Author: StuckinaBook

I am back in the land of the living! Or back in the land of the blogging. I got rather carried away with it all… if you want to read my thoughts on Reading in Phases, then scroll down past the ramble…

Somehow being without a laptop for any length of time feels more or less the same as being stranded on a desert island. People are always ‘stranded’ on desert islands, aren’t they? I think I’m going to be sequestered on one, if that ever turns out to be my path in life. By the by, I would last something under four hours in any sort of situation which required Great Survival Techniques. Case in point (and a neat circle to this paragraph): the Great Laptop Withdrawal.

(photo source)

My screen broke. Not sure how. I probably stood on it in the night, or something, but I woke up on Thursday morning to find that it was all sulky and broken, so trotted off to a computer fixy man. It’s lingo like that which makes their eyes light up, and start suggesting I have the filange looked at. (Give yourself ten points if you recognised the Friends reference). Except, the eyes of the man in the first repair shop would only light up if he were set on fire. He was astonishingly unfriendly. I’m one of those guys who will always choose cheeriness over competence in a customer care situation. Both is nice, but if I have to pick one, I’d definitely come away happier from someone who hadn’t a clue what they were doing, but smiled a lot.

So, I went off to another laptop repair place. The man there was much friendlier. Turns out it took longer and cost more than Unfriendly Company would have done, but… this is the price a pay for a smile. To cut a long story short, my laptop is back.

On the plus side – I read more, slept more, procrastinated less, and generally made a better use of my time. I finished Patrick Hamilton’s The Slaves of Solitude (might have to delay my review, though, as I have lent it to Harriet), read most of Shirley Jackson’s The Lottery and other stories, fell further in love with The Element of Lavishness: the letters of William Maxwell and Sylvia Townsend Warner, and left piles of books all over my floor, waiting to be added to LibraryThing.

I’m not sure you required such a thorough update, did you? Clearly being away from blogging has left me a little unhinged. (Incidentally, appropos of nothing, I’ve always thought it would be fun if a song rhymed ‘lachrymose’ and ‘bellicose’. But I don’t think it’s worth my while going into the singer-songwriter business just to make this happen.)

Onto the second, more bookish, section of The Blog Post That Will Make You Wish Simon’s Laptop Had Never Been Fixed. Especially if it draws confessions out of you that you’d rather keep undrawn. I’m going to give it a little subheading, for those who’ve scrolled down to find it…

Reading in Phases

I used to be a very obsessive reader. I’m still obsessed with reading, of course, but I used to read everything in one series, or by one author, and fixate on that – until the next one came along. I now read much more widely, which can be quite frustrating sometimes as I might find an author I love (say, William Maxwell) and discover two or three years later that I’ve still only read one thing by him. I miss the opportunity of bouts of reading one author. Being ‘well-rounded’ and having ‘broad reading interests’ sounds good, but I’m pretty certain it has its downsides. Not that I do have especially broad reading interests, since about 85% of the books I read were originally written in English. But you understand my meaning… or you will, when you see how my reading life went until I was about 18.

learning-to-read until could-read-proper-books: Mr. Men
age 5-9: Enid Blyton
age 9: Goosebumps
age 10-11: Point Horror
age 11-12: Sweet Valley High
age 12-14: Agatha Christie
age 15: (meandered a bit)
age 16-17: A.A. Milne & Richmal Crompton

I simplify a bit. But generally those years were focused upon those authors, and it was only when I was 17 or 18 that I really started to read a couple of books by an author here, one by another author there, etc. etc.

But the reason I bring this up is because Verity lent me the new Sweet Valley Confidential: 10 Years On, because I was intrigued to see how it lived it up to my memories, but not quite enough to buy it. And I have been surprised, amused, and delighted by how many other bloggers remember Elizabeth, Jessica et al with affection.

Well… I got to p.40. It was awful. Utter drivel. I suspect I might feel the same if I went back to the original series now, and it just goes to show how tastes change. I’m always a bit surprised by well-read people who like to kick back with Mills & Boon or similar – I’m all for relaxing reading and comfort reading, but I don’t find reading bad books relaxing. I just find it annoying. Give me Diary of a Provincial Lady any day – comfort reading that is still brilliantly written. (On the other hand, I love relaxing with bad films – I love good films too, but bad ones are great sometimes.)

Did you read in phases? I suspect every child and teenager goes through that stage, but perhaps it isn’t simply a stage – there is something to be said for immersion in a single author or series, and perhaps some of you still do this now? I’m very tempted to set aside a few weeks just to read, say, William Maxwell or Milan Kundera or Muriel Spark or Barbara Trapido or EM Delafield – any of the many authors I’ve been stockpiling on my shelves. But I probably won’t. Book group titles always seem to be obstacles to those sort of spontaneous reading projects.

