Month: January 2022

More audiobooks: the good, the bad, and the funny

StuckinaBook All , , , 16 Comments

I don’t seem to be finishing many paper books at the moment, but I am tearing through audiobooks. If I continue at this rate, I might end up listening to as many books this year as physically reading them. Thanks Audible Plus! (Not a sponsor, but I’m open to offers.)

Here are three more that I’ve listened to recently…

Surprised by Joy (1955) by C.S. Lewis

I’ve actually got the book on my shelves, but I decided to listen instead. I thought it was about his encounter with Jesus and decision to become a Christian – and it is, but only at the end of what is really a memoir of his childhood and early adulthood. With emphasis on childhood. It takes us through his days at various different schools, and really delves into what makes these positive or negative experiences. Nobody has better expressed how awful P.E. is, and what a blessing it is not to have to do it anymore.

I really enjoyed this book, and Lewis’s gentle thoughtfulness. The only downside with the audiobook is that I think it would have been better in Lewis’s (presumably) Northern Irish accent. The fact that the narrator was English was particularly odd when Lewis was talking about feeling out of kilter in England, as an outsider.

Come Again (2020) by Robert Webb

One could hardly ask for a better narrator than Olivia Colman, and in Come Again she often juggles three or four distinct accents in conversation with each other. She is brilliant, but sadly the book isn’t. It’s about a middle-aged woman called Kate whose life has fallen apart in the wake of her husband’s death from a brain tumour that had been growing for decades – but with almost no symptoms. She wishes she could go back to when they met at university, and warn him. And one morning she wakes up to find out that her wish has come true – she is waking up on the day she met him, as a 19-year-old.

This part of the novel is brilliant. Kate is snarky, funny, and a complex emotional character. The book is often very poignant, as well as delightfully funny (though some tangents on Brexit and Donald Trump, while I wholeheartedly agree with Webb’s/Kate’s stance, don’t really cohere). The trouble is that it doesn’t work at all with the rest of the novel – which is about gangsters trying to track down a memory stick that exposes the secrets of a powerful man. The final quarter of the novel, particularly, is very weak – car chases, fights, and all sorts of nonsense that lets down all the emotionally sophisticated narrative that preceded it. If only an editor had spoken to Webb about not putting ALL his ideas in one novel.

The Adventures of Sally (1922) by P.G. Wodehouse

Oh, inject Wodehouse straight into my veins. What a delightful experience. The plot scarcely matters – it includes a surprise inheritance, various actresses, a theatre impresario, boxing, jaunts across the Atlantic, broken engagements, irritating brothers, love at first sight and all the other usual Wodehouse ingredients. Sally is funny, spirited, and with a lovely dryness. As usual, it is Wodehouse’s mastery of the humorous sentence that, time and again, makes this novel a hoot. I particular loved Ginger and his inability to translate his own brand of slang.

He glanced over his shoulder warily. “Has that blighter pipped?”

“Pipped?”

“Popped,” explained Ginger.

As before, anything you’d recommend from the Audible Plus catalogue? Do let me know! (I think I paid £3 for Webb’s book, but the other two were free.)

L is for Leacock

StuckinaBook All , 8 Comments

This is part of an ongoing series where I write about a different author for each letter of the alphabet. You can see them all here.

Some of the letters of the alphabet, in this ongoing project, are no-brainers. I already know who ‘M’ is going to be, and I suspect you do too if you read this blog. And I knew who would step forward for L – it had to be my boy Stephen Leacock. Look at that towering pile of Canada’s finest.

How many books do I have by Stephen Leacock?

There are TWENTY-SEVEN Leacock books there, though that does include a couple of ‘best ofs’ that I think replicate content found in the others. I’ve no idea how many books Leacock wrote, and I’ve only actively sought out one of these books – My Discovery of England – relying on serendipity to find the others. He is one of those authors who turns up often, almost always (in this country) in 1910s-30s editions that speak to a popularity he once had.

How many of these have I read?

I have almost no idea. Because so many of them are collections of essays/sketches, the titles don’t always clue you in to their contents. According to my LibraryThing, where I mark whether or not I’ve read a book, I have read 14 of them. But the bulk of my Leacock reading was pre-blog, around 2004-6, so I don’t have a firm recollection of how accurate that is. I still read one every year or two, so I can keep going for a bit.

How did I start reading Stephen Leacock?

I think I was lent some by my aunt, but it’s also possible that I discovered him in the same place I discovered E.M. Delafield – a 1940 volume of sketches called Modern Humour. As I say above, I was on a bit of a blitz of reading him 15 or so years ago, and whenever I pick one up I’m reminded why I enjoy him so much.

