From Poetry Parnassus straight into the London Literature Festival! My shifts this week were a little hectic at the Southbank Centre, especially yesterday when a school visit coincided with the Shake the Dust finals (a national youth poetry slam competition). I've been to two events this week, a talk by Michael Morpurgo and his biographer Maggie Fergusson, and 100% Proof, a Shake the Dust event which showcased the works of the Shake the Dust regional poet coaches, a slam/drama group from the US called First Wave, and Lemn Sissay, who is a Southbank associate poet and the first poet commissioned to write for the London Olympics. It's been a good week, and it's been lovely to share it with my sister and dad, who accompanied me to these events, and a couple of friends and aquaintances who just happened to be there!
The Michael Morpurgo event was absolutely lovely. He is one of my sister's favourite writers and I enjoyed his books when I was younger. I remember seeing a production of 'Kensuke's Kingdom' at the Polka Theatre in Wimbledon when I was little, and it became one of my favourite books as a child. It was wonderful to see such an audience at this event - children and their families who are currently reading Morpurgo's books, young adults like myself who remember how special his stories were from our childhoods, and teachers, parents and grandparents who have enjoyed reading the stories to their children over the years. It was amazing just how many different age groups Morpurgo has touched with his writing. Also as special was the way that Morpurgo spoke to the audience. The memories revealed in the talk - for example, the separation of his parents - were not entirely comfortable, and yet Morpurgo manages to speak in such a way that does not dumb down the facts for children, but that retains a greater simplicity and honesty than the way adults interact with one another and censor themselves and each other.
The talk opened the London Literature Festival and promotes 'Michael Morpurgo: War Child to War Horse', a biography by Maggie Fergusson which takes the interesting form of seven chapters - the seven stages of life - to which Morpurgo has responded with seven new stories. It's a collaborative effort, with Fergusson chronicling and Morpurgo reflecting, and I can't wait to read it. The talk itself was about how the book was made, the memories and experiences it stirred up for Morpurgo, and a reading of one of the stories from the book, followed by questions and answers and even Michael singing a song from the stage production of War Horse!
It was a very special talk and a priviledge to be there and to share it with my sister.
100% Proof was very different but equally enjoyable. It began with readings from the regional poet coaches: Molly Naylor, Michelle Hubbard, Kat Francois, Alfie Crow, Frisko, Michael Parker, Sarah Jane Arbury, Brenda Read-Brown, and Si Murray. I enjoyed most of these, and it was wonderful to see such a spectrum of styles, from gritty hip-hop to lyrical storytelling, playful punning and even some singing. I particulary enjoyed Michelle Hubbard, Sarah Jane Arbury and Brenda Read-Brown. Again, these poets had dramatically different styles but were equally touching and enjoyable in their performances. Next up was First Wave, who performed a 30 minute extract of their touring poetry/drama production. I was impressed by the quality of their act, which addressed racism, discrimination, and being an outsider in challenging terms. Their act was not something I would think to go and see normally, and I felt alienated after a bit (although this in itself made me realise just how lucky I am that the people I know in London are so accepting of each other and of me, on all grounds - race, gender, age), but they did a fantastic job and put on a really thought-provoking show. The final act was Lemn Sissay, and it was clear as soon as he came on stage and launched straight into a poem, that here was a master at work. While the other acts of the night had all been good, both Sissay's poetry and performance were on another level. His delivery was wonderfully energetic, his poems both celebratory and thought-provoking. That, and he just seemed like a really cool guy, involved the audience, and is clearly a born performer. It was a wonderful night!
My experience of Poetry Parnassus and the London Literature Festival (as well as other events I have been to in the past) have really changed the way I think about poetry, performance, and the way I want my own work to take me. I started writing when I was inspired by artists like Zena Edwards and Dizraeli, and wanted really to be a performance poet. Recently however, I've realised just how much more suited to the medium of paper I am; that doesn't mean that I can't, and don't enjoy, reading my poems to an audience - I absolutely love it! It's just that I've realised that for me, the poetry comes first, the performance second. The first tenet of slam and performance poetry is that the poetry should come first, but too many times have I sat in front of a confident performer reading at best mediocre poetry. Luckily I haven't had to sit through something like that for quite a while now, and those performers whom I've seen recently have really impressed me, but I think the danger with writing for performance is that the poetry suffers. Yes, supposedly it's all about the poetry, but this isn't true, is it? Quite often performance poetry appears as just a big ego trip, with poets thinking more about their own kudos than about the poetry. I recently watched one performance when the poet actually said, "usually I write about boys, but this poem is about me!" and to me this is the trap that many aspiring poets fall into. Yes, it's fun to read your poems out loud, and get to act them a bit; yes, it's really cool when an audience responds well to your work; yes, it's important to share and preserve our oral traditions; yes, it's wonderful that performance poetry blurs the line so much with hiphop, music and acting. But it is still supposed to be POETRY. Poetry Parnassus and 100% Proof show that it is still possible to put poetry first, and I hope that we can all learn from the example of these poets.
Showing posts with label fiction. Show all posts
Showing posts with label fiction. Show all posts
Saturday, July 7, 2012
Friday, April 6, 2012
'Why Be Happy When You Could Be Normal' by Jeanette Winterson
I saw Jeanette Winterson give a talk at UEA in March, in which she read from this, her new book. Just like I had snapped up a ticket to go and see her speak, I snapped up this book. Both the talk and the book are for me two pieces of that rare art that absolutely touches you. Seeing her speak, and hearing her recite a couple of lines of T. S. Eliot, almost had me in tears. Winterson is just one of those writers who can cut to the heart of things, and show them in all their beauty and sadness. Read her books.
Why Be Happy..? revisits Winterson's experience of growing up that she first wrote about in the wonderful Oranges Are Not The Only Fruit. Once again, Winterson tackles painful issues such as adoption, religious dogma and growing up with sharp, tender, inspiring humour. It's witty, it's poignant. It traces her childhood and teenage years, escape from working class Accrington to Oxford, mental breakdown, and trying to trace her biological mother. It covers a lot of ground, some of it already trodden, but all of it original, exciting, touching, funny.
I'll be passing this book around to my nearest and dearest. It's not just an autobiography. It is so many things besides. You'll have to read it yourself to find out. The one thing I found slightly wearing was that the 'grown up' bit of the book seemed slightly self-indulgent to me...but then again, Winterson is undoubtedly a writer who deserves to indulge herself.
A great book.
Friday, January 6, 2012
Nights at the Circus by Angela Carter
This is a rollicking romp from London to Petersberg to Siberia at the turn of the 20th century. It follows Jack Walser, an American journalist, as he seeks a scoop on Sophie Fevvers, a trapeze artist and celebrity who is famous due to the fact that she is part swan and has wings. In the first part of the novel, Walser interviews Fevvers about her life in London, which began as a foundling on the steps of a brothel and culminates in giving dazzling performances to crowds at the Alhambra. In the second part, Walser is so intrigued by Fevvers that he joins the circus she is performing with as a clown. From hereon, the novel recounts the circus' stop in St Petersberg and subsequent journey across Siberia.
This is the third novel of Carter's I have read, and as ever, her writing is fantasmagorical, lyrical and bizarre. The characters and world of the circus are absolutely vivid. The writing is big, bawdy, epic in scale and bursts off the page. However, it has taken me until now - three novels into her works - to realise that although I think Carter is interesting as a writer, I don't actually enjoy the way she writes.
As with 'The Infernal Desire Machines of Dr. Hoffman' and 'The Passion of New Eve', 'Nights at the Circus' takes the form of an epic journey, in which the core characters encounter strange other characters and settings. This seems to be the scope of the plot. And while it is interesting, the fact that Carter whisks us from one encounter to the next means that the reader's feet hardly touch the ground enough to get to know the protagonist(s). The other two novels I have read of hers were told from the first person, and so this problem was somewhat sidestepped, however, 'Nights at the Circus', told mainly in the 3rd person, failed to engage me. I wasn't interested in Fevvers, and after the first section found that Walser hardly came into the narrative. For me, the characters weren't grounded enough to make the plot powerful; with such a surrealist bent, it was never going to be a 'believable' book, but even so, I found myself unconvinced by the protagonists.
As such, I found that the novel didn't really hold together. With no central characters to tie it all into a structurally satisfying read, the plot all became a bit haphazard, and, in places, I felt that there were loose ends. Far from being suspenseful, or technically interesting, they were just frustrating. Fevvers is about to be captured by a Grand Duke. With barely a full stop as explanation, she suddenly escapes onto a train platform and is off on her way across Siberia. Maybe I missed something, but there were gaps. While this is a novel with a huge scope, I felt that Carter didn't quite pull off her grand vision. The construction lacked finesse. In places it was sloppy.
Anyway, I have to study this at some point in the next few months, so I will read it again, although I probably wouldn't go back to it out of choice. I've discovered that, although her writing is vivid, Carter is just a bit too - well... - COMPLETELY LACKING IN SUBTLETY. And I find it irritating. And I'm not a great fan, unfortunately.
This is the third novel of Carter's I have read, and as ever, her writing is fantasmagorical, lyrical and bizarre. The characters and world of the circus are absolutely vivid. The writing is big, bawdy, epic in scale and bursts off the page. However, it has taken me until now - three novels into her works - to realise that although I think Carter is interesting as a writer, I don't actually enjoy the way she writes.
As with 'The Infernal Desire Machines of Dr. Hoffman' and 'The Passion of New Eve', 'Nights at the Circus' takes the form of an epic journey, in which the core characters encounter strange other characters and settings. This seems to be the scope of the plot. And while it is interesting, the fact that Carter whisks us from one encounter to the next means that the reader's feet hardly touch the ground enough to get to know the protagonist(s). The other two novels I have read of hers were told from the first person, and so this problem was somewhat sidestepped, however, 'Nights at the Circus', told mainly in the 3rd person, failed to engage me. I wasn't interested in Fevvers, and after the first section found that Walser hardly came into the narrative. For me, the characters weren't grounded enough to make the plot powerful; with such a surrealist bent, it was never going to be a 'believable' book, but even so, I found myself unconvinced by the protagonists.
As such, I found that the novel didn't really hold together. With no central characters to tie it all into a structurally satisfying read, the plot all became a bit haphazard, and, in places, I felt that there were loose ends. Far from being suspenseful, or technically interesting, they were just frustrating. Fevvers is about to be captured by a Grand Duke. With barely a full stop as explanation, she suddenly escapes onto a train platform and is off on her way across Siberia. Maybe I missed something, but there were gaps. While this is a novel with a huge scope, I felt that Carter didn't quite pull off her grand vision. The construction lacked finesse. In places it was sloppy.
Anyway, I have to study this at some point in the next few months, so I will read it again, although I probably wouldn't go back to it out of choice. I've discovered that, although her writing is vivid, Carter is just a bit too - well... - COMPLETELY LACKING IN SUBTLETY. And I find it irritating. And I'm not a great fan, unfortunately.
Wednesday, December 28, 2011
Mrs Dalloway by Virginia Woolf
Love, love, love this book. There are just some books that when you lose yourself in them, you do what tends to be known by the cliche of 'finding yourself'. For me, this was one of those books. I got absolutely lost in it, and wow. Here I am with a subtle but fundamental shift in paradigm.
Mrs Dalloway reveals the interior worlds of several characters, most of them somehow connected with socialite Clarissa Dalloway, over the course of a single day in 1920's London, as Clarissa prepares to host a party. Written in almost continuous prose, unbroken by chapters, the narrative flickers seamlessly between characters as they pass each other in the street etc. A large part of the narrative focuses on Clarissa's past loves.
