A Life Discarded - Alexander Masters

148 diaries found in a skip. The author is unknown and a stranger starts to read them, and then write this book about them.

It's years since I read a biography (and I don't think I've ever done it just for fun). Invariably, they're all about celebrities of some sort (generalisation, I know, but still....) but this one! The social researcher inside me was alerted and my brain chemistry was already smouldering.

A Life Discarded is a wonderful interweaving of the biographer's inner thoughts with those of the unknown diarist. Who were they and, perhaps more intriguingly, why were these diaries dumped (died alone was probably my foremost presumption)?

The diarist doesn't name themselves, and there doesn't seem to be a clear chronology. This makes for lots of narrative twists and turns, which A Life Discarded uses to good effect. The biography is deliberately written and structured to heighten this sense of intrigue and ever-deepening mystery. Alexander Masters alludes to this intention by offering up, early on, mistakes that he discovers in his assumptions about the diarist's life. Of course, these add an extra element of humour and poignancy to the narrative.

And, of course, there is the whole question of ethics: entering into the private space of a person's life - these are a lot of diaries; does them being in a skip mean you have been invited or not? And history; again 'of course', how do we make it and record it? How reliable is it, and at what and whose expense? Masters doesn't ignore these issues that are potentially big ethical problems, and includes conversations he's had with his history and philosophy academic friends. Throughout the novel, Masters talks his way through his ever-changing methodology. It feels a bit like the Famous Five Does a PhD, and I was charmed on both counts.

A Life Discarded brings the diarist's recordings (otherwise discarded both on paper and in their own mind) alive, and also plays a wonderful tribute to important people in Alexander Masters' life, most notably Dido Davies who gave him the diaries and was living with terminal cancer throughout the development of the autobiography.

I thoroughly enjoyed this book. It's probably one of those where little things about it will stick with me and I'll bring them up in conversation at some point in the future.

Read further if you want to find out a bit about the diarist. It's a little bit spoilers but not too much. You decide.


Publication details: 2017 (paperback edition), 4th Estate, London
This copy: received for possible review from the publisher




Spoiler Alert! 

Spoiler ahead!


Alexander Masters talks about the diarist as a 'he'. And then he discovers that he is a 'she'. This brings another ethical dimension to the biography, which Masters does not shy away from: a man reading a woman's intimate thoughts and descriptions about her personal life. Oh boy! Frankly, this could have gone so wrong. But, it doesn't.

A Boy Called Christmas - Matt Haig & Chris Mould

A Boy Called Christmas

When I first read the blurb: "You are about to read the true story of Father Christmas" and I saw that it was authored by Matt Haig, I knew I wanted to read this. From the very first page, I was smitten.

A Boy Called Christmas is rollicking good fun, full of laughs for child and adult alike on every page, (and Haig has taken the opportunity to poke fingers at the state of the international nation). It's also an adventure quest story, perfect for shared bedtime reading - or cosying up under the Christmas tree. And Chris Mould provides plenty of illustrated pages.

For anyone who's been wondering how to chat about the way we treat outsiders to young children - without getting all politicised - this could be a fun place to start.

If you believe in Father Christmas - the old man dressed in white and red, whose reindeers like Donner and Cupid and Blitzen (okay, Cupid might not be mentioned in this book!) fly him through the night delivering gifts to children who've been good; if you believe in the potential of humanity to be a generous and giving species; if you believe in the possibilities for little boys and girls to go out and become who they want to be; and if you really like a bit of mischievous fun about how things came to be, chances are you'll love this little book.

There is an elf swear word in the novel: impossible.


A Boy Called Christmas has been nominated for the 2017 Carnegie medal.


Publication details: 2016, Canongate, Edinburgh, paperback
This copy: received for review from the publisher

Alpha – Bessora and Barroux

Alpha - Bessora & Barroux (translated: Sarah Ardizzone)

Alpha is a book I would have on my coffee table, my reception area table, the boardroom table, the canteen, and definitely in every classroom or library: big, bold, great to look at, immediately immersive, whichever pages you are flicking through and something that I want everyone to see.

This is the story of Alpha, a cabinet maker who journeys from Abidjan (Cote d’Ivoire, Africa) to meet his family at the Gare Du Nord (Paris, France, Europe).  Along the way, he compares himself to a backpacking adventurer, although without a visa and dwindling cash, he finds that most other people regard him as an illegal immigrant.

The Twelve Days of Christmas – William Morris and Liz Catchpole

The Twelve Days of Christmas – William Morris and Liz Catchpole

The Twelve Days of Christmas - William Morris & Liz Catchpole

A pairing between the Victoria and Albert Museum for art and design and Puffin, The Twelve Days of Christmas is a sumptuous fabric covered giftbook.

The harbacked cover is a tactile pleasure, smooth to touch but still lightly textured. I ran my fingers lightly over it many times before I opened it. The pages, too, are a heavy and easy pleasure to turn, though long may you linger on them.

