit, conservative Jewish community in a small village in England, where she lives, because she is an 'aguna': a woman whose husband has abandoned her.  She has to live as a living widow, because she is neither divorced, nor single.  To make matters worse, her husband was a known gambler and thief; local gossip claims that she 'could  not keep a man', and even her mother begins to feel guilty that they brought shame to the family by allowing her to marry a stranger, and not one of the usual local, 'nice boys'.

But Juliet feels no such guilt, and actually enjoys doing things her own way.  As such, she is a very likable character.  And when she fritters away her savings for the family fridge on a portrait of herself by a handsome, young artist, and complete stranger, we cheer her on, despite what the neighbours might think.
So begins a new life for Juliet, and Charlie, the young artist, and she embark on a business career together, setting up 'Wednesdays', an art gallery, where Juliet is the curator.  Of course, other artists come on board, and Juliet becomes a success in her own right. Yet, there is the problem of the missing husband, a love interest and two adolescent children to factor into things, but you get the picture. (Ahem!)

But what about the book in general?  Is it a good read?


Well, to start with, I thought that the structure of this book was very clever; it reads like a gallery catalog; each  chapter beginning with a painting, listed as it would be in an art exhibition.  The ensuing chapter then deals with that painting and how it came about.  The down-side of this formalized technique is that each painting must be contrived to fit into the story and, at times, I thought that the story and life of the characters became a little stifled as a result.  I wanted to stay with Max and Juliet in the cottage in the woods, but things move on quite quickly in this book - there is always another painting to be introduced and explained - and so, alas, we had to leave them behind too soon.

Abandonment

All the male characters abandon Juliet at some point in the book: George, Leonard, Max and even Charlie.
The only exception is Mr Green, Juliet's adoring father. In this way, this is a book about fathers too: the good father, Mr Green - who is always happy to see Juliet and has a special smile just for her, and George, the bad father - who loves gambling more than his children, and cannot seem to give himself wholly to fatherhood.

Indeed, the title refers to a newspaper column in an American newspaper, looking for men who have all abandoned their wives back in Europe' The Gallery of Vanished Husbands'.  Once again, as in her other books, 'The Novel in the Viola' and 'Mr Rosenblum's List', Solomons uses traumatic periods in human history, in this case the end of World War Two, to add drama to the plot.  It is the war that brings Bulgarian refugee George to England in the first place; a stranger who makes the older women anxious and the younger ones swoon.

|But there is another gallery in the book, not just the one of book's title, and that is the gallery of Juliet's portraits.  

One might be excused for wondering about Juliet's slightly self-absorbed, quasi-narcissisticobsession with her painted self.  What must it have been like for her children to grow-up surrounded by an ever-multiplying collection of their mother's image, gazing at them from every available wall space in their average-sized home? Perhaps this accounts for Freida's, at times, strained relationship with her mother.  Indeed, the narrator explains it best at the the beginning of the book when she says, 'Juliet Montague wanted to be seen'.

And, it is true, identity, is another key theme in this novel.  

Juliet is constantly dealing with the expectations placed on her by the conservative Jewish community that she belongs to; her parents; her children; her friends, and even herself.  But more than anything she has to deal with the fact that she is a wife, yet not a wife; not a divorcee nor a widow.  The reason why Juliet is so upset with her husband for stealing the portrait of her, is because he has stolen her identity, her sense of self, her position in society.  In addition, he has made her an aguna - a living widow - someone who is not free to marry another, but not a socially acceptable married woman either.  She is a persona non grata, so George has, in fact, stolen her identity, making him truly the thief everyone knew him to be. As in real life, we must deal with how our identity changes as we grow older, and in a way, this is what Solomons cleverly comes to terms with in this, her third novel.

My one wish for this novel is that it came with a collection of paintings or illustrations.  (Ok - I realise that this is quite an outlandish ask and nigh on impossible - but it could happen!!?) It seems a little hard that in a novel filled with many references to portraits of Juliet, there would not even be one for us one to look at. But I suppose, that is what the imagination is for.

Read this book - buy it for your friends - you won't be disappointed!

Saturday, 10 May 2014

The Daughters of Mars ~ by Thomas Keneally


As we approach the centenary of the start of the First World War, it seems that television, radio and newspapers are full of stories about people who lived one hundred years ago - and rightly so.  Book shops are no different. So when my eye caught this beautiful book cover in a shop recently, and I read the blurb, I knew that I would have to read it.
 
It tells the story of two nurses, sisters in fact, Sally and Naomi Durance, from a small town in Australia, who leave home to do their bit for the war effort in Europe.  (The title, with its reference to Mars, the god of war, is very apt and is referred to numerous times in the book.)  They are not very close; theirs is a complicated relationship.  One had fled the ties of filial duty early on, leaving the younger sister to stay behind with the responsibility of a sick mother to age her before her time. Both saw the war as a means of escape; the similarities between them are there from the very start of the book.
Keneally cleverly uses the sisters to tell the story of the Australian men and women volunteers, as they move from one theatre of war to another.  They begin with Gallipoli, and are placed on a hospital ship, and are met with the ceaseless tide of injured and dying from the Dardenelles.
Of course, they are not alone, and we are presented with a collection of nurses, from varying backgrounds, along with officers and members of the Royal Army Medical Corps, to give us a more complete view of the war.  The reader is left with an anxious feeling that not everyone can survive the fighting; surely some must perish? In that way we are can never rest easy, just as Sally and Naomi cannot.

