I just got a copy The Receptionist: an Education at the New Yorker by Janet Groth; I bought it online after Lyn mentioned that it might appeal to me, knowing my love of William Maxwell, Sylvia Townsend Warner, and behind-the-scenes of literary life. And, indeed, it could well be great – but when it arrived, it stank of cigarette smoke.
Sorry to any of you who smoke, but I do hate the smell (and am so thrilled about the smoking ban!) – so, does anybody have any tips for getting the smell of cigarette smoke out of books??
(And, on a side note, I feel like people should note this sort of thing when they sell books online…)
It always comes as something of a surprise to me (and to those who know my reading tastes) that I’ve read so few Pym novels. I read Excellent Women in 2004, and liked it but not quite as much as I’d hoped (largely because it’s set in London); a couple of years ago I read Some Tame Gazelle and loved it rather more. The Sweet Dove Died (1978)… fell rather in the middle.
Firstly, I’m not a big fan of the title – which, like Some Tame Gazelle, is from a poem; the poem, by Keats, is referenced within the text, but until that point, an ignoramus like myself is left wondering when the blessed dove is going to turn up. Instead, we start the novel with Leonora – who bumps into Humphrey and his nephew James at an antiques auction. Since the novel is set in London (sigh) and the only way to meet people outside one’s set is by unlikely coincidences, this is catalyst for a lasting friendship between the three. The men vie silently and politely for Leonora’s attention; perhaps neither exactly want a relationship with her, but they certainly want the attention – and she is more than willing to bestow it on James, so much her younger. To the world, she is charming and gracious – but the reader sees her selfish, unkind side.
Pym’s narrative floats in and out of all the characters’ minds as the novel progresses, and so we are seldom at a loss to understand a character’s motivations; it is all done very cleverly and thoroughly. To the three already mentioned is added two more people James has relationships with, and Leonora’s rather pathetic friend Meg. (Incidentally, the reader gradually realises how similar Leonora and Meg actually are, when not seen exclusively from Leonora’s perspective.) In fact, it was a description of Meg that I noted down to quote:
Leonora was her usual few minutes late, though not as late as she would have been if meeting a man. Meg was one of those women who are always too early and can be seen waiting outside Swan and Edgar’s, with anxious peering faces ready to break into smiles when the person awaited turns up.
Moments like this are extremely common in Pym’s writing – by which I mean, delicious moments of observation about small details of human behaviour. The plot of The Sweet Dove Died is slight, and even the theme – how being too overbearing can damage a relationship – isn’t ground-breaking, but line by line, Pym builds up fascinatingly real characters, and sheds constant light upon the minutiae of people’s lives. Her subtlety is brilliant, and the balance and perception of her sentences show why she is so often compared to Jane Austen.
I don’t really know how The Sweet Dove Died is held among Pym aficionados. I preferred the comedy of Some Tame Gazelle, probably, but this felt a more mature and sophisticated novel. It demonstrates what an excellent writer Pym was, and how sharp her knowledge of human nature could be. But I do wish it had been set in the countryside.
On Wednesday evening, I made an impromptu trip to London. Not entirely spontaneous, but only planned on Tuesday – when a very persuasive promotional email arrived in my inbox, telling me that tickets for Hay Fever were cut by more than 50%. Having never sat in one of the best seats in the house before, and having intended to go at some point to see the play, I was only a few clicks away from booking my ticket – and only 24 hours away from hopping on the train and heading over to the Duke of York’s.
Photo: Nobby Clark
I got there a bit early and (shock!) bought some books on Charing Cross Road – but, before I get to that, I really loved Hay Fever. It is, perhaps, not one of Noel Coward’s most sophisticated comedies – it is entirely inconsequential, and the plot is haywire (pun intended) – but it was a complete delight. The plot: Judith Bliss (Felicity Kendal) (!) is a recently retired actress and head of a family, which comprises husband David and grown-up children Simon and Sorrell. All of them have independently invited people to stay with them in their country pile, and nobody has informed anybody else… cue all manner of romantic fiascos and familial squabbles. The Bliss family all live extremely heightened lives, responding to everything with self-indulgent drama. They understand and accept each other perfectly, under the fireworks, but the visitors grow alarmed and weary of the whole thing.
The first gasp from the audience was for the beautiful and brilliant set, designed by Peter McKintosh. It’s just the sort of 1920s house I wish I lived in, and one can excuse the unlikelihood at this family living in what is essentially a hallway. After that, we just laughed our way through the play – particularly the performances by the wonderful Felicity Kendal and the equally wonderful Sara Stewart, who played ageing femme fatale Myra Arundel with delectable wit and glorious facial expressions. It also convinced me that paying enough to be able to see the facial expressions might be an investment I should make again…
Anyway, you should go and see it. Tickets are discounted, and it’s extremely funny.