General impressions…

What a joyful writer Leacock is. His essays and sketches tend to be ironic or dry, or sometimes openly pastiching some well-known writing of the day, and he has a taste for the surreal that almost always lands on the right side of too far. He is an exemplary judge of that – of being careful with the absurdities to make them still enjoyable. Among the books in that pile are some more serious things, I think, but I’ve only dabbled in them.

When I went to Canada in 2017, I was keen to fill some Leacock gaps – and to visit his house, which was a wonderful experience. It was a novelty to see editions of his works that were printed in the past 70 years, and a couple of the paperbacks up the top of the pile came from that trip. I don’t think Leacock is much read anymore, even in Canada, but he should be.

The Murder of My Aunt by Richard Hull

StuckinaBook All , , , 6 Comments

The Murder of My Aunt (British Library Crime Classics): 54: Amazon.co.uk: Richard Hull: 9780712352802: BooksI had a little blogging absence because I had a nasty cold – which I presumed might be Covid, given how everyone seems to have it at the moment, but a zillion tests turned out negative. Just a normal cold! Back to normal winter life!

Anyway, if you’re anything like me then feeling under the weather means you turn to very easy reading. I didn’t have the energy for books where fine writing or depth of character were the focus. So I turned to murder mysteries.

That’s probably unfair, because murder mysteries can certainly have great writing and characters, but it felt like a safe bet for an enjoyable, pacy plot. And the first one up was The Murder of My Aunt (1934) by Richard Hull, which I think I got as a review copy from the British Library in 2018. I was picking more or less at random from my piles of yet-to-be-read British Library Crime Classics, though I do also dimly recall someone recommending this one. If that were you, many thanks.

The novel is told by Edward Powell, a grown man who lives with his Aunt Mildred on the outskirts of a tiny town in Wales. It sounds idyllic, to be honest, but Edward is not a man who appreciates the countryside – still less does he appreciate having his freedoms curtailed by his aunt’s watchful eye, and his finances falling far short of his dreams for himself. Towards the beginning of the novel, they are in a battle over whether or not he will drive into town – which involves his aunt cutting off his petrol supply, and Edward concocting a lie about how he successfully got there nonetheless.

There is something of the Ealing Comedy about this – the stakes are high, but it is all affably ridiculous enough that they don’t seem high. Early on, Edward has decided he should kill his aunt – and the reader goes along for the ride. Murder feels like it’s rather playful here.

And does the aunt deserve it? Well, here’s an example of what annoys Edward so much:

My aunt, after studying the ordnance map with great care, tells me that you have to go up just on six hundred feet, and apparently it is a good deal. I can well believe her, but these figures mean little to me. It is, however, typical of my aunt that she not only possesses many maps showing this revolting country-side in the greatest detail for miles round, but that she can apparently find some pleasure in staring at them for hours on end, ‘reading’ them as she is pleased to say, and producing from memory figures as to the height of every hillock near by.

Frankly, as someone who loathes maps and being forced to look at them, I was fully on Edward’s side at this point.

From here on, he develops various ruses for offing his aunt, and shares them in the novel – which is really a diary of his attempts. Keeping a diary of your murder attempts probably isn’t the wisest move, but we’ll forgive it. As you can tell by the plural ‘attempts’, he isn’t very good at achieving his goal. I shan’t spoil whether or not he was successful, but I will say that The Murder of My Aunt was a delight throughout. Edward reminded me a bit of Ignatius J. Reilly in A Confederacy of Dunces, in that he considers himself vastly superior to the people around him – and reveals himself, through his own self-portrait, to be rather more ridiculous than he would like.

It’s not the sort of murder mystery where you are desperate to find out whodunnit – indeed, there is no mystery at all. But it’s a great reading experience, and Hull’s dry touch is perfect.

BookTube Spin #5: What Will I Be Reading?

StuckinaBook All 3 Comments

I made my list, I checked it twice – and Rick has done the spin.

As you’ll have seen in that video, there are two numbers – the second for those who really want to go for it. I haven’t decided yet, but I’ll definitely be picking up The Magic Apple Tree by Susan Hill (which a couple of you recommended) with the option of The Twisted Tree by Frank Baker. I guess the spin REALLY wanted me to read about trees.

BookTube Spin #5: My List

StuckinaBook All 16 Comments

You may well know Rick’s BookTube Spin – pick 20 books, he gives us a number and we have a couple of months to read. Think the Classics Spin but not necessarily classics, and with the addition of lovely Rick:

I did quite well in previous ones, and then last time I made a list of Persephone titles… and read three of them, but not the one the spin selected. Oops! Let’s see if I do better this time.