From Turkey and the hospital island of Lemnos, the girls are sent to various hospitals and clearing stations in France and Belgium. Keneally's detailed research allows us to step inside an army medical tent, to witness, at close quarters, wound irrigation and amputation; death by poison gas and hemorrhage.  It is, after all, a story about military nurses at a time of war; at times the stench of freshly-spilt blood is almost over-whelming.
Yet, there is something about Keneally's narrative style here that keeps us at a distance from the main characters.  Perhaps it has something to do with there being two central protagonists, but I always seemed to be at one remove from Sally and Naomi; as if the story were being told second hand.
Much of the time, we were told what the characters did, not silently shown for ourselves, to observe and imagine.  Keneally also decided not to use punctuation, specifically apostrophes, when people were talking, which made some sections of dialogue difficult to follow. It was more annoying than anything.
Yet, I felt that it worked well in one section of the story, when the girls are in a dangerous situation, and have to talk to themselves, silently, to get through.  Here, I thought, it was interesting not knowing if they were indeed talking to themselves, of if anyone could hear them.  In the author's notes, we are told that he used this technique to mirror that lack of punctuation in wartime letters and diaries - but I think that makes little sense - as his book was not a diary or letter, and there were times when the missing punctuation was quite distracting.
While I am at it, I might as well comment on another thing that I found annoying, and that was his clear anti-Irish comments in the book.  He invents an  Irish regiment, made up of foul-mouthed, brutal thugs, and declares at the end of the book, that he invented their part in the story.  In fact, it seemed to me, that every time the Irish were mentioned, he either referred to hard-gambling, hard-drinking or ignorant behaviour. He makes up for it, slightly, by creating an Irish nurse, Honora Slattery, who is one of Sally's pals, so he just about gets away with it.
What he doesn't get away with is the ending, which I will not give away here, not because it is sad or predictable, but because it breaks the rules of storytelling. It is most unusual, although Dickens played a similar trick with one of his novels. When you read the book - you will know what I mean.
I was fascinated by the sheer detail in the book and how much I learned about life in the Casualty Clearing Stations, on baord a hospital ship etc.  Keneally deals with the conscientious objectors, the mercy killings, the shell-shock, the cowardice, the bravery, the gas, the injuries, the destroyed relationships and the overall illogical logic of army life.  But because of the narrative style, I never came to love the central characters as I wanted to.  Knowing the fate of such men and women in real life - it was probably for the best.
I remember reading Schindler's Ark, Keneally's most famous novel, as a teenager, and being unable to put the book down until it was read. While he is dealing with another important story from history, that must be told, I do not think that he engages the readers with the same sort of intensity as he did with his earlier novel.
However, this is still a book worth reading.  It tells a story that must be told and indeed should be read.  As nurse Freud wisely comments at one point, 'Their heads are empty of history.  Sometimes... people need a history enema'.  Enough said.








Wednesday, 30 April 2014

Elizabeth Bishop ~ Life Lessons

Like most people who read her work, I have long thought of poet Bishop as a painterly poet, in the manner of G.M. Hopkins. No one can colour a scene like Elizabeth Bishop; it is her trademark.
Doubtless her powers of description are keener than most; the famous Bishop 'eye' never fails to capture the essence of a scene. As poet Robert Lowell once told her, 'No eye in the world has seen what yours has'.
Yet, having come to her poems after a gap of almost a decade, I find that they have changed during the passage of time, (or rather I have!) and I can suddenly see beyond the glorious description.

For a start, most unexpectedly, Bishop speaks to me as a mother. Bishop herself never had children, yet there is no escaping the female experience of motherhood in her work, in poems such as 'Filling Station'.  Here, the mother of the family featured in the poem, who live in the oil-soaked, gas station, is never mentioned, but is inescapably present.
Somebody embroidered the doily. Someone waters the plants ...Somebody arranges the cans of oil... Somebody loves us all.'  
Of course, Bishop is never specific, but I cannot help but imagine that the 'somebody' that is being referred
to is the mother of the greasy, monkey-suited family. She is the unseen home-maker, who crochets and maintains the home, beautifying the environment - not unlike Doris Day in the film, 'Calamity Jane' - whose Woman's Touch can 'Give a cabin glamour'.  This is a poem that praises the thankless lot of mothers the world over.
How many times a day have I questioned, 'Why oh why the doily?' when dusting, straightening, mending or fixing something or other about the house.  Why do women feel the need to create a home; to fill it with beautiful things; to furnish?  One might as well ask 'Why oh why IKEA?'

Here Bishop is touching on one of the most basic differences between men and women, but more importantly, she is making a statement about the over-riding feeling of love that a mother feels for her children.  The source of all that creativity, I believe, comes from the same place that love comes from.  That is why writers, poets , painters and composers often fall in love with the piece of art that they have made, referring to it even as 'their own darling child' (Jane Austen).  As a poet then, Bishop did know something of a mother's feelings.

We all of us have a mother; and so 'Somebody loves us all'. Yet the irony is, of course, that, when she was just five, Bishop's own mother was incarcerated  in a mental institution and she never saw her again.  The loss of a parent, alas, is something that I too have had to face in the intervening ten years since I first read this collection of poems.  Suddenly, Bishop's themes touch me, like never before.  Such a monumental event left an indelible impression on Bishop, so much so that fellow-poet Seamus Heaney, called her a 'poet of loss'.