One - Sarah Crossan

One by Sarah Crossan

Reviewed by M

One - Sarah Crossan

I adored and raved about Sarah Crossan’s The Weight of Water and bought many hardback copies as gifts for other people. Tumultuous twists and turns of life have taken me a very long time to read One, but I’m sure Tippi and Grace would understand.….

One is Sarah Crossan’s second verse novel and it is wonderful. Short chapters, or mini poems, tell the poignant and thought-provoking story of sixteen year old Tippi and Grace, twin sisters  joined at the hip: a girl with two heads or two girls with one set of legs? One or two? And which is normal?

Told from Grace’s perspective, the novel also draws in the effects that their bodies have on other people: parents, siblings, boys with nut-brown eyes, strangers with phone cameras and doctors who prod and probe.

As deep and moving as the subject matter is, Crossan still manages to deliver it with a charming light touch, and I think I detected slightly more humour in One than The Weight of Water. It is also set in New Jersey, USA and so there are some Americanisms, like ‘mom’ and ‘bangs’.

As with The Weight of Water, One is a short novel that delivers all sorts of emotions and moral dilemmas in a compulsive single sitting read. Some people might prefer to take their time and read it more slowly, savouring each delicious morsel. There will be tears.

Highly, highly recommended. I think I preferred it even more than The Weight of Water.

As a heads up, We Come Apart, Sarah Crossan’s new verse novel, jointly authored with Brian Conaghan, will be published in February 2017.

One won the CILIP Carnegie Medal 2016, so I’m not the only one who loved it.

******

Publication details:

Bloomsbury, London, 2015, (this paperback edition: 2016)

This copy: mine!

The Children Act - Ian McEwan

Review by M

On the whole, I consider myself an Ian McEwan fan and am readily willing to give his novels a go with the expectation that I will become ensconced in them. The Children Act was no exception to this.

A short novel, The Children Act is about a high court judge working in family law. Ironically, we meet her just as her husband has an affair. While she struggles with this internally she must, or chooses, to simply carry on with her legal workload as if nothing has happened. The reader is given some lengthy insight into her cases, many of which revolve around child custody and dilemmas over interpreting what is best for the child in line with the actual, legal Children Act. The bulk of the story really focuses on an interesting case of a seventeen year old Jehovah's Witness who is resisting a blood transfusion.  This element of the novel held my interest and attention for hours and is the element that I remember most (I read it a few months back), and I would recommend the novel to other readers simply for this aspect. The final section of the novel was a disappointment. It felt rushed, and much of it seemed improbable to me.

Overall, I enjoyed this novel. McEwan's writing is smooth and makes for a quick and compelling read. I may have read it in close to one go.


Publication details: 2014, Jonathan Cape, London
This copy: digital review copy from the publisher

This Should Be Written In the Present Tense - Helle Helle

Review by M

Hands up - of course I was going to read a novel by an author called Helle Helle. And I was also predisposed to expecting it to be a little different from everything else I was currently reading, and not least because it's been translated from Danish.

The story is about Dorte who has just moved in to a little house near a railway station not too far from Copenhagen where she is at university. From the first few pages, the tone is cosily friendly but boom, it throws a few jaggedy bits in and the reader is left questioning exactly what has or has not happened, or even is happening, and lots of whats and whys steer the novel. This is not sci-fi or fantasy, but much more about inner psychologies.

This short novel follows the everyday details of Dorte's unexciting life and I found it strangely compelling - perhaps because her life seemed so at odds with everything I expected she would do. Personally, I'm not sure if this is because of the writing or because of differences between continental Europe and Britain. My engagement with this novel was similar to my responses to some quietly gritty/raw French cinema.

This Should Be Written In the Present Tense definitely lived up to my expectations; it's a quiet and strangely surprising novel that mostly made me smile.


Publication details: Harvill Secker, 2014, London
This copy: digital review copy from the publisher

The Dog - Joseph O'Neill

Review by M

The Dog was longlisted for the Man Booker 2014.

I never thought I'd ever sympathise with a Dubai-based westerner, but The Dog proved me wrong. I thoroughly enjoyed this novel and would especially recommend it to anyone who's ever/never worked/lived in or visited Dubai or who wrestles with moral dilemmas and ethics. Anyone who likes ink stamps or letter seals may well enjoy this too.

The narrator and main character is an American lawyer wallowing in the aftermath of a newly broken romantic relationship and has taken a very cushy looking job as a lawyer to a super-duper rich Lebanese family based in Dubai. The plot follows his related trials and tribulations, with some very drawn out internal debates (some readers may find these sections tedious but I quite enjoyed reading them).

Threaded through this plot are a series of interconnected master and servant relationships, as our naive narrator comes to realise. The realisation about the extended metaphor of the dog - for me (and perhaps for the narrator too) - was at times funny (sometimes very) but over-ridingly sad. Oh, what a loveable but frustrating character O'Neill has created.