A mini-project I’ve been considering this year is digging out some of the books I bought/received in 2012 and haven’t read yet. A decade on the shelves seems long enough. Luckily my LibraryThing catalogue tells me when I added things there, so I was able to look through the embarrassingly high number of books I got 10 years ago that are still languishing, and came up with this list of 20 candidates. Believe me, there were a lot more than 20 to choose from…

1. Underfoot in Showbusiness by Helene Hanff
2. A High Wind in Jamaica by Richard Hughes
3. The Ha-ha by Jennifer Dawson
4. Nights at the Circus by Angela Carter
5. Adele and Co by Dornford Yates
6. The Limit by Ada Leverson
7. The Initials in the Heart by Laurence Whistler
8. The Magic Apple Tree by Susan Hill
9. Winnowed Wisdom by Stephen Leacock
10. A Single Man by Christopher Isherwood
11. Down and Out in London and Paris by George Orwell
12. The Waterfall by Margaret Drabble
13. The Twisted Tree by Frank Baker
14. Moon Tiger by Penelope Lively
15. New Moon With The Old by Dodie Smith
16. It Ends With Revelations by Dodie Smith
17. Woman in a Lampshade by Elizabeth Jolley
18. Bachelors Anonymous by P.G. Wodehouse
19. Travel Light by Naomi Mitchison
20. Merlin Bay by Richmal Crompton

Any you’re hoping the spin will land on? Any I should dread?

The number will be revealed on Friday, so it’s not too late to make your own list if you want to join in…

Some more recent reads

StuckinaBook All , , , , 11 Comments

Just clearing some books from my pile to be reviewed – and while the blog post is called ‘some more recent reads’, let’s be SUPER lax with what we mean by ‘recent’. A few of these have been waiting for a while… I also find it hard to write about audiobooks because I can’t go back and add quotes, so shall pop a couple into this round-up.

A Countryman’s Winter Notebook by Adrian Bell

This was a review copy from the lovely Slightly Foxed, which I couldn’t find after it first arrived and I later discovered under a pile of things in the kitchen. Note to self: don’t unpack parcels in the kitchen. It’s a collection of Bell’s articles from the Eastern Daily Press, where he wrote a countryside common between 1950 and 1980. I think this collection, published last year, is the first time they’ve been brought together.

I’m not sure how they’ve been organised, but it’s a fun meander through all manner of countryside topics from across the decades. I enjoyed guessing which era I thought it would be from when I started, discovering how accurate I’d been when I turned the page. He writes gently about gardens, farming, the home – it all blurs into a contented, cosy whole. I particularly liked this line:

I think every village has a double population: those who live in it, and those who remember it fondly for having been reared in it, or having stayed in it, or even passed through it adn said, “Here is a place […] where I should like to live if ever I had the chance.”

Mr Fox (2011) by Helen Oyeyemi

I got my book group to read Oyeyemi’s fourth novel, which I’ve had on my shelves ever since it came out – well, a little before, as it was a review copy. Oops, sorry! Anyway, it’s set in the 1930s and it’s about a writer (St John Fox) and the character he has created (Mary Foxe) and their tussle. The boundaries of reality and fiction aren’t so much porous as totally non-existent – the pair start telling each other stories, and Mr Fox really resembles a short story collection more than a novel. Along the way, St John’s real wife begins to get jealous of this illusory woman with whom he becomes obsessed. The stories the two tell each other often seem barely to connect to the main narrative, and the whole thing is an ambitious and slightly confusing tour de force.

I don’t want to suggest limits on anybody’s imagination, but I have to say I prefer Oyeyemi when she has one foot on the ground. Though that doesn’t happen very often. Considering I’ve read all her books, I only *really* love one of them – Boy, Snow, Bird – but always get something out of them. Even if that’s just admiration.

The Spectator Bird (1976) by Wallace Stegner

A few Stegner novels are among the free audiobooks available with Audible Plus, so I downloaded The Spectator Bird, having previously only read his most famous (?) novel Crossing To Safety. It is about a retired literary agent, Joe Allston, who is coming to terms with increasing inactivity and ill health. Not that he is extremely ill – just all the aches and restrictions of getting a bit older, and you can tell 60-something Stegner was aware of the loss of his youngest days.

The short novel is half set in the present day, where Joe and his wife are in amiable, squabbly, grumpy normal life – and half in the past, mostly told through a diary kept 20 years earlier. The diary is about their time in Denmark, and the friendship they had with a Danish countess. It is a sensitively told story, even despite moments of high drama and shocking plot. As mentioned recently, I’m not sure fine writing is a good fit for an audio experience, for me. Whenever I stopped listening to The Spectator Bird, I seemed to forget everything that had passed – but, having said that, I still thought the book good.

