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Crime Fiction Alphabet: H is for Holding

Sometimes things come together beautifully: one book to both round off Persephone Reading Weekend and fill the letter H slot in my Crime Fiction Alphabet.

And this morning my book popped up on a lovely list in The Observer. A list of ten neglected literary works worthy of the BBC1 slot currently occupied by South Riding.

Such wonderful timing!

The book in question is The Blank Wall by Elizabeth Sanxay Holding.

Lucia Holley, is a wife and mother, living with her daughter, her son, and her father, while her husband serves in the navy during WWII.

Lucia’s daughter, Bee, is a worry to her. She has become involved with an older man who her mother thinks is quite unsuitable, and Lucia is determined to put a stop to the relationship.

Her efforts though lead to a whole series of events – murder, blackmail, fraud - that threaten to destroy the very things that Lucia is trying to protect.

It’s a simple story, but it’s so terribly well executed.

Lucia, her family, and their relationships are so well drawn. The central conflict between mother and daughter is particularly well done. Lucia went straight from school to marriage and motherhood, but her daughter wants a very different life. Neither can understand the other.

That spoke loudly and clearly of the changing times. So did the many small inconveniences of daily life in a small America town during wartime

Lucia’s life, once so certain, was certain no more.

She had to keep her family safe, but she struggled to balance that with the demands of her children, her father, her home, her community.

Her behaviour, her attitude, became less and less rational, and at times I was infuriated as I watched her, but I really couldn’t have come up with a better plan.

Overall the balance of the book  is lovely: perfect family and domestic details on one side of the scale, and classic suspense on the other.

And a mystery driven so well by character is a wonderful thing.

The ending maybe  tilted a little too much towards melodrama, but it didn’t matter.  I was already hooked by the story and the characters, and it did round things off nicely.

Elizabeth Sanxay Holding has been compared to both Ruth Rendell and Patricia Highsmith. I’d have to agree, but I’d say that she is more subtle than the former, less dark than the other, and that she writes lovelier prose than either.

And that suits her dove-grey Persephone jacket very well.

*****

The Crime Fiction Alphabet is hosted by Kerrie at Mysteries in Paradise.

“Each week, beginning Monday 10 January 2011, you have to write a blog post about crime fiction related to the letter of the week …”

So next week, I is for … ?

Lettice Delmer by Susan Miles

Several Persephone Books called me from the shelves, quite sure that they were the book I should read this week-end though. I deliberated for quite some time, but in the end I was contrary.

I picked up the book that was sitting quietly, not making any attempt to draw my attention.

Lettice Delmer by Susan Miles

The idea of a novel in verse, albeit blank verse, rather intimidated me, but I put my faith in Persephone.

The opening caught my attention. Mrs Delmer, mother of Lettice and wife of the doctor in charge was visiting a “Special Hospital”, an institution for unmarried mothers and young women with venereal disease, determined to do good works and to show her support for her husband.

The bleakness and horror of such a place; the staff’s understanding of that, and that Mrs Delmer’s efforts must be tolerated; and Mrs Delmer’s embarrassment when she misreads situations are all caught perfectly.

But Mrs Delmer is determined to get things right, determined that she and her husband will do as much as they can to give help and support. They will even take a young woman into their home, and reunite her with her infant son.

Their concern is laudable, but of course it will affect their daughter.

A lovely picture is painted of Lettice, eighteen years old, spoiled, uneducated and uninformed, and yet charming. And it is easy to feel sympathetic towards Lettice, because it is so clear that she is the product of her upbringing and because she is so clearly ill-equipped to deal with what life may throw at her.

The arrival of Flora Tort and her son Derrick is not a success, but the Delmers persist.

They can’t understand what is happening to their daughter, that the disruption of her home life, her rejection by the young man with who she thought she had an understanding, will hurt her deeply and lead her to become estranged from her family.

Lettice’s life takes a downward spiral.

She is in many ways infuriating – stubborn, proud, and so often failing to understand the people and the world around he – and yet there is a vulnerability, a feeling that Lettice really cannot cope, so that it is quite impossible not to feel for her.

And her story is counterbalanced by the story of her family, as it evolves into something very different.