I loved Virginia Woolf's style. I have never read her before, but I fell absolutely in love with her on the first reading. Her ability to convey the second-by-second experience of what it's like to be a person was beautiful, poetic, apt. It reminded me of D. H. Lawrence a lot, but was so much more readable. Whereas Lawrence verges on the ridiculous on occasion, describing people 'wincing through their wombs' etc., in Mrs. Dalloway I felt Woolf pitched it perfectly. I could not put this book down, I was absolutely swept up in the flittering and flurrying of 1920's London, to the extent that I had severe physical pangs for the British Museum, white marble terraces with black doors in leafy boulevards, and black cabs.
Definitely a book I need to read more than once. Now that it has changed my life I think I should probably go back and look at language, context, etc., the stuff I am supposed to be studying it for...sorry for the crap review, it's just my mind is still reeling from this one. Profound. Absolutely profound!
Mrs Dalloway reveals the interior worlds of several characters, most of them somehow connected with socialite Clarissa Dalloway, over the course of a single day in 1920's London, as Clarissa prepares to host a party. Written in almost continuous prose, unbroken by chapters, the narrative flickers seamlessly between characters as they pass each other in the street etc. A large part of the narrative focuses on Clarissa's past loves.
I loved Virginia Woolf's style. I have never read her before, but I fell absolutely in love with her on the first reading. Her ability to convey the second-by-second experience of what it's like to be a person was beautiful, poetic, apt. It reminded me of D. H. Lawrence a lot, but was so much more readable. Whereas Lawrence verges on the ridiculous on occasion, describing people 'wincing through their wombs' etc., in Mrs. Dalloway I felt Woolf pitched it perfectly. I could not put this book down, I was absolutely swept up in the flittering and flurrying of 1920's London, to the extent that I had severe physical pangs for the British Museum, white marble terraces with black doors in leafy boulevards, and black cabs.
Definitely a book I need to read more than once. Now that it has changed my life I think I should probably go back and look at language, context, etc., the stuff I am supposed to be studying it for...sorry for the crap review, it's just my mind is still reeling from this one. Profound. Absolutely profound!
Saturday, December 24, 2011
Catch-up and Pig by Andrew Cowan
The irony is, I've just finished my first semester of my degree in Eng Lit at UEA, and have been reading all sorts, but haven't found the time to write about any of the texts I've come across. Apologies for such a long lonely desolate gap in blogging, but rest assured I will try and be a bit less useless from now on!
I've been writing lots - had a gap where I didn't seem to be able to write at all, and then when I finally did start writing it all came out as self-indulgent crap. Although there have been some good things I've written...lots of lyrics, for example, and an epic prose poem, and I started writing some short stories and a play script...poetry is still the only thing I seem able to finish off to any degree of finished-ness, but I'm beginning to dip my toes in other things, we shall see where it takes me...
Possibly the biggest change since I last blogged is that my whole life has been turned upside-down, my horizons have been broadened, my world view rounded, my personal development developed, my heart and soul have been made exultant, my intellect has been astounded etc. etc. by my new love for the Romantics. Primary school murdered Wordsworth for me cruelly and in cold blood many years ago, but I have rediscovered him through The Prelude. In terms of studying it, it's a pain in the arse because every sentence is about 2385082370875023 lines long and by the time you get to a full stop you can't remember what on earth he was talking about at the beginning. But even so, I loved it. And Percy Bysshe Shelley! What a babe! What a legend! Me and Shelley, we got a thang going on. I love that dude. The epicnosity of ol' Percy B. cannot be described. Basically he's just a well cool dude.
What I love about the Romantics is how kick-arse they were. They were absolutely radical, and I hadn't appreciated that before. Also, Wordsworth was a bit of a babe for being in France during the Revolution. And they still interest me despite the fact that most of them became beige beaurocratic Tories in later life (although Shelley - what an awesome dude he was! - wrote an Elegy for Wordsworth when Ol' Bill was still alive to bemoan his loss of principles and abandonment of his duty to the Great Goddess Poesia). Who would've thought it? Me absolutely besotted by the Romantics?!
Anyway, aside from Ol' Bill and a bit of Percy Bysshe I've had John Gower, Chaucer, Hildegard of Bingen, George Gissing, Yeats, Deborah Eisenberg, Caryl Churchill, Samuel Beckett, Derek Mahon and so many more, thrust at me with instructions to devour them and come back with some ideas. Loving every second of it. I shall review Deborah Eisenberg at a later date for sure, as I AM ACTUALLY HEAD OVER HEELS IN LOVE WITH HER WRITING.
Anyway, I also skimmed Eugene Ionesco's 'Rhinoceros' for a French Module (in the original French). Very interesting play. I think I'd like to see it on the stage though; it was some what depressing rushing it within the last two days I had to write an essay on it. And also, again for a French module, I have been organising a bilingual poetry slam event. Despite the unhelpful interfering of a particularly negative tutor who twisted our arms and made us cancel our first planned event, it is back on for January now. Fingers crossed all goes to plan. It probably won't. But at least it was a good idea in the first place, it had potential to be amazing, and I can now turn to the uplifting and sustaining works of the Romantics to cheer myself up if it turns out to be a complete flop. But yeah, anyway, if anybody reading this happens to be in Norwich on January 24th, head down to the Workshop on Earlham Road. There will be food, there will be booze (you have to pay, we're students, we can't afford it, sorry) and there will be poetry. So come on down and help make it a success, so that I don't have to seek comfort in the papery posthumous arms of Percy. Please.
Anyway, onto Andrew Cowan's 'Pig' which I have just read in preparation for next semester's so-called hard work. 'Pig' tells the story of Danny, who lives on the outskirts of an industrial town that has suffered with the closing of its steel works. His grandparents live in a cottage, where they grow their own food and keep a pig. When Danny's gran dies, and his Grandad is removed to a home, he takes on caring for the pig and looking after the house. He and his Indian girlfriend Surinder use it as a meeting place. Their relationship is secret and set against a backdrop of racist tension. As the summer progresses, this tension begins to rise and Danny and Surinder's hiding place is in jeopardy from the encroaching of a theme park to be built behind the cottage.
I enjoyed 'Pig'. What struck me about Cowan's writing was the attention to detail. The appearance, smells, textures of settings in particular was highly evocative and very skillfully crafted. The characters were believable, and the voice of Danny was convincing (although I felt he was maybe portrayed as a little younger than he was supposed to be). I think the novel stands on the intense detail that Cowan manages to convey. What would otherwise be a fairly ordinary novel about fairly ordinary people in fairly ordinary situations becomes a page-turner through the quality of the writing. That said, I was glad to finish the book, and to be able to move on. It felt like a holiday read, a book to ease me into something I could really get my literature-hungry teeth into (now halfway through Mrs Dalloway, and loving it). So yeah, it was a nice book, a pretty good book, but not one I'd go back to (unless I had to study it...oh, wait!) and not one that made my imagination do dizzying loop-de-loops or scale great heights of intellectual magnificence...
Anyway, that is it for now. I see that I have two new followers. Welcome, and thank you! I'm on the old Twit-twoo if you're interested, it's @FloMoses.
Anyway, obrigada for your patience and ate ja :)
I've been writing lots - had a gap where I didn't seem to be able to write at all, and then when I finally did start writing it all came out as self-indulgent crap. Although there have been some good things I've written...lots of lyrics, for example, and an epic prose poem, and I started writing some short stories and a play script...poetry is still the only thing I seem able to finish off to any degree of finished-ness, but I'm beginning to dip my toes in other things, we shall see where it takes me...
Possibly the biggest change since I last blogged is that my whole life has been turned upside-down, my horizons have been broadened, my world view rounded, my personal development developed, my heart and soul have been made exultant, my intellect has been astounded etc. etc. by my new love for the Romantics. Primary school murdered Wordsworth for me cruelly and in cold blood many years ago, but I have rediscovered him through The Prelude. In terms of studying it, it's a pain in the arse because every sentence is about 2385082370875023 lines long and by the time you get to a full stop you can't remember what on earth he was talking about at the beginning. But even so, I loved it. And Percy Bysshe Shelley! What a babe! What a legend! Me and Shelley, we got a thang going on. I love that dude. The epicnosity of ol' Percy B. cannot be described. Basically he's just a well cool dude.
What I love about the Romantics is how kick-arse they were. They were absolutely radical, and I hadn't appreciated that before. Also, Wordsworth was a bit of a babe for being in France during the Revolution. And they still interest me despite the fact that most of them became beige beaurocratic Tories in later life (although Shelley - what an awesome dude he was! - wrote an Elegy for Wordsworth when Ol' Bill was still alive to bemoan his loss of principles and abandonment of his duty to the Great Goddess Poesia). Who would've thought it? Me absolutely besotted by the Romantics?!
Anyway, aside from Ol' Bill and a bit of Percy Bysshe I've had John Gower, Chaucer, Hildegard of Bingen, George Gissing, Yeats, Deborah Eisenberg, Caryl Churchill, Samuel Beckett, Derek Mahon and so many more, thrust at me with instructions to devour them and come back with some ideas. Loving every second of it. I shall review Deborah Eisenberg at a later date for sure, as I AM ACTUALLY HEAD OVER HEELS IN LOVE WITH HER WRITING.
Anyway, I also skimmed Eugene Ionesco's 'Rhinoceros' for a French Module (in the original French). Very interesting play. I think I'd like to see it on the stage though; it was some what depressing rushing it within the last two days I had to write an essay on it. And also, again for a French module, I have been organising a bilingual poetry slam event. Despite the unhelpful interfering of a particularly negative tutor who twisted our arms and made us cancel our first planned event, it is back on for January now. Fingers crossed all goes to plan. It probably won't. But at least it was a good idea in the first place, it had potential to be amazing, and I can now turn to the uplifting and sustaining works of the Romantics to cheer myself up if it turns out to be a complete flop. But yeah, anyway, if anybody reading this happens to be in Norwich on January 24th, head down to the Workshop on Earlham Road. There will be food, there will be booze (you have to pay, we're students, we can't afford it, sorry) and there will be poetry. So come on down and help make it a success, so that I don't have to seek comfort in the papery posthumous arms of Percy. Please.
Anyway, onto Andrew Cowan's 'Pig' which I have just read in preparation for next semester's so-called hard work. 'Pig' tells the story of Danny, who lives on the outskirts of an industrial town that has suffered with the closing of its steel works. His grandparents live in a cottage, where they grow their own food and keep a pig. When Danny's gran dies, and his Grandad is removed to a home, he takes on caring for the pig and looking after the house. He and his Indian girlfriend Surinder use it as a meeting place. Their relationship is secret and set against a backdrop of racist tension. As the summer progresses, this tension begins to rise and Danny and Surinder's hiding place is in jeopardy from the encroaching of a theme park to be built behind the cottage.
I enjoyed 'Pig'. What struck me about Cowan's writing was the attention to detail. The appearance, smells, textures of settings in particular was highly evocative and very skillfully crafted. The characters were believable, and the voice of Danny was convincing (although I felt he was maybe portrayed as a little younger than he was supposed to be). I think the novel stands on the intense detail that Cowan manages to convey. What would otherwise be a fairly ordinary novel about fairly ordinary people in fairly ordinary situations becomes a page-turner through the quality of the writing. That said, I was glad to finish the book, and to be able to move on. It felt like a holiday read, a book to ease me into something I could really get my literature-hungry teeth into (now halfway through Mrs Dalloway, and loving it). So yeah, it was a nice book, a pretty good book, but not one I'd go back to (unless I had to study it...oh, wait!) and not one that made my imagination do dizzying loop-de-loops or scale great heights of intellectual magnificence...
