Song for a Sunday

The only good thing to come from watching the awful film Wedding Daze was hearing a track in the background that I loved… I hunted it down, and thus began my love of folk-indie-rocky band Hem and the beautiful voice of Sally Ellyson. Here is that song, ‘The Fire Thief’ from the album Eveningland – one of my favourite albums. Enjoy!

For all previous Sunday Songs, click here.

Stuck-in-a-Book’s Weekend Miscellany

We’ve not had a Weekend Miscellany for a while, have we? The sun is shining here, and today I’m heading off to an Oxfam book fair – doubtless I’ll report back with some purchases before too long. And I’ve been buying a few other books of late, too… my local gifty shop for wrapping paper etc. also sells lots of old Penguin books fairly cheaply, and they seem to sneak into my hands every time I go there…

1.) The book – I’ve long been waiting for the fourth novel from Linda Gillard, whose previous books have included the brilliant A Lifetime Burning – but sadly I don’t think I’ll be able to read House of Silence because it’s getting electronic release only. It still comes with the beautiful cover below, and those of you with Kindles and the like, do please go over here (or, I daresay, elsewhere – I’m not up on these things), get yourself a copy, and tell me all about it! It’s only £1.90, for goodness’ sake, and Gillard is a really engaging writer. Linda has offered to send me a print-out to read, and I’m debating whether or not I’d be able to read and enjoy it in that format… thinking on’t. (Linda has posted a comment with a link to an article she’s done about House of Silence – here.)


Linda describes House of Silence as Cold Comfort Farm meets Atonement (intriguing, no?) and here is the blurb:”My friends describe me as frighteningly sensible, not at all the sort of woman who would fall for an actor. And his home. And his family.”

Orphaned by drink, drugs and rock n’ roll, Gwen Rowland is invited to spend Christmas at her boyfriend Alfie’s family home, Creake Hall – a ramshackle Tudor manor in Norfolk. She’s excited about the prospect of a proper holiday with a proper family, but soon after she arrives, Gwen senses something isn’t quite right. Alfie acts strangely toward his family and is reluctant to talk about the past. His mother, a celebrated children’s author, keeps to her room, living in a twilight world, unable to distinguish between past and present, fact and fiction. And then there’s the enigma of an old family photograph…

When Gwen discovers fragments of forgotten family letters sewn into an old patchwork quilt, she starts to piece together the jigsaw of the past and realises there’s more to the family history than she’s been told. It seems there are things people don’t want her to know.

And one of those people is Alfie…
2.) The link – is one I’ve seen on a few blogs, but Polly‘s first of all. Jane Mount paints people’s ‘ideal bookshelf’ – that is, you tell her which books to include, and she paints ’em.


I am so in love with this idea that it’s become something of a disorder – but I still don’t think I can afford to splash out on one. If you possibly can, visit her here – or, much cheaper, you can buy one of her prints, if they suit your literary tastes. Or if you want to send me an impromptu early (by seven months) birthday present…?

3.) The blog post – for E.H. Young fans, pop over to Harriet’s blog for a review of one of Emily Hilda’s earlier novels Moor Fires – I’m definitely intrigued. And since it was my copy Harriet borrowed, my curiosity can be satisfied!

Oh, and if you’re thinking of going to Cornwall this year… Ruth has a secret to share…

You can bring your dog

Not often that I give posts Tori Amos song titles, but it was the first thing that popped into my head when I put Mr. Chartwell by Rebecca Hunt in front of me. I was lucky enough to meet Rebecca Hunt a couple of weeks ago at a Penguin bloggers/authors event. For a lovely write-up of the day, check out Sakura’s post or Annabel’s or David’s or Hayley’s. All of which makes me think perhaps I should have written something about it myself. Oops. I will say that, for someone who wrote a book about depression, Rebecca was hilarious. I hope the wine I’d drunk on an empty stomach didn’t make me think *I* was too hilarious. Onto Mr. Chartwell…


The man in question is not, in fact, a man – but a dog. Winston Churchill famously referred to his depression as his ‘black dog’ – Hunt imagines what it would be like if Churchill had not been speaking metaphorically; what if there really was a black dog, visible only to those he afflicts? Mr. Chartwell (also known as Black Pat, although neither is his actual name – which is never revealed) is that dog. He also read a guide about the dog behavior training to know more about how dog behaves and how it will helps to cope from depression.

It’s 1964 and Churchill is 89 years old, and about to retire. Not far away, in Battersea, House of Commons librarian Esther Hammerhans has advertised for a lodger to live with her, and is awaiting his arrival. It won’t surprise you to learn that the lodger in question turns out to be… Mr. Chartwell. He is incredibly tall (and stands upright), he speaks English perfectly, and more or less his only canine vice is a propensity to eat anything and everything, usually in a peculiarly disgusting, slobbery manner. Reluctantly, Esther lets him stay.

This might all sound a bit fey. The anthropomorphism of animals is usually rather whimsical, or at least diverting, but in Mr. Chartwell it’s really something that we should come to terms with as quickly as possible, and then carry on. And there is certainly nothing fey about Mr. Chartwell. He is, if anything, menacing – but not aggressive or threatening, rather he is persistent. Whenever Churchill tells him to leave, it is acknowledged between them that Mr. Chartwell leaving is never really a possibility. He is an unwelcome companion, but a companion nevertheless.

Esther thought about Michael in here with this dog, trapped with him, already trapped when they first met. “And you’re going to trap me too.” She recalled the day he moved in, her gullibility. “This is an ambush.”

“No, it’s an affinity. I didn’t initiate it.” From behind the desk Black Pat said, “The magnet that keeps me here is the magnet which brought me here. We are twinned by the same orbit and I’m all yours, Esther, I’m all yours.” He said hopefully, “Don’t you like me even slightly?”Michael, by the way, is Esther’s late husband. His story slowly unwinds through the novel, as pieces are filled in, so I shan’t spoil it for you here.

