Tomorrow I will write about Frankenstein… but today I will leave you with just a (trick?!) question… who is the narrator of Frankenstein?
All
Probably on his landing too
I’ve been rereading Howards End is on the Landing by Susan Hill, and thought it was amusing that the author of Howards End himself had this to say about his personal library (from Two Cheers For Democracy by E.M. Forster):
I have never been a collector, and as for the first edition craze, I place it next door to stamp collecting – I can say no less. It is non-adult and exposes the book-lover to all sorts of nonsense at the hands of the book-dealer. One should never tempt book-dealers. I am myself a lover of the interiors of books, of the words in them – an uncut book is about as inspiriting as a corked up bottle of wine – and much as I enjoy good print and good binding and old volumes they remain subsidiary to the words: words, the wine of life. This view of mine is, I am convinced, the correct one, but even correctness has had its disadvantages and I am bound to admit that my library, so far as I have created it, is rather a muddle. Here’s one sort of book, there’s another, and there is not enough of any sort of book to strike a dominant note. Books about India and by Indians, modern poetry, ancient history, American novels, travel books, books on the state of the world, and on the world-state, books on individual liberty, art-albums, Dante and book about him – they tend to swamp each other, not to mention the usual pond of pamphlets which has to be drained off periodically. The absence of the collector’s instinct in me, the absence of deliberate choice, have combined with a commendable variety of interests to evolve a library which will not make any definite impression upon visitors. (1949)
I’ve got an idea…
…but, thankfully for three men called Mike, Steve, and Dan, it is not the same idea as the title of Rohan O’Grady’s novel republished in the latest batch from the unutterably wonderful Bloomsbury Group. I can’t believe how little I’ve been heralding the return of this series, and I promise to Do Better. First stop, Let’s Kill Uncle.
On the face of it, this is an unusual choice for inclusion. The rest of the books have been in the first half of the twentieth century, more or less, and funny in an insouciant and harmless way. Let’s Kill Uncle was published in 1963, and is rather more sinister than anything else Bloomsbury have published in this series. There are large dollops of humour too, but you’re unlikely to find the following sentence in Miss Hargreaves or Henrietta’s War: “Maudie and I never had a family,” said Uncle sadly, “although we wanted one. So you see, Barnaby is doubly precious to me. I adore children.”
He did indeed. Several little girls to whom he had taken a fancy had vanished into thin air.But I’m getting ahead of myself. O’Grady’s novel is about an orphan called Barnaby Gaunt (wouldn’t Dickens be proud of that name?) who is sent for a holiday to a beautiful Canadian island. He’s renowned as a bit of a trouble-maker, and the gentle couple who take him in don’t quite know how to respond. They lost their son in the war, and Barnaby is a supposed substitute – but doesn’t live up to this image. He is disobedient and mischievous, although not a mean-spirited child… there are reasons for his behaviour, which will become apparent.
And there is Christie. She is the only other child on the island, and equally wild in spirits, though rather more inclined to obedience in front of adults. Their escapades together could have been the stuff of Enid Blyton (with perhaps a little edge) – except the fable-esque anxieties about smugglers become a much more real, and thus more chilling, threat from a murderous uncle. For Barnaby is due to inherit ten million dollars, and Uncle doesn’t want that happen. Uncle is a seriously twisted character – very psychologically manipulative (he beats Barnaby for being good, for instance, or tells him he may go to bed, but continually calls him back with idle comments) and with a history of many murders – but the exterior of a placid, harmless man. So, when Uncle turns up on the island, Barnaby and Christie resolve to take the only logical path: kill Uncle first.
The plan goes into action – whether they succeed or not I won’t tell you, but suffice to say there are all manner of adventures along the way. This is such a difficult novel to categorise. It’s not really like the other Bloomsbury Group novels I’ve read – it’s not cosy, it’s not really a novel to be loved and cherished; it’s too chilling for that. Uncle is simply too evil. But neither is it a ‘scary book’ – there are flashes of humour (‘The children loved the little church; it was such a pleasant, peaceful spot in which to plan a murder’) and a light-heartedness to the children’s activities which was at odds with their murderous plans. When I read in the blurb that Donna Tartt had called Let’s Kill Uncle a ‘dark, whimsical, startling book’, I was a little confused. Surely those words clash a bit when placed together? And I’m still not sure that there is much whimsy in the novel, unless you describe any scene without blood as whimsical – but it’s certainly the lightest dark book I’ve ever read. Or possibly the darkest light book.
So, there you go! Perhaps not what I expected from the Bloomsbury Group series, but certainly a good read – both dark and light, a strange and clever mixture. And not a little unnerving…
I haven’t seen the 1966 film, but found the trailer on YouTube – it seems to be quite a loose adaptation. For those who share my fear of s***ers, don’t watch the last ten seconds of the clip:
Books to get Stuck into:
The Vet’s Daughter by Barbara Comyns – I chose this one because it’s got another depiction of an evil parent-figure. Alice’s dad is like Uncle, in that they are all the more chilling for not being exaggerated. The portrait in The Vet’s Daughter is far more unsettling and brilliantly drawn, but the similarities are there…
Miss Ranskill Comes Home by Barbara Euphan Todd – not really much of a link, but I struggling to find similar books – the link here is an island!!
A Weekend of Novellas
The novella is probably my favourite literary form – you know how I love short books, and I really admire an author who can pack a lot into not many pages. Favourites from recent years of reading include The Heir by Vita Sackville-West and The Beacon by Susan Hill. Of course, ‘novella’ is a pretty imprecise term, but I would include more or less anything under 200pp.