The Memory Illusion (2016) by Dr Julia Shaw

But this book worked much better as an audiobook – a non-fiction book about memory, and largely about how bad memory is. Shaw writes about how faulty memory can be, how easy it is to plant false memories in people, the dangers of relying on memories solely in legal cases, and so on. It is a fascinating read/listen, covering all sorts of academic material about memory in a very accessible way. I felt a bit smug, because at least I *know* my memory is terrible.

Yes, it’s also a bit alarming to learn about false memories – and sections on false sexual abuse memories are quite confronting. But if that is content you can cope with, then I really recommend getting hold of this. Get ready to have a lot of things you thought you knew about yourself and the world blown out of the water.

The Last Interview (2016) by Oliver Sacks

My friend Malie got me this back in 2018, and it is a series of interviews with the late, great Oliver Sacks – ‘The Last Interview’ seems to be a series of books, and the small text ‘and other conversations’ on the front gives away that this covers a wide period. Sacks doesn’t seem to have given interviews all that often, and these are all transcripts – often of interviews given on radio. And it’s interesting largely for seeing the range of people Sacks spoke to. All the information in the interviews will be welcome but familiar territory to those of us who’ve read Sacks’ books, so it’s fun to sit back and interpret how Sacks felt about the interviewers. There is one who interrupts him constantly and blithely misinterprets everything…

Well, there we go, a handful of recent reads – all of them good in their own way.

Tea or Books? #101: Rachel explores Simon’s shelves

StuckinaBook Tea or Books? 15 Comments

Rachel takes a look at Simon’s bookshelves – will she take any books away with her??

Way back in episode 70, I was in Rachel’s flat in London and took a look around her bookcases. We planned a return visit… and then the pandemic happened. But now travel and visiting is easier, we have finally got around to organising Rachel coming out to rural West Oxfordshire to look at my bookcases.

Trailing around with a mic was a bit tricky, so the sound isn’t perfect – but hopefully plenty to enjoy nonetheless.

You can support the podcast on Patreon – where, from this episode, you’ll get episodes a few days early! Find the podcast on Spotify, Apple Podcasts, or wherever you get podcasts – and you can get in touch at teaorbooks@gmail.com.

The (enormous number of!) books and authors we mention in this episode are:

A Natural History of Ghosts by Roger Clark
Contested Will by James Shapiro
A Woman of Passion: A Life of E. Nesbit by Julia Briggs
The Lark by E. Nesbit
The Life and Loves of E. Nesbit by Eleanor Fitzsimons
Five Windows by D.E. Stevenson
Four Gardens by Margery Sharp
Return to Cheltenham by Helen Ashton
The Half-Crown House by Helen Ashton
Jane Austen
Master Man by Ruby Ayres
Miss Hargreaves by Frank Baker
Elizabeth Bowen
Illyrian Spring by Ann Spring
Her Son’s Wife by Dorothy Canfield Fisher
The Brimming Cup by Dorothy Canfield Fisher
The Deepening Stream by Dorothy Canfield Fisher
The Two Doctors by Elizabeth Cambridge
Susan and Joanna by Elizabeth Cambridge
Willa Cather
Children of the Archbishop by Norman Collins
London Belongs to Me by Norman Collins
The Double Heart by Lettice Cooper
Desirable Residence by Lettice Cooper
The Rising Tide by Margaret Deland
Will Shakespeare by Clemence Dane
Catchword and Claptrap by Rose Macaulay
Virginia Woolf
Tea Is So Intoxicating by Mary Essex
The Amorous Bicycle by Mary Essex
A Child in the Theatre by Rachel Ferguson
Alas, Poor Lady by Rachel Ferguson
The Brontes Went To Woolworths by Rachel Ferguson
The Matchmaker by Stella Gibbons
My American by Stella Gibbons
Miss Linsey and Pa by Stella Gibbons
Told In Winter by Jon Godden
Greengage Summer by Rumer Godden
Brief Candles by Aldous Huxley
The Honours Board by Pamela Hansford Johnson
An Error of Judgement by Pamela Hansford Johnson
The Unspeakable Skipton by Pamela Hansford Johnson
Love of Seven Dolls by Paul Gallico
Coronation by Paul Gallico
Too Many Ghosts by Paul Gallico
The Hand of Mary Constable by Paul Gallico
Stephen Leacock
The Tortoise and the Hare by Elizabeth Jenkins
Harriet by Elizabeth Jenkins
Honey by Elizabeth Jenkins
Robert and Helen by Elizabeth Jenkins
Herbert Jenkins
The World My Wilderness by Rose Macaulay
The Towers of Trebizond by Rose Macaulay
Dangerous Ages by Rose Macaulay
The Making of Bigot by Rose Macaulay
Mystery at Geneva by Rose Macaulay
What Not by Rose Macaulay
Told By An Idiot by Rose Macaulay
Summertime by Denis Mackail
We’re Here by Denis Mackail
Greenery Street by Denis Mackail
What Next? by Denis Mackail
Ian and Felicity by Denis Mackail
The House by William McElwee
The Heir by Vita Sackville-West
Parnassus on Wheels by Christopher Morley
The Haunted Bookshop by Christopher Morley
Safety Pins by Christopher Morley
Thunder on the Left by Christopher Morley
Where The Blue Begins by Christopher Morley
An Unexpected Guest by Bernadette Murphy
Beverley Nichols
The Shoreless Sea by Mollie Panter-Downes
The Storm Bird by Mollie Panter-Downes
My Husband Simon by Mollie Panter-Downes
The Priory by Dorothy Whipple
Bewildering Cares by Winifred Peck
A Clear Dawn by Winifred Peck
Housebound by Winifred Peck
Lavender and Old Lace by Myrtle Reed
The White Shield by Myrtle Reed
Cluny Brown by Margery Sharp
The Gipsy in the Parlour by Margery Sharp
D.E. Stevenson
Elizabeth Taylor
Gin and Ginger by Lady Kitty Vincent
Lipstick by Lady Kitty Vincent
The Benefactress by Elizabeth von Arnim
Princess Priscilla’s Fortnight by Elizabeth von Arnim
Father by Elizabeth von Arnim
The Happy Ending by Leo Walmsley
The Golden Waterwheel by Leo Walmsley
Love in the Sun by Leo Walmsley
The True Heart by Sylvia Townsend Warner
Lolly Willowes by Sylvia Townsend Warner
Swans on an Autumn River by Sylvia Townsend Warner
Miss Pettigrew Lives For a Day by Winifred Watson
Fell Top by Winifred Watson
Some Must Watch by Ethel Lina White
The Wheel Turns by Ethel Lina White
The Dragon in Shallow Waters by Vita Sackville-West
The Hills Sleep On by Joanna Cannan
Three Lives by Lettice Cooper
The Thinking Reed by Rebecca West
Elizabeth Berridge
Margaret Drabble
The East Window by Margaret Morrison
There is a Tide by Agnes Logan
The Dogs Do Bark by Barbara Willard
The Gothic House by Jean Ross
The Visitors by Mary MacMinni es
A Lion, A Mouse and a Motor-Car by Dorothea Townshend
Sally on the Rocks by Winifred Boggs
O, The Brave Music by Dorothy Evelyn Smith
Faster! Faster! by E.M. Delafield
The War Workers by E.M. Delafield
Mrs Harter by E.M. Delafield
The Heel of Achilles by E.M. Delafield
Tension by E.M. Delafield
The Pelicans by E.M. Delafield
Frost at Morning by Richmal Crompton
Matty and the Dearingroydes by Richmal Crompton
This Little Art by Kate Briggs
Edith Olivier
A Fairy Leapt Upon My Knee by Bea Howe
David Garnett
Sylvia Townsend Warner
Pride of Place by Patience McElwee
Miss Elizabeth Bennet by A.A. Milne
Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen
Infused: Adventures in Tea by Henrietta Lovell
Beware of Children by Verily Anderson
Spam Tomorrow by Verily Anderson
The Three Brontes by May Sinclair
The Three Sisters by May Sinclair
Katherine Mansfield
Mitford sisters
As It Was and World Without End by Helen Thomas
Edward Thomas
Love, Interrupted by Simon Thomas
Leaves in the Wind by Alpha of the Plough
Wintering by Katherine May
The Electricity of Every Living Thing by Katherine May
Oliver Sacks
Random Commentary by Dorothy Whipple
The Other Day by Dorothy Whipple

Forty-One False Starts by Janet Malcolm

StuckinaBook All , , 4 Comments

Forty-One False Starts: Essays on Artists and Writers eBook : Malcolm, Janet: Amazon.co.uk: Kindle StoreWhen I was two essays into this collection, published in 2013 but collecting pieces from across several decades before, I was certain it would be one of my best books of 2021. The first two essays are among the best non-fiction I’ve ever read.

After that, sadly, it became a bit more run-of-the-mill – but let me take you on that journey.