Lettice’s is a dark story, of depression, abortion, suicide, despair, death … but it is also a story of faith, hope and redemption.

The characterisation is lovely and the psychological insight is acute. But the failures of communication and understanding are infuriating, and so sadly believable.

I’d love to say more, i’d love to quote, but I’m afraid I can’t without having to say and explain too much.

And the verse? I have to say it works wonderfully well, giving the story and the characters room to breathe and grow, and at the same time giving the story just the right rhythm and urgency.

Very clever.

Lettice Delmer is not a comfortable book, and I found it very unsettling, but it is both moving and compelling.

And certainly worthy of its dove-grey jacket.

Spending Time in Victorian England with Mr Dickens, Miss Bronte and Mrs Gaskell

Starting three Victorian works at the same time might seem like madness, but there were three readlongs beginning this month that I really couldn’t resist. And losing myself in Victorian prose at night has been the perfect antidote to difficult days at work.

First there was Oliver Twist by Charles Dickens, hosted by Allie at A Literary Odyssey.

I first read Oliver’s story when I was in my teens, but over the years details slipped away, and I must confess that, until recently, if his name was mentioned I would think of Mr Bart’s musical before I thinking of Mr Dickens’ prose and storytelling.

It was time to take action. I picked up the book and I was soon caught up. I sailed through the pages and I had a lovely time, reaching the end in no time at all.

My final post for the readalong will be arriving bang on schedule next Monday.

And then there was Villette by Charlotte Bronte, hosted by Wallace at Unputdownables.

I had Villette in my sights a while before the readalong was announced. A lovely new Vintage Classics edition, with a striking image of a candle on the cover, called to me from a shelf in the library. I had a different edition at home, but oh what a difference a cover can make.

A cover can speak to you, and what it says may well influence your expectations and your response as you start to read. This cover said to me that it held a warm and approachable book built on classic lines, and that I really should pick it up.

I hesitated only because Villette is a long book, but I hesitated no more when I discovered that I could have reading companions to share the journey and to keep me on track.

I’m a little off the pace, taking my time to enjoy the prose, the story, the characters when my reading mood is right. I might catch up, or I might just finish the journey in my own good time.

And one day I’ll want to write more about Villette, but not today.

Today belongs to another book.

Because finally there’s The Moorland Cottage by Elizabeth Gaskell, hosted by Katherine at Gaskell Blog.

Now this little novella really has captivated me.

The lovely style, the fine prose, the wonderful evocation of the period and the countryside setting. And, most of all, the characters and their stories.

Maggie’s mother is becoming more and more annoying. Her favouring of her son, giving him everything, even withholding Nancy’s wages so her can have more is unforgivable. And Ned himself, spoiled as a child, continues to be a spoilt adult and helps himself, it seems, to even more than he is given.

And Frank’s father still not accepting his son’s engagement to Maggie, Of course he is ambitious for his son, but why can he not see that Maggie’s love and support would help Frank to be a better and happier man?

Yes, Victorian values are getting a good kicking.

It’s fortunate that Maggie has so much wisdom and maturity. That she is prepared to tell Frank that they cannot emigrate to Australia or Canada, to “a newer and purer society” because Frank, as an only child, has a duty to his father. Her sentiments are wonderfully unselfish, but I understand why Frank is so reluctant to give up his dream.

I’m a little irrational tonight I know, but I’ve had a strange day, and this book really has been an emotional journey.

I’ll calm down and right a little more sensibly when the story is over and I can collect my thoughts.

How will it all end? I’m going to find out tonight!

Full Dark House by Christopher Fowler

“How am I supposed to feel? I’ve got an under-rehearsed cased that’s too panicked to concentrate on the score, a violinist who’s more used to playing in Leicester Square for a hatful of pennies, a musical director who fights with the director over every change in the arrangements, fifty-year old mechanical equipment that refuses to control several tons of lethal scenery, a replacement jasper who has never performed in the West End, a cleaning lady who’s trying to scrub blood out of the balcony seats, and now some kind of women’s temperance league if picketing the theatre. Stan and Mouse are spreading rumours about ghosts walking through walls. Benjamin got punched on the nose by a woman who says that we’re the spawn of Satan. I nearly broke my leg in the foyer after Elspeth’s tortoise pulled rhubarb leaves all over the floor. And you’re telling me we have an abduction on our hands.”