Such are the bare bones of the narrative, and it is a simple story really – with an innovative central idea which permits simplicity. Indeed, to overcomplicate the novel would have been a big mistake. As it was, I could have done with less of Esther’s colleague Beth and Beth’s husband Big Oliver. They were something of a distraction.

What Hunt has done brilliantly, and originally, is capture the claustrophobia of depression. The idea of a hot, heavy, relentless dog lying across one’s body might not be medically accurate, but it certainly conjures up an idea of what living with depression might be like. And yet, Mr. Chartwell is not a distressing novel. There is a lot of humour flowing through it, especially from Mr. Chartwell himself – who is not a wholly repugnant character by any means. Relentless, yes, but also somehow seductive. Not in a romantic way, of course, but through his dogged (no pun intended) charisma.

I don’t know anything about Churchill, really, beyond what everyone grows up knowing. I don’t know whether or not his character and his dialogue are written convincingly – other people will be able to say, perhaps. I’m not sure it really matters. Churchill is useful as the originator of the ‘black dog’ expression, but his character could have been anyone who experienced both success and depression. Even without the ‘hook’ of Churchill, Hunt has written a strikingly original debut novel, and I’m looking forward to seeing what could possibly come next. And Rebecca, if you’re reading, I still want the chandelier we were arguing over.

Never let it be said, gentle readers, that I do not think of you. There was a free-for-all at Penguin’s table of free books, but (a) I had already asked lovely Lija for a copy of Mr. Chartwell, and (b) there seemed to be lots of spare copies – so I grabbed one to offer up as a giveaway copy. So, as a reward for reading this far, simply pop your name in the comments for a chance to win a copy (open worldwide) – actually, let’s make it a little bit more exciting. I want to know the name (and species) of your first pet – if you’ve never had one, then what would you call one. Get commenting…

People on a Bridge

Regular SiaB-readers will know that I rarely read poetry. Indeed, few of the bloggers I peruse seem to mention poetry much – or perhaps, if they do, I skim over those posts owing to lack of interest. I’m aware that the failing is with me, rather than the form – but I very rarely manage to engage with poetry. Perhaps because I naturally read quite fast, and poetry has to be read slowly (or preferably, I find, aloud) to be appreciated? I don’t know. But at the bloggers’ meet-up book-swap we held months and months ago, Peter (aka Dark Puss aka Morgana’s Cat) gave me People on a Bridge by Polish poet Wislawa Szymborska, translated by Adam Czerniawski. I entertained myself for ages saying ‘Szymborska’ over and over to myself – it is a very satisfying word – and then put it to one side, intending to read it later. Later eventually came, and I was rather surprised to find that I loved the collection.


Before I say why, I thought I’d type out the title poem of the collection. It think it is about the cover image, ‘Squall at Ohashi’ by Hiroshige, but I can’t find any definite confirmation of this – he is mentioned in the poem:

People on a Bridge

A strange planet with its strange people.
The yield to time but don’t recognise it.
They have ways of expressing their protest.
They make pictures, like this one for instance:

At first glance, nothing special.
You see water.
You see a shore.
You see a boat sailing laboriously upstream.
You see a bridge over the water and people on the bridge.
The people are visibly quickening their step,
because a downpour has just started
lashing sharply from a dark cloud.

The point is that nothing happens next.
The cloud doesn’t change its colour or shape.
The rain neither intensifies nor stops.
The boat sails on motionless.
The people on the bridge
run just where they were a moment ago.
It’s difficult to avoid remarking here:
this isn’t by any means an innocent picture.
Here time has been stopped.
Its laws have been ignored.
It’s been denied influence on developing events.
It’s been insulted and spurned.

Thanks to a rebel,
a certain Hiroshige Utagawa
(a being which as it happens
has long since and quite properly passed away)
time stumbled and fell.

Maybe this was just a whim of no significance,
a freak covering just a pair of galaxies,
but we should perhaps add the following:

Here it’s considered proper
to regard this little picture highly,
admire it and thrill to it from age to age.

For some this isn’t enough.
They even hear the pouring rain,
they feel the cool drops on necks and shoulders,
they look at the bridge and the people
as if they saw themselves there
in the self-same never-finished run
along an endless road eternally to be travelled
and believe in their impudence
that things are really thus.
I am so used to writing about novels that I don’t quite know how to discuss poetry. But what I loved about this collection is what I love about my favourite novels. Szymborska doesn’t use overly-fancy or ‘poetic’ words (or, at least, her translator does not). There is a sense of the familiar and domestic running through the collection, with quiet, subtle emotions held up for close (but not voyeuristic) examination. Although the poem I’ve typed out is about a painting, it is still about people. Many of the poems are about little incidents – someone dialing the wrong number; waiting at a train station. One of my favourites, ‘The terroist, he watches’ tells the more extraordinary tale of a terroist watching a bar in which he has planted a bomb. Some poems touch upon philosophy and even ontology, but always with a personal touch that makes the writing absolutely accessible and engaging.

Of course, I am reading in English. Quite a different translation of ‘People on a Bridge’ can be found here, if you scroll down – reminding me how much of a translated work is in the hands of the translator. Well, I thank Adam Czerniawski (and Peter, of course) for enabling Szymborska’s work to get into my hands – and reminding me to widen occasionally my reading horizons.

W. Somerset Maugham

I have yet to read anything by W. Somerset Maugham, but my friend Barbara-from-Ludlow is a fan, and I feel certain I would like his work. Which is why I went and bought this little lot…


Attractive, no? If you’d like to do the same, The Book People are selling ten novels for £9.99 here. I sound like an unsubtle marketing plot, don’t I? Well, I’m not – I just thought I’d let other book-fiends know where they could snap up a deal! I wouldn’t use The Book People for small publishers or lesser-known authors, because I know they don’t pass on much profit – but I think the estate of W. Somerset Maugham and Vintage Books are doing just fine.