The direction of the plot is slightly predictable, which adds to the sense of frustration, although the ending was not what I expected - though very plausible.

A review in The Guardian suggested that The Dog is too similar in many ways to O'Neill's earlier novel Neverland. I haven't read Neverland but I enjoyed The Dog so much, I'm happy to search out some more-of-the-same or even better in his other work.


Publication details: Fourth Estate, 2014, London
This copy: digital copy for review from the publisher

The Guest Cat - Takashi Hiraide

Review by M

A few years back, I thought I didn't like reading detailed descriptions in fiction. On the whole, I probably still don't, but sometimes.......The Guest Cat is one of those times. It's a little book and almost all of it is concentrated on minutiae that make for something far bigger than is immediately anticipated; poignantly uplifting.

Set in Tokyo, a writerly couple of thirty somethings live in a rented cottage just off what they call Lightning Alley: the descriptions of their residence and the light are something to marvel at in themselves. A stray cat wanders in from the alley and becomes something of a guest in the couple's quiet and thoughtful lives.

The Guest Cat is a little book about the surprising and growing intensity of unlikely attachments. It is immediately and quietly alluring, moving at a slow outward pace which defies the rate of thought and change of mind that besets the protagonist.

Originally published in Japanese, The Guest Cat won the Kiyama Shohei Literary Award. This English edition was translated by Eric Selland.



Publication details: Picador, 2014, London, paperback
This copy: for review from the publisher

J - Howard Jacobson

J by Howard Jacobson

Review by M

 

J has been shortlisted for the Man Booker 2014.

 

(Please note: The title of this novel is not J. It is a struck out J but I don’t know how to type that!)

 

I’ve never finished The Finkler Question, the only Jacobson I’ve ever started to read, and the curious thing about this was that there ‘was’ something that I liked about his writing just as there ‘was’ something I did not like. Precise, aren’t I?

When J came up for review (prior to its Booker listing), both this niggle about Jacobson’s writing and the premise for J grabbed my current attention. Going by the blurb, J is both a dystopian novel and a love story, so pretty much right up my street.

Set in the future, a not-spoken -about past frames the novel, and the narrator hovers it over the characters like a thick mist: What Happened, If It Happened. Most of the novel is spent providing clues and red herrings as to What happened, if It happened (my early hunch was that something almost apocalyptic had happened due to social media – but I was wrong and anyone who understands the significance of the struck out J will have a good idea from the offing What has happened).

The narrator expounds philosophically about the pre- and post- treatment of It (for me, this went on a bit too much and was not sufficiently convincing). Post-It, public mood is presided over by an agency known as Ofnow (hmm, Atwoodian handmaids anyone?). Unfortunately, this ‘new’ world that J creates, is not fully explored and just doesn’t feel quite right.

J turns, however (and ultimately,thankfully), around two central characters, Ailinn and Kevern, and their new love affair, the future of which hangs in the balance due to a pair of ugly feet and a murder mystery. Jacobson crafts a believably poignant relationship, and these two characters, for me, are what carry the novel.

As the novel unfolds, the significance of the struck out J and What Happened, If It Happened is deadly serious. It is unnerving and unsettling, and on one count is not something unfamiliar from real life and on another count is not unfamiliar from the worlds of big brother.  

Jacobson puts much detail but also not enough into the plotlines so that some elements seemed superfluous while others were lacking. I found the ending very unsatisfying, partly because some things felt as if they were left hanging, but also because some things just didn’t feel like they fit well. I struggled to identify the ‘tone’ of the novel – there was always a lighthearted humour mingling with something much, much darker. It just didn’t feel plausible enough (though perhaps this is ‘the point’). I think I'd recommend this as a library read to some people.

 

Publication details: 14 August 2014, Jonathan Cape, London, hardback

This copy: digital review copy from the publisher

 

 

 

 

Station Eleven - Emily St John Mandel

Station Eleven by Emily St John Mandel

 Adult fiction review by M

 

Station Eleven was pitched as being for Margaret Atwood or Hugh Howey fans.  I’m an Atwood fan but had never heard of Howey. This novel has had a huge (social media) presence, and from what I can gather, many people adore it. I didn’t.

Station Eleven is an apocalyptic novel. A virus, details unknown, kills almost everybody. There are a few survivors who have to start all over again and they’re afraid (typical apocalyptic scenario). A group of them form the Travelling Symphony, which tends to perform Shakespeare. Rather than simply exploring the now, the novel focuses on a few characters and their past, which helps to provide clues as to why survivors choose to protect and sustain certain ‘artefacts’. This held much promise for me but then the novel introduced a very coincidental ‘bad guy’ plot that I did not find very believable nor interesting.

I felt like I was reading something that wanted to be profound. But there was a disconnection for me: too many characters, none of whom were especially endearing to me; a plot that was built upon many coincidences (potentially very plausible but always unexplained, and therefore too convenient).

