Monthly Archives: September 2011

The Woman Before Me & The Sacrificial Man

Sometimes library books are like buses – you wait for ages for one to appear on the shelves, and when you finally spot it the sequel is there too.

That’s what happened to me with Ruth Dugdall’s first two novels: The Woman Before Me and The Sacrificial Man.

Both feature probation officer Cate Austin. It’s an interesting choice of perspective, a less usual angle, and it is clear that the author, a former probation officer, knows of what she writes. Cate copes as a single mother, whose ex lives nearby with his new family, and she works hard at a new job, fully aware of the importance, the potential consequences, of what she decides. It all rings true, and Cate is an interesting character, but Cate isn’t the main focus.

The main focus of each book is the woman whose case Cate has to evaluate.

The Woman Before Me tells the story of Rose Wilks. She is in prison, convicted of killing her friend’s infant son in a house fire not long after the death of her own child. And now Rose is eligible for parole. But before she can be released Rose has to express genuine remorse for what she has done. But she doesn’t. She can’t. Because, she says, she is innocent.

The facts seem to be indisputable, and yet it is clear from the start that Rose’s story can’t be as simple, as open and shut, as it sounds. And it isn’t.

Cate’s role is to advise whether parole should be given. The story follows her as she meets and talks with Rose, and as she investigates and interviews all of those involved. And it follows Rose as she lives her life in prison, as she thinks about her future, and as she recalls her past.

The different perspectives work together well, and as the story emerged, with a mixture of small, quiet and larger, more shocking revelation I was engaged and I was unsettled. My interpretation of the story kept changing, and I really couldn’t decide what Rose was guilty of, whether she sinned or was sinned against, what had made her the person she became.

I should have seen the final twist coming, but I didn’t. It made perfect sense.

The Woman Before Me was dark and intriguing. The style was unpolished, one or two characters underdeveloped, but it was most definitely a first novel of huge promise.

The Sacrificial Man fulfilled some of that promise. The quality of the writing was better, the story was more complex, and the themes better developed.

This time around Cate had a different role: making a sentencing recommendation.

Alice Mariani had assisted a suicide. The suicide of a man she met in an internet chatroom. The man she knew as Smith had told her that he no longer wanted to live, that he wanted to control his own death.

The structure is the same as the first book. Cate meets and talks with Alice, and makes wide-ranging enquiries. It delves into Alice’s past. And the papers that Smith left behind added another dimension.

Alice might have been a fool, she might have been deranged, she might have been damaged. She might have been all three. She wasn’t likeable but she was intriguing, and I really couldn’t work her out.

The story twists and turns, and twice along the way major revelations change everything. They are nasty, but not gratuitous, and they do enhance the plot.

I can’t say too much about the plot, but I can say that there is a lot here to think about. Just be aware that while the story is very readable, it is also dark and difficult.

The final twist is stunning.

And it leaves me thinking that I might have found another must-read series.

About Last Night by Adele Parks

When I lived in London I commuted from almost one end of the Jubilee line to almost the other. Living near the end of the line and working near the other meant that I nearly always got a seat and that I could get a lot of reading done on the journey. Classics and serious literature didn’t really work for me on the underground, I read those at home and readable, mainstream fiction on those journeys.

I think it was back in those days that I last read Adele Parks. She wrote the kind of books I threw into my book for the daily commute – chick lit, with a clever balance of gloss and grit. But in Cornwall I either drove or, more recently, walked to work and so she slipped through the net as the pattern of my life changed and as I discovered new authors.

We met again a couple of months ago, when a copy of About Last Night landed, unexpectedly, in my porch. I wasn’t sure that it was the book for me, and so I didn’t rush to begin reading. But, eventually, curiosity got the better of me and I began to read.

The opening chapter was lovely. Two girls – Steph and Pip – met at junior school and became fast friends. They were very different – Steph quiet and sensible and Pip curious and sociable – and I could see that they complemented each other beautifully.

Thirty years later they were still best friends. Steph had married a successful man. They had three children, they had a lovely home, everything they had ever wanted. Pip though had been betrayed and abandoned by her husband and it still hurt. But she still had her business, her daughter. I saw two women’s’ lives, I understood how they had evolved, and I wondered where they were going.

I saw lives thrown out of kilter when Steph made a painful discovery. When she found that her life wasn’t as perfect as she thought. How she reacts, and how Pip reacts, could change their lives, their friendship, forever.

I could empathise with each woman. I loved that sometimes they did exactly what I expected and sometimes they did something entirely different. I didn’t always agree but I always understood.

