All

Oh dear, my sleep patterns are all over the place. It’s 2.20am, and I went to bed at 8.30pm, now unable to get back to sleep after waking up very thirsty. The reading I’ve been doing on Freudianism (most recently, the say-what-you’re-thinking What is Psychoanalysis? by SomebodyOrOther Corriat) tells me that one of the most basic wish-fulfilment dreams is dreaming of water/drinking when you are thirsty. To the best of my recollection, I was dreaming of the cast of Emmerdale – analyse that, Sigmund.

So, I’m writing because I’m awake (and, incidentally, quite hungry – what is the social acceptability of eating a sandwich at 2.20am?) but I did want to ask you lot a question, in preparation for a forthcoming review. That sounds very organised, doesn’t it? It isn’t really; it’s rather more a delaying tactic – but it would be lovely if you could answer it none the less.

What do you associate with Punch magazine? What are your thoughts when you hear of it? Which adjectives would you use to describe it?

For a bonus mark, and not related to the review I hope to write soon, what well-known phrase derived from the caption accompanying this image in Punch?

Writing the question reminds me that I once bought some fairly large old copies of Punch, but I haven’t the smallest idea where they are – I have a feeling they didn’t survive the house-move in 2005.

Great – so do let me know, and all will become clear. If you’re lucky, I might even tell you a Punch related joke, shamelessly stolen from my brother. And now I’m going to eat a sandwich, because I imagine that somewhere in the world it is lunchtime…

This is one of those posts I feel a little guilty about writing, because I’m gong to eulogise about a play which is no longer available to see… this probably won’t bother those of you who are anyhow unavailable to get to London, but I’m sorry to tease those of you who could do… because my friends Becca and Cath and I went to see the last performance of All My Sons.

I’ll start by saying that was the best thing I’ve ever seen in the theatre. I don’t have the encyclopaedic experience of theatre which some can boast – prohibitive ticket prices mean that I’m most likely to be found at RSC performances, since they have cheap tickets for young-uns. Still, I do go when I can, and was determined to see All My Sons… when I discovered Jemima Rooper was in it. She has followed me throughout my life, appearing in many of my favourite programmes – The Famous Five when I was a child; As If when I was a teenager; Lost in Austen while I’m in my twenties. What will come next, one wonders… it is certainly fitting that she has appeared in my favourite theatre experience.

All My Sons is a 1947 play by American playwright Arthur Miller, and somehow my first encounter with him. Almost everyone else seems to have read or seen The Crucible and Death of a Salesman, but Oxford’s non-American syllabus and happenstance have led to me not really knowing anything about Miller. Well, he isn’t a bucketful of laughs – it’s one of those criticism-of-the-American-Dream pieces which seemed to abound after WW2. But Miller covers a very sensitive area for the post-war world. It gradually emerges that the central man (Joe, played phenomenally by David Suchet) and his neighbour had been arrested for shipping broken aeroplane parts out to the air force – leading to the death of 21 men. Joe was acquitted; Steve was not, and is currently in jail.

Steve’s daughter Ann (the lovely Jemima Rooper) has come to stay with Joe’s family. Miller uses the technique seen in plays like The Second Mrs. Tanqueray by Arthur Pindero and The Great Broxopp by A.A. Milne, where a character is described and awaited by all and sundry before they actually appear on the scene, so Ann’s entrance is built up no end. She had been the sweetheart of Larry, Joe and Kate’s (Zoe Wanamaker) son who was lost in the war. She is now romantically involved with their other son, Chris (Stephen Campbell Moore), but they’re afraid to reveal this – because in Kate’s mind, Larry is still coming home.

This is the central emotional thread of the play, and must have been even more poignant in 1947 – coming (or refusing to come) to terms with the almost certain death of a son, when a body has never been found. The guilt of those who survived, or those who profitted by the war – and everyone trying to piece life back together. Then there is the question of what is and what is not honourable in wartime – and the relative importance of family and country. It’s all in there.

Miller’s structure could probably be quite easily dissected. He is a fan of the set piece, or the dramatic twist, and these push All My Sons through its various scenarios. But there is so much more than plot on offer – the emotional journeys of each character are beautifully drawn, and were brilliantly realised by an astonishingly good cast. The play was advertised as having David Suchet and Zoe Wanamaker in its lead roles – and, indeed, if David Suchet doesn’t win all manner of awards then it would be a travesty; having only seen him as Poirot, I was not aware of his range – but this is definitely an ensemble piece. The four central actors have fairly equal amounts of material, and worked so well together that I don’t think I ever want to see the play again – it could never live up to this precedent.

Of course, I am biased in Jemima Rooper’s direction, and it was thrilling to see on stage an actress I love so much. But everyone was strikingly good – both halves of the play were pacy and gripping, and that is said by someone with quite a short attention sp— sorry, what were we talking about? (A-ha-ha.) It certainly wasn’t cheap, but I wouldn’t have missed it for anything – although the nature of plays, unlike books or films, is transitory, I will cling on to the memories I have of All My Sons – it has become the benchmark against which I will measure future visits to the theatre.

Oh, and it wasn’t just me – Cath and Becca loved it, and the audience gave it a standing ovation. (See also Michael Billington’s appreciative Guardian review.) I’m sorry that the chance has passed to see this performance, but perhaps one of the filmed versions is worth seeing…?

You’ll be pleased to know that my internet is behaving itself this weekend – even if my body is not, as I seem to have caught the cold which is going around my house. So yesterday I did very little indeed, conserving my energy for going to London later today to see Arthur Miller’s All My Sons, which should be fun. Also fun (notice that seamless transition?) are links, books, and blog posts…

1.) The blog post – is from author Tom Lappin. Some of you might remember when I wrote about his novel Parties ages and ages ago – and a very good novel it was too. Anyway, Tom emailed this week to say that he’s writing a blog which is kind of the novel which (in Parties) Beatrice writes about Richard. All very meta, and probably enjoyable too – click here for more.

