Considering that Christie Watson is a nurse and an academic this is a surprisingly non-medical ‘guidebook’ to the ‘messy’ perimenopause build2.5 stars
Considering that Christie Watson is a nurse and an academic this is a surprisingly non-medical ‘guidebook’ to the ‘messy’ perimenopause build-up to menopause. If you are having a particularly bad time emotionally, and struggling with a sense of self (and self-worth) you may find this to be an empathetic and comforting read. I did not connect with it on many points and mostly found it a tiresome slog to read.
I heard Watson speak at the Cambridge Literary Festival and I have a dreadful weakness for buying author’s books at literary events. I think that some women (probably ones who are 40-47) will find this book useful - just as a good, open talk with a friend is useful - but I’m past the stage where I felt like it had anything to offer me. I personally didn’t find it funny, although I’m sure that other women will do. It was far too anecdotal and not nearly factual enough although she does make an attempt to intersperse her MANY personal anecdotes with some psychological and occasionally medical information about this volatile period in a women’s life.
I did find it fascinating to learn that women are most likely to commit suicide and ‘blow up their lives’ (divorce, changing careers, etc) during the peak perimenopause age of 47-50, but now I cannot remember if this information came solely from the talk or if it is cited in this book, too. I do think perimenopause is a profound shift in a woman’s life but Watson makes a stronger case for the maddening side of it than the ‘magical’ bit. ...more
But William is a scientist, and he saw it coming; he saw it sooner than I did, is what I mean.
This book,
Like many others, I did not see it coming.
But William is a scientist, and he saw it coming; he saw it sooner than I did, is what I mean.
This book, which follows on closely (both in novel-time and publishing-time) from Oh, William!, begins in March 2020, when the COVID-19 pandemic became - not just a news item from China - but a tsunami that was going to engulf most of the world. It was a strange experience to read this timeline of trauma; it felt both recent, and strangely distant. Coincidentally, I got my fourth vaccine booster the day that I began reading this book, although most people I know seem to think we are now in “post-COVID” time. What does that mean? Perhaps only that we do not fear the disease in the same way, despite the fact that we are just now beginning to properly deal with the financial and emotional fallout.
I suspect that most people who reach for this book are already devoted Lucy Barton - and Elizabeth Strout - fans. When Lucy realises that her entire childhood had been a lockdown - a parallel universe of loneliness, isolation, deprivation and fear - it’s entirely obvious why Strout made the decision to analyse the pandemic through this character’s particular lens.
The plot is admittedly a tick-box of every typical COVID experience, but Strout makes it work. It works because she is the most compassionate of writers. Lucy’s voice - her characteristic way of explaining things to herself, of musing, of connecting the past to the present, of exclaiming (!!) - might cloy under a lesser writer’s control, but Strout manages to make her a supremely loveable person. I use the word “person” deliberately because Lucy doesn’t feel like a character; she feels like a person to me. A dear, dear person.
The storyline takes place mostly in rural Maine, but also in New York City. That contrast is important, and it plays a key role in the plot in a variety of ways. Strout is telling Lucy’s story, but she is also telling the story of the US in the extremely tense and traumatic years of 2020-22. Like the author, Lucy is a writer and she explains her attraction to that profession as a profound curiosity and need to understand other people. If Strout has a project in this book it is exactly that: she wants to get at the combative and entirely opposed points of view that are battling it out in the US right now. If I had to pick one word to describe this book it would be humane. Lucy is like a bridge between the American people who are struggling for a toehold in the American Dream, and those who have reaped the rewards of American opportunity and prosperity.
I have to rate this book a 5; perhaps it will not be an enduring classic, perhaps it doesn’t rank amongst the great works, but Strout is peerless when it comes to creating living characters. I was stunned into quiet reflection after racing my way through Lucy’s experience of the pandemic. ...more
This collection of short writings - all of them taken from previously published works - is my first taste of Gladys Taber's writing. It's lov3.5 stars
This collection of short writings - all of them taken from previously published works - is my first taste of Gladys Taber's writing. It's lovely in its way, but it feels unsatisfying in the way that an abridged work is nearly always unsatisfying. Too brief; too undeveloped.
I did get a sense of some of Taber's concerns and tastes, though; and a suggestion of what comprises her moral universe (and by that I mean the values that she esteems, and writes about).
All of these pieces are rooted in the seasons and routines of her 1600s farmhouse in Connecticut named Stillmeadow. I'm deeply attracted to writing about the seasons, and as long as I can remember it has been the particular sharp contrast of American seasons - as exemplified by New England's natural calendar - which I find most romantic and appealing.
The color of winter is pure and lovely: the long, darkly blue shadows, the purple stalks of the briery bushes, the glistening white of clean snow, the pale amber of shell ice where the little brooks walk in summer. The meadow is latticed now with the pattern of dark branches and the great timeless trees lift intricate patterns against a still sky.
Walking to the mailbox in the snow, I reflected that one has to know the change of the seasons to believe in spring when it is January. This also, I thought, is true of the heart. The heart can endure its own winter, provided there is faith in spring.
Her writing - or perhaps it is her subject matter - brings May Sarton to mind, but I cannot tell if she has the complicated depths of that other writer, her contemporary and New England neighbour. Taber's writing is homely and wholesome and tending towards homilies, but I wonder if this collection gives that sense more than is actually the case.