There’s a lot going on in this book, so I think I’ll start at the beginning.

Arthur Bryant and John May met in London in November 1940. Both young men were assigned to the PCU – the Peculiar Crimes Unit – to deal with the strangest of crimes and, though they were young and had little experience, they found themselves pretty much running the place while so many resources and so many men were caught up in the war.

The two detectives had very different approaches – Bryant was an impulsive creative thinker, while May was a steady methodical investigator – but they soon formed a solid, utterly believable working relationship.

Their first case together was a complex, colourful mystery. The death of the leading lady in rehearsals for a grand new production of Offenbach’s Orpheus in the Underworld. A production to lift the spirits of Londoners living through the Blitz. But now a dancer lies dead, trapped in an elevator, her feet severed. And there will be more deaths. Seemingly impossible deaths. Does a phantom haunt the theatre.

A fine mystery, two engaging detectives pursuing their own theories, a colourful cast, and as many twists and turns as you could want.

But the case is never solved, and sixty years later it still haunts Bryant and May, who are still working together at the PCU. Every evening they walk and talk together before Bryant returns to the office and May returns to his home. It is on one of those walks that Bryant mentions that he thinks he has uncovered new information about that unsolved crime, and later that very evening that a bomb destroys the building that housed the PCU. Arthur Bryant is missing, presumed dead.

John May does not believe that his old friend and colleague’s death happened by chance, and so he sets out to uncover what Bryant knew, and why he died …

The two stories are well written and told, and twisted together very nicely. Progress is slow, and this is a book that you need to give a fair bit of time, but there is more than enough to justify lingering.

There’s lovely characterisation of two men who have differences but have much in common too, and whose relationship seems to have evolved so naturally and believably over the sixty years that separate the two, linked storylines. Such a wonderful portrayal of a professional and personal relationship. And the supporting cast is pretty good too.

There’s the city too. I recognised the London that I left a few years ago, and wartime London came to life for me too.

And a wealth of knowledge holds everything together. The aircraft flying over wartime London. The workings of the theatre. A collection of film posters. the myths that underpin the theatre production. So much knowledge, so much detail. It could be heavy going, but for me it wasn’t. I had the sense that the author loved the things that he was writing about, loved sharing his knowledge and telling his story, and that quite possibly he could make any subject that took his fancy intriguing.

That’s what enthuses me as I look forward to the books still to come in the series. I’ll be happy to meet Messrs Bryant and May again, I’ll be happy to enjoy another story unfolding, and I’ll be really happy to discover what more knowledge Christopher Fowler has to share along the way.

At the bottom of the wave …

… I’m going through an unhappy end to what had, until recently, been one of the happiest periods of my professional life. … but, of course,  there’s so much more to life than work … time for a change … I’ll escape, and soon I’ll rise again with the tide …

It’s just as Dorothy Whipple wrote:

“Life is like the sea, sometimes you are in the trough of the wave, sometimes on the crest. When you are in the trough, you wait for the crest, and always, trough or crest, a mysterious tide bears you forward to an unseen, but certain shore.”

(from Someone at a Distance)

Isn’t it wonderful what difference the right words can make?

Do you have a favourite quotation for times of trouble? Or maybe a book or a poem that you turn to?

Decisions, Decisions …

Persephone Reading Week, hosted by Verity and Claire begins on Friday.

A week ago I knew excactly what I was going to read: A London Child of the 1870s by Molly Hughes. It looks lovely, I’ve been meaning to read it for ages, and I know that the library has the out-of-print sequels.

A London Child of the 1870s by Molly Hughes

But then I read a short story by Susan Glaspell, and it made me want to pick up one of her novels. And Simon said that he thought Fidelity was rather good …

Fidelity by Susan Glaspell

And then Danielle said that Lyn had recommended Winifred Peck. And I remembered that I had a copy of House-bound tucked away …

House-bound by Winifred Peck

When I looked for that book noticed another, and I remembered how much I love Monica Dickens’ writing, and how much I want to read another of her novels. I still haven’t read Mariana, despite owning a numbered orange Penguin copy as well as the lovely Persephone edition …

Marianna by Monica Dickens

And then, with wonderful timing, the copy of Dimanche and Other Stories by Irène Némirovsky that I had forgotten ordering appeared with my name on the label on the reservations shelf in the library ..