I couldn’t sense the ‘Atwood’ beyond post-apocalyptic similarities with the MaddAddam world (and on my current re-read of Cat’s Eye, some similar objects turn up: comics, glass ornaments etc ). As an Atwood fan, I was disappointed. The Travelling Symphony doesn’t hold the same place in my heart as God’s Gardeners. I can’t comment from the Howey camp.

 

Publication details: September 2014, Picador, London, hardback

This copy: review copy from the publisher

 

 

 

 

Wide Sargasso Sea - Jean Rhys

Wide Sargasso Sea by Jean Rhys

Review by M

 

Wide Sargasso Sea was a reread for me this time, and so I’m charting my reflective thoughts on my reading journey with it. There are some small spoilers but nothing that actually ‘spoils’ a first read. This is a dense and special book, the kind that really begs to be read again and again (and I rarely read a book twice).

Wide Sargasso Sea is about Antoinette, a creole girl in 1930s Jamaica, set just after the emancipation of black slaves. Born to a white slave owner and a creole mother from Martinique, Antoinette passes into womanhood during turbulent times, and finds that her family is reviled from every side. Struggling with her own identity problems and with a history of family ‘madness’, marriage and a move to Granbois in nearby Dominica begin as a blissful escape and descend into something much more sinister.

The novel is often talked about as a companion novel to Charlotte Bronte’s Jane Eyre. Certainly, that’s how I came to first read it. It was on the reading list for an English Lit options module that I took, something along the lines of either Gender in Fiction or Feminist Fiction (because of course, they may not be the same things). Essentially, Wide Sargasso Sea is the prequel to Jane Eyre and features the first Mrs Rochester as well as the Mr, and gives voice to the mad woman in the attic.

Previous to first reading it, I’d read Jane Eyre, again for a literature course. I cannot immediately recall anything about it (!) and my recorded comments for it were ‘Disappointing’ (clearly my expectations had been somewhere quite off the mark). My comments for Wide Sargasso Sea, however, were “strange but powerful”. Additionally, I could remember much about the atmospheric Wide Sargasso Sea, although in a very disjointed way.

Recently, it popped up in conversation on Twitter. When Natasha Farrant mentioned that she had started reading it, wondering how it had never been in her life before this, I knew it was time for me to look it over once again.

Wide Sargasso Sea is a little book. I read it in just over one sitting (simply because I started it very late on a Friday night and I was past being ready for sleep). It is beguiling, and sad, and unbelievable, and stark, and confusing, and deeply rich in its imagery. Antoinette’s relationship with Christophine, and the pulls and sway of both obeah and christian religions in the novel are both intoxicating for the characters and the reader. Wide Sargasso Sea still says as much to me as it leaves unsaid and trails, in a sweetly troubling way, around my head.

Part One is narrated by Antoinette, Part Two by the I who is her husband and Part 3 again by ‘Antoinette’. On narration, I had the feeling that Antoinette also narrates sections in Part Two of WSS (but without a triple check, I may be wrong). Part 3 is perhaps the one that most directly links WSS to Jane Eyre and is my least favourite part of the novel.

 

I’ve heard some people say you need to read Jane Eyre first in order to understand Wide Sargasso Sea. Well, seeing as Jane Eyre had left such a weak impression on me, I do not agree. Of course, there are references in Wide Sargasso Sea that are obviously Jane Eyre, but they don’t detract from Wide Sargasso Sea as it’s very own story. As much as there’s the idea of giving a voice to the mad woman in Jane Eyre, for me, Wide Sargasso Sea is very much its own distinct – though connected – story to Jane Eyre. Antoinette’s story is compelling and powerfully told. For me, again, it is both Jean Rhys’ atmospheric language as well as Antoinette’s desire to be accepted and not treated as an unworthy foreigner, that leave the biggest marks on me.

Throughout the novel, Antoinette also recalls a dream she has, and tells it in three parts (I think, it was three). At the end, her dream becomes clear to her but it muddled a few things for me. I felt as if both she and I had experienced some sort of déjà vu and that I should have been paying more attention to her dream segments than I had (I often lose interest when characters relate aspects of their dreams!). Clearly, there is plenty left for me to explore on a third reading at some point, perhaps!

 

I’m currently rereading Jane Eyre (I still can’t remember anything about it! Perhaps I previously skim read it for an exam!), so it will be interesting to see whether this enhances or alters my thoughts on Wide Sargasso Sea.

 

My classics club challenge verdict: Absolutely a classic: it has been re-read by me and I suspect generations on will continue to explore it

 

Publication details: first published 1996

This copy: mine, Penguin, 1968, paperback (yep, it’s my varsity copy)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Em and the Big Hoom - Jerry Pinto

Em and the Big Hoom by Jerry Pinto

 

Review by M (adult fiction)

 

Em and the Big Hoom features the most scintillating dialogue and moves at a pace that had me happily clambering.