The story could have been predictable, but it wasn’t, and I enjoyed the third person narrative that allowed me to see so many details, look over so many lives.

It was an easy read, but an easy read with substance.

I’m afraid I was a little disappointed in the ending. It was dramatic, it was right, but it was a little too neat.

My final verdict though is positive – Adele Parks is now writing rather more grown up chick lit, still with that clever balance of gloss and grit.

Clotted Cream !

Until Thomas posted I had no idea that there was such widespread interest in clotted cream.

I thought it was something we had in Cornwall and Devon, that people enjoyed when they visited, and that we used to send from the local dairy using a “cream by post” service.

It seems though that cream is being exported and sold in some corners of the globe.

But maybe not all.

So I pulled out the best guide you could want to cookery from Devon and Cornwall – Marika Hanbury Tenison’s West Country Cookery.

You see, I knew it explained how to make your own clotted cream at home. I’ve never tried it, but my godmother (who gave me the book many years ago) did, with great success.

And here’s how you do it:

“Pour two litres of full fat milk or cream into an enamel bowl or a pyrex dish that can be placed over a flame. Leave to settle in a cool place for 24 hours.

Place your bowl or dish over a very low heat, and wait patiently for a ring of bubbles to appear. Do not, on any account, allow it to boil. When those bubbles appear, carefully remove your pan from the heat and leave in a cool place for a further 24 hours.

Use a slotted spoon to carefully skim the crusty cream from the top of your pan, and put it in a bowl. Refrigerate until needed,

The buttermilk or skimmed milk that remains after skimming can be used for baking or for making soups or sauces.”

I can easily pick up my clotted cream from the shop just around the corner, but I’m still tempted to have a go …

Miss Ranskill Comes Home by Barbara Euphan Todd

My Dear Miss Ranskill,

I am not often moved to write to a literary character, but I was so taken with your story that I felt I must.

I was, I must confess, a little surprised to first encounter a Persephone heroine digging a grave in sand, using only her hands. But as I learned more I came to understand that you were doing the right and natural thing.

How extraordinary that you were swept overboard when all you were doing was chasing your hat after it was caught by the breeze. And how lucky you were to be washed ashore. Even more so to be washed up on a shore that was already home to another castaway.

Wasn’t The Carpenter a wonderful man?! He was practical. He was optimistic, but not foolishly so. He was wise. And, most importantly, he was a good man.

I loved watching the relationship that grew between you, the way you worked together, supported each other, and always observed the proprieties. It is said that a crisis can bring out the best in people, and it certainly did in both of you.

Persephone Endpapers

I felt your heart breaking when he died, and you had to dig him that grave. Thank goodness you managed to finish the boat you had worked so hard to build, that you were able to sail away, and that a British naval vessel picked you up just in time.

But how England had changed in the four years you were away. You returned in 1943 to a country at war. A country where you couldn’t buy clothes without coupons you knew nothing of. A country where travel was not so easy as it had been when you left. And even if you had been able to travel you wouldn’t have been able to go home, as it had been taken over by the military.

England couldn’t understand what had happened to you, and you couldn’t understand what had happened to England.

Your entirely proper relationship with The Carpenter was misunderstood, but I was so pleased that you could still feel his support, draw on his wisdom. And that you took such trouble to see his widow, to try to tell his family of the great love he had expressed for them.

You coped with everything wonderfully, and I am so pleased that, in the end, you found a new place in the world. And that it was just the right place for you.

Reading your story gave me a new perspective on the war, and it said so much about the human spirit and about what makes a true English lady. Not tradition and etiquette, but acting for good and standing up for what is right. Understanding what is important, and what is not.

Miss Ranskill, you are the very best kind of English lady!

Barbara Euphan Todd has done a magnificent job recording your story. She has made it so readable, and she has drawn out the emotions, the pathos, the humour, the absurdity quite beautifully.

And, of course, it has been quite beautifully presented by Persephone Books.

A great compliment, and you are more than worthy.

With kind regards,

Fleur Fisher

A Song and a Film

In recent months I have grown to love those YouTube moments when I find that a beloved image or film has been matched up with a beloved artiste or song.

I had one of those moments last night.

They are an acquired taste, but I discovered then early in their career, and I have loved Tindersticks for a long, long time.

I saw the Girl on the Bridge more recently and I loved that too. Daniel Autieul might just be my favourite living actor.