Anyway, that is it for now. I see that I have two new followers. Welcome, and thank you! I'm on the old Twit-twoo if you're interested, it's @FloMoses.
Anyway, obrigada for your patience and ate ja :)
Tuesday, September 20, 2011
A Tale of Two Cities by Charles Dickens
The first book I have ever read on the Kindle, and the first by Charles Dickens that I have ever read! My friend (who has read every single classic known to man, but nothing else apart from Harry Potter and a few vampire books) said that I wasn't a proper Lit student until I'd read him, so I thought I better get a move on...and I absolutely loved this book.
In case you haven't read this particular book (or like me, are new to Dickens...I know...I feel rather embarassed admitting it) it is a historical novel, set in the 1780's - 90's, in the lead up and height of the French Revolution. The narrative is split between England and France, and follows a series of characters whose lives have intermingled - and mingled with the rise of the Revolution - over generations.
In the first part of the novel, (which opens with a delicious description of the turbulent social and political situations on both sides of the channel during the late 18thC) the wrongfully imprisoned Dr Manette is 'recalled to life' after confinement in the Bastille for eighteen years. He is reunited with his daughter Lucie, and goes with her to England to recover, accompanied by her and by Mr. Lorry, a banker and loyal friend. As the book continues, we learn about their life in London - Dr Manette's recovery, and the happy family life they lead. However, the build-up to the Revolution casts a grim shadow, and eventually Lucie's husband Charles makes his way to France in secret, to try and save a faithful servant from the Guillotine...
I loved this book. It took me a while to really get into it, but from the start I was carried along by Dickens' absolutely wondrous descriptions of the turbulent times, and the perfectly-conjured characters. I think perhaps the strength of his descriptive writing was the detail, but also the scope of the writer's view: suitably elaborate scenes of the wealth of the royal court in France, for example, contrasted with emotional, pitiful but unflinching details about the life of the peasantry; the comfortable old 'man of business' Mr Lorry, and the gentle respectability of the Manettes is juxtaposed with the character of Jerry Cruncher, an odd-jobsman who treats his poor wife appallingly, continuously suspecting her of 'flopping'; the character of Sidney Carton encompasses both the pathetic and the heroic. Dickens' pity for the peasantry of countryside and underfed, underprivileged poor of the city is palpable (and obviously informed by the social conditions at the time of writing), and yet the bloodthirstiness of the Revolution itself is recounted sensitively but horrifically. The great strength of the book - along with the lovely language and turn of phrase - is the way that it encompasses absolute opposites, and shows them in a pitying but balanced light.
In terms of the turn of phrase, Dickens writes beautifully, and I loved the touches of humour throughout the book. He writes sharply, critically, observantly, and touchingly. I also really enjoyed reading this on the Kindle. Although the free version that I downloaded had a few typos in it (less than 10, I reckon - not too bad), it was really useful to be able to look up unknown words immediately, without interrupting my reading of the text. I now know what a blunderbuss is, without having to go online or dig out a big fat dictionary.
I loved 'A Tale of Two Cities' so much, I want to read it again straight away, but am forcing myself onto pastures new. I read the final chapter again, however, and it affected me even more the second time. There are several famous quotes from this book that most people will know ('it was the best of times, it was the worst of times...'; 'it is a far, far better thing that I do, than I have ever done...') but reading them in context turned these oft-quoted lines into some of the most emotional I can remember ever having read.
In case you haven't read this particular book (or like me, are new to Dickens...I know...I feel rather embarassed admitting it) it is a historical novel, set in the 1780's - 90's, in the lead up and height of the French Revolution. The narrative is split between England and France, and follows a series of characters whose lives have intermingled - and mingled with the rise of the Revolution - over generations.
In the first part of the novel, (which opens with a delicious description of the turbulent social and political situations on both sides of the channel during the late 18thC) the wrongfully imprisoned Dr Manette is 'recalled to life' after confinement in the Bastille for eighteen years. He is reunited with his daughter Lucie, and goes with her to England to recover, accompanied by her and by Mr. Lorry, a banker and loyal friend. As the book continues, we learn about their life in London - Dr Manette's recovery, and the happy family life they lead. However, the build-up to the Revolution casts a grim shadow, and eventually Lucie's husband Charles makes his way to France in secret, to try and save a faithful servant from the Guillotine...
I loved this book. It took me a while to really get into it, but from the start I was carried along by Dickens' absolutely wondrous descriptions of the turbulent times, and the perfectly-conjured characters. I think perhaps the strength of his descriptive writing was the detail, but also the scope of the writer's view: suitably elaborate scenes of the wealth of the royal court in France, for example, contrasted with emotional, pitiful but unflinching details about the life of the peasantry; the comfortable old 'man of business' Mr Lorry, and the gentle respectability of the Manettes is juxtaposed with the character of Jerry Cruncher, an odd-jobsman who treats his poor wife appallingly, continuously suspecting her of 'flopping'; the character of Sidney Carton encompasses both the pathetic and the heroic. Dickens' pity for the peasantry of countryside and underfed, underprivileged poor of the city is palpable (and obviously informed by the social conditions at the time of writing), and yet the bloodthirstiness of the Revolution itself is recounted sensitively but horrifically. The great strength of the book - along with the lovely language and turn of phrase - is the way that it encompasses absolute opposites, and shows them in a pitying but balanced light.
In terms of the turn of phrase, Dickens writes beautifully, and I loved the touches of humour throughout the book. He writes sharply, critically, observantly, and touchingly. I also really enjoyed reading this on the Kindle. Although the free version that I downloaded had a few typos in it (less than 10, I reckon - not too bad), it was really useful to be able to look up unknown words immediately, without interrupting my reading of the text. I now know what a blunderbuss is, without having to go online or dig out a big fat dictionary.
I loved 'A Tale of Two Cities' so much, I want to read it again straight away, but am forcing myself onto pastures new. I read the final chapter again, however, and it affected me even more the second time. There are several famous quotes from this book that most people will know ('it was the best of times, it was the worst of times...'; 'it is a far, far better thing that I do, than I have ever done...') but reading them in context turned these oft-quoted lines into some of the most emotional I can remember ever having read.
Tuesday, August 30, 2011
Resistance by Owen Sheers
I read this as I have enjoyed some of Sheers' work in the past, and as he was doing a book signing at the shop where I worked over the summer I thought I'd better read it.
Resistance quickly became my crappy holiday read. It was mildly interesting and didn't require any deep thought to get through it. I didn't enjoy it hugely, but equally I felt like I should finish it.
It tells the story of Sarah Lewis and her neighbours in an isolated Welsh valley during an imagined Nazi invasion of Britain during the Second World War. An German patrol comes to the valley for mysterious reasons, and ends up staying there. Meanwhile, the husbands of the women of the valley have gone missing, leaving in the night soon after the first wave of invasion. Whilst worrying about their husbands, Sarah and her neighbours must swallow the unsavoury fact that if they want to keep their farms running during their husbands' absence, they will need to bury the hatchet when it comes to dealing with the occupying patrol.
I think the reason this book didn't really click with me was that such a large proportion of it describes the women's rural labours and the landscape - this is not a book of action. Also, the human relationships on which the whole plot hinges didn't ring true. The old creative-writing adage of 'show not tell' may be cliched but I felt as if Sheers would have done better in applying it more meticulously. Instead of letting the plot, character formation and dialogue speak for themselves, at times I felt as if I were being lectured; it felt a bit contrived and 'try-hard' at times. For me, it certainly lacked the spark of Sheers' poetry.
However, the film of Resistance is soon to be released, and despite it being my crappy holiday read, I can't deny that Sheers has achieved the dream of many people - his first novel has been turned into a film, and he will quite possibly make megabucks, despite the fact to me Resistance was disapointingly lack-lustre.
Resistance quickly became my crappy holiday read. It was mildly interesting and didn't require any deep thought to get through it. I didn't enjoy it hugely, but equally I felt like I should finish it.
It tells the story of Sarah Lewis and her neighbours in an isolated Welsh valley during an imagined Nazi invasion of Britain during the Second World War. An German patrol comes to the valley for mysterious reasons, and ends up staying there. Meanwhile, the husbands of the women of the valley have gone missing, leaving in the night soon after the first wave of invasion. Whilst worrying about their husbands, Sarah and her neighbours must swallow the unsavoury fact that if they want to keep their farms running during their husbands' absence, they will need to bury the hatchet when it comes to dealing with the occupying patrol.
I think the reason this book didn't really click with me was that such a large proportion of it describes the women's rural labours and the landscape - this is not a book of action. Also, the human relationships on which the whole plot hinges didn't ring true. The old creative-writing adage of 'show not tell' may be cliched but I felt as if Sheers would have done better in applying it more meticulously. Instead of letting the plot, character formation and dialogue speak for themselves, at times I felt as if I were being lectured; it felt a bit contrived and 'try-hard' at times. For me, it certainly lacked the spark of Sheers' poetry.
However, the film of Resistance is soon to be released, and despite it being my crappy holiday read, I can't deny that Sheers has achieved the dream of many people - his first novel has been turned into a film, and he will quite possibly make megabucks, despite the fact to me Resistance was disapointingly lack-lustre.
Wednesday, August 10, 2011
Birds Without Wings by Louis de Bernieres
Just finished this 600-odd page book this evening, after perhaps two weeks since I first started reading it.
Birds Without Wings tells the various entertwining stories of the people of a small Anatolian town called Eskibahce in the Ottoman Empire, in the years preceding and following WWI and the Turkish War of Independence. In Eskibahce, as all over the empire, people of different religions and ethnic groups live side by side and mostly peacefully, uited by the Turkish language, and with friendships and intermarriage making these different groups inseparable in places. Each chapter reads almost like short story, detailing key events in the lives of the people of Eskibahce, including the games of the towns children, the unlikely friendship between the Orthodox Greek priest and the town's Imam, and more sinister events such as an attempted stoning and the exhumation of a corpse.
Alongside this, the tale of Mustafa Kemal, aka Ataturk, is interwoven, as the people of Eskibahce find themselves caught up in a world where the distinction between Turkish and Greek becomes seemingly more important and leads to all sorts of trouble. The story is told through multiple voices, including an omniscient 3rd person, and through several of the characters, both as they live the events of the book, and as they look back on them in later life.
I really loved this book. de Bernieres presents colourful, flawed but likeable characters, and I found the stories of life in Eskibahce charming and moving. I was gripped by the sense of inevitability brought in through the reflective passages and the inclusion of Mustafa Kemal Ataturk's rise to power, and really wanted to find out what would happen to the characters.
The charming and often humourous exploits of Eskibahce were eventually replaced by sensitive but honest and horrific details of the events of the decade of war that the people of the Ottoman Empire faced in the early twentieth century. Some of the stuff included - in just enough detail to be shocking without being too horrible to read - was unimagineably awful, and opened my eyes to a side of fairly recent history that I had no idea about before reading this book.
I found that towards the end of the book the narrative of Ataturk's rise to power took over a bit. This was necessary to explain what would eventually happen to the Eskibahce characters, although I felt that it dominated a little bit too much and that, despite Bernieres' drawing in of the novel's characters in places, this section of the book could have done with a more human element, to bring it down to a human level and to make it a little less dry. I started to wish that I could read something else at this point, although the end of the book was worth the wait and I couldn't put it down until I had devoured every word.