Em and the Big Hoom is a novel (which makes it fiction?), though it reads very much like an entertaining yet deeply heartfelt memoir. This is a novel about mental illness. I’m not sure I’ve read many of these for fear of them being drearily and saddeningly depressing. Em and the Big Hoom is not like that. It truly is a….riot!  

Written from the young adult son’s perspective, he presents a story which is both a celebration of his mother, Imelda’s infuriating mad life and an attempt to understand both her and her relationship with his father. Among other names, his parents are known as Em and the Big Hoom – I love that!

Variably diagnosed with schizophrenia and bi-polar disorder, Em just accepts herself as mad, and everyone around her just goes up and down with her. It’s a vibrant but rough ride for everyone, but particularly full of laughs for the reader.

The novel is set in 1960s Bombay, India and the family are anglophile Catholics. These add a colourful and engaging context to the story.

Highly recommended.

 

Publication details: Viking (Penguin), May 2014, London, hardback

This edition: digital review copy from the publisher

The Book of Unknown Americans - Cristina Henriquez

The Book of Unknown Americans by Cristina Henriquez

 

Review by M (adult fiction)

 

The Book of Unknown Americans is a immigration story. I will never tire of these. This one is especially tender and it's also a little different to some of the others that I have read.
 

The novel puts ‘parents doing their best for their children’ at its heart. The main plot follows the Rivera family who leave a life that they love in Mexico in order for their teen daughter, Maribel, to attend a special needs school in the USA. They arrive in Delaware to find that their new home is in a bare grey apartment building in the middle of nowhere.

From here on, the novel really is The Book of Unknown Americans and it follows this premise in both its narrative structure and in its plot. While the plot of the Rivera family (how they came to be here and how they get on) brings flow to the novel, it’s the apartment building residents and a tragically bittersweet coming-of-age tale that really bring the novel to life.

The chapters are narrated by different characters, and all of them are people who are South American immigrants residing in the same block as the Riveras. Some of these chapters add to the development of the main plot but a few of them are an aside, where the character simply tells us how they came to live here – and their stories are all so different yet so similar too. In this way, a varied and moving picture of immigration is created. Mixed in with all the poverty and sorrows, there is a lot of joy, and hope, and life.

The UK cover (pictured here) fittingly combines the tone, hue and themes of the novel: a variety of South American people with their hopes, dreams, stories and labours holding up America. This is the statue of liberty as we don’t usually see it, with its added textured colours giving life to what is often just a grey structure.

 

Publication details: 5 June 2014, Canongate, Edinburgh, trade paperback

This copy: for review from the publisher

 

 

 

Let's Bake - Cathryn Dresser

Let’s Bake by Cathryn Dresser

Review by Little M (+ thoughts from M)

Baking is a fantastic thing to do. There are those down times and those joyful, ecstatic moments – especially when you finally bring the fresh smelling bread out of the oven, the scent drifting through the house.

Cathryn Dresser’s Let’s Bake recipe book has wonderful looking sweet and savoury bakes. Of course, when deciding to review this recipe book, we’d agreed to make some, though that might seem quite obvious. Let’s Bake is a colourful, well-presented and easy to read book. The recipes are straight forward and, if in doubt of a technique, there is a helpful guide on how to do it.

Each individual recipe is spread out over four pages. On the first two pages there are the ingredients lists, the equipment needed, the prep and bake times, and a little anecdote from the author. There is also a finished product picture too. For the other two pages there is normally a ‘how to do it’ page in text and pictures to illustrate.

Whilst flicking through the book, we came across three recipes which we decided to make. We made this amazing butter from double cream, a delicious chocolate cake loaf and also some easy white bread. All these recipes were a success.

I truly recommend this recipe book by Cathryn Dresser. It is brilliant for your first time baking or for those who just love to do it. It is suited to young children as it talks about sharp knives and ovens. However, it would be brilliant for the whole family.

Making bread

And some further thoughts from M:

Making butter! My teacher did this at school when I was about seven and it fascinated me. One of those rare moments where I still remember some fine detail about the ‘lesson’. I’ve always wanted to do it myself but…haven’t. And then, there it was! How to do it in a baking book. We did this one together and it was huge, huge fun (and a wee bit messy too).

I also made the dippy baked eggs for breakfast and although it tasted delicious, the yoke went hard (eggs!). Of course, the book points out that practice (and changes) make perfect so we tried a little alternative and it worked. I like the way the book encourages experimentation – and that it’s notion of ‘baking’ is broad (there’re recipes for accompaniments to baked goods, like easy jam, houmous and, of course, butter).

Little M is the baker in our house. But I was also hugely impressed with this as a baking book, whether for an older child, an adult or a family. Thick and chunky, some unusual and nostalgic recipes, uncoated paper (great for ‘showing’ that you used the recipe), and not patronising in any way. Big thumbs up.