The title of the collection is also the title of the first essay, and it opens like this:

There are places in New York where the city’s anarchic, unaccommodating spirit, its fundamental, irrepressible aimlessness and heedlessness have found especially firm footholds. Certain transfers between subway lines, passageways of almost transcendent sordidness; certain sites of torn-down buildings where parking lots have silently sprung up like fungi; certain intersections created by illogical confluences of streets—these express with particular force the city’s penchant for the provisional and its resistance to permanence, order, closure.

Malcolm doesn’t go for sparse descriptions, so this might be off-putting to some. I think it is absolutely wonderful, and I was excited to dive in – to a piece about the artist David Salle. I’m afraid I hadn’t even heard of him. He was presumably a bigger name in 1994, when this essay was first published and before I’d reached double digits – something of an enfant terrible, disrupting art with collages and ‘quotes’ from other artwork and (or was it?) misogyny. He is a fascinating character, though I also imagine anybody that Malcolm meets and writes about is a fascinating character. She has a way of giving the details of a person that make them simultaneously extraordinary and ordinary. She will introduce someone with an unexpected comment on their handshake, or a piece of pottery they have, or how they exemplify a broader type – and they are instantly illuminated in a Malcolm-portrait that isn’t uncharitable but also is completely unsparing. She is never nasty or malicious, she is simply completely unhindered.

In ‘Forty-One False Starts’, though, we don’t just get this introduction once. As the title suggests, we get it 41 times. After a few paragraphs, Malcolm tries a different entrance to the essay. And over and over. Some are short, none are more than a page or two. Each looks at Salle and his work from a different angle – and while none paint a full picture, the composite is like the collages that they discuss. It’s such a brilliant idea for an essay and, more importantly, is brilliantly executed. (You don’t have to get a copy of the book to read it, either: it’s still on the New Yorker website.)

The second essay is almost as excellent. In it, Malcolm meets the photographer Thomas Struth and, in her conversation with him about photographing Queen Elizabeth II, gives us a vivid picture of the man. As usual, the way she conveys the conversations is odd, unexpected, and sublime. (My paperback doesn’t include any pictures, so I spent a lot of time on Google for the essays about artists, looking up the examples discussed.)

Sadly, the reason that Forty-One False Starts didn’t make my Top Books of 2021 is that it also includes a lot of essays where Malcolm doesn’t speak with her subjects. In most cases, admittedly, that is because they’re dead. There are essays on Edith Wharton, Vanessa Bell, Diane Arbus etc. She covers a range of artists and writers – the provenance of the essays isn’t always clear, but I think some must be introductions to books or intended to accompany exhibitions. And they are fine. There’s nothing wrong with her writing. But the spark is gone when Malcolm isn’t conveying conversations she has had.

There are still moments of Malcolm individuality. I loved ‘The Reef has been called Wharton’s most Jamesian novel, but it is merely her least cleverly plotted one’ and, from the Diane Arbus essay, ‘It is a measure of the power Doon wields in the Arbus world that no one dared protect her against saying something so breathtakingly silly in print.’ But they are few and far between.

I should add, there are still a couple of other essays where she is present, and those are wonderful. She is at her gossipy best while finding out the scandals and tantrums behind the magazine Artforum, and there is a great essay about meeting Rosalind Krauss that starts with a fantastic description of her apartment, including this:

But perhaps even stronger than the room’s aura of commanding originality is its sense of absences, its evocation of all the things that have been excluded, have been found wanting, have failed to capture the interest of Rosalind Krauss – which are most of the things in the world, the things of ‘good taste’ and fashion and consumerism, the things we see in stores and in one another’s houses. No one can leave this loft without feeling a little rebuked: one’s own house suddenly seems cluttered, inchoate, banal.

But the collection feels so diluted by those other pieces. The person Malcolm writes best about is herself – or, rather, she is brilliant at revealing two people in a conversation, where one of them is her. I would love a collection where she is front and centre alongside her subjects. It flies in the face of received wisdom about how to write an essay about an artist or writer, and it would be terrible in the hands of most essayists – but Malcolm was a genius, and she should be allowed to write her own rules.

As a collection, Forty-One False Starts is uneven. But I think it’s worth getting for the third or so of the essays that are truly extraordinary. Skim the rest.

The Small Room by May Sarton

StuckinaBook All , , 18 Comments

When I bought The Small Room (1961), it was because I thought it might be about a house. I’m a simple man: I love books about houses, particularly if this would end up being about a hitherto undiscovered small room in a house. If anybody knows any books like that, lemme know. Well, The Small Room isn’t that, but I found an awful lot to like in it anyway.