An important aspect of the book that I haven't yet mentioned is de Bernieres' writing itself. I have never read him before but it strikes me that he writes extremely well. Characters are excellently drawn, humour and poignancy are both handled deftly and sensitively, and his choice of language is an absolute lexical feast. Despite using such rarified words as 'mommixity', 'foofaraw', and 'dunderpate', de Bernieres' prose remains highly readable, and even when I didn't know the exact dictionary definition of a particular word (particularly some Turkish terms), the language is handled so beautifully that the meaning is still clear and the words delicious. de Bernieres uses them sparingly, always using the perfect word for the occasion, whilst visibly revelling in such nuances of language. Beautifully written.
A really fantastic read. de Bernieres writes fantastically well and in Birds Without Wings has created a moving story about the highs and lows of being human in the face of adversity. A great book.
Birds Without Wings tells the various entertwining stories of the people of a small Anatolian town called Eskibahce in the Ottoman Empire, in the years preceding and following WWI and the Turkish War of Independence. In Eskibahce, as all over the empire, people of different religions and ethnic groups live side by side and mostly peacefully, uited by the Turkish language, and with friendships and intermarriage making these different groups inseparable in places. Each chapter reads almost like short story, detailing key events in the lives of the people of Eskibahce, including the games of the towns children, the unlikely friendship between the Orthodox Greek priest and the town's Imam, and more sinister events such as an attempted stoning and the exhumation of a corpse.
Alongside this, the tale of Mustafa Kemal, aka Ataturk, is interwoven, as the people of Eskibahce find themselves caught up in a world where the distinction between Turkish and Greek becomes seemingly more important and leads to all sorts of trouble. The story is told through multiple voices, including an omniscient 3rd person, and through several of the characters, both as they live the events of the book, and as they look back on them in later life.
I really loved this book. de Bernieres presents colourful, flawed but likeable characters, and I found the stories of life in Eskibahce charming and moving. I was gripped by the sense of inevitability brought in through the reflective passages and the inclusion of Mustafa Kemal Ataturk's rise to power, and really wanted to find out what would happen to the characters.
The charming and often humourous exploits of Eskibahce were eventually replaced by sensitive but honest and horrific details of the events of the decade of war that the people of the Ottoman Empire faced in the early twentieth century. Some of the stuff included - in just enough detail to be shocking without being too horrible to read - was unimagineably awful, and opened my eyes to a side of fairly recent history that I had no idea about before reading this book.
I found that towards the end of the book the narrative of Ataturk's rise to power took over a bit. This was necessary to explain what would eventually happen to the Eskibahce characters, although I felt that it dominated a little bit too much and that, despite Bernieres' drawing in of the novel's characters in places, this section of the book could have done with a more human element, to bring it down to a human level and to make it a little less dry. I started to wish that I could read something else at this point, although the end of the book was worth the wait and I couldn't put it down until I had devoured every word.
An important aspect of the book that I haven't yet mentioned is de Bernieres' writing itself. I have never read him before but it strikes me that he writes extremely well. Characters are excellently drawn, humour and poignancy are both handled deftly and sensitively, and his choice of language is an absolute lexical feast. Despite using such rarified words as 'mommixity', 'foofaraw', and 'dunderpate', de Bernieres' prose remains highly readable, and even when I didn't know the exact dictionary definition of a particular word (particularly some Turkish terms), the language is handled so beautifully that the meaning is still clear and the words delicious. de Bernieres uses them sparingly, always using the perfect word for the occasion, whilst visibly revelling in such nuances of language. Beautifully written.
A really fantastic read. de Bernieres writes fantastically well and in Birds Without Wings has created a moving story about the highs and lows of being human in the face of adversity. A great book.
Tuesday, July 19, 2011
The Reluctant Fundamentalist by Mohsin Hamid
Finished this a couple of days ago, having started it ages ago, let it drop to the bottom of the pile and then finished it off. Thought it sounded interesting: literature with a certain sense of the 'exotic' always appeals to me and it was shortlisted for the Booker or something.
How can I describe this book? It takes the form of a conversation between the narrator Changez and a silent American who he meets in downtown Lahore, Pakistan. We only read Changez's contribution to the conversation as he invites his new aquaintance to dine with him whilst telling his story. Turns out that Changez is a Princeton graduate who lived and loved in America for several years. His reminiscences of his time in America are interwoven with one-sided exchanges with the silent American and evocative, painterly descriptions of the Lahore district they are dining in. The story of Changez is no great adventure but presents a compelling view of what it is like to be an outsider, in both your home country and foreign places, and offers a perspective on such events as 9/11 that we don't often get to hear about in the West.
The form of the novel as half of a conversation between two people made it very readable and easy to get into. I wouldn't say that the style was amazing or even literary - I was surprised that this was nominated for the Booker; to me it was more like an easy holiday read - but it was accessible and kept me reading. I found the characterisation to be well-constructed. Changez's voice is believable, with the flaws, confusion and inconsistency of a real human being. I found the perspective and underlying message of the book thought-provoking and interesting, although the ending was a bit disappointing. For me it was just a little too open to be satisfying, particularly when seen in the context of the hints dropped throughout the book.
In short, I enjoyed it, it made me think, and it was a quick and easy read. But not amazing. Something I'd buy at an airport, read on holiday, and to be honest it'sbeen a couple of days since I finished it and I'm already forgetting it. 5/10.
How can I describe this book? It takes the form of a conversation between the narrator Changez and a silent American who he meets in downtown Lahore, Pakistan. We only read Changez's contribution to the conversation as he invites his new aquaintance to dine with him whilst telling his story. Turns out that Changez is a Princeton graduate who lived and loved in America for several years. His reminiscences of his time in America are interwoven with one-sided exchanges with the silent American and evocative, painterly descriptions of the Lahore district they are dining in. The story of Changez is no great adventure but presents a compelling view of what it is like to be an outsider, in both your home country and foreign places, and offers a perspective on such events as 9/11 that we don't often get to hear about in the West.
The form of the novel as half of a conversation between two people made it very readable and easy to get into. I wouldn't say that the style was amazing or even literary - I was surprised that this was nominated for the Booker; to me it was more like an easy holiday read - but it was accessible and kept me reading. I found the characterisation to be well-constructed. Changez's voice is believable, with the flaws, confusion and inconsistency of a real human being. I found the perspective and underlying message of the book thought-provoking and interesting, although the ending was a bit disappointing. For me it was just a little too open to be satisfying, particularly when seen in the context of the hints dropped throughout the book.
In short, I enjoyed it, it made me think, and it was a quick and easy read. But not amazing. Something I'd buy at an airport, read on holiday, and to be honest it'sbeen a couple of days since I finished it and I'm already forgetting it. 5/10.
Tuesday, June 28, 2011
The Palace of Dreams by Ismail Kadare
The second book of Kadare's that I have read. Whereas the first that I read, Chronicle in Stone, presented the reality of WW2, The Palace of Dreams is set in an Ottoman Empire that never seems quite real - it is halfway between reality and fantasy.
The story is that of Mark-Alem, a member of the powerful but cursed Quprili family. He is sent to the Palace of Dreams and given a job. The Palace of Dreams, or Tabir Sarrail, is where the dreams of the entire Empire are sorted and stored and interpreted. In particular, signs of political unrest or plots against the state are carefully looked for. Mark-Alem experiences bewilderment at the intricate workings of the Tabir Sarrail but soon finds himself rising through the ranks.
I enjoyed this little book. Not the best book I've ever read, but enjoyable. I found that it was a little slow to start, but picked up about halfway through and eventually the slow beginning made sense in relation to the rest of the plot. I didn't identify with Mark-Alem at first - he spends a lot of his time being confused and tired - but by the end I found him to be more sympathetic. The plot and construction were a lot more subtle than I had been expecting also: instead of the towering vision of something like 1984 for example, Kadare's presentation of oppression was a lot more subtle and more of a political intrigue, which did make for interesting reading. And the basic premise and history of the Quprili family were well imagined without being overly fantastical - they were believable.
Interestingly, the symbol of the Chronicle appears here again, just as in Chronicle in Stone. I wonder if this is a recurring theme in Kadare's work? I shall just have to read more of his books to find out, something that I look forward to.
The story is that of Mark-Alem, a member of the powerful but cursed Quprili family. He is sent to the Palace of Dreams and given a job. The Palace of Dreams, or Tabir Sarrail, is where the dreams of the entire Empire are sorted and stored and interpreted. In particular, signs of political unrest or plots against the state are carefully looked for. Mark-Alem experiences bewilderment at the intricate workings of the Tabir Sarrail but soon finds himself rising through the ranks.
I enjoyed this little book. Not the best book I've ever read, but enjoyable. I found that it was a little slow to start, but picked up about halfway through and eventually the slow beginning made sense in relation to the rest of the plot. I didn't identify with Mark-Alem at first - he spends a lot of his time being confused and tired - but by the end I found him to be more sympathetic. The plot and construction were a lot more subtle than I had been expecting also: instead of the towering vision of something like 1984 for example, Kadare's presentation of oppression was a lot more subtle and more of a political intrigue, which did make for interesting reading. And the basic premise and history of the Quprili family were well imagined without being overly fantastical - they were believable.
Interestingly, the symbol of the Chronicle appears here again, just as in Chronicle in Stone. I wonder if this is a recurring theme in Kadare's work? I shall just have to read more of his books to find out, something that I look forward to.
Friday, June 24, 2011
The Man in the High Castle by Philip K. Dick
Having discovered my unexpected interest in sci-fi (never would have thought it) after reading 1984 and The Handmaid's Tale, I thought I'd try some by Philip K. Dick (1928 - 1982, American) who is rather well known and has a large cult following I believe. So I saw this volume in Waterstones and having just got turned down for yet another job I thought I'd buy it to cheer myself up.
Probably not the best book to do that! The scenario behind The Man in the High Castle is that the Nazis and Japanese won WW2 and have now divided the American continent between them, with a kind of no-man's-land in the Rockies. The Nazis have carried out a Final Solution in Africa, leaving it as a radioactive wasteland and doing awful things to the corpses of the Africans. The action of the novel takes place in the Pacific side of the USA (now the PSA and run by the Japanese, although a strong Nazi presence is also there). So not the most cheering of scenarios, but an interesting concept.
The narrative follows several different characters - Mr. Tagomi (a Japanese official), Frank Frink (a Jew), Robert Childan (a shopkeeper specialising in American historical artefacts), and the mysterious Mr Baynes, among others. The narratives of these characters never quite interconnect but the actions of each have repercussions on the lives of the others.
The book is so called because of an important undercurrent to the narrative - a book in circulation despite its being banned in Nazi-controlled areas, entitled 'The Grasshopper Lies Heavy', in which its author - the Man in the High Castle - imagines a world where the Allied forces won WW2 - in other words, the world that we, the reader, inhabit.
In terms of this writing, this book is quite unusual. A lot of the prose is written with the articles ('a' and 'the') quite often absent, perhaps to imitate the Japanese way of talking and thinking that is now the norm in the PSA. Many of the characters also consult the I-Ching and much of the book is made up of this, and of abstract philosophical musings. Also there are lots of snippets of German - something that I found quite hard as I don't speak a word. So it reads quite strangely, and took a while for me to get into.
My reaction to this book? Not what I expected at all, and surprisingly intellectual! Having just finished it, I feel like I didn't understand a word! Sometimes I feel like I have a hold on the underlying message of the book and other times I feel completely nonplussed. From second to second it changes from a vividly imagined political commentary juxtaposing disparate utopic and distopic visions of the past/present to the 'potpourri of pointlessness' to use Dick's own turn of phrase.
