Why do People Keep Having Such Wonderful Ideas?!

I’m not complaining really, it’s just that whenever I think the pile of books that I want to read right now is under control somebody comes up with a plan or scheme so wonderful that I rush to the bookshelves and the library to find more to join them.

So let’s take things chronologically:

In June Iris on Books hosts A Month of Dutch Literature.

When I read Iris’s first post my thoughts turned to Dutch books I might have read. I could only think of three, all very good crime novels. It seemed wrong that I knew nothing more of the literature of a country not so very far ago, and so I did a little investigation. And luck was with me, I won a copy of The Darkroom of Damocles by Willem Frederik Hermans from Lizzy Siddal. She describes it as her favourite Dutch novel ever and a book that she could happily reread. I have only read the cover notes and the opening, but I am already beginning to understand why she rates it so highly. I also have a Dutch novel lined up for letter V in my Crime Fiction Alphabet in the middle of the month, and I’m on the lookout for other books and hoping that other readers will point me towards more.

And then there’s Paris in July, hosted for a second year by Karen at Book Bath and Tamara at Thyme for Tea.

I am so pleased that this is happening again, as it was such a wonderful celebration of all things Parisienne – books, films, food, and more – last time around. But I’m not going to set down anything in advance, because last year I made a list of books and then proceeded to read different books instead. So this time around I’m just going to say that I am going to read some lovely books and have a wonderful time!

And then there’s International Anita Brookner Day, celebrated by Thomas at My Porch. A lovely idea, marking the 30th anniversary of the publication of the author’s first novel on her 83rd birthday.

I discovered Anita Brookner back when she won the Booker Prize with Hotel Do Lac. It was different from anything else I’d read then, and I loved it. I investigated her, then small, backlist and I’ve read everything she’s written since. Except her most recent book. So this might be the time to read that one, but I’m also very tempted to go back and re-read one of her earlier books. or maybe I could do both and see what time has changed…

And a little further in the future there’s Discovering Daphne. But that’s another post for another day …

I have more than enough books calling for immediate attention!

What books – and what reading projects – are calling you?

When God was a Rabbit by Sarah Winman

Now, what can I say about When God was a Rabbit?

So many words have been written between the time first learned about it and the time, today, I am ready to write about it.

That’s partly because I took my time. You see it looked as if it could be very special, and so I wanted to enjoy the anticipation, pick the book up to admire for a while, read when the moment was right, ponder for a while afterwards ….

And partly because, while I was on that journey, When God was a Rabbit was selected for the Richard & Judy Bookclub. Now I see copies everywhere I go and reactions from readers here, there and everywhere.

I couldn’t be more pleased, because I loved the book. It wasn’t perfect, but it was one of those books that had such charm that its weak points made me love it all the more.

It’s a story that’s not easily summed up, but I will start with some of the lovely words on the back copy of my copy.

“It’s a book about childhood and growing up, friendships and families, triumph and tragedy and everything in between.

More than anything, it’s a book about love in all it’s forms.”

When God was a Rabbit is exactly that.

It’s the story of Eleanor Maude, known as Elly, told by her in two acts. In the first act she is growing up in the 1970s, first in Essex and then in Cornwall after her parents win the football pools and decide to lead their family into a new lives as proprietors of a seaside b & b. And in the second she is an adult, a writer still not quite sure where she wants her life to go, but still wrapped up in the same network of family and friends.

Elly is lovely, and her voice is distinctive and true, but it is her extended family and their friends who really make the story sing. Every character is simply but beautifully drawn, and each has a little something to make them special and their own story that becomes part of the whole.