I bought the novel on my first trip to the United States in 2013 – more specifically, in a lovely bookshop in Charlottesville, Virginia. Sadly, since then the little town has become renowned for the appalling far-right rally that ended in a woman’s death. At the time, it was simply a day out from DC.

I don’t think I’d read any May Sarton books at the time, but it is now my third – after The Magnificent Spinster and The Education of Harriet Hatfield. While I enjoyed both of them, I found the former less memorable than I’d hoped, and the latter very patchy. The Small Room takes us to a setting that is very distinct and probably a recommendation to many of us: a women’s college in New England.

Lucy Winter – surely a coy nod to Lucy Snowe in Charlotte Bronte’s Villette? – has just started there, and it is her first teaching job. She is young, idealistic, and keen to make a good impression. More than that, she is keen to be a good teacher – in every sense of the word ‘good’.

The girls arrived, and settled like flocks of garrulous starlings, perpetual chatter and perpetual motion. Lucy, looking down from her office on the fourth floor of one of the oldest buildings, compared the campus to a stage where a complicated ballet was being rehearsed. Small groups flowed together and parted; a girl in a blue blazer ran from one building to another; five or six others arranged themselves under an elm, in unconsciously romantic attitudes, a chorus of nymphs. The effect was enhanced by the freshmen’s required red Eton caps, and by the unrequired but almost universal uniform of short pleated skirts and blazers. Looking down on all this casual, yet intimate life from above, Lucy felt lonely and a little scared.

At the centre of the novel are the actions of one student. She is exemplary and feted, and widely regarded as having a promising future that would reflect well on the college. But when Lucy is marking one of her essays, she discovers that it is plagiarised. She feels she has to inform other members of the faculty – and sets in motion a series of actions that affect everybody in the college.

Lucy is a well-drawn and interesting character, partly because Sarton uses her to show that there are not simple choices between wrong and right, and that people might do the right thing for the wrong reasons, and vice versa. The girl who plagiarises is also written really interestingly, and reacts in a way that is both believable and unexpected. What stopped me wholeheartedly loving The Small Room is that these two, and perhaps one or two others, are the only nuanced characters in the novel. It’s not that the others are stereotypes, it’s just that Sarton doesn’t spend enough time delineating them and they all (particularly the other teachers and board members) blur into one amorphous mass.

Sarton does make up for this with beautiful, unpredictable writing. Here is one bit I noted down:

Lucy opened the window and knelt beside it, tasting the cool freshness, the stately, suspended, hypnotic fall, drank in the silence, and finally fell onto her bed as if she had been drugged, to sleep a dreamless sleep.

At the heart of The Small Room is a fascinating dilemma, done well and interestingly – with only a few flaws in the way the cast is put together. I don’t think I’ve yet found my perfect Sarton novel, but I think this is my favourite of the three I’ve read so far.

2021: Some Reading Stats

StuckinaBook All 14 Comments

I’ve posted my Top Books of 2021, and now it’s time to turn my attention to some reading stats – the sort of blog post that so many of us love reading. And as I get older, increasingly a test of memory… I also think I’ve referred to 2020 as ‘last year’ quite a lot, but hopefully you can work out what’s going on.

Number of books read
I read 182 books in 2021, which is comfortably the most I have ever read in a year. In the previous year the total was 147, and the total has hovered around the 150 mark ever since I started living on my own.

Why was it bigger this year? Well, I did do A Novella A Day In November, but I also got more into audiobooks – and let’s not forget that three-month lockdown at the beginning of the year, where I didn’t have much to do.

Male/female writers
126 of those books were written by women, 55 by men, and one book was by a husband and wife team. That means 70% of the books I read were written by women, which has been steadily and unintentionally going up every year. Again, it’s partly because of reading for possible British Library Women Writers titles… but mostly just because those are the books I’m drawn to, I suppose.

Fiction/non-fiction
I read 135 works of fiction – 101 by women – and 47 works of non-fiction. That is a much higher percentage of fiction than usual. Over the past few years, about a third of the books I’ve read are non-fiction, but for some reason I really needed to step out of the real world more in 2021…

Books in translation
Partly because of reading some EUPL prizewinners, I matched my all-time high for books in translation – albeit it’s still only 11 books. There were four from Finnish, including three by Tove Jansson, and the others were from Polish, Slovenian, Serbian, Russian, Danish, French, and German.

Re-reads
I re-read 13 books in 2021, and I think every single one of them was either for a podcast, book group, or writing British Library afterwords. I still don’t really re-read just because I want to experience the book again.

Number of audiobooks
This is where things really amped up. In 2020 I listened to eight audiobooks and that was my most ever – and I trounced that with 21 in 2021.