* Thank you to Gina House, who gifted me with this book *...more
This is the third volume in Deborah Levy's 'Living Autobiography' trilogy, and much as The Cost of Living did, this one speaks straight to m4.75 stars
This is the third volume in Deborah Levy's 'Living Autobiography' trilogy, and much as The Cost of Living did, this one speaks straight to my heart and mind and also (pertinently, importantly) to the stage of life I am at. It also speaks to my love for metaphor, for analogy, and for other not-so-obvious connections.
Her overarching theme, as the title states, is 'real estate' - and in characteristic fashion, she explores that theme through the precise details of her own life, stories, other writers' observations and poetic and playful comparisons of every kind. Like Levy, I am obsessed with the idea of real estate - in its literal, metaphorical, emotional and even financial sense.
On the verge of turning 60, Levy finds herself longing for a substantial house (a permanent home). Her thoughts and dreams obsessively fixate on dwellings of different kinds and a substantial portion of the book is devoted to the different furnishings she collects (in preparation for?) this future home. Real estate does not just refer to property ownership, though, far from it; Levy cleverly plays with the meaning of the word 'real' and mostly explores what is imagined (both real and unreal).
The structure of the memoir directly contradicts Levy's longing for real estate, although it is simultaneously an expression of that longing. Each chapter describes the life of an itinerant writer in temporary, mostly minimally furnished homes: in Mumbai, in London, in New York City, in Paris, in Berlin, in Greece. The writer experiences homesickness at a double remove: first, from her childhood home in South Africa; secondly, from her adopted home in London. The idea of identity is explored from many angles, and many of the other people who Levy mingles with in the book are also citizens of the world. In other words, of no fixed address. The idea of home is fluid, although some people (the writer's daughters, her male best friend) are more permanently fixed. Having said that, their lives, too, are in flux.
There is a spareness to Levy's writing, and yet it encompasses so much. So, so much. She doesn't speak only to women's experience, but she speaks so specifically and powerfully of women's experience. I feel that I will return to this book (the entire trilogy) again and again. It was a pure pleasure to read - not just because of the simplicity and elegance of its prose - but also because of the ideas it examines, and perhaps even more importantly, the questions it poses. ...more
Some books are a pleasure to read, not necessarily because of the plot, but because of the voice and writing style. For me, this is definitel2.5 stars
Some books are a pleasure to read, not necessarily because of the plot, but because of the voice and writing style. For me, this is definitely not one of those books. I bought the book for its Cornwall setting, but neither the subject matter nor the writing style brought me pleasure. It's an easy enough read in terms of the language and short chapters, but I had to force myself through it. I found the subject matter quite grim, to be honest, but the grimness wasn't totally the problem. I just couldn't really believe in it.
I was interested in what I thought was the premise: a 19 year old girl wants to protect her patch of Cornish coastline from the encroachment of tourists (she refers to them as 'emmets'). It's a big issue in Cornwall, the poorest county in England. On one hand, the economy depends on tourism, but the pressures of tourism brings plenty of problems, too. Second home owners (absentee for much of the year) drive the property prices up so locals cannot afford housing - an issue that is touched on in the book, although that hasn't been the case for Melody Janie's family. (They own a house, a caravan and a cafe.) Tourists come for the beautiful natural landscape, but then they clutter it up in both senses of the word. They despoil it. Melody Janie's family have made their living running a cafe (the Cafy) for the benefit of tourists - mostly walkers on the coastal path - but for Melody Janie, at least, their customers represent a threat to her privacy.
I am interested in this problem, but it's actually just a side-note in the book. Indeed, it's almost a red herring - or at least a dead end. The real issue in the book is mental illness. At the very beginning of the book we learn that Melodie Janie is alone. She has an uneasy 'friendship' with another loner - a somewhat dubious character with a sweet dog - but except for the occasional visits from an old school friend, she is alone. The plot of the book gradually unravels the mystery of what has happened to Melodie Jane's family. To say much more would spoil the plot, but it turns out that Melodie Jane is not the most reliable of narrators.
The portrayal of mental illness in this book may be very well-done, but as mentioned before, I had a lot of trouble believing in the characters. There was something about the heaping of tragedies that I found very wearisome, although it wasn't nearly as intense as, say, Eleanor Oliphant is Completely Fine, and I found that book very affecting. Perhaps my mood has been more to blame than the book, but it was certainly a flat reading experience for me.. ...more
- Christine's very literal-minded, Alex said. - She likes the art of everyday. - That's so unfair, she said, - because I love all kinds of art, I'v
- Christine's very literal-minded, Alex said. - She likes the art of everyday. - That's so unfair, she said, - because I love all kinds of art, I've loved other Tarkovsky. But isn't it a cliché, because the man is pursuing meaning and art and truth, and the woman only wants love and happiness? It's somewhat more likely to have been the other way round, in real life: the middle-aged writer pursuing the attractive young woman, and her fending him off. - That's such an uninteresting way of thinking about the film, Alex protested.
I could happily make a case for this novel being a perceptive study of the 'art of everyday' in its dissection of two marriages between long-term friends.
Christine and Lydia have a friendship that goes back to their grammar school days, as do Zachary and Alex, who bonded over being outsiders at their posh English boarding school. The men meet the women when they are all in their 20s, and there has been past history with Lydia having a passionate crush on Alex, and Christine and Zachary sharing an intimate friendship based to some extent on their shared interest in art. However, the couples ended up in the pairings of Christine/Alex and Lydia/Zachary. Each couple has one daughter, although the symmetry is not perfect because Alex has a son from a former marriage.
It's not at all unknown for close couples to blur the lines between friendship-intimacy and sexual-intimacy, and that's why I would not demur if some other reader making a case for this novel being a rather obvious and clichéd set-up. However, it worked for me.