Let’s pull out just a few. There Nancy, Elly’s father’s sister, a successful actress with sharp wits who has many stories to tell, a lesbian who has a strong platonic bond with her sister-in-law, a woman with a wide social circle who still knows the importance of family and roots…  There’s Arthur, an elderly guest who came to the b & b and never left, a man who believes he can see the future and knows exactly when and how he will die, and in time a trusted confidante and teacher … There’s Joe, Elly’s  brother, five years older than the sister with whom he shares an unshakeable bond, a quiet outsider, a young man who decides that he is in love with his best friend and that no-one else will do … And, maybe best of all, there’s Jenny Penny, a misfit from a broken home, a child with such a distinctive worldview who becomes Elly’s closest friend. They are parted when Elly and her family move to Cornwall, they lose touch, but Jenny Penny will reappear in very strange circumstances…

I was irked though when God the Rabbit began to talk to Elly. The dash of magic realism felt wrong, there was more than enough going on already, and after a similar device in Pigeon English, I do hope that this isn’t a literary trend.

And these characters live through so many, maybe too many events. The things that happen to all families with children. Things that don’t happen to many people at all. Historical events that all seem to have personal consequences.

I’m going to mention just one, but no more. The school nativity play is so wonderfully, darkly funny. And that comes from someone who doesn’t usually like comic writing

But no more plot details – to get the best from this book you really should learn what happens and react to it in real time.

And you really should do that, if you haven’t already. Sarah Winman writes lovely idiosyncratic prose, she captures lives so perfectly, and she can make you laugh, cry, and feel every possible emotion that family and friends might inspire.

I was drawn into Elly’s world from the very first line, and it was such a shock when the story ended and I had to leave. But I have so many wonderful memories…

Crime Fiction Alphabet: T is for Tyler

I know that I first read about L C Tyler on a blog, but I really can’t remember which one. Which is a pity, because I really would like to thank whoever it was that inspired me to order that first book: I loved it, I loved the three that followed, and now I am eagerly awaiting a fifth book.

The Herring Seller’s Apprentice was the book that started it all.

It introduced me to two quite wonderful characters:

Ethelred Tresidder: a middle-aged crime writer, just about scraping a living by writing under three diverse aliases, who is maybe on the brink of a mid-life crisis.

Elsie Thirkettle: Ethelred’s agent, and a formidable woman driven by ambition, curiosity and, most of all, chocolate.

Elsie persuaded Ethelred to investigate his ex wife’s disappearance, hoping that it would provide inspiration for a new novel. But soon she wondered if Ethelred knew more about that disappearance than he had let on ….

A lovely scenario on which a fine mystery is built, told with warmth and wit, and enriched by a wonderful agent-author relationship.

And then there was A Very Persistent Illusion. It was that rare and very special thing, a second novel just as good as the author’s first but completely different.

It is the story of a commitment-phobic young man, whose attempts to escape a girlfriend sets off a chain of events that will force him to look at his past and maybe change his future.

A very difficult story to sum up, quite different from anything else I had ever read, so I’ll just say that intriguing characters, clever plotting and fine writing made it oh so readable, and that I definitely recommend reading.

After that I was intrigued to see what would come next.

It was the return of Ethelred and Elsie in Ten Little Herrings. I loved them just as much as I had the first time, and I loved the story that found them caught up in a modern country house mystery with echoes of the golden age and a touch of the surreal. It really was so clever and so entertaining.

And I was pleased that the cover of the book bore the slogan “An Elsie and Ethelred Mystery.” It definitely suggested that there would be more chances to meet the duo I had grown to love.

And that brings me to a book I haven’t written about before. I read The Herring in the Library when I was having a break from blogging last summer. It was another gem, I always meant to come back to come back to it, and now I am.

The story opens with Elsie and Ethelred playing Cluedo. The postman arrives, bringing Ethelred an invitation to dine with an old school friend he saw recently for the first time in years: Sir Robert Muntham of Muntham Court.

Elsie’s curiosity was piqued, and she persuaded Ethelred to take her as his guest. It was a strange evening, and it ended with the host dead in his locked study.

As the title suggests, this mystery with its roots in the golden age. There’s the aforementioned locked door, there’s a secret passage, there’s a lovely variety of suspects, and there’s a plot that twists and turns beautifully.

But it’s a golden age mystery in a very modern world. Not a pastiche but a modern novel by an author who has taken inspiration from the finest writing of another age, and used that inspiration to create something that is entirely his own.

And there’s more!