2.) The link – Legend Press and The Reading Agency have joined forces to give away up to a thousand copies of five novels to reading groups – click here for more. Reading groups are up there with whiskers on kittens (KITTENS!) and brown paper packages tied up with string – i.e., they’re one of my favourite things, and anything done to support them by publishers is fantastic in my eyes. (Hmm… maybe a blog post is brewing there – watch this space.)

3.) The book – is Justine Picardie’s biography of Coco Chanel, called Coco Chanel: The Legend and the Life. I haven’t seen the recent films about her, and don’t know much about the woman – nor do I often read biographies of anyone except authors, but I think I might well make an exception and immerse myself in this one later…

Sorry for the delay in posts recently – for reasons best known to itself, my internet is not working properly in the evenings at the moment. That’s not quite true – occasionally it will make a mammoth effort and load a page, but generally it is so slow that the page times out before anything has appeared on the screen. This only happens in the evenings… which is of course blogging time. The internet is very useful sometimes – I wouldn’t have met you lot without it! – but it does unleash that incomparable rage when things don’t go right. Because I never know how to fix it. I rarely get angry, but computers have caused me more fist-shaking, foot-stomping, voice-raising than anything else. ARGH!

So, at half midnight, it starts working – too late for me to write the review I was planning, but not too late to show you the new addition to my home in Somerset… I’ll soon be visiting little Sherpa, but Our Vicar and Our Vicar’s Wife are welcoming her at the moment – and have sent me a photo or two to be going on with:

A quick post today, as I want to curl up in bed with Wait for Me! As part of the Bloggers’ Meet-Up, a few of us went around the Ashmolean (which, shamefully, I had not been to for almost six years). I headed straight for the paintings, because I’ve got to confess I’m not cultured enough to be all that interested in pots and things… but I do love art galleries.

This is probably my favourite painting on display:

I first encountered Stanley Spencer on the cover of Barbara Comyns’ novel Who Was Changed and Who was Dead (see that image here), and he is now one of my favourite artists. I love the surreal domesticity he paints – similar to the sort of novels I love, in that respect. Since I know so little about art history, or art really, I can’t explain what I love about this image – but I do love it, so thought I’d share it with you!

There were quite a few books that I wanted to buy whilst wandering around Oxford with the bloggers on Saturday (and one which I persuaded Becca to buy for herself, in lieu of me buying it) but I shouldn’t grumble – because there are four which have arrived chez Stuck-in-a-Book in the past week, courtesy of various friends and family – thanks guys!

–First up is Benny & Shrimp by Katarina Mazetti, from Annabel aka Gaskella, who is having a bookcase clear-out. She described it as a ‘bittersweet Swedish romance’, and that sold me – I’ve been wanting to read more Scandinavian novels, and this seems quirky without being disturbing.

–People on a Bridge by Wislawa Szymborska (imagine some sort of slash through the ‘l’, and put on your best Polish accent, pronunciation here) translated by Adam Czeniawski was the book I won in the bloggers’ book swap, from the very nice Peter. He is determined to drag me from my comfort zone, and Polish poetry seems as good a way as any to do that – I am genuinely excited about this one, though!

–The Land of Spices by Kate O’Brien was sent to me by my dear friend Epsie (actual name Esther Phoebe), who knows my partiality for Viragos.

–The Bolter by Frances Osborne was sent by Our Vicar’s Wife herself, who spotted it in the church bookshop coffee thingummy she runs in our garage (under the name ‘Honeypot’) and thought it sounded up my street – I have almost bought it many times in the past, so it just goes to show that, if you blog for long enough, people start to get the hint about your taste (heehee!)

Thank you to everyone who has made Project 24 a little easier – all of these look lovely. When I’ll read them is anyone’s guess… currently slowly, but delightedly, working my way through Wait for Me! by Deborah Devonshire.

Today a few bloggers will be meeting up in Oxford, which should be great fun – not as many as we’d originally hoped, but we shall no doubt have a good, bookish time nonetheless, and will report back in due course. I do hope these Meet-Ups can be semi-regular (maybe every six months) and that as many people as possible can come to future ones! Part of the day includes a little trip around various bookshops and sights in Oxford, so it will strongly test Project 24…

But for now let’s have a quick Weekend Miscellany!

1.) The link – is to a really interesting cardboard book project, mentioned on the blog of an equally interesting magazine. The magazine is called Oh Comely, and was set up by a friend of mine (amongst others) aiming to be a woman’s magazine without the gossip. That’s how she sold it to me, anyway! Click on the link above to see what happens when Jenna Forster had short stories made into individual recycled cardboard books (and I’ve ‘recycled’ the photo from them…)

2.) The blog post – is Hannah Stoneham’s guest post at The Dabbler, with a review of Barbara Comyns’ novel Our Spoons Came From Woolworths. That would be worth reading on its own merits, but it’s part of a series at The Dabbler which is a fantastic idea – 1p book reviews. That is, they have a series of reviews of books which are available for a penny at Amazon.co.uk. I love that idea, and might well borrow it from them in a future post…

3.) The book – I’m not sure how old the book is, but I only heard about it today (and a review copy is winging its way to me.) It’s no secret that I love Frank Baker’s novel Miss Hargreaves, and now Paul Newman has written a biography of Baker called Frank Baker: The Man Who Unleashed The Birds. Copies are available here, and hopefully I’ll be writing about it before too long.