Of course, loss was something that Heaney knew something about, having being sent home from school as a boy because his four year old brother had been killed by a car on the road outside his home.  In his poem 'Mid-Term Break', he recounts seeing young Christopher Heaney in the small white coffin, '
Snowdrops
And candles soothed the bedside; I saw him
For the first time in six weeks. Paler now,
Wearing a poppy bruise on his left temple,
He lay in the four foot box as in his cot.
No gaudy scars, the bumper knocked him clear.
A four foot box, a foot for every year.
Bishop describes something very similar in her poem 'First Death in Nova Scotia', where she recounts her first experience with death, when her young cousin Frank, named Arthur in the verse, died.  Most telling of all, it is her own mother who lays out the body and then lifts her up to see the body.  In this way, it is her mother who physically introduces Bishop to Death.  This would be the first death of many in Bishop's life.

The similarity between her poem and Heaney's is inescapable.  She writes:
Arthur was very small.
He was all white, like a doll
that hadn't been painted yet.
Jack Frost had started to paint him
the way he always painted
the Maple Leaf (Forever).
He had just begun on his hair,
a few red strokes, and then
Jack Frost had dropped the brush

and left him white, forever.
Both poets make reference to 'snow', the bruised head of the child, marked with the colour red, and give prominence to the small stature of the dead boy's body.  But while Heaney's poem swallows back raw emotion, Bishop's presents us with an emotionless view of death.  In fact, the child speaker in the poem transforms the death scene into something almost magical and fairytale-like, with references to Jack Frost and a prince and princess.  However, it is the title that is most telling, this being the first death of her experience, reminding us of the later death-like loss of her mother, which is conspicuously NOT the subject of the poem.  Once again, it is the absence in Bishop which is most telling.
Bishop rarely mentioned her mother in her poems, preferring instead to focus on geography, travel and animals amongst other things, yet the loss of her parents at such a young age seems to colour much of her writing.  And while Heaney did name Bishop a poet of loss, and it is true that Bishop experienced much of what can be termed 'awful',  in her life, her outlook remained wryly positive, despite everything.  As her poem 'The Bight', and her tombstone, claim: life goes on, despite everything, 'Awful but cheerful', which is something that I can certainly relate to more and more as the years go by. Who knows how Bishop will speak to me a decade from now - I promise to let you know as soon as I find out.

Monday, 31 March 2014

William Morris - Artist Craftsman Pioneer' ~ by R. Ormiston & N.M. Wells

Growing up in the 1970s, I have to say that we had our fair share of crazy, geometric-patterned wall paper around the house.  The colours brown, beige, orange and yellow come to mind, inevitably floral, swirling or hexagonal and kaleidoscopic.  I have to say that it was enough to turn me off wall-paper and complicated patterns completely, for a few decades.
Yet, how then can I explain my love for the work of William Morris, the master pattern designer of the Victorian age?    I suspect, like many others, I am drawn to his work by the richness of colour and simplicity of form; every pattern pulls you in and holds you transfixed.
So, when I found this copy of ' William Morris - Artist Craftsman Pioneer' by R. Ormiston & N.M. Wells', I was compelled to add it to my book collection;  I simply could let let it out of my sight.

If Morris railed against the industrial revolution, he glorified in nature and sought to make the world a more
beautiful place.  In this book, it is clear to see that he fulfilled that goal.

The book deals with all of the things that inspired Morris, history, nature, poetry, art and social change. Each page is covered with rich reprints of his designs, while at the same time, explaining his ideology and technique.  As such, it is the perfect combination of biography and portfolio; something to satisfy your mind and eye at the same time.
Working in an organic chronological way, the book follows Morris's many interests and new directions, every time supplying a visual aid to accompany the text.
If nothing else, this book will remind you that there is colour in the world and that simple patterns are things of  great beauty.  It has certainly cured me of my horror of wallpaper: even those overpowering 1970s patterns seem a little more appealing to me me now.

In his lifetime, Morris wrote over 90 books - so he deserves a place among the other authors in my book blog - if not for his writing, then for the many beautiful ways he patterned a page, a cloth, a tile, with colour and style.

'Have nothing in your house that you know to be useful or believe to be beautiful,' William Morris once famously said.  Well, then, I know that he would have been very pleased with this sumptuous hardback, created by Ormiston and Wells, as it succeeds perfectly on both counts.

This is a large, hardback, coffee table book, of about 190 pages, replete with index and introduction.  If you
know someone who enjoys arts and crafts, art history, or just simply loves to look at beautiful books, then this would make a wonderful gift for them.  And if not - then you may very well have to keep this book for yourself.  I predict you will not be able to part with it once you see it with your own eyes.  It may even set you re-imagining your childhood, making everything suddenly seem beautiful - well perhaps that is a step too far even for William Morris.



Friday, 28 February 2014

Lizzy Bennet's Diary ~ by Marcia Williams

This is a sweet little book, full of witty references to Jane Austen's 'Pride and Prejudice'.  As with every proper diary, it is crammed full of detailed observations and private comments about those around her.  As such, the book reads like a summary of Austen's novel, with additions relating to every day life - such as favourite fabrics and  ribbons; mementos and  souvenirs.  This works particularly well, because we experience so much of the novel from Elizabeth's point of view.  