And those books I bought? Here they are…
I always pop into Any Amount of Books and Henry Pordes Books, the only secondhand bookshops on/around Charing Cross Road which are affordable (although one of these books did come from the £2 table outside an otherwise extremely expensive bookshop on a side street). I’m always amazed by how very rude the man serving in Henry Porde Books is. I’ve been in dozens of times, and every time he treats his customers like inconveniences, snapping and grumping at them. Thankfully his colleague, standing next to him, was all laughs and joviality, which made up for it – though when I laughed along, the grumpy man openly glared at me. Which of these two is Henry Pordes, I wonder? Onto the books, before I’m banned from the shop:
The Night Club by Herbert Jenkins – and I was pondering buying it online only earlier that day! I’m currently listening to The Return of Alfred courtesy of Librivox (more on that soon), so I’m on quite a Jenkins kick.
Celia’s Secret by Michael Frayn and David Burke – an intriguing looking book about research that happened while Frayn was writing Copenhagen, as the result of a mysterious letter being sent to him…
Then There Was Fire by Minou Drouet – I’d never heard of Drouet, but apparently she was a child prodigy poet a few decades ago?
Twentieth Century Literature 1901-1940 by A.C. Ward – Ward wrote a very interesting book on 1920s literature (published just after the fact, in 1930), which helped tremendously with my DPhil – so I’m intrigued to read his wider lens on the first 40 years of the 20th century.
Apostate by Forrest Reid – I know nothing about him, but love these little editions. A bit of digging reveals this to be his autobiography, so I shall doubtless find out more about him when I read it!
Welcome to the second episode of our podcast! In this episode, Rachel and I are discussing long books vs. short books and The Catcher in the Rye vs. The Go-Between. Buckle up; it’s a long episode. We certainly loved having our chat. AND I got a new mic, and… well, the editing time was certainly cut down drastically. We’re getting there!
You can listen by clicking on the audio above, or (hopefully!) on iTunes. I don’t know how this RSS feed thing works, but the episode should appear if you search for Tea or Books? on iTunes, or here. (It’s not there just after I published, but I assume these things take a while to register.) (UPDATE: it worked!)
The books we mention in this episode, in case you’re listening and want to nab one of recommendations, are…
Gillespie and I – Jane Harris Wolf Hall – Hilary Mantel Bloomsbury’s Outsider – Sarah Knights Wartime: Britain 1939-1945 – Juliet Gardiner The Goldfinch – Donna Tartt The Secret History – Donna Tartt The Luminaries – Eleanor Catton The Little Stranger – Sarah Waters On Chesil Beach – Ian McEwan Black Dogs – Ian McEwan Being Dead – Jim Crace The Love-Child – Edith Olivier Lady Into Fox – David Garnett Love of Seven Dolls – Paul Gallico Flowers for Mrs Harris – Paul Gallico Of Mice and Men – John Steinbeck The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie – Muriel Spark Anna Karenina – Leo Tolstoy Pride and Prejudice – Jane Austen Wuthering Heights – Emily Bronte Letters of the Mitford Sisters A Curious Friendship – Anna Thomasson Germany: Memories of a Nation – Neil MacGregor Virginia Woolf – Hermione Lee Jane Eyre – Charlotte Bronte The Warden – Anthony Trollope Barchester Towers – Anthony Trollope Can You Forgive Her? – Anthony Trollope Our Mutual Friend – Charles Dickens The Moonstone – Wilkie Collins David Copperfield – Charles Dickens To Kill a Mockingbird – Harper Lee The Go-Between – L.P. Hartley The Catcher in the Rye – J.D. Salinger The History Boys – Alan Bennett My Salinger Year – Joanna Rakoff I Capture the Castle – Dodie Smith Guard Your Daughters – Diana Tutton The Death of the Heart – Elizabeth Bowen A House in Paris – Elizabeth Bowen Virginia – Jens Christian Grøndhal
When Amanda got in touch to ask if I’d like to receive review copies of their Life Portraits series, I couldn’t say yes fast enough. They could scarcely have picked two better authors to cater to my taste – Jane Austen and Virginia Woolf are firm favourites of mine, and this comes just as I’m getting into graphic books.
Jane Austen and Virginia Woolf are by Zena Alkayat, illustrated by Nina Cosford. You’ll be hearing about them again from me soon, but I couldn’t resist sharing about them immediately.
1.) Tea or Books? is available on iTunes! I wrangled with it, let me tell you… but now you’ll find us if you search under podcasts, or here. Episode 2 (with new mic!) has been recorded and should appear sometime next week…
2.) I wrote a game for Reading the End podcast! It was such a thrill to hear the two Jennys play it (and you can also listen to it, as part of this episode). The game is based on books which take their titles from quotations, and the gals did great. Seriously, I loved hearing them play the game so much.
I so seldom use the public library that I’ve never managed to join in Library Loot, the weekly everybody-join-in from Claire and Linda. It does inspire guilt in me that I’m not much of a library-goer, because I do want to celebrate libraries and encourage their use – but hundreds of unread books on my shelf discourage me. And, of course, battered old 1930s hardbacks aren’t the easiest things to find in public libraries – though they have proved very useful for my occasional Agatha Christie binges.
BUT today, dear reader, I came away with two books. I headed to Oxford Central Library after work, to see if I could borrow any graphic novels. The Making Of sparked me off wanting to read more, and I thought a try-before-you-buy situation would work well. Ideally I’d be able to browse the shop Peter mentions in the comments to yesterday’s post, Gosh! in London – but… it’s in London.