Any WSM-aficianados out there? Where should I start? I also have Theatre, which I’m quite keen to read, but at least now I know I won’t run out in a hurry…

“The open road, the dusty highway, the heath, the common, the hedgerows, the rolling downs!”

Rachel (Book Snob), Claire (Paperback Reader), and I were discussing – in the wake of Virago Reading Week, which gave so many ideas to so many of us – the fact that we hadn’t read nearly enough Elizabeth von Arnim. I think the most any of us had read was one – although all of us were pretty good at buying her novels. And so we hatched a plan to read The Caravaners (1909) together. I forget exactly how we chose that title in particular, but I’m glad we did. Rachel has already posted an exceptionally good review; Claire has stalled, I believe. I’m going for the better-late-than-never approach (since I’d foolishly agreed to post in the middle of My Life in Books week) and here are my thoughts about The Caravaners. Which, to get ahead of myself, I loved.


I’d only read The Enchanted April before (my thoughts here) which is light, bright, and sparkling and shouldn’t have worked, but did. It is all about the power of a holiday in a beautiful place to change people for the better. The Caravaners is not… or, at least, that happens quietly in the background, to a secondary character. Our narrator, chronicling his trip, is Baron Otto von Ottringe. He’s not, shall we say, a charmer. He has forthright views on the subordinate position of women, the need for the German army to quash England (I misread ‘1909’ as ‘1919’ at first, on the title page, and was rather shocked – this novel would not have been published a decade later), and basically every opinion that differs from his own being nigh-on heretical. And, naturally, it is a duty and a joy to instruct others about their errors – Otto anticipates that such instruction will be gratefully received each time.

All in all, Otto isn’t the ideal holiday companion – but the lure of the company of a pretty woman convinces him to leave Germany and go on a month’s caravaning holiday in England. It is to help celebrate his 25th wedding anniversary – his current wife Edelgard, true, has only been his betrothed for a handful of years, but when you add that to the duration of his previous marriage to Marie-Luise…
I fail to see why I should be deprived of every benefit of such a celebration, for have I not, with an interruption of twelve months forced upon me, been actually married twenty-five years? […] Edelgard seemed at first unable to understand, but she was very teachable, and gradually found my logic irresistible. Indeed, once she grasped the point she was even more strongly of the opinion than I was that something ought to be done to mark the occasion, and quite saw that if Marie-Luise failed me it was not my fault, and that I at least had done my part and gone on steadily being married ever since.You begin to see the sort of man with whom we are dealing. A lot of novelists in the early-20th century (and still today) incorporate a ridiculous character into their work. Someone whose opinions and manner are absurd but possible, and who is there to have his views held up for ridicule, or fond laughter, depending on the situation. It takes a brave author to make this kind of self-delusional character the narrator. The novel inevitably becomes two-layered: the character’s voice on top, and the reality that the author wants you to see, behind that. Perhaps the most famous example is Diary of a Nobody; my favourite is Joyce Dennys’ Economy Must Be Our Watchword. At first I thought Otto was a Pooter-esque character, but it soon become clear that he wasn’t. Pooter is absurd, but we can’t help loving him. Otto is reprehensible and obnoxious – even the most charitable reader is unlikely to develop a fondness for him. And that’s what makes The Caravaners so delicious to read – he is constantly lampooned by his own words. I know at least one reader who tossed the book aside because of Otto’s character – but I think the more you disagree with his misogynistic, anti-Semitic, xenophobic, arrogant, selfish, militaristic standpoint, the more you will love watching Otto being mocked by von Arnim and naively unaware of his unpopularity. He is SO unself-aware, and yet it is somehow believable that he would be! I loved this sort of thing:
It is the knowledge that I am really so good-humoured that principally upsets me when Edelgard or other circumstances force me into a condition of vexation unnatural to me. I do not wish to be vexed. I do not wish ever to be disagreeable. And it is, I thin, downright wrong of people to force a human being who does not wish it to be so.
I haven’t even introduced you to the other members of the caravaning holiday. Frau von Eckthum is the beautiful woman whose company persuaded Otto to consider the holiday:
I know she is different from the type of woman prevailing in our town, the plan, flat-haired, tightly buttoned up, God-fearing wife and mother, who looks up to her husband and after her children, and is extremely intelligent in the kitchen and not at all intelligent out of it. I know that this is the type that has made our great nation what it is, hoisting it up on ample shoulders to the first place in the world, and I know that we would have to request heaven to help us if we ever changed it. But – she is an attractive lady.It is conversations between Otto and Frau von E which most enjoyably reveal his self-delusion. He acknowledges that his lengthy expositions on all matters political and social meet only with the iterated reply “Oh?” – but into that syllable Otto reads approval, admiration, docility, and agreement. The reader, needless to say, does not.

Other members of the party include Lord Sidge, who is entering the church (Otto is the most unashamed snob, and treats Sidge rather differently when he learns about the Lord part) and Jellaby, a Socialist. It was in his interactions with Jellaby that I had my moments of sympathy with Otto. Not on a political standpoint, I must add, but because whenever Jellaby encounters Otto in inactivity, he says “Enjoying yourself, Baron?” How infuriating that must be! I think we are supposed to love Jellaby. I could not.

I’m rabbiting on, so I’ll ignore the other characters – none of whom are as important as Edelgard, whom I’ve barely touched on. Otto’s wife starts the novel being everything that he envisages a wife should be. As the holiday continues – this is where there are shades of The Enchanted April – she becomes aware that she should be treated better. It starts with hints like this:
She had put my clothes out, but had brought me no hot water because she said the two sisters had told her it was too precious what there was being wanted for washing up. I inquired with some displeasure whether I, then, were less important than forks, and to my surprised Edelgard replied that it depended on whether they were silver; which was, of course, perilously near repartee.Ooo, perilous. During The Caravaners you constantly hope that Edelgard will escape Otto’s clutches, or at least change him for the better… I shan’t spoil for you whether or not she accomplishes that.