However, there are times that the Lizzy in William's book says some things that Austen's Lizzy would never say, such as 'Although Charlotte does not like me to
mention it, she is already twenty-seven years old - nearly ten years my senior!'  Of course, the real Elizabeth Bennet would never say such a thing, and certainly would not refer to her dearest friend as an 'old maid' as Williams's Lizzy does.  I suppose that is the draw-back of condensing a long novel into such a concise format: much character development is omitted.  The brevity of the text is a little unsettling and at times the book is overly-simplistic, with Lizzy occasionally sounding too much like Lydia and Kitty - obsessing about ribbons and balls - than our beloved heroine.

There are over twenty letters in Austen's novel, and some of them feature here.  They are handwritten in beautiful fold out pages, and, as in the original text, they allow us to hear directly from the other characters in the novel, such as Mr Collins, Mrs Gardiner and Fitzwiliam Darcy. Some letters are copied verbatim from the mother text, while others are fabricated entirely from Williams's imagination.

We catch glimpses of Mr and Mrs Darcy, at home, at Christmas, preparing for dinner with Georgiana and the Gardiners.  Such delicious flights of fancy are what make this book worth having.

But let us not forget the wonderful illustrations that accompany the book - Marcia Williams is clearly an
illustrator first and a writer second.  They are full of detail and will draw you to the book again and again.  They may lead you to believe that the book is more suitable for a younger audience, but I think that readers who are very familiar with Austen's novel, probably older book-lovers, will get a great kick out of the many in-jokes and references.

That said, there is much to enjoy in this book, for readers of every age.  Well, how could it fail? It is inspired by the great Austen herself!




Wednesday, 1 January 2014

Beautiful Books ~ 'Dear Peter' Anniversary Edition


Continuing the series on 'beautiful books', I wanted to show you this one hundred and tenth anniversary edition of Beatrix Potter's 'Dear Peter', which features many of the letters that the author wrote to children of friends, and fans of her picture book stories.  This miniature hardback book, called Dear Peter, with its bronze, guilt-edged pages, contains the very best of those letters.


Indeed, the entire series of twenty-three tales detailing the adventures of semi-human, prettily clad creatures, first began as a collection of letters.  Peter Rabbit, arguably her best known creation, made his first appearance in 1893, in a letter to cheer-up an ailing little boy called Noel Moore. What a lucky little boy!


For our enjoyment, this first letter is presented, in full, here in this book, complete with illustrations of Peter himself, and his incorrigible siblings, Flopsy, Mopsy and Cottontail.

It didn't take much to transform these letters into the stories that have regaled and entertained generations of children in the intervening one hundred and ten years. What is especially nice about this collection of letters is that we get to learn what happened next to Peter and his friends: the letters
continue where the picture books end. It is clear that Potter was so enamored with her characters that she too was loath to say goodbye to them when their story was told.

But if you had conjured from the air the likes of Mrs Tiggy Winkle and Jemima Puddle-Duck, dressed them, sketched and draped them in water-colours and ink, you too may have delighted in resurrecting them occasionally to please yourself and young readers.
And how glad we are that she did!

If you delight in the tales and illustrations created by Beatrice Potter, or know a little person who does, then this is the book for you.  It's small size is in keeping with the format preferred by the author for her own books, and will fit nicely among the other, treasured Beatrix Potter books in your collection.  

Sunday, 29 December 2013

Beautiful Books ~ 'The Secret Garden' - illustrated by Lauren Child

Each Christmas I like to pamper myself with a beautiful hardback copy of a classic text, and this year I was especially delighted with this, anniversary edition of Frances Hodgson Burnett's best-loved tale, 'The Secret Garden'.

Now, if you are familiar with my blog, you will remember that I previously posted on this novel, waxing lyrical about Inga Moore's illustrated edition of The Secret Garden, but I know that you will forgive such repetition just this once, when you cast your eye over the beautiful illustrations that accompany this enduring text.  

At once, you will recognise the stylized artwork of Lauren Child, she of 'Charlie and Lola' picture book fame.  And what a wonderful job she has done with Hodgson Burnett's classic tale of the spoilt little girl from India, who, with the help of Dickon and a friendly robin redbreast, comes to discover the value of friendship and family in the cold, unlikely environs of the Yorkshire moors.  


Just look at the very first page of the book- there is a cutaway door, that opens onto the following page, revealing the title of the book.  How clever and even thrilling to discover a secret door of one's very own just inside the book cover.    

There is something ever so satisfying about seeing these modern illustrations alongside this classic Edwardian tale, where little girls wear white petticoats and black laced-up ankle-boots.  They bring a freshness to the book, that my young daughter (and I) find very appealing. 

But, let me be clear, this book is a true luxury item, and in my opinion is not meant for sticky fingers and spilled breakfast cereal, but is more suited to an older, more appreciative reader.  That said - you can always purchase an every day copy of the book, for younger readers, alongside this splendid copy, and reserve the latter for special days.  



So, if you love books like I love books (which I suspect you do!) then treat yourself to this glorious edition of 'The Secret Garden'. 

It was published in 2011, to celebrate the hundredth anniversary of the original publication, and, as a fan of author Frances Hodgson Burnett, you owe it to her, and the little child inside of you, to purchase a sublime, hardback, cloth-bound copy of this, her most popular novel, while you still can.  