It works for me as a story because I like the flavour of Hadley's writing. She writes about the sort of middle-aged Londoners I know, and the sort of middle-life dramas which I can identify with. For me, at least, there is an intense pleasure in seeing this world I recognise described so adroitly.
For instance, Christine is studying for a PhD is English literature (Christina Rossetti is her topic) but finding herself more and more drawn to art. She has always shied away from art school, mostly because her upper-middle class family doesn't regard it as a proper profession.
Her family put a high value on the visual arts, and went to all the exhibitions, but would have found it presumptuous to dream of being an actual artist. New art was too raw. Who knew, until posterity's confidence had silted up around it, what was any good? They preferred their subjects cooked. Nobody would have minded if she'd studied art history
So many lines resonated with me, particularly those pertaining to Christine - who is the focal point of the story, even though the drama is constructed around what happens when one piece of a solid, stable structure is removed.
Christine felt sometimes as though the long years of their familiarity had grown across her throat like a membrane, so that she couldn't easily speak to him, and kept herself hidden.
This is 'merely' a very readable contemporary novel placed firmly in the realm of everyday emotional dramas. That said, it hit the spot for me....more
Silence, almost, in the dining-room. They lowered themselves into their chairs. As they aged, the women seemed to become more like old men, and Mr
Silence, almost, in the dining-room. They lowered themselves into their chairs. As they aged, the women seemed to become more like old men, and Mr Osmond became more like an old woman.
In Hereford square, some of the trees bore tiny buds. She realised that she had never desired the spring as she desired the one ahead. It would bring, she believed the end of her aches and pains, renew her freedom, lift her spirits. She was talking to herself again. She kept these thoughts going, and her feet moving, and the young hastened past her with Saturday night ahead of them, and all that that entailed. It was in their eyes, their walk, the swing of their hair.
The subject of this novel is pretty dreary, and yet it's (weirdly) a joy to read because it's just so beautifully written. It's definitely a small masterpiece of its kind, and it may even be the best of Taylor's novels. Taylor writes so precisely about her subject matter that it makes me think of Jane Austen's description of her own writing: "the little bit (two inches wide) of ivory on which I work with so fine a Brush." Taylor writes about a very specific British class and culture, but with such sharp darts of accuracy that the reader doesn't think in terms of smallness as much as completeness. Profoundness, even. The reader doesn't have to 'know' these people or this world to enter into they story because it's all described so perfectly by the author.
The protagonist of the novel is Laura Palfrey: "a tall woman with big bones and a noble face, dark eyebrows and a neatly folded jowl." Mrs Palfrey - widowed, and past the rigours of house-keeping - has come to the Claremont Hotel in the Cromwell Rd for the next posting stage in her old age. It's not the last stage, mind you - that would be the nursing home, the hospital or death. The Claremont is a stage for a small group of old people who have just enough means to live in adequate comfort and dignity. All of these regular residents are short on friends and family. They have come to London because it seems like it has something to offer them, but the truth is that none of them really have the energy to take advantage of the city's cultural delights. In fact, their days are pretty lonely and dreary, so that even the terribly mediocre food at the Claremont is something of a highlight. At any rate, it helps make up the day.
'I should have thought there was always something going on in London,' Mrs Palfrey said. 'It's true there is, but one just doesn't seem to go to it.'
None wished to appear greedy, or obsessed by food: but food made the breaks in the day, and menus offered a little choosing, and satisfactions and disappointments, as once life had.
Mrs Palrey has a daughter, who lives in Scotland, and a grandson who works at the British Museum and lives in Hampstead. Neither has much interest in her. Her daughter is the sort of person who, when her mother breaks her hip and lands in the hospital, puts off coming down to London because she has a weekend shooting party. The grandson Desmond also lacks, shall we say keenness to have his life disrupted by a grandmother's needs or loneliness. Although all of the Claremont's elderly residents seem to be in similar straits - not particularly wanted anywhere - none of them will allow themselves even the comfort of commiseration.
The novel is set at some point during the 1960s, when London is still a bit post-war dreary and littered with shabby bedsits. There is the beginning of younger energy in the city, but it doesn't really touch these old stalwarts of the British Empire. The need for 'stiff upper-lips' and keeping up appearances means that everyone is putting on a front, and yet they can all read each other perfectly. Thus, when there have been a few too many questions about why her grandson has not come to visit her, Mrs Palfrey gets tempted into a seemingly harmless ruse. She passes off a charming young man named Ludo - a struggling writer who has helped her when she fell in the street - as her grandson Desmond. It's meant to be only for one dinner, but their unexpected rapport affects her powerfully. Ludo is lonely, too, and his life is nearly as arid as Mrs Palfrey's. Although he is never more than kind, that kindness is enough to set off a little flutter in her life.
Loneliness, old age, the disappointment of expectations: it sounds like a tragedy, and I guess that it is. And yet, this book is absolutely a pleasure to read. Although this book is unutterably sad, it's not without dignity and an enduring kind of bravery.
When I read a children's classic for the first time I inevitably wonder if I would have liked the book as a child. Well, 'liked' is a rather lukewarm When I read a children's classic for the first time I inevitably wonder if I would have liked the book as a child. Well, 'liked' is a rather lukewarm choice of words - because most children who enjoy stories will be entertained by any well-told story, and this 1929 classic certainly fits that description. Perhaps 'entranced' or 'enchanted' are better words. In my honest-as-possible recollection, I don't think that I was particularly attracted to adventure stories as a child, and this is first and foremost an adventure story.