For those who might feel a little uncomfortable at the ridiculing of a German on English soil, perhaps I should add that von Arnim (as her name suggests) was married to a German herself – and not happily. She later referred to her husband as the ‘Man of Wrath’, and he was even sent to prison for fraud. I suspect Otto is in part a portrait of Count Henning August von Arnim-Schlagenthin, rather than an attack against the German people more generally.

The Caravaners is so, so different from The Enchanted April that I don’t now know quite how to think of Elizabeth von Arnim. An author whose writing I considered gentle and beautiful has now added satirical, witty, and biting to her arsenal. What I do know is that she is quite brilliant, and I unreservedly recommend either of those novels – and am keen to discover what’s next. Elizabeth von Arnim admirers – which should follow?

Thanks Rachel and Claire for getting me finally to read my second E von A – I had great fun! Oh, and – the title to this blog post is not from The Caravaners. Can anyone tell me where I found it?

My Life in Books: Finished!

Well, I had a wonderful week, and I hope you all did too. You seem to have done – I got 1000 more page views than average last week. Thanks so much to everyone who participated, and I’m sure we all came away with lots of ideas for books to read – as well as interesting insights into bloggers’ and blog-readers’ lives. Especial thanks to those who put up with my nagging emails!


I’m going to leave this little post up today, simply to give you a chance to read some of last week’s entries that you might have missed – I know a lot of people can’t read blogs at the weekend, and I didn’t want you to miss some of the most recent Lives. Also, I always feel a bit protective when I’m posting things from other people – do go back and comment on the posts, and make them feel even more loved! I’m sure they’d love to hear your thoughts about their choices.

Normal service will return tomorrow, but what a fun week it has been!

My Life in Books: Day Seven

Well, folks, we’ve reached the end of the Week of Lives – just two more readers to share their choices. I’d like to take this opportunity to thank all the readers who participated this week (and the two people who turned down the opportunity very politely!) I didn’t expect – although perhaps I should have done – such a brilliant range of titles, and lovely personal anecdotes too. Thank you so, so much! But it’s not over yet – let’s hear from our final two readers… and don’t forget to let me know if you’ve done My Life in Books on your own blogs.

Harriet lives in Oxford, and blogs at the efficiently-named Harriet Devine’s Blog. She is the author of several books, including a wonderful memoir Being George Devine’s Daughter.

Nancy lives in Amherst, Massachusetts, and is a lovely reader of blogs. She also often sends me pictures and videos of cats, which are always welcome!

Qu. 1) Did you grow up in a book-loving household, and did your parents read to you? Pick a favourite book from your childhood, and tell me about it.
Harriet: Yes, I did grow up in a book loving household, and, though she taught me to read before I was five, my mother loved to read to me and I loved to be read to. Many of the books we read were ones she had as a child – The Secret Garden, all of E. Nesbit – but when I was very tiny my favorites were the beautiful little books of Beatrix Potter. I could have picked almost any one of these but I was particularly fond of The Tale of Tom Kitten. It’s such a perfect story – Mrs Tabitha Twitchett dressing up her three children in “elegant, uncomfortable clothes” and giving them strict instructions to stay clean and out of trouble, which of course they absolutely do not. The illustrations are so perfect, too – Tom with his buttons bursting off, the ducks waddling off wearing the kittens’ clothes. I must have read this hundreds of times, to myself and to generations of children, but it still makes me smile with total delight.
Nancy: Hmmmm, that’s hard to answer. We lived out in a small community, 20 miles from a town of any size (where I went to high school and college) and I don’t remember going to any bookstores there. Though the reading textbooks were not supposed to leave the classroom – they sat on a shelf except when in use – I always managed to sneak them into my satchel and take them home. We were not supposed to be reading ahead, and take up each story as a class – but I could never wait. Once I got to high school there was a great library. I read before and after school (waiting on my ride), at lunch, in study hall, even in class, and into the night. Many times, I read a book a day.
Back to my childhood in the 1940s: I remember my parents reading a lot of magazines, the sort with stories – my mother kept a subscription to Redbook for many years, especially for the story. I cannot call up a mental image of being read to but I must have been, since I would have been since I would have been unable to read them myself. The only books I remember owning are the Little Golden Books – The Shy Little Kitten, The Poky Puppy, Tootle, and The Saggy Baggy Elephant – which are for sale again, so I have bought new copies of them. There were also the Little Big Books (I think they were called, or perhaps Big Little Books), chunky, blocky shaped – I had Little Orphan Annie and my brother had Dick Tracy in that format. There were a couple of other books that I can’t call up right now. Here’s the sad part, I did not know about books by Beatrix Potter or A.A. Milne or Kenneth Grahame until I was an adult!

Qu. 2) What was one of the first ‘grown-up’ books that you really enjoyed?
Harriet: Believe it or not, this was William Shakespeare’s The Taming of the Shrew, and I read it when I was about ten years old. Both my parents were in the theatre – my mother a designer, my father an actor and director – so I was used to seeing a lot of plays, sometimes several times if I got dumped at the back of the stalls during rehearsals. Around this time they both started working at Stratford on Avon, where my father directed a production of this play. For some reason I became fascinated by it, and got hold of the big red hardback Arden edition he’d been using to work on it. I was immediately hooked, not just by reading Shakespeare’s words but also by the fact that there were notes at the bottom of each page, explaining difficult words, offering alternative readings, providing background references. My first introduction to literary scholarship and obviously, in the end, hugely influential.
Nancy: When I was in about grades 7 or 8 through 9, I made my uncle who lived with us join a book club so I could pick out the books and of those, I remember two – Not as A Stranger by Morton Thompson (was made into a movie) and another one about an alcoholic newspaper editor (also made into a movie). I was quite taken with the one about the editor, and thought I might like to be an editor one day. This uncle wasn’t much older than my brother and I, he had a medical discharge from the Navy (rheumatoid arthritis) and was in a wheelchair, not able to go out on his own. With not much he could do, he read a lot of magazines, would regularly order all the current “men’s magazines” from the local cafe. I read those too – you know (or most probably don’t) the “I was held captive by a tribe of Amazon women” sort – or war stories. Yup. That made up a good bit of my reading material until I was in high school.