Homemade Bread & Butter

PS. No pictures of the chocolate cake loaf - we were too busy oohing & aahing, sniffing and eating.

Publication details: Orion Children’s, May 2014, London, hardback

This copy: for review from the publisher

Jamaica Inn - Daphne du Maurier

Jamaica Inn by Daphne du Maurier

Review by M

 

This novel counts towards the Classics Club Challenge

 

I read Rebecca when I was a young teenager and loved it. It’s down as a reread for me and number five on our original Classics Club list of fifty. But, I’d never owned a copy so I bought it. It came as part of a Virago Modern Classics’ du Maurier bundle that included Jamaica Inn.

So, instead of a Rebecca reread, I started Jamaica Inn, not sure if it would be my sort of read (whatever that is!). I flitted between it and a number of other books (mostly review copies that I felt obliged to prioritise). Then, I saw a television trailer for a forthcoming BBC adaptation of it. This also prompted a renewed media interest in the ‘literary’ legacy of du Maurier with some sides hailing her as a popular and iconic storyteller while others question her literary merits. Remembering that my working definition of ‘classics’ is written stories that carry across generations (for any reason), my Easter reading plans were altered.

Jamaica Inn is a gothic romance which isn’t typically my sort of thing for all sorts of reasons (but mostly because of unhealthy gender relationships), so I haven’t read many. You realise from the first few pages of Jamaica Inn what you’re in for: an ever darkening story in an ominous setting with some nasty characters – but surprisingly some lovely ones too.

 

Twenty-three year old Mary Yellan’s mother has died and she has moved to live with her aunt Patience who lives at Jamaica Inn with her violent husband, Joss Merlyn. Nobody stops at or visits Jamaica Inn and something sinister, criminal and maybe even evil is going on. As a murderous story about smuggling cartels unfolds, Mary struggles with her own inner conflicts about trust, loyalty, gender and romantic feelings for an awful man.

As a gothic romance, Du Maurier’s writing  gets the balance right. Jamaica Inn is chilling and dire without being horrificly graphic, and there's a not-too-sweet dose of a properly infuriating romance too. While Jamaica Inn’s story is generally predictable (but other reviewers say differently!), the final pages surprised and ultimately disappointed me (more thoughts on this below because of spoilers).

From a gender perspective, Jamaica Inn is interesting. The roles of men and women, while mostly taken for granted (the setting is the 1820s), are also speculated about particularly by Mary Yellan and possibly by Jem Merlyn (the writing/publication is 1930s). This is also enhanced by contrasting parallels between the behaviour and gendered demeanours of Joss and Patience with those of Jem and Mary. Patience is acutely passive and scared witless in contrast to Mary Yellan who is headstrong and determined, but blames much that is wrong with her life on being a woman (of course, there is some truth in this). Because of this, she connects personal independence with being a man (some things still haven’t changed) and she anguishes about gendered identities, emotions and bodies.

Compared to Wuthering Heights, I do think Heathcliff comes off better than Jamaica Inn’s Joss Merlyn, Cathy comes off worse than Mary, and the plot and ending for Jamaica Inn (for me) is preferable to Wuthering Heights.

Classics Verdict: Gothic romance still isn’t doing it for me but  it's growing on me. Du Maurier’s novel is convincingly atmospheric and much better done than the BBC’s television adaptation. Would I unhesitatingly recommend it to the next generation? For me, it’s not a must read but for readers who enjoy this sort of thing, perhaps yes. Also, it reminded me that at heart, I am a bit of a romantic.

 

Publication details: 2003, Virago Press, London, paperback (orginal publication 1936, Victor Gollancz)

This copy: own

 

 

Spoiler alert! Spoiler alert

 

Further thoughts (contains SPOILERS!!)

 

The ending confused me and either I’ve missed something or the characterisation was a bit off. For much of the novel, Jem seems besotted with Mary and makes some big decisions and sacrifices for her sake. Why then does he stubbornly thwart her? Does he think that putting her off is actually better for her because he is not able to give her what he thinks she will want? And then, when she gives up her wish to return home in order to accompany him, why does he not change his direction and concede that to her? Is this about gender power relations and maintaining the masculine status quo for Jem? Is this about Mary giving in to her body’s ‘weakness’ or about choosing what she wants for herself? Is it about a dark cycle of bad relationships taking Mary down a similar path to her Aunt Patience (or is Jem much more wholesome than Joss – and will he remain like that)? I'd have gone with Jem.

 

 

 

 

 

End of spoiler!


I finished reading Jamaica Inn minutes before I watched the recent BBC adaptation. I don't think I've ever been so freshly close to as text as this when viewing a screen adaptation. That may have influenced my response to the BBC's version, but many important plot and characterisation elements were changed to the extent that much of du Maurier's Jamaica Inn was lost. The novel is far more subtle and explores Mary's conflicts in much greater depth. I much preferred du Maurier's novel.