Sunday, 17 November 2013

The Cuckoo's Calling ~ by Robert Galbraith

To begin with let me say that this is a really enjoyable novel.  From the first, I was hooked, and delighted in every twist and turn that we have come to expect from the novelist who brought us the Harry Potter series.  Rowling's private investigator, Cormoran Stike - what a great name!- is in the classic murder mystery style; a flawed, troubled, hard-living, hard- drinking ex-army officer, who is down on his luck but afraid of no one.  His love-life is in the toilet, but he still manages to attract the ladies.

At his side is his trusty new secretary Robin, as reliable as Batman's sidekick, a fiesty, quick-witted, normal girl from the north of England who is the prefect match for Strike's unorthodox methods and rock 'n roll family background. Together they make a winning team, especially as their is a possible simmering attraction just hinted at between them. But as we know, Rowling has a history of writing great platonic friendships between the sexes, so we only hope that there will be a sequel, so that we can find out if Robin goes through with her marriage plans to her perfect fiance or not.

But what seems curious to me is that J.K. Rowling chose to reinvent herself with this book, using the pseudonym Robert Galbraith, and not her first post-Potter publication, 'The Casual Vacancy'. My own theory is that she uses the pen name to create some distance between herself and the story. Indeed, there are some parallels between Rowling and the murder victim at the center of this novel , Lula.

Like Rowling, Lula is world famous, and spends her life in the public glare.  She is followed by unscrupulous paparazzi who make a living out of the suffering of others.  The author certainly has much to say about the behaviour of the British press, and even refers at one point to the practice of phone tapping. Of course, Rowling herself was involved very publically, in the recent Leveson phone-hacking inquiry in Britain, so the impact of such intrusive behaviour was obviously on her mind and such thoughts have found their way into the narrative here.

Here Galbraith (aka Rowling) cleverly chides the British tabloid press and comments on their lack of moral judgement when interfering in the lives of the famous, and sometimes vulnerable members of the public, through the mouthpiece of this male author, while leaving herself out of the argument.  Cleverly done Joanna!  

What this novel does so brilliantly though, is to put celebrity under the microscope; to question if happiness does follow fame, to consider the long line of hangers-on who silently group themselves around celebrities, like hungry sharks waiting to attack; and the endless minor celebrities who would do anything to get one notch higher on the fame ladder.
The divas, dodgey dealers and even the druggies are all mentioned here.

By setting the story in the world of modling,  Rowling cleverly keeps the novel at one remove from herself and the world of film and books, that she knows so much about.
As one of the most famous living writers, she must know a thing or two about the preying press and how such unexpected adoration, can change the way others behave around you
.
As such, the novel was a fascinating study on what fame is really like and the very act of writing about it at all and in such an honest way, reveals just how unchanged and normal Rowling is, despite her reknown thc world over.

One last thing, there is a considerable amount of swearing in the novel, and I only mention this in case you might consider accessing this text on audiobook: I heartily recommend you use headphones should there be any little people about.  That said, this is a most enjoyable read, full of memorable characters and  plot twists that are bound to please.  A good book club choice.  7/10

Thursday, 14 November 2013

The Pleasure Seekers~ by Tishani Doshi


Alive with the sounds, tastes and smells of India, here is book to set your taste buds tingling! While 'The Pleasure Seekers' ostensibly tells the story of a young Indian man, Babo, who falls in love with Sian, a red-headed girl from Wales, it is much more than that.  The opening paragraph recounts a dream- the very first dream- of Prem Kumar Patel, Babo's father, in which he climbs mountains trying to find his wife and four children, feeling as if he was taken 'back to the coils of his mother's womb' and hurled 'to the end of his life'.  Such is the imaginative, metaphorical scope of poet, turned novelist,Tishani Doshi, whose prose style is the most original aspect of the book.  Indeed, as is often the case with modern novels, nothing very unusual or unexpected happens in this story; it traces the life-events of one family over a number of years, charts the highs and lows of life that we are all familiar with.  Yet what is original about his story is the way that Doshi considers these mundane events and shares her thoughts with the reader.  In this way, the book is more than anything a philosophical novel. Perhaps I should be more specific and say that this is a book filled with the author's views about life, people and familial relationships.

As the book is primarily a story of enduring love, despite prohibitive distances, both culturally and geographically; there is much for the author to ponder about the bonds that hold families together and the contradictory human desire to strike out alone in the world.  There is something which drives us all to become separate from the humans who created us, and this is what makes the book an interesting read.

I found  that Doshi was particularly insightful when it came to dissecting the mother-daughter bond, and the often traumatic separation that occurs in families whose parents hail from two, different countries.  The sense of belonging nowhere, yet yearning for a home place, is keenly felt on every page.

While I was captivated by the initial scenario, which is loosely based on Dohi's own parent's relationship, I did find that the second half of the book was somewhat disappointing.  The depiction of the parents as the eternal honeymooners, was particularly unrealistic in my point of view and detracted from the overall veracity of the text.
However, this minor disappointment was more than made up for by the wonderful character of Ba, the wise old grandmother, a semi-witch -like figure, whose blindness was compensated for by her extraordinary sense of smell.  Ba was a women who could foretell a child's future at a glance and could smell that guests were arriving , though they were many miles away.  It seems ridiculous I know, but Doshi manages to bring this almost mystical character into the novel and allows her to live side by side with her other more mundane earthlings.  This is a sign of the poet's deftness as she forces us to suspend our disbelief because Ba represents everything that we like to associate with India: mysticism, wisdom, knowledge, and ancient goodness.  I do not think that I would have enjoyed the novel half so much without her colourful presence in the book.
I cannot end without noting the many mouth-watering references to food in the novel: I had an appetite for Indian cuisine the entire time that I was reading the book.  I get the sense that food and the preparation of it is hugely important to the author, and her characters too.  And while the book begins with the story of the male protagonist, Babo, this is very much a story about women, mothers, daughters and wives; their lives, their choices and their relationships.  For this alone, I think the novel is worth sampling, and if nothing else, it will give you a taste of India that will send you scurrying to the pantry for that bag of rice, and that tin of coriander, to recreate something of the sensual journey that is promised by 'The Pleasure Seekers'.