For me, this book failed to hit the mark. Perhaps because I don't really understand it, but also I think because of the way it is constructed. The separateness of the characters, and the way that the narrative flashes between them, meant that as a reader I didn't really get to know any of them particularly well, none of them becoming particularly sympathetic, and no clear protagonist emerging. This is probably intentional by Dick, however, for me as a reader it meant that I didn't really identify with any of the characters and never really got into the plot as a result. And due to my complete lack of knowledge I found the German and I-Ching sections rather isolating.
Conclusion? One I might read again, more carefully, and having done extensive research into the I-Ching and philosophy!
Probably not the best book to do that! The scenario behind The Man in the High Castle is that the Nazis and Japanese won WW2 and have now divided the American continent between them, with a kind of no-man's-land in the Rockies. The Nazis have carried out a Final Solution in Africa, leaving it as a radioactive wasteland and doing awful things to the corpses of the Africans. The action of the novel takes place in the Pacific side of the USA (now the PSA and run by the Japanese, although a strong Nazi presence is also there). So not the most cheering of scenarios, but an interesting concept.
The narrative follows several different characters - Mr. Tagomi (a Japanese official), Frank Frink (a Jew), Robert Childan (a shopkeeper specialising in American historical artefacts), and the mysterious Mr Baynes, among others. The narratives of these characters never quite interconnect but the actions of each have repercussions on the lives of the others.
The book is so called because of an important undercurrent to the narrative - a book in circulation despite its being banned in Nazi-controlled areas, entitled 'The Grasshopper Lies Heavy', in which its author - the Man in the High Castle - imagines a world where the Allied forces won WW2 - in other words, the world that we, the reader, inhabit.
In terms of this writing, this book is quite unusual. A lot of the prose is written with the articles ('a' and 'the') quite often absent, perhaps to imitate the Japanese way of talking and thinking that is now the norm in the PSA. Many of the characters also consult the I-Ching and much of the book is made up of this, and of abstract philosophical musings. Also there are lots of snippets of German - something that I found quite hard as I don't speak a word. So it reads quite strangely, and took a while for me to get into.
My reaction to this book? Not what I expected at all, and surprisingly intellectual! Having just finished it, I feel like I didn't understand a word! Sometimes I feel like I have a hold on the underlying message of the book and other times I feel completely nonplussed. From second to second it changes from a vividly imagined political commentary juxtaposing disparate utopic and distopic visions of the past/present to the 'potpourri of pointlessness' to use Dick's own turn of phrase.
For me, this book failed to hit the mark. Perhaps because I don't really understand it, but also I think because of the way it is constructed. The separateness of the characters, and the way that the narrative flashes between them, meant that as a reader I didn't really get to know any of them particularly well, none of them becoming particularly sympathetic, and no clear protagonist emerging. This is probably intentional by Dick, however, for me as a reader it meant that I didn't really identify with any of the characters and never really got into the plot as a result. And due to my complete lack of knowledge I found the German and I-Ching sections rather isolating.
Conclusion? One I might read again, more carefully, and having done extensive research into the I-Ching and philosophy!
Friday, June 3, 2011
The Passion of New Eve by Angela Carter
The second book by Carter that I have read. The basic story is that Evelyn is an Englishman living in a crumbling America. He treats his lover Leilah badly, and so is captured by a fertility goddess and forced to have a sex change, in order that he a) gets a taste of his own medicine and b) repopulates the world by getting himself pregnant. And yes, it is as weird and grotesque as it sounds.
The basic premise of the story (chauvinist pig gets turned into a woman so he sees how he likes it) sounded promising - profound but with room for some dark humour. But this story went off at completely the opposite direction to what I expected. In fact I was a little disappointed - it isn't the story I expected, and it isn't the story I would have written.
This being Carter of course, the book is full of vivid description, poetic and grotesque language, and enough symbolism to sink a ship. In fact I've decided taht the way Carter writes is not so much in terms of a coherent plot, but more a string of vivid and symbolic scenes strung together by common characters. If you want a plot, don't read this book. However, Carter's vision is vividly painted and if you want a profound and challenging read then this is the book for you.
The depiction of a crumbling America was perhaps my favourite part of this book. It is horribly described, the first thing Evelyn sees when he arrives in America is a man who has just been stabbed, and it gets more and more horrible as the book continues. However Carter's vision of America was very interesting and imaginative. Surreal, but interesting, and not incomparable with the worlds of Fitzgerald and Steinbeck.
In all I was disappointed with this book. Hard to explain why. I think it's because there is no subtlety about Carter's message. Instead of allowing the message to develop through plot and characters, she thrusts it down the reader's throat with heavy-handed symbolism and gore. I found the fertility goddess's chant (something along the lines of Oedipus this, Oedipus that, Jocasta Jocasta Jocasta!) among other aspects ridiculous and actually laughable. There is no subtlety here, absolutely none, and boy did I miss it! The understated vividness of Austen and George Eliot, the poetry of the Brontes, the real-world believability of Iris Murdoch, the sharply-observed and humourously constructed messages of Jeanette Winterson's work...Carter stands out against the canon of great female writers for her surrealist and unflinchingly hideous descriptions, but she lacks, despite the scholarly references peppering The Passion of New Eve, the intelligence and wit of other female writers past and present. I found her writing interesting when I read The Infernal Desire Machines of Dr Hoffman, but found New Eve hard to swallow.
I know it's simplistic but I rate this 4.5 / 10, and would only read it again if I were studying it!
Not that I've consigned Carter to the back of the bookshelf, mind, but it will be a while before I read her again of my own free choice.
The basic premise of the story (chauvinist pig gets turned into a woman so he sees how he likes it) sounded promising - profound but with room for some dark humour. But this story went off at completely the opposite direction to what I expected. In fact I was a little disappointed - it isn't the story I expected, and it isn't the story I would have written.
This being Carter of course, the book is full of vivid description, poetic and grotesque language, and enough symbolism to sink a ship. In fact I've decided taht the way Carter writes is not so much in terms of a coherent plot, but more a string of vivid and symbolic scenes strung together by common characters. If you want a plot, don't read this book. However, Carter's vision is vividly painted and if you want a profound and challenging read then this is the book for you.
The depiction of a crumbling America was perhaps my favourite part of this book. It is horribly described, the first thing Evelyn sees when he arrives in America is a man who has just been stabbed, and it gets more and more horrible as the book continues. However Carter's vision of America was very interesting and imaginative. Surreal, but interesting, and not incomparable with the worlds of Fitzgerald and Steinbeck.
In all I was disappointed with this book. Hard to explain why. I think it's because there is no subtlety about Carter's message. Instead of allowing the message to develop through plot and characters, she thrusts it down the reader's throat with heavy-handed symbolism and gore. I found the fertility goddess's chant (something along the lines of Oedipus this, Oedipus that, Jocasta Jocasta Jocasta!) among other aspects ridiculous and actually laughable. There is no subtlety here, absolutely none, and boy did I miss it! The understated vividness of Austen and George Eliot, the poetry of the Brontes, the real-world believability of Iris Murdoch, the sharply-observed and humourously constructed messages of Jeanette Winterson's work...Carter stands out against the canon of great female writers for her surrealist and unflinchingly hideous descriptions, but she lacks, despite the scholarly references peppering The Passion of New Eve, the intelligence and wit of other female writers past and present. I found her writing interesting when I read The Infernal Desire Machines of Dr Hoffman, but found New Eve hard to swallow.
I know it's simplistic but I rate this 4.5 / 10, and would only read it again if I were studying it!
Not that I've consigned Carter to the back of the bookshelf, mind, but it will be a while before I read her again of my own free choice.
Tuesday, May 17, 2011
The Handmaid's Tale by Margaret Atwood
This sci-fi novel is set in the future, when the US has become the state of Gilead, a religious dictatorship. The repressive regime is born out of the fact that only a small minority of women remain fertile. These women are the Handmaids, and are basically hired out to important men in order to procreate. If they fail to do this, or break the strict rules governing their lives, they can become Unwomen and be sent to the radioactive colonies, be hanged and displayed as an example, or maybe even be torn to pieces by fellow humans.
The novel is told from the point of view of the Handmaid Offred (literally, the woman Of Fred). She recounts details of her former life and family, which intertwine with the story of her present. Offred is manipulated by the wife of her Commander, the Commander himself, and finds herself drawn towards his chauffeur/butler/servant, Nick, all of which puts her life in danger. The structure of the book revolves between the past and present, and Offred's encounters with other characters, and there is a reflective section at the end of the book told from many years after the events of the book.
I enjoyed the book, although it's a disturbing story and one that describes certain events in grisly detail. Atwood writes in an unfussy, almost conversational tone, but paints her characters very persuasively and uses symbolism as if it were going out of fashion. I felt that some elements were rather anachronistic - the Compucheck, Compubank, etc. It was Compu-everything - and that some elements were quite obviously borrowed from 1984. Also the 'Historical Notes', the last and reflective part of the book, didn't, I feel, add anything to the story. In fact it detracted from it, in that the deliciously tantalising cliff-hanger at the end of Offred's story is explained away. I think this was added to explain how Offred's internal monologue could have been recorded, but to be honest this part was unnecessary and surperfluous.
In all, however, Atwood's characters and scenario were uniquely presented and uniquely uncomfortable to read. Definitely a book that makes the reader think, and one that, though disturbing, I thoroughly enjoyed. I will certainly return to this book. It has really freaked me out, but I couldn't put it down.
The novel is told from the point of view of the Handmaid Offred (literally, the woman Of Fred). She recounts details of her former life and family, which intertwine with the story of her present. Offred is manipulated by the wife of her Commander, the Commander himself, and finds herself drawn towards his chauffeur/butler/servant, Nick, all of which puts her life in danger. The structure of the book revolves between the past and present, and Offred's encounters with other characters, and there is a reflective section at the end of the book told from many years after the events of the book.
I enjoyed the book, although it's a disturbing story and one that describes certain events in grisly detail. Atwood writes in an unfussy, almost conversational tone, but paints her characters very persuasively and uses symbolism as if it were going out of fashion. I felt that some elements were rather anachronistic - the Compucheck, Compubank, etc. It was Compu-everything - and that some elements were quite obviously borrowed from 1984. Also the 'Historical Notes', the last and reflective part of the book, didn't, I feel, add anything to the story. In fact it detracted from it, in that the deliciously tantalising cliff-hanger at the end of Offred's story is explained away. I think this was added to explain how Offred's internal monologue could have been recorded, but to be honest this part was unnecessary and surperfluous.
In all, however, Atwood's characters and scenario were uniquely presented and uniquely uncomfortable to read. Definitely a book that makes the reader think, and one that, though disturbing, I thoroughly enjoyed. I will certainly return to this book. It has really freaked me out, but I couldn't put it down.
Friday, May 13, 2011
1984 by George Orwell
I know this is a 20th C classic but I have never read it before, nor any of Orwell's work for matter, and the only other science fiction book I have ever read is Never Let Me Go. So here are my thoughts about 1984, and maybe it will convince even those who have read it before to pick up this book again and reread it!
For those who do not know the story: Winston Smith lives in a totalitarian state ruled by the Party. Free thought, human emotion and even love are utterly forbidden, and history and truth denied and warped. Winston embarks on a dangerous love affair with the seemingly regime-loyal Julia, whilst attempting in his own small way to undermine the oppressive powers that govern every aspect of his life. Without giving too much away...it lands him in all sorts of trouble in a plot full of twists but also driven by a haunting inevitability.