Ethelred is writing a new novel: a historical mystery, featuring Chaucer’s sidekick Master Thomas, investigating a crime that has striking similarities with Sir Robert’s death. Maybe it will cast light on that death…

As ever, there’s warmth, wit and wonderful writing to hold everything together.

It all ends in a fabulous denouement, with a such a clever twist.

It’s a while since I read the book, so some of the details have slipped my mind, but I do remember that it was a joy to read and that it more than lived up to expectations that the author’s previous novels had sent sky-high.

And one of the greatest joys was meeting Elsie and Ethelred again.

They will be back again very soon in Herring on the Nile. Let me share the blurb to see if I can entice you :

“In an effort to rejuvenate his flagging career, crime novelist Ethelred Tressider decides to set his new book in Egypt and embarks on a ‘research trip’ with his literary agent, Elsie Thirkettle, in tow. No sooner has their cruise on the Nile begun, however, than an attempt is made on Ethelred’s life. When the boat’s engine explodes and a passenger is found bloodily murdered, suspicion falls on everyone aboard – including a third-rate private eye, two individuals who may or may not be undercover police, and Ethelred himself. As the boat drifts out of control, though, it seems that events are being controlled by a party far more radical than anyone could have guessed.”

Now doesn’t that sound like a journey not to be missed?

*****

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 …”

And so next week U is for … ?

Happenstance Indeed!

Strange things are happening!

I was perusing new posts in Google Reader and listening to music when I landed on Simon’s Song for a Sunday.

Worn Me Down by Rachael Yamagata, from the album Happenstance.

A very fine choice, but I was a little spooked because I was listening to that very album.

A differnt track though, and so I wandered over to YouTube to find a video for my track. And I found a video – Rachael Yamagata’s I Want You set against footage from the film of Miss Pettigrew Lives for a Day.

What a thing to find when I still haven’t quite recovered from the wonderful news that Nicola Beauman is coming to my library!

Here’s the video:

I’ll get back to writing about books soon – and I do have a few gems to write about – but all of this excitement has me a little distracted right now.

I’m tempted to go and dance around my Persephone bookcase!

A Library Notice that Made My Heart Skip a Beat

It isn’t something that I can recall happening before, but this particular notice really was one of those things that dreams are made of:

I do love my little corner of Cornwall, and I wouldn’t live anywhere else, but we are a very long way from London and the other major cities and so I miss a lot of things.

But now Nicola Beauman is visiting a library where I am a member!

I can walk there, through the lovely gardens where my lovely fiance is a volunteer, in less than ten minutes!

I am very nearly speechless!

Readalongs: Confessions and Lessons

“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.”

That was what I wrote at the end of February. I had wonderful intentions, but I haven’t lived up to them.

And so it’s time for confessions and lessons.

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

I surprised myself by hurtling through my reread of Oliver Twist and loving it. I even wrote:

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

I must now confess that said post is still sitting, unfinished, in my drafts folder. Oliver Twist was written in three books and I’d posted about the first two, but I was struggling to write about the third and sum things up at the same time.

I think that in future with long books I shall probably make notes as I go and post at the end. With maybe just some quotations or random thoughts along the way.

I’ll write more about Oliver Twist one day …

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

“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.”

Ha! I must confess that I haven’t picked up Vilette since I wrote that. And I have learned that just because I want to read a book, and just because there’s a readalong that doesn’t make it the right time to read. Sometimes its wiser to just to stand back and watch and save your book until the time is right.

Vilette is back on the “one day” pile …

And 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.”

I really was loving The Moorland Cottage, but disaster struck. The book went missing! I looked everywhere, but it wasn’t until yesterday I had occasion to look in my mother’s knitting bag …

Now I can pick up the threads, and I am quite sure that I will be writing about The Moorland Cottage very soon.

I will, really …

But what do you think about readalongs? Do you have any helpful advice?

The Sonambulist by Essie Fox

I am so pleased that The Sonambulist caught my eye. It is a lovely piece of Victoriana, and a quite wonderful debut novel.