Sunday, 13 October 2013

Longbourn ~ by Jo Baker

There can be no denying, that there is much fantasizing associated with the novels of Jane Austen.  Some people dream of their very own Mr Darcy, while others don the clothes of Regency England and parade down the streets of Bath in an attempt to journey back in time.

Yet, I have always felt that had I been alive in the Georgian period, I would have most likely been one of the servant girls running around after the likes of Miss Jane or Elizabeth Bennet.  At last, we don't have to imagine too hard to know what life was like back then for women of the lower classes.  Jo Baker has done all the imagining for us and told a story that HAD to be told.

'Longbourn', follows the tale of Sarah, the below stairs servant at the home of the Bennet family, as she undertakes her daily chores and discovers much about herself and those around her. Yet, there is more at work in this very clever novel, as Baker takes the basic plot of 'Pride and Prejudice' and retells it from the point of view of those below stairs, and young Sarah in particular.  For example, we see how the house is turned upside down when Mr Bennet announces that Mr Collins is arriving that very day. The servants have been given no prior warning and must pull out all the stops for the man who will one day be their master when he inherits Longbourn.  Such are the delights of this novel, as it teaches us so much about the original story and its characters, from a fresh point of view.

What I really liked about this book was the way that it forces us to look again at the members of the Bennet household.  For example, we see how desperate the situation truly is when Lydia runs away.  The servants have to face the scandal in the local post office, forced to mingle with the villagers when Lydia runs away with Wickham.  They are not allowed the luxury of hiding away at home, but feel the full force of society's censure during the affair.

Yet, the observant reader, can see that Baker actually uses many stylistic aspects of 'Pride and Prejudice' in her novel.  Consider the plot line.  Like Lizzy and Darcy, Sarah and the handsome young footman, James, argue about books and the importance of reading.  It is one of the first things that both couples discuss and discover that they have in common.  Also, both female characters anticipate liking their male counterpart, initially, but are sadly disappointed in him.  In each case, there then develops a strong feeling of prejudice, whereby the heroine actively takes against the hero, simply because he does not show enough interest in her.

Similar too, is the narrative technique Baker uses; allowing us to always know what Sarah is thinking, and then slipping, momentarily, into James's mind - as Austen does with Lizzy and Darcy -  so that we learn how he truly feels about Sarah.  In this way, the reader, unlike the heroine, is aware that the central male character has fallen in love, and is caught up in the dramatic irony of the piece.  Will she ever discover the truth?  Will he ever express his feelings?  How will they ever be together?

The characters are similar too.  Darcy and James share a taciturn deposition, both due to social inexperience.  This fact is something that each is aware of and it causes them some anxiety.  Sarah, too, is quite like Lizzy, being energetic, feisty and prone to judge people by their appearances.  Like Austen's character, Sarah misjudges people and makes her fair share of mistakes along the way.  Like Lizzy too, she is embarrassed by her 'family' of servants when a footman arrives from Netherfield with a letter for one of the Bennets.  She looks around at the sorry lot in the Longbourn kitchen and she suddenly sees them as he must see them, recognising for the first time, how shabby they all are.  As with Lizzy, we witness Sarah re-evaluating herself and her home, and not without some pain.

In Ptolemy Bingley,  the illegitimate son of old Mr Bingley from his sugar plantation, we meet again the idea of inequality of inheritance rights amongst siblings that we found in 'Pride and Prejudice'.  As Wickham was almost a brother of Darcy's, so Ptolemy is half-brother to young Charles Bingley.  He too has no entitlement to inheritance.  As with Wickham, the opportunity to harbour resentment is there, but this time is not allowed to fester.  Instead, the novelist chooses to show that even a freed slave, in Georgian England, has the power to go make a living for himself, unlike the ladies who decorate the drawing rooms that they serve in.  They cannot even earn a living, but must marry one instead.

This novel spans a period longer than 'Pride and Prejudice' itself; from the time before Mr Bennet marries his wife, to after the marriage of Elizabeth and Darcy.  And, indeed, while this book mirrors much of Austen's novel, in its dialogue, plot line and style; there is much that is very unlike Austen.

For a start, where Austen just mentions in passing, that a private had been flogged, Baker takes that footnote and builds an entire plot around it.  The brutality and horror of the Napoleonic Wars plays a large part in the second volume of the novel (Like 'Pride and Prejudice' this novel too is made up of volumes!)  As such, this book is like a mixture of the mother text and Bernard Cornwell's  'Sharpe', being every bit as gritty and gory.

Of course, being a novel about the lower, serving, classes, Baker could hardly escape discussing a part of history that effected so many English men and their families.  She does not shirk from her responsibility here:
we see the sense of duty, so similar in the lives of soldiers and servants, and we think of the drudgery that so many people endured.  Sarah is very unhappy with her lot at one point, and it is only when she begins to care for another, and she feels loved in return, that she finds some purpose in her life.