This post will have to end sooner or later, won’t it? And I suspect it should be sooner. Sorry again that it’s been a huge messy ramble, and shows all the signs of having missed my daily (more measured) blogging. Promise I’ll be more composed and contained tomorrow. In fact, I have a post planned, and it will almost entirely consist of a photograph.

Somehow I’m still typing…

…but I will stop…

ever so…

ever so…

soon.

I shan’t be blogging for a few days, it looks like – my computer screen broke, and went in to be fixed on Thursday. But now they’re saying it could be Wednesday before I get it back…

Doh! Hope they do it soon. You might be forgiving, but my thesis chapter isn’t… still, I seem to faff a lot less without my laptop, and get more reading done in bed. Currently loving Shirley Jackson’s short stories, fyi.

See you soon…

It’s time for another readalong! I thought I’d give you some advance notice to see if you want to join Lizzy Siddal and me as we read The Slaves of Solitude by Patrick Hamilton – I spotted that she had recently got it, and I’ve been meaning to read it for a month or two: it seemed a good idea to read it together. We plan to post our thoughts sometime in the first week of June, or thereabouts – but I am already about a third of the way through it, and it is *brilliant*.

Putting my most persuasive face on, I’ll just say that it’s a 1940s novel about Miss Roach, bombed out of her London house and forced to live in an unpleasant boarding house in Thames Lockdon. The prose is exquisite, and Hamilton’s precision is incredible. Somehow it is both bleak and incredibly funny. Here’s an excerpt to draw you in….
As she let herself in by the front door she could in the same way see the Rosamund Tea Rooms – the somewhat narrow, three-storied, red-brick house, wedged in between a half-hearted toy-shop on one side, and an antique-shop on the other. She saw its bow-window on the ground floor, jutting out obtrusively on to the pavement; and above this, beneath the first-floor windows, the oblong black wooden board with faded gilt letters running its length – “The Rosamund Tea Rooms”. But now, since the war, it was the Rosamund Tea Rooms no more – merely, if anything, “Mrs. Payne’s”. Mrs. Payne would have taken the sign down had not the golden letters been far too blistered and faded for anyone in his right mind to imagine that if he entered he would be likely to get tea. All the same, a few stray people in summer, probably driven slightly mad by the heat, did still enter with that idea in mind, and quietly had their error made clear to them.
I love it. I think it was the word ‘half-hearted’ that made me realise I’d love Hamilton – so few authors would have chosen that word, there, and it conjures up such an image.

Right! If that has spurred you on, grab a copy and get readin’ any time between now and June. No strict time span or anything – but I think this could definitely be a gem.

Do keep popping back and checking out the comments on my One Book, Two Book post, since loads of lovely people have been joining in and popping links in there. Thanks everyone! Not too late to do your own, of course.

On Saturday I was in London for Vintage Classics Day, helping celebrate 21 years of the publisher Vintage. Check out this webpage for a clever mosaic, where you can click on the composite books. They very kindly gave me a complementary ticket to attend a day of talks and things – and it was lovely to see Claire, Sakura, Kim, Jackie, and Lynne who were also attending (Jackie’s link will take you to a great write-up of the day.)

There were a number of sessions of the great and the good discussing classic fiction. The first was about favourite villains, but I think that’s a discussion I’m going to put on hold for another blog post, as I have Strident Views About It.

Up next was a conversation with Rose Tremain. Shamefully I have read zilch by her, but she seemed an interesting and friendly woman – I especially liked what she said about the value of siblings (the inspiration for her latest novel, Trespass) as amongst the few people who have known you all your life. I’m only 25 and, outside my family, I only have one good friend whom I’ve known for more than a decade (Hi Sarah!) so I definitely appreciate Tremain bringing this up. Any suggestions for Tremain novels I should read?

Another talk was inspired by the ‘Orange Inheritance’ thingummy – previous winners of the prize chose books they’d pass on to future generations. I’m a bit disappointed by the selection, which only has one book that I hadn’t heard of (I want them to unearth gems, please, not give us another edition of Thomas Hardy!) But it did lead to a particularly interesting discussion, with Mark Haddon cheering on Virginia Woolf’s To The Lighthouse and Lionel Shriver championing Revolutionary Road by Richard Yates. It’s always lovely to hear about books that I’ve read and loved, as usually I haven’t read the books being discussed.

My favourite section was celebrityless – a behind-the-scenes chat with Jean, the librarian of Random House’s archive library (I found the new job I want, then, although it did amuse me that they qualify anything worth over £100 as ‘valuable’. In the Bodleian it would have to be worth at least fifty times that.)