The hero of the story is Emil, the only child of the widowed Mrs. Tischbein. Emil's mother scrapes a living as a hairdresser, and as Emil reveals to one of his new Berlin friends, if a person grows up in a home where there are money problems that knowledge is inescapable - even to children. At the beginning of the novel, Emil is embarking on a train journey from his hometown Neustadt to the big city Berlin. He is travelling alone (first point of the adventure), and furthermore, he has been entrusted with his mother's hard-earned savings. Pinned into his pocket are seven pounds, with six pounds being for his grandmother and one for himself to spend in Berlin. It's a weighty responsibility.
On the train journey, a man in a bowler hat (Mr. Grundeis) chats up Emil and makes a big show of sharing his chocolate with him. Afterwards, Emil falls into a restless dream (more of a nightmare, really) and when he wakes up Mr Grundeis is gone - and so is the money in his pocket. Most children will be able to predict this unfortunate event; what happens next is where the real fun begins.
The rest of the book involves Emil's efforts to recover his money. He befriends a large gang of Berlin boys, and soon they - and his cousin Pony, a sassy character always seen on her bicycle - become involved in the tracking down and snaring of the nefarious man in the bowler hat. This bit of plotting and teamwork is probably the best bit of the novel, and one that will appeal to many children. As in all good adventures, the hero eventually triumphs - and in a far greater way than even he had imagined.
Emil is an appealingly well-balanced little boy; cheeky enough to to chalk a moustache on the Grand Duke's statue, but also polite and considerate and very loving to his mother and grandmother. I was interested to learn, in the 'Extra' section to my Puffin edition, that this book was one of the first 'detective' stories written specifically for children and that its hero's life had many parallels to the author's own life.
It's not a book that completely enchanted me - it just doesn't hit my particular 'sweet spots' as a reader - but I can certainly understand why it is considered a classic, and why it has been a great favourite for several generations. I did particularly enjoy the descriptions of Berlin in the 1920s and reading this book will spur me on to reading Kastner's autobiography When I Was A Little Boy, which I have in a clothbound Slightly Foxed edition....more
And so Moomintroll was helplessly thrown out in a strange and dangerous world and dropped up to his ears in the first snowdrift of his experience.
And so Moomintroll was helplessly thrown out in a strange and dangerous world and dropped up to his ears in the first snowdrift of his experience. It felt unpleasantly prickly to his velvet skin, but at the same time his snout caught a new smell. It was a more serious smell than any he had felt before, and slightly frightening. But it made him wide awake and greatly interested.
This is my first Moomintroll book - and appropriately enough, the book is about new experiences. Specifically, it is about Moomintroll's first experience of winter. Despite a family tradition of hibernating every year - they always slept from November to Paris, because such was the custom of their forefathers - Moomintroll wakes up in the dead of winter and he cannot go back to sleep. Thus begins the adventure.
This is a book which can be 'read' in many ways, although it needn't be read for any purpose other than enjoyment. It can be thought of as a 'rite-of-passage' story, because for the first time Moomintroll has a big and unique adventure without the support or guidance of his family. As one of the characters says, (the philosophical Too-ticky, who takes up residence in the Moomin's summer bathing house): "One has to discover everything for oneself. And get over it alone."
Winter itself can be treated both literally and metaphorically. At first the lack of light and the weather extremes and all of the hitherto unknown winter creatures ("the shy and rum") are off-putting, destabilising and even frightening. Moomintroll is quite sure "that your winter's not for me." But gradually, he begins to accustom himself - he adapts, even as his fur thickens - and he starts to enjoy himself.
It's easy enough to draw lessons from the book - whether one is a child or adult reader - but Tove Jansson is not really an earnest or proselytising sort of author. She suggests, instead, that winter is interesting; that new experiences in life are interesting, bracing and necessary.
I have read several of Jansson's adult books and there is definitely a similarity of tone in all of her work. It's tempting to describe her style as 'quirky', but not in a self-conscious (or maybe even deliberate) way. She just has an unusual sensibility and sense of humour. The majority of her characters make no attempt to be 'likeable', and somehow that's what you like them for. Her inimitable style might be difficult to define, but you cannot help but recognise it immediately.
I've begun in the middle of the Moomin series, but I intend to read the rest of the books - perhaps starting at the beginning, but just as likely in any old order. As the author herself says, in the final words of this book: "The End and The Beginning"...more
There's one sound I've only ever heard in the gardens of Gloucester Crescent. And it goes on all day, every day of the week: the sound of grown-ups
There's one sound I've only ever heard in the gardens of Gloucester Crescent. And it goes on all day, every day of the week: the sound of grown-ups working. Lots of them work at home on typewriters which they sit at with the windows wide open. Dad And Alan talk about the other people in the street who do lots of typing, and how, when they eventually finish, their friends come over and they have a party to celebrate that they've stopped.
The first chapter of William Miller's memoir is called, appropriately, "Competitive Typing" and it recounts - from a child's point-of-view - the extraordinary literary culture which was concentrated on Gloucester Crescent in 1975. (As Miller explains, depending on what end of the street one lived on - and one's personal biases and pretensions - Gloucester Crescent was located either in Camden Town or Primrose Hill.) This particular street, this particular era (1960s to 1980s were its heyday), was the home of a cluster of famous friends - people who were very much at the centre of the cultural/literary life of London at the time. Some of the notable names include: the author's father Jonathan Miller, Alan Bennett, A.J. Ayer and Dee Wells, Claire and Nick Tomalin, Mary-Kay Wilmers, Beryl Bainbridge, Alice Thomas Ellis (Anna Haycraft), George Melly, Shirley Conran, Angus Wilson, V.S. Pritchett, A.N Wilson and Ursula Vaughn Williams. Unsurprisingly, Gloucester Crescent has been mined for story material before this memoir. In the last ten years, Nina Stibbe has written about her stint being a nanny for Mary-Kay Wilmers in the early 1980s (Love, Nina), Alan Bennet has written about one of the most eccentric inhabitants of the street in The Lady in the Van and Claire Tomalin has touched upon this era in her recent biography: A Life of My Own. As Miller says, it was a unique conglomeration of Oxbridge-educated, left-leaning intellectuals who pursued their careers whilst having a fairly laissez-faire attitude towards child-rearing. William Miller was one of those children.