I fell in love with the heroine. Phoebe Turner was just seventeen years old, and she was warm bright and thoughtful. In some ways she was very mature for her years, but in others she was very innocent, and as I learned more of her background I could understand why.

Phoebe grew up, in the East End of London, with her mother and her aunt.  Maud, her  mother, was a member of The Hallelujah Army,  set upon promoting that society’s ideals and protecting her daughter from the many evils of the world. Those evils included the music hall where her sister, Phoebe’s Aunt Cissy sang …

Essie Fox paints Phoebe’s world wonderfully. There is a wealth of detail that brings the streets, the homes, and most of all the music hall, to life. She clearly has so much knowledge and love, but she wears it lightly and it brings the story to life quite wonderfully.

And it was clear that there was a story to be told, and secrets to be uncovered.

Phoebe loved her aunt and her aunt’s theatrical friends, and she was devastated when Cissy, suddenly, died. Maude was devastated too, at having to cope without the income that Cissy earned for the household, and she struggled. Maybe that was why she accepted an offer from Mr Samuels, a wealthy friend of Cissy’s who she had always treated with disdain, for Phoebe to become the companion of his invalid wife …

And so the story opened up. There were more wonderful pictures of another, very different, aspect of Victorian England. And there were more vivid, complex characters to meet. Phoebe knew that she would miss her home and her loved ones, but she was curious about what lay ahead. I felt just the same.

Phoebe travelled to  a grand estate in Hertfordshire. Dinwood Court was a splendid gothic mansion, set in magnificent countryside, but both house and occupants were haunted by the strange death of Esther, the young daughter of the house …

At Dinwood Court I heard the echoes of other novels of Victorian England. They were lovely to hear, and I realised that Essie Fox had wonderful influences, influences that she had acknowledged and then taken to make something new of her own.

I loved watching Phoebe as she uncovered the secrets of the past, and as she learned and grew up.

The plotting was very clever and, though I worked out some of the things that would happen, others took me by surprise. In particular, the concluding chapters took the story in a direction that I hadn’t expected at all, but a direction that was completely right.

That kept the pages turning, and so did the lovely writing, the pitch perfect characters and settings, the wealth of knowledge that underpinned the story, and that very clever theme set in the title that wrapped around everything.

The Sonambulist is a wonderful debut novel, intelligent and so very readable.

I am already looking forward to whatever Essie Fox writes next.

And in the meantime I will be following her wonderful blog, The Virtual Victorian …

An Evening on the Aga Room Floor

Well we did have a busy day!

Briar settled on her bed in front of the bookcases to sleep, and to dream of who knows what.

I settled on the other side of the room in front of the Aga with a couple of books. I finished The Sonambulist and then I read a good bit of The Tiger’s Wife.

A lovely evening!

Crime Fiction Alphabet: S is for A Study in Scarlet

I must confess that, though I have read a lot of detective fiction and a fair few Victorian novels over the years, I have veered away from Arthur Conan-Doyle.

I blame my English teacher for this. He was a very good teacher and a lovely man, but one particular exercise created a certain prejudice in my mind. Looking back now it was actually a very interesting exercise. We read one half of a short story – The Speckled Band – in class and then asked to write our own conclusions. I was very pleased with mine, and I seem to recall that I got a good grade. But when I rad Conan-Doyle’s ending I was unimpressed. It seemed very far-fetched, and I thought that mine was definitely superior.

Oh, the confidence of youth!

But that’s why I have always thought of Sir Arthur Conan-Doyle as not my kind of writer.

Recently though Sherlock Holmes, his most famous creation seems to have been everywhere: repeats of the classic serial on ITV3, a high-profile modern reworking on BBC1, and an even more high-profile feature film. Not to mention a good few books inspired by the man.

I decided that it was time to investigate the Holmes phenomenon and that, just in case my older self decided that she liked them, I decided to start at the beginning. And so it was that I brought a very nice new Penguin edition of A Study in Scarlet home from the library.