New-to-me authors
Counting these was a bit of a revelation. I only read 64 new-to-me authors this year, meaning that only 35% of the books I read were experiments on new names. It used to be about half, and has been getting lower. Apparently there is some need for dependability in the pandemic, but I do want to think outside the box more in 2022.

Most disappointing book
There were a few disappointments with books by authors I love turning out not to be my cuppa tea. I’d saved Sun City by Tove Jansson for years, but it was definitely her worst book. Even my love for Michael Cunningham couldn’t overrule my distaste for sci-fi in Specimen Days. Oh, and Heritage by Vita SackvilleWest was appalling and showed that she got the zeitgeisty rural novel out of her system early in her writing career, thankfully.

Worst book I read this year
I guess it was also a disappointment, but James Acaster’s Perfect Sound Whatever – an audiobook – was bizarrely bad. It’s about getting obsessed with music from 2016, when Acaster went through an extremely difficult year in 2017. When he was writing about his own life it was funny and insightful and honest. But almost the entire book is descriptions of albums that seem to be unquestioningly copied and pasted from earnest press releases.

Happiest discovery
On the other hand, I have been meaning to read Georgette Heyer for many years, and was always a little nervous that I’d dislike her – given how beloved she is. But thankfully my first experience, with April Lady, was a total delight. Phew!

Favourite book-related moment
It’s not a reading stat, but my happiest book moment of the year was being asked to be a guest on the Backlisted podcast, discussing the brilliant Cassandra at the Wedding by Dorothy Baker, which was just as brilliant on a re-read. A close second is, of course, seeing more British Library Women Writers books come back into print, and watching as people discover them.

Persephones
I’ve had a fairly non-rigorous goal to read more of the Persephones on my shelves. In 2020 I only managed one, but in 2021 I read One Woman’s Year by Stella Martin Currey, The Crowded Street by Winifred Holtby, Brook Evans by Susan Glaspell, and Julian Grenfell by Nicholas Mosley.

Most failed challenge
I decided I’d read all of Angela Thirkell’s novels in order. Not all this year, of course, but I’d make a good start. Maybe one a month?? Well… I read one.

Most expensive book
While I got Infused by Henrietta Lovell as a gift from my friend Lorna, I have a feeling it’ll end up being my most expensive read – because this non-fic book about tea has persuaded me to ditch the teabags and get into loose leaf tea. At least for a bit.

Names in book titles
Ever since doing Project Names, I’ve been intrigued to see how often names turn up in book titles if I’m not deliberately seeking them out. In 2020 it was 20 – in 2021, it was 35. They pop up a lot.

Animals in book titles
I always forget to keep an eye out for this during the year… but they appear whether I’m looking or not. The Butterfly Lampshade by Aimee Bender, The Place of the Lion by Charles Williams, Catch the Rabbit by Lana Bastašić, Magpie Lane by Lucy Atkins, Mr Fox by Helen Oyeyemi, Bear by Marian Engel, A Wild Swan and other stories by Michael Cunningham, The Birds of the Innocent Wood by Deirdre Madden, Particularly Cats by Doris Lessing, and The Elephants in My Backyard by Rajeev Surandra. I think that must be a record – though only a handful of them actually had prominent animals.

Food in book titles
The Poisoned Chocolates Case by Anthony Berkley, Hullabaloo in the Guava Orchard by Kiran Desai, One Apple Tasted by Josa Young – and, at the other end of the spectrum, Thank Heaven Fasting by E.M. Delafield.

Numbers in book titles
In ascending order, One Apple Tasted by Josa Young, One Year’s Time by Angela Milne, One Woman’s Year by Stella Martin Currey, As I Walked Out One Midsummer Morning by Laurie Lee, Two-Part Invention by Madeleine L’Engle, Three To See The King by Magnus Mills, I Ordered A Table For Six by Noel Streatfeild, Thirteen Guests by J Jefferson Farjeon, Twenty-Five by Beverley Nichols, Forty-One False Starts by Janet Malcolm.

Strange things that happened in books this year
A woman’s life keeps restarting, a door is a portal between countries, a murderous doppelgänger turns up, a boat rolls through a town, a railway runs underneath a country, an iceberg falls from the sky, a man gets struck by lightning multiple times, a man and a boy swap bodies, a collection of Victoriana magically appears in a front garden, butterflies fly from a patterned lampshade, a carpenter is swallowed by a whale, a cult starts in a quarry, lichen promises prolonged youth, an invisible wall entraps a woman, a man moves into a tree, a baby is left in a box, a woman falls in love with a bear, a robot quotes Whitman, a dance hall disappears from a city and reappears on a Scottish island, and the main characters turn out to have been dead the whole time.