Dimanche and Other Stories by Irène Némirovsky

So now I really don’t know.

What do you think I should read?

And what will you be reading this weekend?

Crime Fiction Alphabet: G is for Glaspell

Susan Glaspell

Susan Glaspell was a Pulitzer Prize-winning playwright, an actress, a director, and a bestselling novelist.

She was both popular and acclaimed in her lifetime, but her work soon fell out of print after her death.

Except for one short story: A Jury of Her Peers.

It’s a story that has appeared in countless anthologies, and it is not coincidence that it shares its name with Elaine Showalter’s A Jury of Her Peers: a vast and wonderful history of American women writers.

It’s not a book I own, but its one I visit in the library to look up authors and periods very often. I had intended to pay another visit this weekend but, alas, the library concerned is closed for a week for refurbishment and reorganisation. So I’m going to have to work from memory.

So let me just say that Elaine Showalter took inspiration from Susan Glaspell’s short story because it emphasised the importance of women’s voices being heard, and the importance of women listening to other women.

As a piece of crime fiction Susan Glaspell’s A Jury of Her Peers is unusual: the crime has been committed and the only suspect arrested, and neither that suspect nor the victim makes an appearance.

The story opens in a small American town early in the twentieth century, and it begins as the sheriff and his deputy call their wives away from their kitchens. To a house where, it seems, wife has murdered husband, The evidence is undeniable, but there is no clue at all to what the motive might be.

They knew the accused woman at school, but they have seen little of her in more recent years. Now though they are needed to put her house to rights, and to find the things that the accused woman might need in her prison cell.

The two talk as they work, and they notice things, small domestic details that would have passed their husbands by, that paint a picture of what happened in that house, of why a man lies dead.

They understand, and when they have a chance to take action, they seize it …

Yes, it’s that simple, and yet it is a story that says so much. One of those quiet tales with much more to say that a dozen high dramas.

Susan Glaspell’s words are clear, intelligent and compelling. She sets the scene so easily and naturally that I recognised the period and the small town community in without ever having to be told. And the conversation and actions of the two women felt natural and right, helping the story to flow beautifully.

She so cleverly laced her story with symbolism and gender politics, but she did so with a very careful hand, and so you could read  A Jury of Her Peers for that, or you could read it as a clever piece of crime writing. Both work.

I’d love to say more, but it’s such a short story that I know I would give too much away.

So I’ll just say I can now understand why Elaine Showalter took inspiration from this story.

And that I am going to make reading the two of Susan Glaspell’s novels that have been reissued by Persephone Books a priority.

*****

The Crime Fiction Alphabet is hosted by Kerrie at Mysteries in Paradise.

“Each week, beginning Monday 10 January 2011, you have to write a blog post about crime fiction related to the letter of the week …”

So next week, H is for … ?

Let’s Talk About Reading Challenges …

I know that I said that I wasn’t going to sign up for many  reading challenges at all this year, but I’ve found a few more that I just can’t resist.

Two  new challenges that will give my reading a helpful shove in the right direction, and two old favourites that I know, love and can’t possibly miss.

There’s a balance to be struck between structure and freedom, and I hope that I’m finding it…

“As My Whimsy Takes Me”

 

When I first read Dorothy L Sayers I picked up her books in random order, and it was only later that I realised how the series developed and grew as it progresses. I decided that I would reread all of her books in order. I gathered up copies but I hadn’t quite got started.

But then Cristina at Rochester Reader decided to do the same thing and invited others to join her. Of course, I had to say yes!

Historical Fiction Challenge 2011

I have fallen out of the habit of reading historical fiction over the last few years, and I am realising now that I really miss it, that I really want to lose myself in stories from another age again.

Lord James by Catherine Hermary-Vieille has just landed in my library pile, and My Last Duchess by Daisy Goodwin is on hold and in transit.