Qu. 3) Pick a favourite book that you read in your 20s or early 30s – especially if it’s one which helped set you off in a certain direction in life.

Harriet: I didn’t go to university until I was in my thirties, which in some ways was probably quite a good thing, as I think I was a lot more dedicated and hard-working than I’d have been at the “right” age. When I was a postgraduate student, I was asked to give some lectures as part of a new course on women’s writing, and one of them was to be on Jane Austen. I’d probably read all Austen’s novels by then but I re-read them with a new angle in mind – could Austen be called a feminist writer? In my lecture I discussed all the novels, but the one I focussed my main argument on was Mansfield Park.
Many people will say this is their least favourite, and many people will say they dislike Fanny Price for her weakness, her fainting fits, her strict morality. But my argument – and I still stand by it – is that this is precisely the point. Fanny is marginalised in every possible way. A poor relation, she is treated almost with contempt by most of the family who have taken her in, but my goodness does she have the strength to stand by her beliefs and principles, even when she’s being abused for doing so. You see this most clearly when she astonishes and upsets them all by refusing to marry Henry Crawford, but it’s evident throughout, and by the end she proves to be the only member of the household to have got it all right, and everyone finally recognises it. So that was my argument for Austen’s feminism – women may be outwardly powerless and severely put-upon, but they have incredible inner strength and that’s what really matters when the chips are down. I expect I put it rather better than that at the time. But in any case all this did set me off in a certain direction, as what I suppose you could call that of a feminist literary historian.
Nancy: One book that stands out in my mind when I was 21 (summer of 1962, just out of college) was Hawaii by James Michener. I got it from the bookmobile – and with nothing else to do, read it during all the waking hours of two or three days. Now, that’s a big book. Then, in 1974 (age 33), I read another book by Michener, The Source – and liked it so much I thought I’d be reading other books by him but I never did. I loved how that book was laid out, alternating chapters following story lines from different ages in time for the same locale. I don’t know that either of those books set me off in any particular direction in life but they are the two that I remember the most, that made the most impact.

Qu. 4) What’s one of your favourite books that you’ve found in the last five years, and how has blogging or the reading of blogs changed your reading habits?
Harriet: This is a really hard question because, to answer the second part of the question first, blogging has caused me to read so many more books and I’ve really loved a number of them. But one particular strand of that reading that’s really blossomed is my developing interest in books by women writers of the early to mid twentieth century. And here I must speak up for Emily Hilda (or EH) Young, a writer who has been astonishingly overlooked in recent years and is well overdue a revival. The first one of hers that I read, for my reading group, was Miss Mole (1930), and I can’t recommend it highly enough.

Hannah Mole is very much subject to the times in which she lived. Intelligent, witty, perceptive, she is also poor and disadvantaged. Her only means of support is the jobs she has to take as a companion to generally unpleasant old women, from which she frequently gets sacked for insubordination. Her sharp, often cynical, sense of humour has always got her through, but at nearly forty she is keenly aware of the grim future that potentially awaits her when she is too old to get another place. But when she takes a job in a family, she transforms not only their lives but her own into the bargain. Young writes with wit, intelligence, and astonishing perceptiveness about people, their peculiarities and their interactions. Wonderful stuff.
Nancy: The Espionage! Books by Alan Furst – his last ten, published between 1983-2010. As for book blogs, I love reading about the books that everyone else is reading – and have read a number of ones featured (your blog, Cornflower, and dovegreyreader), but not a lot. I seldom, if ever, read new books (other than Furst’s), especially not the “best sellers” – prefer books from the same time period as you. My reading habits – other than espionage (about the only fiction I read) – fall mostly into books by authors about themselves, such as letters, diaries, autobiographies – have always been interested in the lives of authors and how they work (especially E.F. Benson and Virginia Woolf). And then, of course, I love the Mapp and Lucia books and the Provincial Lady books.

Qu. 5) For your final choice – a guilty pleasure, or a favourite that might surprise people!
Harriet: I don’t think anyone who knows me, or reads my blog, will be in the least surprised to hear that my guilty pleasures always take the form of crime novels. Whether I’m on the plane, or on the beach, or down in the dumps, or not very well, or just in need of some light relief, out come the detectives. Sometimes it’s the classics – Allingham, Marsh, even Christie – but here I’m speaking up for Steig Larsson and his astonishing Millennium trilogy. I got hold of an audio book of The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo last summer and was absolutely rivetted. Yes, there’s violence, and yes, many upsetting things happen, and I know people who have hated these books because of it. But, for me, the combination of complex, interwoven plots, fascinating political and social skullduggery, and complicated, intelligent characters was an absolute winner. Above all I was entirely enthralled by the Girl herself, Lisbeth Salander – brilliant, difficult, damaged, with her own strict, though highly unconventional, morality. I loved every minute of all three of these and, if by chance anyone hasn’t read them, I’d say – don’t listen to the skeptics and the cynics – give them a go!
Nancy: I don’t know if this qualifies as a guilty pleasure since it isn’t actual reading, but what (in the last couple of years now) has kept me from reading as much as I used to: I am firmly Addicted to Sudoku. When I am not up and out and about – or at the computer – I have a book of Sudoku puzzles in my hands. I end the day (wee hours) with it and begin my day with it (lie abed way too much). And, when I say “addiction,” it is just that – cannot be without it, take it with me if I will have to wait anywhere or if I am away overnight – just as I used to take a book along. This is what retirement was done to me! Other than Sudoku, my interest is solidly in books, bookstores, libraries, and online – and my two grandsons (19 years and 9 months), of course.