I was completely charmed by the first few chapters of this book, which mostly focus on the golden years of William Miller's childhood (ie, before he went to secondary school). The way he peers through the curtains of these famous homes - his studiedly naive perceptions of the familial and friendly dynamics of the adults on the street - is fascinating. At least it is fascinating to me, and probably to other people who like that sort of thing. But when I described this book to my boyfriend, who grew up in Hampstead - and knew lots of people with famous parents - he was totally dismissive about the interest value of this sort of memoir.
If the book is taken as a whole, it is really about William Miller's relationship with his difficult but brilliant father. It is about how children live in the shadows of their larger-than-life parents, and how they live up to the expectations set for them. It is also very much about William Miller's frustration with the education he was given.
We were sent to the local state schools, where we could mix with children from every walk of life, and were encouraged to be free spirits. They frequently left us to our own devices while they went off and expanded their utopian vision and pursued glittering careers. We all looked up to our gifted parents and hoped that one day we might be like them, but as we got older many of us found ourselves left behind and struggling to keep up. It began to seem that we'd been part of an experiment driven by their principles, rather than their care.
As it turns out, William Miller grew up to have a successful career in television as a producer. He may not have been given an Oxbridge caliber education, but he did grow up seeing creative geniuses at work - and of course he was supremely well-connected. I didn't not feel empathy for some of his struggles - especially with having such a self-entered and neurotic father - but the truth is that much of his "coming-of-age" story is really not that interesting. His teenage years were almost boring, and I felt like the writing in this part of the book was not as strong as in the opening chapters. This book is most definitely a memoir of the growing-up years of William Miller. Unfortunately, his calling card - living in this extraordinary time and place - is the only thing that really makes his story interesting to read. ...more
Maggie darted about like a black-stockinged bird, in search of wood for the fireplace. She and her grandmother lived at the edge of a lone3.5 stars
Maggie darted about like a black-stockinged bird, in search of wood for the fireplace. She and her grandmother lived at the edge of a lonely cranberry bog in New England, and the winds were cold at the edge of the sea.
The opening paragraph to this beloved picture book is strongly atmospheric, as are the rich autumnal colours. Maggie lives with her grandmother in an appealing old-fashioned house, all shingles and wooden beams and a huge stone fireplace. The fireplace is the hiding place of Grandmother's prized cranberry bread recipe - the 'treasure' in the story.
Like the original Thanksgiving story, this one takes place in New England and centers around hospitality and sharing a celebratory meal with one's friends. In this case, there is a bit of confusion about who one's true friends are. As is appropriate in a children's story, the child Maggie has better instincts for what makes a good friend.
There's a bit of a mystery, a bit of a surprise, and a rogue element to the story - in the shape of one Mr. Whiskers. I can see why this picture book has been a firm favourite with children for 50 years. ...more
Married women so often become more an institution than a person - to their own families a wife or a mother, to other people the wife or the mother
Married women so often become more an institution than a person - to their own families a wife or a mother, to other people the wife or the mother of somebody else.
The French phrase amour propre is used quite a lot in this book, appropriately so, because more than anything else the book is about a middle-aged woman’s flight away from her family in order to recover a sense of her own worth again. Although the book is an adventure story and a travelogue, it is also a classic ‘journey’ story in the sense that the discovery of new terrain parallels the protagonist’s journey into greater self-knowledge, self-understanding and self-respect.
At the beginning of the book, Lady Kilmichael is feeling low about herself and unappreciated by her family. She feels cowed by her husband’s and her daughter’s disdain and disinterest; their irritation and impatience with her has slowly eaten away at her confidence and self-esteem. She feels very ‘stupid’ - a word that she repeats over and over, but it’s not so much stupidity in the intellectual but the emotional sense she feels. As she explains to her husband Walter, after much self-reflection:
You see I was always spreading out all the things I did for you and the children - like goods on a tray in a shop window - only you didn’t want any of them! Nobody would buy.
One of the things that differentiates this book from other stories in the ‘unappreciated wife’ vein is that Lady Kilmichael (also known as Grace Stanway) is also an artist of some renown. When she decides to run away from her family and her ‘correct’ life, at least for a break, she has something very specific to occupy her: her art, and specifically, a commercial contract. Her first stop is in Venice, and there she meets a young man - Nicholas - who aspires to be an artist. When they find themselves thrown together again - this time because they have both decided to travel to the Dalmatian Coast - they become involved in an adventure that involves art, friendship and just enough romantic feeling to develop a confidence in which they both were lacking.
The struggles of the protagonist were ones with which I could readily identify. As the mother of daughters, I could particularly understand how ‘Lady K’ (as Nicholas refers to her) was often crushed by her daughter’s emotional distance, or even worse, her slight contempt.
Youth nowadays had many weapons in the armoury with which to defeat middle age.