So here is that juxtaposition:

And, because I appreciate that Stuart Staples isn’t the most intelligible of singers, here are the lyrics:

Greed’s all gone now, there’s no question
And I can see you push your hair behind your ears
Regain your balance

Doesn’t matter where she is tonight
Or with whoever she spends her time
If these arms were meant to hold her
They were never meant to hold her so tight

For the love of that girl
Greed’s all gone now, the panic subsides
When I could run, pulling arms to love her
Try to put myself on on the inside

For the love of that girl
Tears swell, you don’t know why
For the love of that girl
They never fall, they can never run dry

For the love of that girl

Promise is never over,
never questioned it needed reply
But she could breathe deep into my neck
Let me know I’m just on the outside

Greed’s all gone now, there’s no question
And I can see you push your hair behind your ears
Regain your balance

Doesn’t matter where she is tonight
Or with whoever she spends her time
If these arms were meant to hold her
They were never meant to hold her so tight

For the love of that girl….

Heaven!

Forgotten by Cat Patrick

The cover got me first.

And then the tagline hooked me:

“I remember my future, but my past is a blank.”

I was intrigued.

Every time London fell asleep her memory erased her past, and she would wake remembering nothing of the day before, or the day before that …

She coped by making copious notes about what had happened, and what she would need to know the next day. And with the support of her mother and her best friend.

London did have some memory. She could remember events from the future. She knew what would happen, though she couldn’t understand how and why.

A wonderful concept. Not necessarily one that would stand up to too much analysis, and one that could pull you around in endless circles if you thought about it too much, but that didn’t matter.

I was charmed by London, who accepted her extraordinary situation and just got on with things. Her spirit and her fortitude were quite wonderful. And I like her.

I enjoyed her creator’s simple, natural writing, and I was intrigued by the storylines that were opening up.

London’s best friend, Jamie, was involved with a most unsuitable man. London could remember that it all would go horribly wrong. Of course she tried to warn her, and of course that wasn’t appreciated. I could see both girls’ point of view, and I was sorry that I couldn’t sort things out for them.

Luke, London’s new boyfriend, was lovely, but she worried that she had no memory of him in her future. I was disappointed, because I like Luke and his relationship with London was progressing beautifully. It felt right.

And London learned from her notes that her mother was not being honest with her about the past. She couldn’t understand why, but she was going to find out. I could see that London’s mother loved her daughter, that did so much for her, and that she must have had reasons, but I was so curious.

There was so much that London wanted to understand. Her missing past and a remembered future that she couldn’t understand.

All of these strands worked together beautifully, and there was much to enjoy as the plot unfolded. So many emotions, so many revelations and some lovely twists.

And, although the concept was extraordinary, every detail rang true. Every character, every relationship, every situation …

London’s story was clever and it was involving.  I had to keep turning the pages, and I always had to read just one more chapter.

As the ending approached the revelations came thick and fast and events moved so quickly. A little too quickly for me.

But it was the right ending.  There were a few loose ends, but sometimes life is like that. It was the right time to leave.

I’d enjoyed a lovely debut novel, aimed at young adults but very readable for grown ups, and now I am very interested in finding out what Cat Patrick will write next.

A Dog Blogs: A Problem in the Park

Hello!

It’s me, Briar.

A little while ago Jane wrote a post about me and squirrels and the squirrel tree in the park. She got nearly everything right, and the bits she got wrong I can’t tell you. I can’t give away doggy trade secrets!

But I have a problem. I can’t get to the squirrel tree.

Look! It’s been fenced off!

A big branch came down in the wind and tree surgeons had to come and cut it off properly and take it away. They have done a very good job, but the tree is still fenced off and I can’t see the squirrels.

The wind wasn’t that strong, so Jane and I are very worried that the branch coming down is a sign that the tree is diseased and we might lose it. It is a lovely tree. Where would the squirrels go? How would I find them?

I had to sit in the middle of the park to keep an eye on things.

I didn’t see any squirrels at all, and I had to resort to stalking blackbirds. It wasn’t the same at all!

Please keep your fingers crossed for my tree and my squirrels.

Thunder on the Right by Mary Stewart

Earlier this year, when Hodder reissued Mary Stewart’s novels in striking new covers, I remembered that I have always meant to try her books. My mother used to love them, and I can remember her bringing them home from the library back in the days when I was still borrowing from the junior shelves.

Now that I have read Thunder on the Right I can understand why all those books came
home.

I met Jennifer, the twenty-two year old daughter of a distinguised Oxford Professor, at a hotel high in the Pyrenees. She had come to visit Gillian, her widowed cousin, who had written to her, quite unexpectedly, from a nearby convent.

Jennifer was unsettled when she met Stephen, a man she had known back in Oxford. They had been very close. But Stephen had been a student of her father, and the professor thought him an unsuitable match for his daughter and forced them apart.