I absolutely loved this book, and it amazes me how something written 63 years ago is still so terrifyingly relevant. Goldstein, the hate figure, is currently (or until recently) incarnate in Osama bin Laden. Telescreens are everywhere these days - in fact I am typing on one right now, and what's more, it has an undisguised camera facing me - and we even have portable ones that we carry round with us all the time. The News of the World phone hacking scandal show how these telescreens can be used to spy on us. I'm not a conspiracy theorist - well, ok, a bit, but hey, I'm young and revolutionary - but Orwell's vision of an utterly totalitarian future has so many frightening parallels to today. Even the world divided into the three superstates of Oceania, Eurasia and Eastasia is not unrecogniseable. The UK is the only pro-American country in Europe, Europe and the US are terrified of China, India and Russia, and countries as varied as China, the US and Arab states seem to almost fight one another for control of Africa - which is kept impoverished and oppressed. The constant, ever-shifting war? Surely it has several parallels with the War on Terror. It's amazing that Orwell had such foresight back in 1948, and the fact that he was writing just after the Second World War - and had already seen a totalitarian Europe and a whole world at war - and could see no improvement in the future...it's astounding, it really is.
But apart from the continued relevance and frightening foresight of the book, Orwell just writes absolutely compellingly. The ominous inevitability of Winston's end, right from the beginning of the book - 'it would end in the Ministery of Love' - had me gripped. I read the book in stolen snatches, desperate to read on. The portrait of the word imagined by Orwell is beautifully and shockingly painted. The invented world - Thought Crime, Doublethink, Newspeak, the Telescreen, Ingsoc - is horrifyingly believable. Characters are complex and Winston's inner battles are pitched just right. The plot is a real driving force (its only digression is The Book, something which although a bit of a drag compared to the rest of it, but still fascinating). But even Orwell's use of language is absolutely brilliant. My favourite line, the one that stays with me, is when Winston is described as 'gelatinous with fatigue'. Gelatinous! Perfect, glorious description! It's thoughtfully, inventively, bizarrely written, the language straightforward and unfussy but also perfectly judged and wonderfully precise and descriptive.
In short, I loved this book. I haven't been made to think so deeply by a book since I don't know when. But as well as being a thought-provoker, and a political statement, 1984 has beautiful language and perfectly-paced plot to add to its list. And the ending - so inevitable, but utterly surprising. I'd give it 9.99999999999999999 recurring out of 10. The tiny decimal knocked off only because although I admire Orwell's vision, I hope it never becomes true.
For those who do not know the story: Winston Smith lives in a totalitarian state ruled by the Party. Free thought, human emotion and even love are utterly forbidden, and history and truth denied and warped. Winston embarks on a dangerous love affair with the seemingly regime-loyal Julia, whilst attempting in his own small way to undermine the oppressive powers that govern every aspect of his life. Without giving too much away...it lands him in all sorts of trouble in a plot full of twists but also driven by a haunting inevitability.
I absolutely loved this book, and it amazes me how something written 63 years ago is still so terrifyingly relevant. Goldstein, the hate figure, is currently (or until recently) incarnate in Osama bin Laden. Telescreens are everywhere these days - in fact I am typing on one right now, and what's more, it has an undisguised camera facing me - and we even have portable ones that we carry round with us all the time. The News of the World phone hacking scandal show how these telescreens can be used to spy on us. I'm not a conspiracy theorist - well, ok, a bit, but hey, I'm young and revolutionary - but Orwell's vision of an utterly totalitarian future has so many frightening parallels to today. Even the world divided into the three superstates of Oceania, Eurasia and Eastasia is not unrecogniseable. The UK is the only pro-American country in Europe, Europe and the US are terrified of China, India and Russia, and countries as varied as China, the US and Arab states seem to almost fight one another for control of Africa - which is kept impoverished and oppressed. The constant, ever-shifting war? Surely it has several parallels with the War on Terror. It's amazing that Orwell had such foresight back in 1948, and the fact that he was writing just after the Second World War - and had already seen a totalitarian Europe and a whole world at war - and could see no improvement in the future...it's astounding, it really is.
But apart from the continued relevance and frightening foresight of the book, Orwell just writes absolutely compellingly. The ominous inevitability of Winston's end, right from the beginning of the book - 'it would end in the Ministery of Love' - had me gripped. I read the book in stolen snatches, desperate to read on. The portrait of the word imagined by Orwell is beautifully and shockingly painted. The invented world - Thought Crime, Doublethink, Newspeak, the Telescreen, Ingsoc - is horrifyingly believable. Characters are complex and Winston's inner battles are pitched just right. The plot is a real driving force (its only digression is The Book, something which although a bit of a drag compared to the rest of it, but still fascinating). But even Orwell's use of language is absolutely brilliant. My favourite line, the one that stays with me, is when Winston is described as 'gelatinous with fatigue'. Gelatinous! Perfect, glorious description! It's thoughtfully, inventively, bizarrely written, the language straightforward and unfussy but also perfectly judged and wonderfully precise and descriptive.
In short, I loved this book. I haven't been made to think so deeply by a book since I don't know when. But as well as being a thought-provoker, and a political statement, 1984 has beautiful language and perfectly-paced plot to add to its list. And the ending - so inevitable, but utterly surprising. I'd give it 9.99999999999999999 recurring out of 10. The tiny decimal knocked off only because although I admire Orwell's vision, I hope it never becomes true.
Thursday, April 14, 2011
The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald
Another classic that I haven't read before, this time an American one. The Great Gatsby is set in the wild, whimsical 20's in New York, and tells the story of Daisy Buchanan and Jay Gatsby in their attempt to restart an old romance. Themes include obsession, reality & dreams, hope, love, memory and the complexity of human relationships.
I really enjoyed this book. It's short and sweet, and despite the fact that it's approaching 100 years old (!) it's modern, easy reading and still relevant to today's society. The presentation of the hedonistic, artificial and wild social scene are particularly memorable and relevant.
But to the book. Scott Fitzgerald was clearly a very talented writer. The book is full of descriptions that virtually made my mouth water - 'frosted wedding cake of the ceiling' is one that particularly sticks in my mind. The conjuring of the heat, business and atmosphere of Long Island was beautiful to read.
I liked the characterisation. From the first chapter you have most of the characters pinned down - Daisy is selfish, carefree, seductive, teasing; Tom is possessive and always wants more; Nick Carraway is an interferer and a user, but not unpleasant. Fitzgerald writes his characters perfectly - from their physical description to their speech, they are presented as full, well-rounded and complete entities.
However, despite the mouth-watering descriptions and skilled characterisations having finished the book it does feel a little...unfinished. I don't mean that the reader is left with questions once the book is finished. Everything wraps up rather messily for the characters, but is very neatly explained. Rather, I feel as if it never got going. The plot...well, was that it? Admittedly towards the end there were a couple of twists which I hadn't been expecting, but mostly it was clear that nothing was going to happen, and then it didn't. And the central and crucially important Gatsby as a character? He was the one character that I felt I didn't know and couldn't sympathise with, undoubtedly due to the mystery he holds for other characters in the book, but in the first chapter Nick says how Gatsby turned out to be a good sort...and I don't think he did. He was just some bloke that turns up, gets in a bit of an emotional muddle, and that's that. It's not that I think the story is shallow or uninteresting or anything like that. It just feels a bit of an anticlimax - a gentle stroll through all the parties etc., a couple of promising revelations and then...diddlysquat. End of book.
Somehow it just never rang true for me. It's the kind of book that I know I will understand differently the next time I read it, the kind that reveals more of itself the more you get to know it. Skilled, beautiful writing, with a wonderful use of unique descriptive language. But lacking something - a bit of zing, some spice. Nowhere near my top 20. But possibly in the top 100 for the descriptions. We shall see.
I really enjoyed this book. It's short and sweet, and despite the fact that it's approaching 100 years old (!) it's modern, easy reading and still relevant to today's society. The presentation of the hedonistic, artificial and wild social scene are particularly memorable and relevant.
But to the book. Scott Fitzgerald was clearly a very talented writer. The book is full of descriptions that virtually made my mouth water - 'frosted wedding cake of the ceiling' is one that particularly sticks in my mind. The conjuring of the heat, business and atmosphere of Long Island was beautiful to read.
I liked the characterisation. From the first chapter you have most of the characters pinned down - Daisy is selfish, carefree, seductive, teasing; Tom is possessive and always wants more; Nick Carraway is an interferer and a user, but not unpleasant. Fitzgerald writes his characters perfectly - from their physical description to their speech, they are presented as full, well-rounded and complete entities.
However, despite the mouth-watering descriptions and skilled characterisations having finished the book it does feel a little...unfinished. I don't mean that the reader is left with questions once the book is finished. Everything wraps up rather messily for the characters, but is very neatly explained. Rather, I feel as if it never got going. The plot...well, was that it? Admittedly towards the end there were a couple of twists which I hadn't been expecting, but mostly it was clear that nothing was going to happen, and then it didn't. And the central and crucially important Gatsby as a character? He was the one character that I felt I didn't know and couldn't sympathise with, undoubtedly due to the mystery he holds for other characters in the book, but in the first chapter Nick says how Gatsby turned out to be a good sort...and I don't think he did. He was just some bloke that turns up, gets in a bit of an emotional muddle, and that's that. It's not that I think the story is shallow or uninteresting or anything like that. It just feels a bit of an anticlimax - a gentle stroll through all the parties etc., a couple of promising revelations and then...diddlysquat. End of book.
Somehow it just never rang true for me. It's the kind of book that I know I will understand differently the next time I read it, the kind that reveals more of itself the more you get to know it. Skilled, beautiful writing, with a wonderful use of unique descriptive language. But lacking something - a bit of zing, some spice. Nowhere near my top 20. But possibly in the top 100 for the descriptions. We shall see.
Wednesday, April 13, 2011
The Bone People by Keri Hulme
Just noticed an absolutely hideous split infinitive in the last post. Oh well.
I just finished The Bone People by Keri Hulme five minutes ago. It has been one heck of a read - took me ages, and is very hefty book, full of hefty ideas and hefty writing techniques...but I really enjoyed it, too. Keri Hulme is a New Zealand writer of mixed heritage - some Maori - and this is her first and only novel, although she writes poetry and short stories. The Bone People tells the story of how Kerewin, an asexual artist, finds herself getting more and more involved with Joe and his adopted son Simon. Simon is a difficult child who does not speak, and Joe is suffering from the loss of his wife and biological son. Their relationship is an abusive one, but at the same time absolutely loving. Their three lives become entwined.
I don't really know what it was that kept me going through this book. It's compelling from about 2/3 of the way through, but beforehand not an awful lot happens, except the presentation of the growing relationships between the characters. However, somehow it gripped me from the start, and my word, the end was worth the wait.
I loved several aspects of this book. The first is the inclusion of Maori myth and even language - subtle, at first, and then becoming more influential to the narrative towards the end. It was really fascinating to read about, but Hulme blended it perfectly into a picture of modern New Zealand. The second thing I loved was Hulme's use of language. In her introduction to my edition of the book, she talks about how words have 'shapes', and how the same word written with subtle differences (e.g. bluegreen, blue-green) creates entirely different meanings and feelings. She is a writer who is clearly aware of the infantessimal obscurities of language, and manipulates these beautifully. Her descriptions are spare and concise but conjure perfectly, and her prose, even dialogue, reads like poetry. The third aspect, and possibly the most moving aspect of the book, is the fact that it is a book about people. Despite the Maori myth and the plot and all the ins and outs it is a book about human relationships. All of the characters are flawed. They're all sympathetic. You can see a lot of the writer in this book, but it also reflects back to the reader. A very thought-provoking, caring and complexly simple story, and one that examines the beauty and horror of human relationships, very intelligently and very sympathetically.