At the beginning of their friendship, Nicholas helps Lady K to understand that she has to loosen the reins and stop ‘fussing’ over her children. As they paint together, she becomes aware of just how important it is ’to respect a person’s individual vision’. But she has much to teach Nicholas as well, particularly in terms of how to stand up to his own father and develop his own vision.
The beautiful descriptions of the Croatian coast and countryside made me feel quite desperate to travel . . . especially as I was reading this novel during the Coronavirus lockdown . . . but in other respects this novel ‘spoke’ to me in quite a personal way. I don’t think I gave my best reading effort to this book, having read it in stops and starts over a period of a few weeks, but I was completely in tune with it by the end....more
I have always imagined that Paradise will be a kind of library. Jorge Luis Borges
When life seems overwhelming, there is something incredibly comfo
I have always imagined that Paradise will be a kind of library. Jorge Luis Borges
When life seems overwhelming, there is something incredibly comforting about reading a crackerjack ‘middle grade’ book. The best ones always impart life lessons about growing up, but unlike adult books, they can generally be counted on to serve up those lessons with humour, charm, optimism and the satisfying sense that things will work out in the end. In a children’s book, things ‘working out’ means that the most positive human qualities count for something. Kindness, courage, standing up for the underdog - any embodiment of love, really - can be guaranteed to win out over the uglier, pettier side of human nature. Life may not always be fair, but good gets to triumph over evil every time.
You played cards you didn’t have and you lost. I know it hurts, but that’s how you learn. In fact, that may be the very best way to learn. ~Jamie Bunn’s mom to Jamie.
Endings aren’t there to please you. Endings happen the way they do for a reason. ~Beverly, Foxfield librarian, to Jamie.
There are two main strands to this story. One of them involves the story’s protagonist, 13 year old Jamie Bunn. At the beginning of the story, we learn that Jamie has been assigned a summer’s worth of volunteering at the local library as her ‘punishment’ for breaking her school’s honour code. Over the course of the book, the story of Jamie’s mistake is slowly leaked to the reader. The other strand of the story involves the library itself - its cast of characters (both staff and ‘regulars’, all of them wonderful) and its survival. Like so many libraries, the Foxfield Library is under threat because of budget cuts. The ‘friends’ of the library make it their mission to make sure it survives, and Jamie becomes one of those friends.
At the beginning of the story, Jamie feels alone, humiliated and isolated. As she becomes connected to her co-workers at the library, she starts to feel like she is part of an important community.
Although Jamie’s story will draw in the readers this book is aimed at, more mature readers will certainly understand that this book is also a love letter to libraries - and an argument in favour of their importance to a community. There are two regular visitors to the Foxfield Library who are especially needy, partly because they are isolated and lonely - just like Jamie. One of them ends up getting a chance at improving his life because of the library, while the other provides an unexpectedly heroic turn for the library.
“We’ve been helping him. He needs the library, and we keep it here for him. We welcome him. We didn’t need to know his story to help him.” Lenny paused, then added,”We just need to remember that everyone has one.”
For those readers entirely unfamiliar with the work of Rosemary Sutcliff, The Silver Branch is the second in a series called The Eagle of the Ninth. TFor those readers entirely unfamiliar with the work of Rosemary Sutcliff, The Silver Branch is the second in a series called The Eagle of the Ninth. The series begins with the book of that title and the other two books in the series are called Frontier Wolf and The Lantern Bearers. These four books - recently re-issued by Slightly Foxed in handsome hardcover editions - are set in England during the last years of Roman Britain. They are ostensibly for children, but they are aimed at the literary sweet spot (ages 12-14) where most children’s novels which win the Carnegie medal hit. (The Lantern Bearers won the Carnegie Medal in 1959 and the other books were short-listed for that prize.) Sutcliff said of her own work: “I would claim that my books are for children of all ages, from nine to ninety.”
I don’t think I would have enjoyed her books as a child, but my brother - who was obsessed with history, especially military history - would have loved them. I have minimal knowledge of Roman Britain, even now, so my experience of wading through my gaps of background knowledge was probably similar to that of your average 12 year old. Sutcliff does not ‘dumb down’ her books in any sense. She trusts her reader to follow her path; and by that, I mean that she doesn’t overly explain things. Like all of the 19th and 20th century classics, this book has the extensive vocabulary and sophisticated prose style which make the books wonderfully suitable for adult readers but probably a bit challenging for the age group for which they were intended. I would definitely recommend them for any older children or teenagers who have a keen interest in history.
The book is told from the limited third-person point of view, and the reader experiences the adventure through the character of Tiberius Lucius Justinianus - or ‘Justin’ as he is referred to by his friends. Justin is a junior surgeon, but he feels like he has let his father down by not following his footsteps into military command. He has a slight stammer; he’s not terribly brave or confident. In other words, he is an unlikely hero. In the first chapter ‘The Saxon Shore’, Justin arrives in Rutupiae (Sandwich, Kent) to take up his new posting in the Army Medical Corps. He meets a young Centurion called Marcellus Flavius Aquila and learns that they are kinsmen. The two young men, Justin and Flavius, will be joined together in their adventures for the rest of the book.