Oxford Central Library does have two sides of a bookcase devoted to graphic novels, which impressed me a lot. What didn’t impress me so much was the style of the graphic novels they had. Almost all of them were the comic book style that doesn’t appeal to me at all. Nothing remotely similar to the beautifully illustrated, soft and vibrant colours of Evens’ books. But I did grab one book which didn’t scream Batman at me. And it was…
The other book I borrowed isn’t a graphic novel; I found it when checking the Fiction shelf to see if they had any Brecht Evens books there (before I found the designated graphic novel section); I couldn’t resist the title How To Be a Public Author, and started flicking through it. It’s ‘by Francis Plug’, but is actually by Dan Ewen (hence being where Evens would have been) – a witty play on the Booker Prize, apparently. Plug goes about collecting signatures from famous authors, while writing a self-help book himself. It could be terrible, but it could be brilliant… has anybody read it?
Time will tell whether or not I manage to prioritise these books before they’re due back at the library, but… they both look intriguing, certainly, and at least I’ve done my bit for the statistics! Has anybody read either of them?
Not to brag or anything, but I read a graphic novel. I’m pretty sure that makes me the zeitgeist, right? And it was a graphic novel in translation. I couldn’t be more at the forefront of intellectual hipster thought if I tried.
This brings the number of graphic novels I have read to two: the other one was also by Brecht Evens, and I wrote about it about three years ago. As with that one, The Making Of (2013) was a review copy from Jonathan Cape that has somehow spent years on my to-read-really-soon shelf. (This shelf, it seems, is where books go to die; the moment I designate books as must-reads, they lose some of their appeal.) Thankfully, I was lured back towards it this week, and thoroughly delighted in Evens’ work – translated by Laura Watkinson and Michele Hutchinson.
The Making Of is about Peterson, an artist who gets a grant to help out an enthusiastic but disorganised community prepare a great art project. He has to stay in the shed of someone’s mother, and quickly realises that the whole affair is well-meaning but a shambles – from friendly Kristof right down to Dennis, who seldom speaks and contentedly covers (all) surfaces in little swirls.
As in his previous book, each character is a single colour – as is their dialogue – and scenes are often made of superimposed or incomplete shapes. His palette is chiefly green, blue, red, and yellow, and he uses beautifully sort watercolours to get across an often rather poignant or sharp story. For instance, this page seems to me to portray the mingled indignity and dignity of old age far better than many lengthy descriptions:
The story was pretty involving, and certainly better structured than in The Wrong Place, which I seem to remember being a little confusing, but the main reason I loved the book was undoubtedly the art. (The story itself was slightly sleazier than I’d have liked, but still very engaging.) Evens’ way with colour and shape is deeply set in naivety, but it works beautifully. Another example…
I also think Evens is probably a lot cleverer than I was equipped to realise. There was one image which caught my attention. Surely (I thought) it was similar to an image I’d seen on the front cover of a Virago reprint of Naomi Mitchison’s Travel Light (for my art education is found in such places). A bit of Googling later, and I discover that the image from the Mitchison book is The Unicorn in Captivity, a medieval tapestry, and Evens’ image is undoubtedly an homage to it. Here they side by side, with Evens’ on the right:
I felt a momentary triumph at noticing this similarity, and then realised… that probably means there are dozens in there that I missed. I spotted one still life that might be a nod to Léger, but is more likely to someone else… I’d love to hear back from any art experts better at identifying these sorts of things!
The hardback itself is a thing of beauty, incidentally; a lovely shape and feel, which is a relief, as poor production would really let down Evens’ exquisite work. And I really did spend ages just poring over the pages.
When I wrote about Evens’ previous book, I think I asked for graphic novel recommendations. I have been very lax at following them up, but I would still love to hear about any beautiful graphic novels, preferably colourful and not comic strip style…? And, dear reader, do go and seek out The Making Of and The Wrong Place. They’re such delights.
Yes, that’s right: Shirley Jackson Reading Week will be taking place 13-18 July. It sprung from a conversation on Twitter with two very lovely bloggers, Ana/Nymeth of Things Mean A Lot and Jenny of Reading the End, and (some quick messaging and emailing later), dates were decided and Ana has made this beautiful button/badge to accompany the week.
I’m so excited to be co-hosting with these fab ladies, especially since they give me a run for my money on besottedness with Shirley Jackson. The only other author week I’ve co-hosted was Muriel Spark Reading Week, with Harriet Devine, back in 2012 (was it?) and that was really great fun.
So, basically, we’d love you all to join in! Whether you’re after her spooky novels We Have Always Lived in the Castle and The Haunting of Hill House, her brilliant comic apocalypse country house novel The Sundial, her hilarious family memoirs Life Among the Savages and Raising Demons or any of her other works, then we’d love you to get involved.
This post (and posts soon appearing on Jenny and Ana’s blogs) is to spread the word and prepare people – hie thee to a bookshop or library and look forward to July! Do ask any of us if you’d like recommendations for what to read, of course. And feel free to borrow and share Ana’s beautiful button.