And finally Sebastian Faulks spoke about his recent TV series Faulks on Fiction. He says he’s yet to find anyone who saw all four episodes – I confess I only saw the first, but would be interested in watching the rest or reading his book. He was warm and funny, and really seemed to enjoy the session. Like Tremain, he’s an author I’ve never read – except for his witty collection of pastiches, called Pistache.

All in all, it was a really fun day – thanks for inviting me, Vintage! My favourite moment might have been Rose Tremain gossiping a little about A.S. Byatt, or Lionel Shriver telling an audience member (who said she was disappointed by the ending to that Kevin book) that she was enraged. It’s a good job I didn’t mention that I thought Kevin was written appallingly – how odd that someone who appreciates William Maxwell’s expertly subtle writing can overwrite so much! But mostly it was a joy, as it is always a joy, to be in a room filled with people who love books as passionately as I do.

PLUS, this was my first trip to Foyle’s. I didn’t buy anything, because I prefer secondhand books to new ones (bought eight secondhand books on Charing Cross Road…) but I must say it is an impressive selection and a lovely place to hang out. I’ll be back…

I’m quite tired after coordinating cooking for an Alpha course my church is running, and all sorts of other busy activities over the past week, so shall sideline worthier posts and instead do a little this-book-that-book-this-book-that-book sort of post that I hope you’ll copy on your own blogs. A quick bit of fun…

1.) The book I’m currently reading:

Fingersmith by Sarah Waters – and it is absolutely, stunningly brilliant. I just hope it doesn’t let me down at the end, as The Little Stranger did. So far (about halfway) I am blown away by how clever it is.

2.) The last book I finished:

How Can You Bear to be Human? by Nicolas Bentley – as you might have guessed, I bought this because of the title. Amusing glances at how people behave, with witty (and occasionally relevant) sketches.

3.) The next book I want to read:

Wise Children by Angela Carter – in an email discussion with Claire (aka Paperback Reader) today, I realised how much I want to read this, and how shameful it is that I’ve not read anything by Carter yet.

4.) The last book I bought:

The Sundial by Shirley Jackson – I’ve wanted to read this for a while, but finding Jenny’s review from last November pushed me over the edge, and I paid a nastily high amount to get this shipped across the Atlantic.

5.) The last book I was given:

The Diary of a Provincial Lady by E.M. Delafield – lovely Thomas (My Porch) knows I collect different editions of this wonderful book, and so very kindly gave me this beautiful edition – which makes it my sixth!

Let me know if you decide to post your five! Hope you do…

One of my Bookbarn companions, and a member of my online book group, is a lovely lady called Carol. Whilst we were at the Bookbarn she quizzed Diney and me about a book she’d read years and years ago and wanted to track down – only, of course, she couldn’t remember the author or the title. She could give a description, though… and I volunteered to spread the net a bit wider, and ask you lovely folk. Here’s what Carol remembers – please let me know if you have any suggestions or ideas! Or, indeed, if you’re similarly on the hunt for a book but can’t remember the title…
It must have been around in the late 1940s as it was a Sunday School prize of my mother’s. It was about a girl who went to stay/live with her cousins and I think the name Pamela may have come in somewhere, or maybe Jennifer. It was set during the Peninsula War and there was lots of talk of blunderbusses and Martello Towers. I think it had an orange cover (not sure I remembered the colour the other day, and maybe I just remember a different colour every time I think about it!!) Anyway, I think mustard yellow, and by the time it came to me there was no dustjacket. No memory at all of author, name of book or publisher, so this is it, I’m afraid…
Get your thinking caps on!

Sylvia Townsend Warner and William Maxwell are two writers I love, even though I’ve not read a whole lot by either of them (that reminds me, I shelved The Chateau at 100pp. – must dig it out some time, and probably start again.) So, of course, I had to get The Element of Lavishness when I heard about it – it’s the letters between them. I’ve barely started it, but already I wanted to share a couple of lovely bits from it with y’all.

STW to WM (12th June 1951)
I am thankful that Emmy is back. In her absence you do not spell as well as at other times. Does she know this? It is a delightful tribute, she should wear it as a brooch.

STW to WM (9th February 1951)
When I was young I had a young friend who was extremely sensitive to the cold. He was at Hailebury, rather a bleak and bracing public school; and then in this sixteenth year his place in class got him next to a radiator. From that moment until his schooling ended two years later, he gave his whole mind to remaining by the radiator. He told me it required the exactest calculation and foresight to remain at just that level of scholarship. It did not do, he soon discovered, to be just inertly stupid. That angered his form master, who marked him down. He had, so to speak, to row, and yet remain by the same tuft of reeds. And in summer, when the radiator was apt to slip his mind he had to be as alert as a mosquito not to give way to emulation and the line of least resistance. He stayed by the radiator, however, and left with a scholarship, much to every one’s annoyance and surprise.

If I see other equally delightful excerpts, and if I remember, I’ll share them as I go!