That’s the first level for this challenge at Historical Tapestry covered, and I know that signing up will inspire me to read more wonderful books.

2011 Pub Challenge

I have always loved this challenge, and I know that I can easily meet the target of reading eleven books first published in 2011.

I’ve already read – and very much liked one – Darkside by Belinda Bauer.

I’m reading another new book, which is absolutely lovely, right now – Invisible River by Helena McEwen

And I can already think of a third, which is a very high priority among my unread books – Pigeon English by Stephen Kelman

Thank you Michelle for hosting this one for another year.

Book Awards V

I have Michelle to thank for this one too.

Now I don’t necessarily think of myself as a reder of award winning books, but there are many intriguing titles that I have picked up from award lists, and I have spotted many interesting books because they have the name of an award – often one that I haven’t heard of – on the cover. So five winners in 10 months sounds like a very nice propostion.

I’m not going to name any books, but I’m going to have a lovely time perusing lists and picking up unfamiliar titles that I see have won awards.

And I think that’s plenty to keep me busy and happy – at least for now!

Penguin Modern Classics: 25 x 2 = 50

How do you celebrate a 50th birthday?

When my fiance hit that particular milestone last summer I took him to his favourite secondhand bookshop and gave him an envelope with £50 that he was allowed to spend on nothing but books. He loved choosing and I loved standing back and watching him.

A highly successful bookish gift.

And now Penguin Modern Classics are fifty years too, and are celebrating by sending fifty little books out into the world.

Here they are. Don’t they look lovely?

They take in a remarkable range of writers. From F Scott Fitzgerald to Angela Carter. From Eudora Welty to Albert Camus. From Shirley Jackson to Rudyard Kipling. You can find the full details here, but be warned – once you look you may not be able to resist.

And Penguin asked twenty-five lucky bloggers to write about two of the fifty books.

I am one of those lucky bloggers, and I have read two authors who I had never read before. Two men who both use words to great effect, but in very different ways.

Dear Illusion by Kingsley Amis

Now I must admit that I have never thought that Kingsley Amis would be my sort of author. But two weeks ago, watching the first installment of Faulks on Fiction, I was introduced to Amis’s hero, Lucky Jim. I was intrigued, and the novella Dear Illusion seemed to be a most opportune way of finding out if I liked the author’s style.

Dear Illusion is the story of Arthur Edward Potter, a suburban everyman who just happens to be Britain’s most acclaimed living poet, seen through the eyes of Sue Macnamara, a journalist. She is granted an interview with the normally reclusive poet, and he talks at length and gives her a great scoop. That he has written his last, that he is retiring. He also reaches out to her, clumsily, crudely. She realises that he is a man adrift in the absence of his sick wife and offers help and support, which is gratefully accepted. And, in due course, she receives an invitation to the poet’s grand send-off. An event at which he subverts expectations in spectacular style.

Kingsley Amis chooses his words well and wastes not a single one as he drives his story efficiently forward. I believed in his characters, I believed in their words, and I never knew quite where the story was going. It proved to be a fine moral fable that spoke eloquently and intelligently about life, art, and the burden that a vocation can be.

Kingsley Amis may not be my kind of author, but I am quite prepared to believe that he is an author of quality.

Two Gallants by James Joyce

Now I have always meant to read James Joyce and I have always meant to start with The Dubliners. Well not quite always but ever since I saw John Huston’s film of The Dead, the last of the stories that make up The Dubliners, many years ago.

Two Gallants pulls out four short stories from The Dubliners and so for me it became a taster volume. The little book that could possibly make me pull out the bigger book to read more of the stories.

The four stories look into the lives of ordinary residents of Dublin. There is a quiet death, a manipulated theft, a manoeuvred marriage, and a broken dream. Turning points, moments of realisation, viewed clearly and naturally.

James Joyce lets his stories unfold at their own pace, picking out the most telling details, as if he is an unseen observer moving through the streets of Dublin, and his words ebb and flow with lovely, natural rhythms.

I was captivated, and I shall definitely be pulling out the big book to read more.

And so I have read two of the fifty little books … I wonder what the others are like … how many I can track down …