And… I’ve told you the other person’s choices, anonymously. What do you think these choices say about their reader?

Nancy, about Harriet’s choices: I love that the co-participant lists Tom Kitten and I wish I could have met Beatrix Potter’s characters in my childhood. I was never introduced to Shakespeare anywhere along the line, so have no idea here. Mansfield Park and Miss Mole lead me to believe the co-participant is much, much younger than I. The Larson book: not put off by the violence there, but unsure whether others would approve(??) I loved all three movies, by the way. This was very difficult!

Harriet, about Nancy’s choices: This is obviously someone with a great interest in history, which is a feature of both the travel book and the spy series. In fact even though Woolf and Benson are mentioned, it’s for their letters and biographies rather than their novels. Since Not as a Stranger is a medical drama, I wondered if this person might have become a doctor? In any case it’s a person with a strong factual bias and a liking for problem solving (spies/sudoko). I’m going to really stick my neck out here and say I suspect this list belongs to a man! [Simon: oops, maybe you shouldn’t have stuck your neck out!]

My Life in Books: Day Six

Happy weekend one and all, no miscellany or Sunday song this weekend – because we still have four wonderful people who are going to share their lives in books! Over to them (and they are the week’s chattiest people! Sadly they were both so enthusiastic that I’ve had to cut a fair bit from both of them, simply so you’re not reading through to next week – but it was painful to cut anything from such wonderful bibliophiles!)

Elaine lives in Colchester, the UK’s oldest recorded town. She blogs at Random Jottings and has been made the subject of her very own expression – in some circles, ‘doing an Elaine’ is slang for voraciously reading all the works of a newly-discovered author one after another.

David lives in Crosby, Liverpool. He is a loyal blog-reader, and tweets @David73277. He’s also, I discovered, not over forty… but let’s let him choose his books anyway…


Qu. 1) Did you grow up in a book-loving household, and did your parents read to you? Pick a favourite book from your childhood, and tell me about it.

Elaine: I was not aware of many books in my household as a child and also cannot remember either of my parents reading to me. Though my father was a very clever man he was a mathematician and rarely read any fiction and when he did it was Thomas Hardy, hardly attractive to a child! [Simon: what similar fathers we have!] My mother did not come to reading until later in life.

I don’t know where my love of books came from, but I cannot remember a time when I have not loved reading. My sister, Judith who is five years older than me, read but not hugely and I have a vague recollection of the odd occasion when she read aloud to me. So any reading I did came from my wanting to do so and nowhere else. Favourite books from my childhood are numerous and many and though the literati always despised her, Enid Blyton was one of my favourite childhood authors. I loved her Adventure books best of all though the Famous Five were also favourites. The gift Enid Blyton had in abundance was that she made reading fun, easy and enjoyable so that the junior reader gets in the habit of reading which I think is essential. I think the one childhood book which really stands out is A Little Princess by Frances Hodgson Burnett. There was an old copy in our house, heaven knows where it came from as nobody laid claim to it, and I discovered it one day and read it through in a sitting and wept and wept and wept through the entire reading. I remember so well Sara Crewe alone in her attic with her doll Emily and longing for her dead father and even now when I read it, as I do as an adult, it brings tears to my eyes. Of course, I now read Frances Hodgson Burnett’s adult books and they are wonderful too.

David: Mine was not an overly bookish household, though I do remember being read to by my parents and, slightly later, being signed up as a library member. For some reason, my clearest memories of being read to seem to involve the Mr Men series by Roger Hargreaves. [Simon: Hurrah!] This may be influenced by having had on my bedroom wall a long poster containing the full cast of characters. At the time I probably identified most strongly with Mr Fussy for all sorts of reasons, not least his obsessive tidiness. It appears that the Mr Men are back on television now, where Mr Fussy appears to have been renamed Mr Pernickety. This seems like quite a long and difficult name for the target audience; or am I being pernickety? In book form, I am pleased to report, he is still Mr Fussy. [Simon: don’t get me started on the TV series…]

I was more of a bookish child in the metaphorical rather than the literal sense. I always enjoyed the academic side of school, but with hindsight it seems odd that I loved writing, both in the sense of composition and of putting words on the page, without displaying particular enthusiasm for reading fiction. I followed the news and politics from quite an early age, but my love of fiction came along much later. That’s not all that’s changed: I now find writing long hand very hard work and, on the rare occasions I do, it is even harder for anyone to actually read it!

Qu. 2) What was one of the first ‘grown-up’ books that you really enjoyed?

Elaine: Jane Eyre was the first ‘grown up’ book I read and as I was only eleven at the time, all that was going on in my life was school and homework. I found a new copy on the shelves – it was a small World’s Classic with a red cover and it just felt good in my hands – small and just the right size to slip into a bag. I was very proud of taking such a grown up book out of the library and was even more determined to read it when the librarian, Mrs Collins, asked if I was sure I wanted to read it. Well, read it I did and I found it hard going and skipped a lot of it, but I remember enjoying the first section all about Jane’s childhood and being sent away to school by wicked Mrs Reed and her friendship with Helen Burns. The rest of the book passed me by, as it would at my age, but I re-read it when I was about fourteen and then it gripped me totally and Jane’s cry of equality with Mr Rochester made my hair stand on end and still does now after endless readings. It was a life shaping book for me and started me off on my love of Victorian literature.