 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Kindred - Octavia E Butler

Kindred by Octavia E Butler

Adult Fiction Review by M

Counted towards Classics Club challenge

 

 

I don’t read much science fiction but am definitely one who likes the ideas more than the details or adventure that fill the plots (that probably applies to any book from any genre that I read, if I’m being honest). So, Kindred’s mix of science fiction and African American literature as a premise was irresistible for me. I’d never read Butler before, but I was definitely aware of her, most recently through Aarti’s Diversiverse blog tours which explore speculative fiction by writers ‘of color’.

 

Kindred delighted, surprised, informed, moved and disappointed me, all in one. In 1976, Dana, a black American New Yorker, finds herself back in the southern heartland of nineteenth century slavery, a dangerous place for any black person. The novel takes Dana back and forth over the course of these years. While these travel episodes seem connected to Rufus, a slave owner’s son, Dana finds that her ‘quest’ is a very long-sighted survival that will last for generations.

 

For all its enormous subject matter (north American slavery in the 1800s and time travel) – and particularly given the context of 1970s USA when it was written and published – Kindred is quietly unassuming in its exploration of love, mixed race, gender relationships and enslaved bondage. Yes, there’s the time travel aspect to the novel but this is much more a device, which presents both the writer/narrator, the characters and the reader opportunities to grapple with these psycho-social themes.

 

What the time travel element also enables is the idea of the ‘one woman’ that Rufus creates in his mind for Dana and Alice. Also interesting, to me, is how the characters of Kevin, Rufus and Tom Waylin contrast white men. I would have liked to have seen further developments in Kevin’s story but that at least shows that there is substance to the individual characters independent of the novel’s story.

 

I also liked the way Butler highlights that the pain and suffering during slavery were (and are) experienced by everyone in some form or another, and across different times and space. Of course, she highlights too how there are different levels to this experience and how some are more affecting, unequal, unacceptable and abhorrent than others. But, again, she peruses whether or not this too alters in perception across time and space. She presents no easy answers or solutions to either racial identities or historical guilt.

 

For shelving Kindred, I’d definitely put it in among the Toni Morrisons and Alice Walkers. But, for a completely different yet parallel reading experience, it would sit equally comfortably, for me, alongside Audrey Niffenegger’s The Time Traveler’s Wife. Love and time travel provide the similarities, but Kindred offers less of sweet romance and much more grounded depth. I’d recommend them both for quite different yet similar reasons.

 

Classics club verdict: It definitely makes me want to go back and read Toni Morrison's Beloved again.

 

 

Some notes for my future lack of memory (small SPOILER ALERT):

 

 

 

SPOILERS BEGIN:

 

The characters: Alice is a black slave whom Rufus loves. Kevin is Dana’s husband, Rufus is the boy she connects with, and Tom is his father. Where Dana and Alice might be seen by Rufus to embody the one woman (who is also black), the three white men might be analysed in a similar way too (Perhaps? I have not explored this)?

 

 

 

SPOILERS END

 

 

 

 

 

Publication details: Headline, March 2014, London, paperback (originally published 1979)

This copy: review copy from the publisher

 

 

The Year of the Rat - Clare Furniss

The Year of the Rat by Clare Furniss

Review by M

 

The Year of the Rat is a tragic tearjerker with a little light breathing space for smiles inbetween.

Just before her A-levels, Pearl’s mother dies from pregnancy and childbirth complications. Pearl and her stepfather are left to deal with their grief alongside the care of the premature ‘rat’, Rose. Pearl doesn’t cope very well with this at all and the only person she finds she can turn to is…her mother.

Despite its heavy and real world subject matter (including pre-eclampsia and post-natal depression), The Year of the Rat is a light read with a heartwarming tone. In a relatively familiar plot, an endearing mother-daughter relationship made this a compulsive read that flows easily. Be prepared for tears.

The Year of the Rat reminded me of a novel by Jane Green that I read shortly after having had a baby. It also reminded me of Roddy Doyle’s A Greyhound of a Girl.  I think The Year of The Rat will hit a soft spot for many readers, both teens and adults alike. I think that's me recommending it!

  

Publication details: Simon and Schuster, 24 April 2014, London, hardback

This copy: uncorrected proof for review

Alex As Well - Alyssa Brugman

Alex As Well by Alyssa Brugman

Review by M

 

Alex As Well is compulsive reading both for Brugman’s writing style and the novel’s subject matter of gender assignment. Alex As Well tells the story of Alex, who is born with indeterminate sexing but is declared a boy. Now, at fourteen, he decides that really, Alex is a girl. The true grit of this novel is in the rub:  how can something as simple as sex organs create so much fuss?

While in many ways it is an important and delving issues book, the writing style lifts it so that it becomes something much more. The internal dialogues between Alex (she) and Alex-as-well (he) are both moving and funny, and manage to say a lot about being a teenager in general. They help to make a very gritty piece of realism become something occasionally cheerful too.