I won't lie, there are parts of the book that are disturbing - the abuse scenes, in particular. But despite this it's the kind of book that gives you that bittersweet lift at the end. What they always call 'life-affirming' in film reviews - a term that I hate, but that I guess communicates the feeling.
It's also not easy going. Hulme weaves together third person, first person, past tense, present tense, narrative, dialogue, thought...and the structure puts the end at the beginning, loads of flashbacks in, things in consecutive chapters that are happening simultaneously or before what happened in the last chapter...Very unique, original style. I wouldn't call it avant-garde, because Hulme uses it deftly to mould the characters and narrative, and it is essential to the book rather than just being a pretentious add-on to a simple story. But it is different, and confusing, and tantalising. The complexity of the story requires the complexity of the way it's written. It was tough at times (especially when I had the much slimmer and more straight forward Great Gatsby at my side, watching me and begging to be read) but I really enjoyed Keri Hulme's unique style and tenderly-told story.
The Bone People is the kind of book that you can't rush through, and I won't be rushing to read it a second time. But I will read it again, not too far off. Three words to describe it? Eccentric, human, tender. Would I recommend other people read it? Yes. Not everyone will love it, and I was lucky that I read it at the right time for me, but I will definitely be recommending it to my more open-minded friends, as it is a book that teaches, without being preachy.
Waffle, the above. Basically, read it if you can set aside the time for it and if you like books that make you think hard. I loved it. I rescued it from a box going to the charity shop, and I'm glad I did, and it will be staying safely on my shelf waiting for me. ;)
I just finished The Bone People by Keri Hulme five minutes ago. It has been one heck of a read - took me ages, and is very hefty book, full of hefty ideas and hefty writing techniques...but I really enjoyed it, too. Keri Hulme is a New Zealand writer of mixed heritage - some Maori - and this is her first and only novel, although she writes poetry and short stories. The Bone People tells the story of how Kerewin, an asexual artist, finds herself getting more and more involved with Joe and his adopted son Simon. Simon is a difficult child who does not speak, and Joe is suffering from the loss of his wife and biological son. Their relationship is an abusive one, but at the same time absolutely loving. Their three lives become entwined.
I don't really know what it was that kept me going through this book. It's compelling from about 2/3 of the way through, but beforehand not an awful lot happens, except the presentation of the growing relationships between the characters. However, somehow it gripped me from the start, and my word, the end was worth the wait.
I loved several aspects of this book. The first is the inclusion of Maori myth and even language - subtle, at first, and then becoming more influential to the narrative towards the end. It was really fascinating to read about, but Hulme blended it perfectly into a picture of modern New Zealand. The second thing I loved was Hulme's use of language. In her introduction to my edition of the book, she talks about how words have 'shapes', and how the same word written with subtle differences (e.g. bluegreen, blue-green) creates entirely different meanings and feelings. She is a writer who is clearly aware of the infantessimal obscurities of language, and manipulates these beautifully. Her descriptions are spare and concise but conjure perfectly, and her prose, even dialogue, reads like poetry. The third aspect, and possibly the most moving aspect of the book, is the fact that it is a book about people. Despite the Maori myth and the plot and all the ins and outs it is a book about human relationships. All of the characters are flawed. They're all sympathetic. You can see a lot of the writer in this book, but it also reflects back to the reader. A very thought-provoking, caring and complexly simple story, and one that examines the beauty and horror of human relationships, very intelligently and very sympathetically.
I won't lie, there are parts of the book that are disturbing - the abuse scenes, in particular. But despite this it's the kind of book that gives you that bittersweet lift at the end. What they always call 'life-affirming' in film reviews - a term that I hate, but that I guess communicates the feeling.
It's also not easy going. Hulme weaves together third person, first person, past tense, present tense, narrative, dialogue, thought...and the structure puts the end at the beginning, loads of flashbacks in, things in consecutive chapters that are happening simultaneously or before what happened in the last chapter...Very unique, original style. I wouldn't call it avant-garde, because Hulme uses it deftly to mould the characters and narrative, and it is essential to the book rather than just being a pretentious add-on to a simple story. But it is different, and confusing, and tantalising. The complexity of the story requires the complexity of the way it's written. It was tough at times (especially when I had the much slimmer and more straight forward Great Gatsby at my side, watching me and begging to be read) but I really enjoyed Keri Hulme's unique style and tenderly-told story.
The Bone People is the kind of book that you can't rush through, and I won't be rushing to read it a second time. But I will read it again, not too far off. Three words to describe it? Eccentric, human, tender. Would I recommend other people read it? Yes. Not everyone will love it, and I was lucky that I read it at the right time for me, but I will definitely be recommending it to my more open-minded friends, as it is a book that teaches, without being preachy.
Waffle, the above. Basically, read it if you can set aside the time for it and if you like books that make you think hard. I loved it. I rescued it from a box going to the charity shop, and I'm glad I did, and it will be staying safely on my shelf waiting for me. ;)
Sunday, April 3, 2011
Too many books?
My reading is really out of control at the moment. I am currently reading Keri Hulme's 'The Bone People', Camus' 'L'Etranger' in French, D.H. Lawrence's 'The Rainbow', and Gillian Clarke's Collected Poems, as well as studying 'The Great Gatsby' by F. Scott Fitzgerald, 'The Rover' by Aphra Behn and revising Hardy's 'Tess of the D'Urbervilles', Austen's 'Pride and Prejudice', Shakespeare's 'Hamlet', and loads of other stuff. And on top of that I have loads of my own stories swimming around my head at the moment. Mostly they have been coming to me in dreams and I have to note them down very quickly before I lose them. Not so many poems at the moment.
Anyway, I am inching my way through 'The Bone People' mostly, and watching BBC4's adaptation of 'Women in Love' and pretending that it means I'm reading the Lawrence. I've decided that Hulme's book of short stories 'The Windeater' is going to be some of my holiday reading this summer, along with some J. M. Coetzee and maybe Ulysses. I had a trial seminar on Ulysses the other day and it sounds interesting, and it doesn't appear to be the solid lump of stream of consciousness that I had thought it was. So maybe. Also I'm a complete masochist so I have dug out my mum's old copy of it and it is staring at me fatly waiting for me to get to it. We shall see.
More on Keri Hulme when I finish it. Then I'll race through Gatsby and then onto the dreaded 'Rainbow'....... and ps. thanks Sean for your comment, I will check out the book, and would really love to one day visit Gjirokastra...when I've paid off my student debt maybe!
Anyway, I am inching my way through 'The Bone People' mostly, and watching BBC4's adaptation of 'Women in Love' and pretending that it means I'm reading the Lawrence. I've decided that Hulme's book of short stories 'The Windeater' is going to be some of my holiday reading this summer, along with some J. M. Coetzee and maybe Ulysses. I had a trial seminar on Ulysses the other day and it sounds interesting, and it doesn't appear to be the solid lump of stream of consciousness that I had thought it was. So maybe. Also I'm a complete masochist so I have dug out my mum's old copy of it and it is staring at me fatly waiting for me to get to it. We shall see.
More on Keri Hulme when I finish it. Then I'll race through Gatsby and then onto the dreaded 'Rainbow'....... and ps. thanks Sean for your comment, I will check out the book, and would really love to one day visit Gjirokastra...when I've paid off my student debt maybe!
Friday, March 18, 2011
Chronicle in Stone by Ismail Kadare
Ismail Kadare is an Albanian writer, and Chronicle set in the southern town of Gjirokaster during WW2. I don't know much abou historical or modern Albania or even much about WW2 for that matter but this book still made perfect sense to me, was beautifully evocative and a joy to read.
Usually when I'm enjoying a book I race through it. I'll take a couple of days to read it if I'm going slowly. With Chronicle it was different. I've been reading it since the last post. It'svery unusual for me to read like this but somehow it suited the book itself. I feel I have given it the sustained attention it deserves.
Told through the eyes of a young boy, the book tells the story of the inhabitants of Gjirokaster under Italian (then Greek, then Italian, then Greek, then Italian...then German) occupation. Kadare writes (or is translated - I think both writer and translator have done a brilliant job here) absolutely beautifully. Evocatively. His descritpions of the city and its surroundings, and perfect descriptions of the characters are absolutely enchanting and very moving.
This isn't a book full of wild action scenes, but I found that it was still a very tense and gripping read. The rumoured presence of Vasiliqia, a Greek holy woman who goes round choosing male citizens to be executed just by pointing at them, was a horrible moment. And the inevitability of Isa and Javer's fate...The book is gentle, with touches of humour and very clever use of a child narrator, but still does not shrink from the real nature of war. Perhaps the saddest part, from my view, was the death of the old lady Kako Pino, something that truly shocked and horrified me.
Kadare has written a very clever, but still enjoyable and above all moving book. The narrative is interspersed with smaller sections of news, but whereas this might distract from a less accomplished story, I found the fragmented structure very appealing. Chronicle draws together traditional Albanian superstition and society with the modern world, and throws in the calamity of war to stir things up still further. When you realise that much of this must have been based on Kadare's own experience, the story is even more profound.
I haven't said this before (or at least I don't remember if I have) about any book, but this is one that I think everyone - no matter where they come from or what their background is - should read. And I would even go so far as to rail and wail about why it isn't on the national syllabus - it should be (but that's another argument). One of the best books I have ever read, and definitely one of my favourites. Bless the day I was trauling through Amazon and it came up in my recommendations! And thank you Ismail Kadare for opening my eyes through your genius literature!
Usually when I'm enjoying a book I race through it. I'll take a couple of days to read it if I'm going slowly. With Chronicle it was different. I've been reading it since the last post. It'svery unusual for me to read like this but somehow it suited the book itself. I feel I have given it the sustained attention it deserves.
Told through the eyes of a young boy, the book tells the story of the inhabitants of Gjirokaster under Italian (then Greek, then Italian, then Greek, then Italian...then German) occupation. Kadare writes (or is translated - I think both writer and translator have done a brilliant job here) absolutely beautifully. Evocatively. His descritpions of the city and its surroundings, and perfect descriptions of the characters are absolutely enchanting and very moving.
This isn't a book full of wild action scenes, but I found that it was still a very tense and gripping read. The rumoured presence of Vasiliqia, a Greek holy woman who goes round choosing male citizens to be executed just by pointing at them, was a horrible moment. And the inevitability of Isa and Javer's fate...The book is gentle, with touches of humour and very clever use of a child narrator, but still does not shrink from the real nature of war. Perhaps the saddest part, from my view, was the death of the old lady Kako Pino, something that truly shocked and horrified me.
Kadare has written a very clever, but still enjoyable and above all moving book. The narrative is interspersed with smaller sections of news, but whereas this might distract from a less accomplished story, I found the fragmented structure very appealing. Chronicle draws together traditional Albanian superstition and society with the modern world, and throws in the calamity of war to stir things up still further. When you realise that much of this must have been based on Kadare's own experience, the story is even more profound.
I haven't said this before (or at least I don't remember if I have) about any book, but this is one that I think everyone - no matter where they come from or what their background is - should read. And I would even go so far as to rail and wail about why it isn't on the national syllabus - it should be (but that's another argument). One of the best books I have ever read, and definitely one of my favourites. Bless the day I was trauling through Amazon and it came up in my recommendations! And thank you Ismail Kadare for opening my eyes through your genius literature!