As Rome’s Empire crumbles, there is a jockeying for power in Britain - and this power struggle forms the main conflict of the book. Our two young heroes get sucked into the action when they overhear their Emperor’s chief staff officer collaborating with the Saxon enemy. I didn’t find the plot-line particularly captivating, but what I did enjoy was Sutcliff’s fluent writing style and her gift for characterisation. (The boys’ Aunt Honoria was my favourite character, but even the most minor characters were sketched with some detail and charm.) This book a huge departure from my usual reading taste, but I enjoyed it enough to want to continue with the series. Perhaps not immediately, but someday....more
It seems like Queenie has been ubiquitous in London for at least the last six months. It’s been nominated for almost every possible literary and booksIt seems like Queenie has been ubiquitous in London for at least the last six months. It’s been nominated for almost every possible literary and bookseller award and the eye-catching book cover in different colours really jumps out in bookshop displays. I’m reading it as part of the Women’s Prize 2020 longlist along with my daughter. Like Queenie, the titular narrator of this book, she is 25 years old and lives in south London.
For the first third of the book I felt that I wasn’t the right reader for it - unlike my daughter, who had rated it highly. It has a strong voice, and is certainly easy to read, but there was just too much casual sex and 20ish friendship banter for my taste. The book begins with Queenie’s breakup from her three year relationship with Tom - and the next few chapters deal with a series of bad choices as Queenie seems to go into self-destructive mode. It felt like rom-com territory, laced with more misery than humour. I did enjoy the details of Queenie’s London culture, though - the Jamaican grandparents, her eccentric Aunt Maggie and her best friend Kyazike.
As the story progresses, as Queenie’s life deteriorates and she has to move in with her grandparents, the reader begins to realise that Queenie’s behaviour is rooted in all kinds of unresolved past damage. Some of it is specific to her family and their culture, and some of it has to do with being a black woman. As she tells her therapist, “us black girls, we’re always meant to know our place.” Gradually, the story develops into something far more nuanced and politicised - and the author is excellent at showing how stereotypes and assumptions and expectations (some well-meaning and some just insulting and obnoxious) dictate (or at least inflect) so many of Queenie’s relationships with other people. These are not just white attitudes to black people, although that dynamic does tend to dominate.
The London that Queenie lives in is recognisably multicultural, and her own circle of close friends includes a white co-worker (Darcy) and a Jewish north Londoner from her university years (Cassandra). The novel doesn’t deal so much with overt racism as the small but persistent damaging cuts that Queenie experiences every day. (In one particularly effective scene, Queenie visits the Brockley Lido - on advice from her therapist - and is definitely made to feel that she ‘doesn’t fit in’ there.) The most consistent racism Queenie experiences is an intrusive form of over-sexualisation, and the author shows us how ‘wearing’ that is for Queenie, day in and day out, but also how it aggravates her deepest insecurities about not being lovable.
There are many people in the world - and this novel features some of them - who either deny that the #blacklivesmatter movement is necessary or seem to find it personally offensive. We all go through life being incredibly judgmental, taking umbrage at small perceived slights and not giving the benefit of the doubt to other people - partly because we cannot see what they are suffering, and partly because we cannot understand where they are coming from. This is, of course, why literature is such a vital tool for the development of empathy. I’m delighted that Queenie has been such a popular novel because it demonstrates, so ably, why it is important that we have novels with a wide range of voices....more
I was just sort of skimming through this one for a while, not at all sure if it was for me, when I was suddenly won over. Clever, funny and3.75 stars
I was just sort of skimming through this one for a while, not at all sure if it was for me, when I was suddenly won over. Clever, funny and nerdy in the best sort of way, it takes elements of the adventure story and the quest story and melds them into something unexpected.
Written in 2012, when e-readers were all the rage and the ‘end of the book’ was being forecast with gloom or glee (depending on your POV), at first it seemed like this story was just going to be one big metaphor for why bookshops were going out of business. Just like the San Francisco based bookshop from which the novel takes its name, bookshops seemed like places catering to an eccentric few, and containing only arcane OK (‘old knowledge’). Compared to the shiny mind-bending possibilities of new tech, bookshops (and the physical books they traded in) seemed like a no longer viable format and a dusty relic. Not so.
I learned a few things - about Aldus Manutius, early books, typefaces, the accession table used by museums and archives and the inner workings of Google (maybe) - but mostly this was just an enjoyable romp with a likeable cast of characters. It’s a ‘book about books’, but not quite in the sense you might imagine....more
The idea of recreating food that one has drooled over in books is not completely ‘novel’, but Kate Young takes this very appealing concept and makes iThe idea of recreating food that one has drooled over in books is not completely ‘novel’, but Kate Young takes this very appealing concept and makes it her own in The Little Library Cookbook. Although each recipe is inspired by a reference in a beloved book - and Young’s personal library takes in everything from children’s classics (Paddington’s marmalade, Mary Lennox’s porridge) to contemporary and international novels (Adichie’s Jollof Rice and Banana Yoshimoto’s ramen) - this is a work of memoir, too. Young liberally mixes in food memories from her childhood in Australia and her coming-of-age years in London and other cities. There is a direct line between reading for comfort and cooking and eating for comfort, and all three are totally bound up in the author’s identity and sense of her own ‘story’. Nostalgia, and the idea of home and home-making, reappear throughout the text, but are most beautifully described in the recipe for ‘Bread, Butter & Honey’ inspired by one of Young’s (and my) comfort reads: I Capture the Castle. In her words: Bread and butter, in my most homesick moments, ground me and remind me that I have made my own home.