David: I didn’t become seriously interested in literature until studying for GCSE and then A level. There was a particular lady with connections to Bath whose books were among the first to really work their magic upon me, but I am not going to talk about one of those. It is certainly true that I came to nineteenth century classics long before developing any interest in anything more recent. I first read Anthony Trollope either in the summer after completing my A levels or the summer I finished my degree, I cannot actually remember which. The particular work of his that I would like to highlight is Barchester Towers.

This is the second installment of his five book series set in the fictional southern English county of Barsetshire and its cathedral city of Barchester. It brilliantly satirises the internal politics of the Victorian Church of England, but the reader does not need any prior knowledge of, or indeed interest in, the struggles between the High, Broad and Low Church factions, in order to derive a great deal of pleasure from the scheming of characters like the reforming cleric Mr Slope or the domineering Mrs Proudie. The latter has her husband, the new Bishop of Barchester, well and truly under the thumb. A junior member of the clergy, not strong-enough to resist becoming a pawn in the factional jostelling within the diocese, goes by the fitting name of Mr Quiverful. He is presented with the opportunity of preferment to a wardenship post, a position he very much needs since he has no fewer than fourteen children to support. The extent to which it is ethical to pursue promotion within the church for worldly ends is one of the more serious themes with which this witty novel engages. A reader wishing to ponder this surprisingly topical issue could turn to an economist like Will Hutton but – no disrespect Will – he or she could have much more fun by stepping into Trollope’s Barsetshire.

Qu. 3) Pick a favourite book that you read in your 20s or early 30s – especially if it’s one which helped set you off in a certain direction in life.

Elaine: At this time I read a lot of books I had missed out on as a child. I still love reading children’s books and it was about this time I read, and I am ashamed to admit I only discovered it in my 20s, Wind in the Willows, the subtleties of which would have passed me by as a child. The friendship between Ratty and Mole and the discovery that life is exciting and rich and full of promise, the bombastic antics of Mr Toad (and don’t we all know a Toad in our lives), the wisdom and grumpiness of Badger and the glorious fight at the end when the Wild Wooders are thrown out of Toad Hall. I simply loved it.

A book which did influence me in one particular direction was A Town Like Alice. My sister was going through a Nevil Shute phase at the time and I picked it up one day, read it and though I don’t think it was the greatest literature in the world, loved the story and, particularly, the second half set in Australia. It instilled in me a wish to visit this country which I have now done, and as you know have just returned again, so I have to say thank you to Nevil for that.

David: Roy Jenkins biography of Victorian British Prime Minister, William Ewart Gladstone, was published in 1995, when I was 21. It exemplifies a number of my interests and concerns both in reading and in life: politics, religion, biography, the nineteenth century and, significantly, quality history written for a general audience rather than solely by academics for other academics. I had at this time just completed my History degree. It had been fulfilling and enjoyable, but I had never fully subscribed to the view – popular in academic circles at the time – that historians should position themselves as social scientists, by producing dense publications, heavy on statistics and light on narrative. Gladstone had featured strongly in my studies, so I was already familiar with his life. It was, nevertheless, a pleasure to sit back and enjoy it being told with panache by a someone who had no qualms about being a historian of the old-fashioned story telling school.

Reading this book did not exactly set me off on a certain direction in life – I’m at the latter end of my 30s now and still lacking a sense of direction, but we’ll draw a veil over that. Gladstone’s religious convictions led him to believe he must devote his life to the service of his fellow men. Initially, he considered taking holy orders, but he later came to believe that he might do more good as a politician – don’t laugh, it was more plausible then than it may now appear! Both politics and religion are now regarded with deep suspicion by many, and I suspect that even some believers might be uncomfortable with the extent to which these two fields overlapped in the nineteenth century: the past, as the saying goes, is a different country.

Gladstone is now perhaps best known for the travel bag which took his name; for his “rescue” work with members of the oldest profession; and for addressing Queen Victoria, in her words, ‘as though one were a public meeting’ – she much preferred the exotic and charming Disraeli. However, what may be of much more interest to Stuck in a Book readers is the fact that Gladstone was a voracious reader. Jenkins tells us, for example, that when recovering from poor health in early August he 1869 his subject was reading Pride and Prejudice and George Eliot’s Romala.

Qu. 4) What’s one of your favourite books that you’ve found in the last five years, and how has blogging or the reading of blogs changed your reading habits?

Elaine: I freely admit to being set in my ways when it comes to reading but one thing blogging has done has made me venture forth into different genres. Not sure that this has been entirely successful but at least I have tried and with the number of books sent to me by publishers I do feel it behoves me to at least try to read them. They are a varied mixture and out of them have come some gems and a few such come to mind. The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Society by Mary Ann Shaffer is one of the books read in the last five years that I absolutely adored from start to finish. An epistolary novel set in the occupied Channel Islands during the Second World War it is witty, wise and heartbreaking.

Resistance by Agnes Humbert is another such gem. True story and diary kept by a member of the French Resistance and tells of her incarceration in a camp throughout the war and the suffering and pain she endured. Her spirit and bravery, as well as her humour, shine through in this stunning book and makes one wonder how we would react if placed in such a situation.

The answer to this particular question could go on for pages and I am trying hard to restrict myself, but I simply have to mention the discovery, somewhat belated, of the Mapp and Lucia books of E F Benson some three years ago which reduced me to tears aging, this time with helpless laughter. HOW had I managed to not read these all these years? HOW? Quite quite wonderful, already re-read three times and has led me to reading others by this author who was, thankfully, incredibly prolific. I am going to stop right here but cannot leave without mentioning Persesphone Books of which I have read some 50+. This publishing house was just made for me as it is clear from the books I have listed above, that my real reading love is for books written in and around the two world wars. I have tried more modern literature, I have tried reading some of the yearly Booker List, but I am a lost soul and freely admit to being a bit of a Stick in the Mud.