Monday, March 7, 2011
Never Let Me Go by Kazuo Ishiguro
Yeah yeah, I know I've only read this because it's recently been turned into a film, but I haven't seen the film yet, so it's alright! Also I've read some of his Nocturnes before and have always been tempted by An Artist of the Floating World. But this is the first full Ishiguro I have read, and hopefully I'm off to see the film this week, so it will be interesting to compare.
But anyway, the book. I really enjoyed it. Short and sweet, literaray but not head-in-the-clouds, difficult message but easy reading. I think everyone should read this book, even if they don't usually enjoy reading. It was such a relief from the old D. H. Lawrence (I'm still struggling through that...I loved it but he's really over-descriptive!) but was still sophisticated and interesting.
Brief outline: Kathy, Tommy and Ruth are students at Hailsham. Eventually they go out into the big wide world. Their world is not like ours: after the Second World War, it was discovered that all sorts of diseases could be cured through transplants, and so they started manufacturing clones to grow organs. The book tells the story of their complex relationships, the clone + transplants thing being mostly a distant - but crucial - backdrop.
When I was enthusing about this book to one of my friends, she screwed up her face and said, "sounds just like 'The Island'." Referring of course to that mediocre Ewan McGregor/Scarlet Johansson film. True. The organ donor stuff has been done before in Hollywood, even if it hasn't in literature (although I don't know which came first, Never Let Me Go or The Island). But the fact is, Ishiguro's story is completely different: the clone thing is a backdrop. What he really focuses on, what he has clearly observed in incredible detail, and what makes the book a joy to read, is the fact that it is the human relationships that make the story. It could be set in our world and have the same poignancy; the fact that Ishiguro sets it in a different one is, as I say, more of a backdrop.
So yeah. No big blockbuster explosions here. But sharply observed and incredibly moving human relationships. A book that I think has made me a wiser person.
I have one criticism Never Let Me Go, and it is just a little niggle really. It's told from the point of view of Kathy, looking back on the past. Ishiguro uses this really interestingly; this is a brilliantly-crafted example of the unreliable narrator if ever there was once. The narrative voice is consistent and sympathetic. Ishiguro has created realistic characters, but ones who I cared about, and it is obvious what a skilled writer he is, from the fact that the voice never falters for one second. However, this was my little niggle with it: at times the unreliable narrator stuff - the way she would digress, then come back to a point, then relate a little anecdote from the past, and then jump to the present - was really interesting, but at a couple of points in the book I wish it had been a bit more...reliable. Just set down some solid facts here and there for a change would have been nice.
One thing this book will do is have you turning the pages. Because of the unreliable narrator, and the way it digresses, and skips backwards and forwards, the story and its background are built up in patches, meaning the only way to find out more is to keep reading. Compulsively! It frustrated me, but in a good way. In a can't-put-it-down kind of way. The end wasn't wholly unexpected but it wasn't what I had expected (if that makes sense) and there are still a few questions left unanswered at the end. A page-turner. A good'un.
I enjoyed this book very much. While not the most ground-breaking book I've ever come across, nor the best, it is one I will come back to and has definitely encouraged me to read more of Kazuo Ishiguro's work, and he is undeniably a very skilled writer.
Next up I'm reading 'Chronicle in Stone' by Ismail Kadare (in translation, I don't actually speak Albanian, in case you were wondering). I tend to read more female writers over male ones but it's really nice to be breaking the habit a bit at the moment. No matter what people say, men and women are different and do have different perspectives on life, and even write differently. So it feels good to equalise it all a bit. Dunno what I'll read after that. Probably worm my way through to the end of 'The Rainbow' with Marjane Satrapi's 'Persepolis' for light relief (in French). But I have a pile of books here that all need reading. 12 in total and that is my current bedside shortlist; in the hallway there are another 134539087340872103 I keep meaning to get round to. One day I'll get there. Maybe!
But anyway, the book. I really enjoyed it. Short and sweet, literaray but not head-in-the-clouds, difficult message but easy reading. I think everyone should read this book, even if they don't usually enjoy reading. It was such a relief from the old D. H. Lawrence (I'm still struggling through that...I loved it but he's really over-descriptive!) but was still sophisticated and interesting.
Brief outline: Kathy, Tommy and Ruth are students at Hailsham. Eventually they go out into the big wide world. Their world is not like ours: after the Second World War, it was discovered that all sorts of diseases could be cured through transplants, and so they started manufacturing clones to grow organs. The book tells the story of their complex relationships, the clone + transplants thing being mostly a distant - but crucial - backdrop.
When I was enthusing about this book to one of my friends, she screwed up her face and said, "sounds just like 'The Island'." Referring of course to that mediocre Ewan McGregor/Scarlet Johansson film. True. The organ donor stuff has been done before in Hollywood, even if it hasn't in literature (although I don't know which came first, Never Let Me Go or The Island). But the fact is, Ishiguro's story is completely different: the clone thing is a backdrop. What he really focuses on, what he has clearly observed in incredible detail, and what makes the book a joy to read, is the fact that it is the human relationships that make the story. It could be set in our world and have the same poignancy; the fact that Ishiguro sets it in a different one is, as I say, more of a backdrop.
So yeah. No big blockbuster explosions here. But sharply observed and incredibly moving human relationships. A book that I think has made me a wiser person.
I have one criticism Never Let Me Go, and it is just a little niggle really. It's told from the point of view of Kathy, looking back on the past. Ishiguro uses this really interestingly; this is a brilliantly-crafted example of the unreliable narrator if ever there was once. The narrative voice is consistent and sympathetic. Ishiguro has created realistic characters, but ones who I cared about, and it is obvious what a skilled writer he is, from the fact that the voice never falters for one second. However, this was my little niggle with it: at times the unreliable narrator stuff - the way she would digress, then come back to a point, then relate a little anecdote from the past, and then jump to the present - was really interesting, but at a couple of points in the book I wish it had been a bit more...reliable. Just set down some solid facts here and there for a change would have been nice.
One thing this book will do is have you turning the pages. Because of the unreliable narrator, and the way it digresses, and skips backwards and forwards, the story and its background are built up in patches, meaning the only way to find out more is to keep reading. Compulsively! It frustrated me, but in a good way. In a can't-put-it-down kind of way. The end wasn't wholly unexpected but it wasn't what I had expected (if that makes sense) and there are still a few questions left unanswered at the end. A page-turner. A good'un.
I enjoyed this book very much. While not the most ground-breaking book I've ever come across, nor the best, it is one I will come back to and has definitely encouraged me to read more of Kazuo Ishiguro's work, and he is undeniably a very skilled writer.
Next up I'm reading 'Chronicle in Stone' by Ismail Kadare (in translation, I don't actually speak Albanian, in case you were wondering). I tend to read more female writers over male ones but it's really nice to be breaking the habit a bit at the moment. No matter what people say, men and women are different and do have different perspectives on life, and even write differently. So it feels good to equalise it all a bit. Dunno what I'll read after that. Probably worm my way through to the end of 'The Rainbow' with Marjane Satrapi's 'Persepolis' for light relief (in French). But I have a pile of books here that all need reading. 12 in total and that is my current bedside shortlist; in the hallway there are another 134539087340872103 I keep meaning to get round to. One day I'll get there. Maybe!
Thursday, February 3, 2011
D. H. Lawrence's 'The Rainbow' and 'La Cle Sur La Porte' de Christiane Rochefort
I'm struggling through 'The Rainbow' by D H Lawrence at the mo. It's a good book. I'm about a third of the way through. He writes beautifully, descriptively and very romantically. But he doesn't half waffle on!
I love Thomas Hardy, despite his 'wordiness' and instrusive narration, but Lawrence seems to take this to a whole new level! In Chapter 2 'They Live At The Marsh', about 40000000 paragraphs in a row described Tom and Lydia's distance peppered with brief flashes of carnal-caused closeness. THERE IS ONLY SO MUCH YOU CAN SAY ABOUT THIS, SURELY. By about the 2nd paragraph I'd got the idea but no, there were another 39999998 left to go on the subject.
It's a good book. I'm enjoying it. I like the way Lawrence writes. Apart from his waffle. It's a frustrating book. I'm avoiding it at present. It is lurking at the bottom of my handbag and only comes out after I've had a stiff drink and have mentally prepared myself. It's a good book. It's a frustrating book. I'm enjoying it. I can't wait to get through it.
So as part of my avoidance strategy I am reading a simplified version of 'La Cle Sur La Porte' by Christiane Rochefort.
Pour eviter D. H. Lawrence alors, je lis une edition simplifiee de 'La Cle Sur La Porte' de Christiane Rochefort. Ce livre s'agit d'une femme de vers quarante ans qui raconte la jeunesse de ses trois enfants et leurs amis, a qui elle ouvrait son appartement tout le temps. Elle raconte les epreuves des vies des ados ce qu'elle connait. Je l'ai commence hier soir et je trouve que c'est un bon livre, l'edition simplifiee est facile pour moi a comprendre pourtant j'apprends plus de la langue en le lisant aussi. Une progression parfaite apres 'Le Petit Prince', je me sens de plus en plus confiante en lisant les livres francais.
The book is about the experience of a woman of about forty years of age, who tells the story of the teenagerhood of her three children and their friends, to whom she opens her flat 24/7. She recounts the challenges the teenagers face. I started this book yesterday evening and I think it's a good book (certainly light relief from Lawrence) and the simplified edition is easy for me to understand, although I am still learning loads of French from it too. It's a perfect progression from 'Le Petit Prince' and I'm beginning to feel more and more confident about reading French literature.
I love Thomas Hardy, despite his 'wordiness' and instrusive narration, but Lawrence seems to take this to a whole new level! In Chapter 2 'They Live At The Marsh', about 40000000 paragraphs in a row described Tom and Lydia's distance peppered with brief flashes of carnal-caused closeness. THERE IS ONLY SO MUCH YOU CAN SAY ABOUT THIS, SURELY. By about the 2nd paragraph I'd got the idea but no, there were another 39999998 left to go on the subject.
It's a good book. I'm enjoying it. I like the way Lawrence writes. Apart from his waffle. It's a frustrating book. I'm avoiding it at present. It is lurking at the bottom of my handbag and only comes out after I've had a stiff drink and have mentally prepared myself. It's a good book. It's a frustrating book. I'm enjoying it. I can't wait to get through it.
So as part of my avoidance strategy I am reading a simplified version of 'La Cle Sur La Porte' by Christiane Rochefort.
Pour eviter D. H. Lawrence alors, je lis une edition simplifiee de 'La Cle Sur La Porte' de Christiane Rochefort. Ce livre s'agit d'une femme de vers quarante ans qui raconte la jeunesse de ses trois enfants et leurs amis, a qui elle ouvrait son appartement tout le temps. Elle raconte les epreuves des vies des ados ce qu'elle connait. Je l'ai commence hier soir et je trouve que c'est un bon livre, l'edition simplifiee est facile pour moi a comprendre pourtant j'apprends plus de la langue en le lisant aussi. Une progression parfaite apres 'Le Petit Prince', je me sens de plus en plus confiante en lisant les livres francais.
The book is about the experience of a woman of about forty years of age, who tells the story of the teenagerhood of her three children and their friends, to whom she opens her flat 24/7. She recounts the challenges the teenagers face. I started this book yesterday evening and I think it's a good book (certainly light relief from Lawrence) and the simplified edition is easy for me to understand, although I am still learning loads of French from it too. It's a perfect progression from 'Le Petit Prince' and I'm beginning to feel more and more confident about reading French literature.
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