Indeed, that is not the only way that Sarah differs from Lizzy Bennet.  Sarah is in a way a very modern heroine, for she, like Lizzy, says no to a superior member of the de Bourgh family; not Lady Catherine this time, but Mr Darcy himself.  She says no to his entreaties to stay in his employ and opts, instead, to seek out the love of her life; to be proactive and make her own destiny.  You could say that Lizzy does the very same thing in 'Pride and Prejudice', but what Sarah does seems all the more impressive.  She makes her own happiness, risking everything for love; but on this occasion, if she fails, the result will be complete destitution. There would be no soft landing for someone like Sarah.   She does not need a Darcy to rescue her, but, it could be argued, ultimately, it is she who does the rescuing.

As such, this is a story about a girl, trying to make her way in the world.  At a recent public event, P.D. James said that all of Austen's novels are a retelling of Cinderella.  Well, from this idea, Jo Baker certainly does not wander far: the main character is, more than once, depicted among the cinders, and one of the first times we see her, is in the morning as she stokes up the fire to set about washing the family's dirty linen.

Jane Austen tells us, by all means, to marry for love but to take care and fall in love with a man of good fortune - and we can at last, understand the true merit of this statement.  While there is a world of difference between the poverty known by the gentile women of the higher classes -even for the likes of 'Emma's' Miss Bates- and the poverty experienced by those walking the streets or living in the workhouses of Georgian England; it is a fate that no one would wish to succumb to.

'Longbourn' has changed the way we read will Jane Austen from here on in: we can never again look at a beautifully dressed Regency lady without considering the hours of work that made her so.  Forevermore, Jane and Elizabeth will be shadowed by Sarah and the girls from below stairs - though they will be out of sight, hiding behind closed doors, or silently watching from atop a carriage- and whenever muslin is worn, we will think of the invisible women who helped scrub and sew, curl and mend, for their stories are important too.  

Monday, 30 September 2013

The Aftermath ~ by Rhidian Brook

What struck me as interesting about this book, was the setting and the period - Berlin 1946.  We are shown a world where the German people are left trying to make sense of events in the aftermath of the Second World War; facing the reality that they are the losers.  The author manages to capture the sense of injustice and loss that the German people must have felt, through the characters of Freida and Albert, the young teenagers who resent the presence of the allied forces in their country.

The novel begins and ends cleverly with the feral street children, orphans who belong to no-one.  Like the monster children of The Lord of the Flies, they seem capable of atrocities, but are just children after all.  It provokes one to think about the way defeat in war time has endless repercussions for those living in the fallen country.

Of course, the book also deals with other issues, such as the breakdown of a family unit, perhaps inescapable in a war-torn city.  Everyone has suffered great loss, making the characters appreciate happiness when it comes before them, but all too eager to turn their back on the reality that they once knew and that now has no real meaning for them.

It seems that the world is ready to read books that tell the story of what the Germans suffered during and after the Nazi years, with novels like 'Alone in  Berlin' and 'The Book Thief' doing the rounds of the book club circuit.  Still, there is something unsettling about reading such texts, this one more than the other two.  In this novel, there is very little reference to the horrors of the concentration camps, and I think that this is a mistake.  There must be balance in all things, especially when dealing with this time period in Germany.
The prose was nicely written and the plot-line perfectly enjoyable, making this a book that I would recommend, but I would not re-read, the subject matter being a little to light for my liking, especially considering the period in question.


Tuesday, 20 August 2013

The Secret Passion of Jane Austen

Something that I cannot understand is why the Bronte sisters did not like Jane Austen, Emily especially. She felt that Austen lacked passion and her female characters lacked spirit. But a close reading of Austen's novels reveal how many of her female characters are fighting against the norms of the day and are trying to find a balance between living within society and being accepted as a lady in that world, and being true to their own desires and passions. 
Lizzy, in Pride and Prejudice, P&P, is nothing if not passionate when she reels against Lady Catherine de Burgh's admonishments. When she tells her that she has nothing more to say to her and must beg to return to the house, it is tantamount to social suicide. 
In fact it is just what a young Catherine Earnshaw would have done in Wuthering Heights. Similarly Lizzy's refusal of both Mr Collins and Mr Darcy showed that Elizabeth Bennet was equally willful, refusing to bend to her mother's will. 
And then we have the Dashwood girls, Marianne and Eleanor, who resemble something like the two sides of the same coin, one being wildly passionate and carefree, the other being more sensible and cautious in all things. 

Here, with these two characters  Austen openly debates how difficult it was for women of her day to deal with emotions of passion, and yet display the decorum that society insisted upon. And here we have a crucial point. The careless passion displayed by both Cathy and Heathcliff in Wuthering Heights, for example, or indeed by Rochester and to an extent Jane in Jane Eyre, was only possible because they were living in secluded rural communities in the middle of nowhere. Austen's heroine's on the other hand have to contend with life altering passions and emotions in the midst of society, be it in London, or in Lambton. 

Jane Bennet does not run off to the nearest cave to reveal her true feelings to Mr Bingley as Cathy does with Heathcliff No, here's is a much more difficult plight, for she must restrain herself, and disguise her deep feelings, even at times, to her sister Elizabeth. The fact that she cares deeply for Bingley and suffers a great deal when he spurns her cannot be, for a moment doubted. 