Although I’ve read the book from cover to cover I must admit that I’ve never cooked anything from it - and so lack that ‘proof’ that can only be found in the pudding. I’m a pretty experienced cook and baker myself, and some of Young’s methods and flavour combinations are unusual (ie, suspicious) to me. I should probably revise or at least add to this review after I have tried out at least a half dozen of them. The truth is, though, that this is very much the kind of cookbook (I would even describe it as a food memoir) that can (and probably will) be just as often enjoyed as a good read....more
Starting with a caveat: I rarely read graphic novels, so I don’t feel particularly qualified to comment on them. Nor do I feel like I’m a particularlyStarting with a caveat: I rarely read graphic novels, so I don’t feel particularly qualified to comment on them. Nor do I feel like I’m a particularly sympathetic reader of this particular story-telling form. But having said that, I did find Naming Monsters to be both moving and complex, and I thought that the graphic format both enhanced and emphasised the subject matter. Like A Monster Calls, by Patrick Ness, it deals with the subject of grief/loss. Like Blankets, by Craig Thompson, it covers the territory of late adolescence: emotional turmoil, identity issues, relationships and body image. Set in London in 1993, it doesn’t quite have the feeling of a historical novel, but many of the cultural references may be lost on the contemporary reader - particularly one who is not familiar with British culture.
My knowledge of illustration is more focused on children’s books, and I didn’t find this illustrative style appealing. It was dark and complicated, with lots of shadows and cross-hatching. The human figures had a distorted, often monstrous look to them, which I acknowledge suited the emotional tone and story dynamic, but was rather off-putting. Overall, I did feel that the illustrations suited the subject matter - which combined mythical monsters with emotional/psychological fears.
I think this graphic novel could be used as a teaching aid or tool, and might be particularly beneficial to teens who are struggling with mental health issues and difficult backgrounds. It is certainly “graphic”, though, not just in the sense of using illustrations to tell the story, but also in terms of content. There are some sexual images in this book, crudity (both visual and in terms of language) and some bad language. Nothing that would be shocking to any 17 year old, but this is definitely not a ‘comic book’ for younger teens.
Thank you to Myriad Editions for providing me with a gifted copy of this book. 3.5 ...more
Three is always a potent number in fairy tales, and in The Robber Bridge - a twist on Grimm’s tale - the unlikely triumvirate of Tony, Charis and Roz Three is always a potent number in fairy tales, and in The Robber Bridge - a twist on Grimm’s tale - the unlikely triumvirate of Tony, Charis and Roz forms after each woman is betrayed by Zenia. She befriends each woman in turn, and then she ‘steals’ their men and makes a mockery of their gifts of friendship. Zenia (whose name in Greek means ‘born of Zeus’) is alluring and mysterious; a modern ‘shape-shifter’ whose appearance has been altered and enhanced by plastic surgery. Her origins are unknown and ultimately mysterious; an accomplished liar, she alters her life story for every listener. She stages her death; she appears again; she fakes illness, only for bodily treachery to catch up with her in the end. She’s a man-eater who dumps men as soon as she conquers them. She’s intelligent, cunning and amoral. Her treachery isn’t even personal; at times she seems to steal only because she can. Is she meant to be a metaphor, a scapegoat or the dark side of the feminine? Even at the end of the novel, I didn’t know for sure - but I could probably form a credible argument for any of those explanations.
Published in 1993, in what I think of Margaret Atwood’s ‘middle period’, this realistic novel roughly follows the chronology of Atwood’s own life. Atwood was herself born in 1939, and Second World War casts a shadow over all of the characters in this novel. Unsuitable war marriages, profiteering, missing husbands, damaged mothers: these are the familial legacies of our three main characters. The four women meet, prosaically enough, in a women’s residence called McClung Hall in their university years. All four are outsiders, marked by difference, although not to the extent of being complete outcasts. They have little in common other than unhappy childhoods. They grow up to have little in common beyond the solidarity of their experience - the experience of being sucker-punched by Zenia. As middle-aged women, Roz is the mother of three and a successful, savvy business woman; Charis is an ageing hippy, gentle and fey, a gardener who is aware of the metaphysical realm; and Tony is a professor who specialises in war. Temperamentally and physically, they could not be more different; but they fill in each other’s gaps, and they are loyal to one another.
Much of the novel has to do with revealing, or perhaps unveiling, the life stories of the three women. Their childhoods, their university years, their middle age. Their loves, their losses. Atwood’s love of detail, her delight in language, and her playfulness are all key notes of the narrative. More than anything, this novel seems to be an exploration of female friendship and even some larger idea of ‘female nature’. Men of all varieties appear as minor characters, but women dominate this story. To be honest, I kept waiting for some bigger or more satisfying revelation: Who or What is Zenia? I didn’t really get that pay-off in meaning or understanding - unless it is just, to twist what Walt Whitman said, that (women) contain ‘multitudes’....more
3.5 stars for its gentle humour, delightful character sketches and the very lovable protagonist Hester Christie (aka ‘Mrs. Tim’)
The third book in the3.5 stars for its gentle humour, delightful character sketches and the very lovable protagonist Hester Christie (aka ‘Mrs. Tim’)
The third book in the Mrs. Tim series jumps to the end of World War II, when Hester’s husband is stationed in Egypt and her children Bryan and Betty are both ensconced in boarding school. Feeling dull, and with time weighing heavily, Hester accepts a job in a country house hotel in the Borders of Scotland. Owned and ruthlessly managed by the fearsome Erica Clutterbuck, the hotel is in need of someone who doesn’t mind mingling with the guests and making them feel welcome - something its owner is loath to do. Hester, whose sympathetic personality is at the heart of all of these novels, is of course perfect for the job. There aren’t a lot of surprises in the plot, but there is still a kind of relaxing satisfaction in negotiating its predictable twists and turns. Many of the old characters (Tony Morley, Pinkie, and the children of course) make cameo appearances - but this book is mostly about Hester, and her growing confidence in a role separate from that of being a wife, mother and Army regimental wife. ...more
Loading...