Stylistically, Brugman takes some chances. There are frequent references to song lyrics, TV, and other contemporary popular culture that were unfamiliar to me. While these reinforced the notion of different experiences, this also slightly distanced me from the text.

Brugman also uses threads from Alex’s mother, Heather’s, internet forums where she vents her concerns and anxieties. These contain deliberate typos (as the immediacy of social media often does) but they work really well as a way of exploring the very different perspectives that parents (and other people) have with regards to both parenting practices and gender assignment and identification.  The parent-child relationship in this novel is a difficult and unpleasant one. It stretches well beyond gender issues and is fraught with all sorts of tensions and not always likeable characters.

Tonally and image-wise, Alex As Well is reminiscent of the film version of 'Breakfast on Pluto' and there are thematic and plot similarities with 'Ma Vie en Rose'.

The most curious and interesting element, for me, is how the novel (whether advertently or not) shows how different responses to intersexing can both subvert and reinforce gender stereotypes. Alex as two (or split) identities as boy-and-girl reinforces gender stereotypes. A focus on bodily aesthetics also takes prominence but through this, and representations of androgyny, it also cleverly asks what is a boy and what is a girl? Can we really tell the difference and does it even matter?

The novel does not offer cut and dry answers and some of the plot seems unlikely and controversial (could a fourteen year old legally and realistically do some of the things that Alex does?), but this possibly goes hand-in-hand with the complexities of the subject matter. Because of this, some readers may find the ending unsatisfying. I did – but I can also see all sorts of reasons why a different ending might not have worked at all.

Alex As Well is a straight talking book that gets down and explores some of the fundamental nitty gritties about Western gendered identities.

 

UK Publication details: Curious Fox, May 2014, London, paperback

This copy: uncorrected proof from the publisher

The Bunker Diary - Kevin Brooks

The Bunker Diary by Kevin Brooks

Review by M

 

The Bunker Diary has been nominated and longlisted for the Carnegie medal 2014.

 

It’s Monday 30 January, 10 am.  Linus, a sixteen year old boy finds himself captive. He’s all alone in a rectangular building with six empty bedrooms, a bathroom, a kitchen, a clock and a lift. You, are reading his diary. As the days and the diary progress, so the story develops, deepens, darkens, regresses and unravels.     round and round and round

The Bunker Diary is a gripping, single-sitting existential thriller with plenty of meta-fictional elements and I loved it. The writing style flows easily and concisely and I developed only a limited attachment to the characters (there are quite a few). For various reasons, in The Bunker Diary’s case, this is not a criticism. Also, Linus, is not at all fond of Bird nor Anja (and this is very curious). Stylistically, the writing (and the novel’s printed text) change in clarity, pace and style in line with the story.

The plot’s surface subject matter – violent kidnapping and living with others in confined and frightening imprisonment – is unpleasant and the novel is fraught with psychological and physical violence that many (especially younger) readers may find shockingly disturbing. But older readers are likely to engage with the novel in many ways and importantly for me, the plot was secondary to the form.

Storywise, and by myself, I found the ending a bit flat. Certainly, there are unanswered questions but is this an unsatisfying cop out or part of the novel’s point? For me, the clues are in the novel’s form. In a discussion group, the ending, and the novel as a whole, may well prompt questions that take the novel someplace else.

 

If this novel appeals to you, then you may also enjoy Nick Lake's Hostage Three which also deals with psychologies in captivity, bankers and metafiction.

Based on my reading, The Bunker Diary was a very refreshing and provocative read. Highly recommended for mature teens and older. It is also a perfect example of a novel that I would never have read had it not been in the running for an award.

 

See below for my detailed thoughts - contains spoilers!!!!!!!

 

Publication details: Penguin, 2013, London, paperback

This copy: review copy from the publisher

 

 

SPOILER ALERT! SPOILER ALERT!

 

SPOILER ALERT! SPOILER ALERT!

 

 

My further thoughts and questions:

 

I didn’t fully believe the story because it was not a nice story and I didn’t want to believe it.  I got more enjoyment from the clues in the novel’s form. These are the questions that played through my mind while I was reading the book – and still do:

 

·         Um...did that actually happen? Or did he make it up? Was any of it real?

·         Was it a drug-induced diary or the writings of someone who’s losing their mind? Was it therapy? Was Linus writing a novel?

·         Children’s fiction and dogs! Why, oh why the Doberman??!!!

·         Who were all those characters? I’m glad I didn’t get overly attached to them because that would have been a problem.

·         Who was He? Was He ever there in the first place?

·         What happened with his mum?

·         Did anybody die or did anybody survive?

·         Or, was the story simply a diary about a kidnapping event? I definitely prefer my interpretation.

 

 

 

END OF SPOILERS!!!!!!