I enjoyed Conan-Doyle’s storytelling and prose style from the very beginning. And I was very pleased that the beginning was a proper beginning. John Watson, invalided army surgeon, and Sherlock Holmes, scientist and man of mystery, were brought together by a mutual acquaintance who knew that both were seeking rooms.

I’m naming no names, but I have often felt the absence of a proper backstory when I have read certain crime series.

The rooms were, of course,  at 221b Baker Street. And it was to that address that the police came to consult with Holmes. Which reminds me of something else that I really wanted to mention. There was a professionalism and respect in the relationships in this book, between detective and police, and between detective and associate. No one-upmanship as one investigator tried to outdo the other. No foolish sidekick necessitating slow and simple explanations. Just concern that objectives were achieved and proper accounts were given. I did like that.

Now, back to the mystery. And what a mystery it was. A dead man, seemingly unscathed but with his face frozen in terror, found in a derelict house. Found lying in blood that was not his own. And a single word written in that blood on the wall.

Baffling!

But a little knowledge, a little observation, a little understanding of human nature swiftly lead Holmes to the solution. And it led me on an extraordinary journey through the darker side of Victorian London. My bafflement continued, as Holmes gave little away, but I was intrigued by the mystery, caught up in the journey, and so I kept the faith.

I was rewarded with the identity of the murder halfway through the book. I wondered if it was a false ending, if there was to be another twist, or maybe even another mystery. In fact though there was another story entirely. The story of the man who would become a murderer. A story of adventure, love and religion set on the other side of the Atlantic.

The change of style and pace startled me, but it worked. I understood.

And I think that I might, finally, be beginning to understand the appeal of Holmes.

*****

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 …”

And so next week T is for … ?

Inchworm by Ann Kelley

Last autumn I met Gussie, a 12 year-old girl with a congenital heart defect, whose life is constricted, because she is quickly short of breath, and who can’t go to school for fear of picking up an everyday illness that would compromise her heart.

That might sound depressing, but it isn’t, because Gussie is so curious and so bright, because she finds so much to love in life. Family. Books. Birds. Films. Friends. Cats. Nature. Her head and her heart were full, and the knowledge that her life would be short made it all the more precious.

Through The Burying Beetle and The Bower Bird I followed Gussie as she and her newly divorced mother settled in St Ives, formed new relationships, and lived their lives.

Two books full of lovely details and observations; wonderful celebrations of life, seen through the eyes of a child who understands just how precious those things are.

At the end of The Bower Bird it seemed that a match had been found, that Gussie would have the heart and lung transplant that she and her mother had hoped for.

That makes Inchworm, the third installment of Gussie’s story, a very different proposition.

The story opens after Gussie’s surgery, as she is slowly regaining consciousness. This emergence is beautifully captured. As is the cacophony of thoughts and emotions in her head: from concern that she might acquire new characteristics with her new organs to the joy of looking in the mirror and being pink instead of blue.

It was wonderful to watch Gussie’s progress.

Her friendship with another transplant patient from Zimbabwe was beautifully observed, and his very different life and experiences brought a new dimension to the book.

And I saw Gussie’s  mother’s experiences through her eyes. I saw how much life had thrown at her, and I worried that she was neglecting her own health as she focused on her daughter’s treatment and recovery. I wanted a happy ending for her as much as I did for her daughter.

There was much here, for both head and heart, and yet Inchworm began to lose me when Gussie left hospital.

Because Cornwall is so far from London and because Gussie had to go back to hospital for regular cheques, she and her mother stayed in a London flat. And because of the high risk of infection Gussie’s life was terribly constrained.

Gussie missed Cornwall, and I missed watching her in Cornwall and her reactions to the world around her. The writing was still lovely, Gussie was still engaging, there was still much to enjoy, but, for me, a vital ingredient had been lost.

For the first time I thought that I was reading a book about a 12 year-old that was maybe better suited to readers closer to Gussie’s own age.

At the end of the book, with her health improving, Gussie and her mother were able to return to Cornwall.

I realised then that it was time for me to let Gussie go, to wish her well, to let her simply live her life in St Ives …

But I have loved following her story over the course of three books, and I am so, so glad that I met her.