And she is was disturbed, and distressed, when she visited the convent and wasis told that Gillian has died, and has been buried. That she left nothing, not a single word for her family. Jennifer knew that to be completely out of character. And she saw other signs that something was amiss, and that maybe, just maybe, the woman who died wasn’t Gillian.

Jennifer seeks Stephen’s help in uncovering the truth …

Thunder on the Right offered so much.

A heroine who was beautiful, charming, bright, and engaging. A hero who was heroic, but was also reassuringly mortal. A wonderfully drawn supporting cast. A richly evoked setting.

And, to hold all of those things together, a cleverly constructed plot, that mixed intrigue, action and romance to wonderful effect.

All of the elements came together perfectly. I was swept away, and I lived through every high and low, such an extraordinary range of emotions.

Thunder on the Right was a fine piece of storytelling, and a marvellous entertainment.

Some might find it a little old-fashioned, a little contrived even, but I didn’t mind any of that. I was caught up in the story, and I wanted to believe.

And now I could happily turn back to the beginning and live through the story all over again. I won’t, because so many other books are calling, but I will pick up another of Mary Stewart’s books very, very soon.

What They Do in the Dark by Amanda Coe

I had high hopes for this book:

  • An intriguing title
  • A striking cover
  • Publication by Virago

I had to pick it up, and thought the back cover gave away nothing of the plot it did give a few enticing details, and it did promise to evoke an emotional reaction.

I did react emotionally – though not in a good way – and I found the title and the details a little misleading.

The book opens with a wonderful piece of writing: a press story about Lallie, a rising child story, that cleverly echoes stories of child stars of the past without resembling any one too closely.

There is no doubt that Amanda Coe can write, and write very well.

The story then moves to two schoolgirls. Gemma, who has been spoiled but whose life has been unsettled by the breakdown of her parent’s marriage, and Pauline, who has been neglected and raised in squalor.

An unlikely friendship develops between them, in fits and starts.

Meanwhile Lallie is appearing in a film, and her story is told through those around her.

The characters and the situations convinced at first, but as the story advanced things broke down. The story was going to go in a certain direction, and everything else was secondary.

Then a horrible ending came out of nowhere. The cover suggested that I might be haunted, or heartbroken, or angry.

Actually, I was repulsed, and my first inclination was to toss the book away and write nothing about it.

But now, thinking a little more objectively, I can see what the author was trying to do. She made some telling  points, she picked up on some interesting details, but her book failed for me because she pushed things too far.

A promising writer, but a disappointing book.

Such a pity.

 

The Right Kind of Knitting

I’m still knitting, but I haven’t posted for a while because I still lack a decent camera. And what is a knitting post without good pictures?

A better camera is a priority, but first I need a job …

Here’s what I’ve been knitting recently. In each case, the designer’s picture is on the left and mine is on the right.

At the top is Acadia by Carrie Bostick Hodge.

I’d had the yarn for ages – Fyberspates DK that I picked up in a sale – and I just needed the right pattern to come along. This was it. It knitted up very simply and is proving very useful in the damp Cornish autumn.

In the middle is Soay by Gudrun Johnson. I saw it in the colour of some Sublime Merino DK that I’d bought for another project that never quite happened. The yarn was a little heavier than was called for, but it was east to adjust and I love the result. It just needs a little defuzzing and a good pressing.

The pattern taught me how to knit set-in sleeves from the top down by picking up stitches around the armhole. It wasn’t difficult, and I’m glad I’ve done it so I won’t be intimidated by other patterns calling for that technique, but I didn’t really enjoy that bit of the knitting. Interminable short rows!

And at the bottom is Kelly by Anniken Allis, in lovely Sublime Soya Cotton DK. Mine isn’t quite so oversized and I’ve raised the neckline to make a very wearable garment. At least it will be when I pick up the pieces from the back of the sofa and sew them up.

it’s the biggest piece of lace knitting I’ve ever done. For years I though I couldn’t do lace, but a couple of years ago something – I’m not sure what – clicked and I realised that I could.

I have a small project on the go that I’ll write about another day, but on Sunday I decided that I must pick up a long neglected project.

I love Sedgemoor, and I thought I was nearly done when I blogged about it back here. But soon after that post I discovered that I had missed a pattern repeat and that I would have to do a lot of unripping and reknitting. I pushed Sedgemoor to the side and I allowed other projects to distract me.

But I am so glad I picked it up again. The pattern is lovely. The yarn is gorgeous. And I have realised that I am a cable girl at heart. And that I really am more of a process knitter than a project knitter.

Having the right knitting on hand really makes all the difference.