David: This is probably the hardest choice to make, not least because reading blogs has introduced me to so many fantastic novels in recent years. Having said that, I’m going to chose a book I don’t recall having seen mentioned on a blog, since this seems an ideal opportunity to draw attention to a hidden gem. The book in question is A Bit of Earth by Rebecca Smith who teaches creative writing at Southampton University. It was published in 2006 but I found it in the library in 2008.

Such is the beauty of libraries: they give us the opportunity to a take a chance on books that we might otherwise never come across. We all know that hundreds of libraries are currently under threat in the UK. Much of the campaigning talk in support of libraries has understandably, and rightly, focused on their importance for the less well-off in society, however, I think we should also champion them as resources and centres for the whole community, including those who are lucky enough to have lots of their own books at home. The more of us who use libraries the more likely they are to survive. We should not feel guilty about using them to sample books. If we later go on to buy some of them, then that is money going to retailers, publishers and authors, so even the most uncompromising believers in the primacy of the market should like the sound of that.

Anyway, I really ought to get off my soapbox and tell you what I liked so much about A Bit of Earth. Actually, reference to the battle to save libraries is relevant, because at the centre of this novel is a fight to save a community facility, in this case to prevent some botanic gardens from being built on. The story is about an academic with a young son whose wife is killed in an accident, and how the gardens and the people around them help this shattered family to heal. Commenting on the book on Librarything I wrote: “The idea of the healing power of involvement with nature may not be particularly original, but there is a gentle and wholesome quality to this novel that is quite rare these days.” Other reviewers there described it as charming, warm and good-hearted: all qualities that I love to find in a book. I also felt it was important to feature a book by a female author because despite the fact that my other selections have been written by men, female writers do account for a lot of my reading, certainly as regards fiction.

Qu. 5) For your final choice – a guilty pleasure, or a favourite that might surprise people!

Elaine: Mills & Boon. I have recently come out of the closet on my love of these incredibly, wildly, over the top romantic novels. I simply adore them. Man meets woman, they fall in love, something causes a separation and heartbreak, but eventually all misunderstandings are cast aside and all ends happily. I have just finished one today when two lovers, after quarrelling ten years earlier, finally meet up again and marry (her illegitimate child is his son though he does not know it), he goes off to explore the Brazilian jungle (as you do), his plane crashes in the forest and he is pronounced dead. She is pregnant and has another baby and then lo and behold he appears on her doorstep on Christmas Eve having survived in the jungle for months, totally unaware he is a father again and all ends happily. MAGNIFICENT! And yes, we all joke about them and some of them indeed are hilariously awful, but you just try and write one and then write another and keep churning them out every two months.

I used to call this a guilty pleasure but no more. To lie in a soapy bubbly bath, scented candle lit, cup of tea to hand, and wallow and read a Mills & Boon and not leave until it is read and arise out of the bath, not alas like Venus arising from the waves, but more like a pink prune with wrinkled fingers, wrap oneself in a warm dressing gown and then go to bed is one of life’s pleasures which I intend to continue to enjoy.

David: I think the term “guilty pleasure” should be quietly retired, since it suggests we should feel bad about enjoying something that does not find favour with either the arbiters of literary merit or the self-proclaimed guardians of what is “cool”. I am not in the least bit guilty about proclaiming Alexander McCall Smith’s Scotland Street series of books as one of my most pleasurable reading experiences. Of course, to get the best out of them you really need to read them in published order from the start, but it is the fourth volume in the series, The World According to Bertie, that I would like to trumpet – although a saxophone would be a more appropriate musical allusion, given that it is the sax which the eponymous heroe, Bertie Pollock, now aged six, was forced to start learning to play, at the age of three or four, by his scarily pushy and opinionated mother, Irene.

Bertie and his mum are, I imagine, the principal stars of this series for most of its fans, but they are just two of a wide cast of characters that includes a portrait artist and his dog named Cyril, an anthropologist, a Glaswegian gangster and, in this particular volume, one of the current descendants of the Jacobite claimants to the thrones of Scotland and England.

Words like gentle and charming, spring to mind once again when describing these books. I also find them very amusing, though I know humour is highly subjective.
I particularly like this fourth book because it is the features the blossoming romance between art dealer Matthew and the delightfully named primary school teacher Elspeth Harmony. Commenting on this series on Lyn’s I Prefer Reading blog, I wrote: “I’m an Elspeth fan too but I’d best not say too much about that since it might not be an entirely healthy thing for a grown up to admit to becoming besotted with a fictional character!”

And… I’ve told you the other person’s choices, anonymously. What do you think these choices say about their reader?

David, about Elaine’s choices: I think that the person who chose this books is a romantic at heart who had a happy childhood and remains in touch with her inner child, continuing to enjoy Wind in the Willows. Based on the inclusion of both Jane Eyre and Mills & Boon, I would stick my neck out and suggest she is a member of the National Trust who likes to visit stately homes, where she dreams of being swept off her feet by the ruggedly handsome lord of the manor. Reading blogs has given her a taste for gentle fiction, either set or written in the first half of the twentieth century.

Elaine, about David’s choices: As I love the Mr. Men and read them to my children, I would think anybody who loves these has a sense of humour and is not ashamed to admit that he/she has a soft spot for books of their childhood. As a lover of Anthony Trollope all I can say is that anybody who likes this book has a fine mind and is a kindred spirit! I find Victorian history fascinating and remember Gladstone well. An interest in political history and this book in particular would make me think we have a good inquiring reader here with powers of concentration as this is quite a hefty tome and needs staying power. As a fellow history lover I would feel in good congenial company. Ah, and the lover of McCall Smith’s books would have a sense of the ridiculous and the whimsical and, at the same time, would probably have a soft heart and a warm sense of humour