A similar situation arises for Marianne Dashwood, who must suffer the consequences of exposing her emotions too freely. She actually comes close to death, her spirits having been brought so low by her uncontrolled passion for the inconstant Willoughby. So it could, in fact, be argued that the heroines in Austen's novels are just as passionate as those in the Bronte novels, suffering equally for their passion. Just because Austen's characters must display decorum, it does not mean that they do not or are not capable of, feeling passion. 
As Austen sees it, you may feel the passion, but must learn to control it. We know this because of Austen's depiction of Marianne Dashwood, who lives to regret her unbridled display of love for Willoughby.




Sunday, 21 July 2013

Transatlantic ~ by Colum McCann

'Transatlantic' is a novel that sparks.
Colum McCann tells the story of a group of characters, all linked in some way, though they live in different periods of history.  So, we have a black, runaway slave turned abolitionist preacher;  a passenger on board a famine ship; a daring pilot making the first transatlantic crossing in an airplane; a politician trying to make a difference in the Troubles of Northern Ireland; a mother coping with the loss of her home as the bank repossess her house. Each character has a  riveting story to tell, but what I find most interesting, and indeed inspiring about this book, is the poetic way in which the author shapes their stories.  

Like the Irish landscape itself, the book's structure resembles that of a patchwork quilt; a text made up of small, individually sound sections, each one connected to the others by interwoven threads, their tones and colours impinging on those nearest to them, yet all possessing a matching tone that suggest Ireland.  Indeed, if these stories were to be given a colour, to represent the nationality of the main characters in each, and were then laid out side by side, I suggest that they would create the Irish flag:  green, for the the Catholics, white for the neutral Americans and orange, for the Protestants.  Ireland is the theme of the book, and Ireland is spelled out across every page, in the language, the imagery and even the structure.  

McCann sets out to analyse what it is to be Irish and recreates a sense of that reality, not in a arbitrary way, of statement followed by statement.  As the rule goes, a writer should not tell but show, and here McCann does precisely that:  he shows, through the senses, through imagery, what it is to be Irish.  Instead of preaching about the horrors of the Great Famine, he shows us the young, starving mother, cradling a dead child amid a bundle of rags, begging desperately for food to feed the child, denying that all hope is gone. The child is already dead. One tiny, grey arm, flops out at the passing gentry, as if begging still; ghost-like, way past starvation, an assault on moral decency, reminding us all of the horror that took place.

There is no need to show us hoards of starving people: one tiny, outstretched arm will suffice.  One image is enough to convey to the reader what starvation does to a mother, a country, a nation.  Like a poet, McCann places before us an array of startling images, each one working on so many levels, yet sparse in their way.

The overall effect is to create something that is uniquely Irish and fresh, making this mostly historical text feel very contemporary. I think McCann manages this by submerging the text in echoes and filling it with mirrors. For example; one story relates the death of a boy on a lake by the family home in Northern Ireland, while another describes the tragic demise of a father and his sons on a frozen lake in North America.  While each story happens miles apart, one impacts upon the other, changing it in some way.

We see this mirroring effect again when we read about three long walks that take place in the book; one from Dublin to Cork where a famine ship awaits; another across miles of pitiless ground, during the American Civil War, in search of a soldier son; and lastly a modern journey, sometimes by car, sometimes on foot, from Northern Ireland to the south, looking for a home, or the promise of one.   While these journeys are important in themselves,  taken together, they speak of a people constantly on the move, in search of something better, and prepared to do whatever it takes to survive.

Of course this image of humanity on the move reminds us of displaced people all around the world. especially during times of famine and war.  In this way, McCann cleverly approaches his themes by visually layering imagery.  Indeed, how can one tell the story of Ireland without discussing the often hackneyed topics of famine and war. But by using this original approach, the author requires the reader to make the connections and draw their own conclusions.

For me such mirroring of imagery and meaning is best explained when we consider the pivotal arrival of black abolitionist, Frederick Douglass, towards the beginning of the book, arriving in Ireland in 1848, just as the Irish Famine began and the image of a likewise venerated Barack Obama near the book's end.  Both men appear to mark a huge shift in the world's thinking, offering hope against prejudice and hatred. It cannot be simply a mere coincidence that McCann brings these two images together.   Perhaps it was the similarity between the two events which was the imaginative starting point to this extraordinary text.

The book deals with migration and eviction, past and present, one caused by famine, the other by greedy bankers, and all the things that make us Irish - prejudice, war, hunger.  It seems that we are continuous beleaguered by the same tragedies.  Yet, through it all, women are at the coal face, struggling through and surviving. McCann seems to be saying that the survival of the Irish race is dependent on Irish women, making strong parallels between the female supporters of the abolitionist movement in Victorian Ireland and the Women's Alliance in Northern Ireland during the negotiations of the Good Friday Agreement, and noting the enduring power that can be found in a cup of tea.
Images spark off other images to create new meanings in this book, as McCann bridges the gap between novelist and poet.  Like Heaney's most recent publication, 'Human Chain', McCann writes of the links that unite us, not only today, but forwards into the future, back the the past and even, sideways, beyond time and space. I urge you to read this book, especially if you are Irish: it may teach you a thing or two about who you are and what it truly means to wear that sprig of shamrock on St. Patrick's Day.  It certainly did me.