Inspired by my love of all things short (including my housemate Mel :p ) and by Simon S’s recent discussions of the novella over at Savidge Reads, I’ve decided to have a little readathon at the weekend, and blitz my way through as many novellas as I can manage. It’s been ages since I had a whole day to myself, without other activities going on, so I shall enjoy a whole weekend with nothing (except church on Sunday) interrupting my reading…
And what have I got lined up? I don’t imagine I’ll manage all of these by any means, but waiting to be devoured are…
The Driver’s Seat – Muriel Spark (160 pages, but ENORMOUS font)
The Turn of the Screw – Henry James (118pp.)
A Kid For Two Farthings – Wolf Mankowitz (128pp.)
Portrait of the Mother as a Young Woman – FC Delius (125pp.)
Stevenson under the Palm Trees – Alberto Manguel (103pp.)
The Hours (screenplay) – David Hare (122pp.)
The Loved One – Evelyn Waugh (127pp.)
And, why not, let’s throw in Quilt – Nicholas Royle, mentioned yesterday (159pp.)
Give me a moment to do some quick mental arithmetic… ok, some pretty slow arithmetic… If I manage all eight books, that’s 1052 pages, I think. Hmm. Ok, I might not manage all of them, but I certainly intend to read as many as I can manage!
I can’t wait, I think it’s going to be a fun weekend. And, of course, it’s open to anyone who fancies joining me. I doubt many of you have the luxury of a weekend to indulge in just reading – but why not grab something under 200 pages that you’ve been meaning to read, and call next weekend your Novella Weekend?
Stuck-in-a-Book’s Weekend Miscellany
Oh dear… well, it is still the weekend. But I’ve been busy planning a murder mystery party, so that’s my excuse for not blogging earlier! And great fun it was too – we played it out this evening, set in a cake shop called For Goodness Cake! (aka our lounge) and gave me an excuse to splurge on a beautiful tiered cake stand, which I’m show off soon. And I already had a beautiful non-tiered cake stand… I may be developing an obsession.
Anyway, I wrote a murder with nine parts, all unisex so they could be distributed randomly, and I think it worked quite well. Lots of fantastic acting going on all round! Great fun – and all to celebrate my housemate Debs’ birthday. The present I gave her was, of course, books… some gems I found in Malvern. I thought I’d give her books I’d loved, and hope for the best – so she got rather lovely old copies of The Enchanted April by Elizabeth von Arnim, Mrs. Miniver by Jan Stuther, and the Collected Short Stories of Saki.
Anyway, enough of my news – let’s leap towards the book, blog post, and link. Not much colour this weekend, as that’s the bit which takes the most time, and I need to sleep…
1.) The link – comes courtesy of Nancy, thanks Nancy – fancy living in the house in Rye which has housed E.F. Benson, Henry James, and Rumer Godden? (Not all at the same time, you understand…) Well, you can rent it! I can’t believe this is true, and wish I had the money and the desired ability to garden… I’d love it if a SiaB reader got the gig. Have a look here.
2.) The blog post – is Simon S’s very interesting post on blog commenting. Some people find blogging-about-blogging (meta-blogging, if you will) tiresome, some find it fascinating – I am one of those who finds it fascinating, and could read about it all day. The ways people go about it, the decisions they make, etc. etc…. so interesting. And so I’ve enjoyed everyone’s thoughts on commenting on blogs. And apologise once again for my laxness in replying to comments – Must Do Better.
3.) The book – I spent much of today reading The Uncanny by Nicholas Royle. When a publisher told me they were issuing his novel Quilt, and would I like a copy, I thought – gosh, how uncanny (ahem). And said yes. And it sounds right up my street – here’s the blurb:
Facing the disarray and disorientation around his father’s death, a man contends with the strange and haunting power of the house his parents once lived in.
He sets about the mundane yet exhausting process of sorting through the remnants of his father’s life – clearing away years of accumulated objects, unearthing forgotten memories and the haunted realms of everyday life. At the same time, he embarks on an eccentric side-project. And as he grows increasingly obsessed with this new project, his grip on reality seems to slip.It sounds like a combination of things I’ve loved in novels by Edward Carey and Stephen Benatar, as well as reminding me of ‘Daughters of the Late Colonel’ by Katherine Mansfield… and utterly irresistible. I think it may form part of a little project I’m intending to undertake next weekend, which I’ll tell you about soon…
Malvern is a town of plenty
First things first – this afternoon I spent ages going back and replying to comments from the last month’s worth of blog posts (give or take a few of the most recent) – I do mean to do this much more frequently, but somehow get behind… so if you asked a question and are awaiting the answer, or just fancied some sort of feedback, then it should be there now! Right… onto tonight’s post.
Confession time… Last weekend was a fun-packed reunion of some folk from my Masters course, and we had a high old time. All sorts took place, but today we’re talking about Malvern. Long-term readers of SiaB might just about remember a trip I took there two years ago (from which I have unceremoniously nabbed photos, since I didn’t take my camera at the weekend). It’s one of my favourite places – a spa town in Worcestershire, close(ish) to where I grew up, with pretty parks and – most importantly – a fantastic secondhand bookshop. Very reasonable prices, and an excellent selection, The Malvern Bookshop is definitely worth seeking out.
This might be sounding alarm bells… and rightly so, because… I bought a book. Sorry, no, make that two books. Ok! Stop interrogating me! I bought three books!
Ahem. That’s six weeks of my allowance. Which takes me up to halfway through September. *Sigh* It’s going to be a lean, lean August… leeeean, lean, lean.
But enough self-pity. You’re only really interested in which books I’ve bought, aren’t you?
Jane Austen by Sylvia Townsend Warner
I know very little about the ‘Writers and Their Work’ series (although this website is fairly informative) but this is its second appearance on Project 24 – earlier I bought Pamela Hansford Johnson’s Ivy Compton-Burnett. This was another irresistible combination of authors…
Are They The Same At Home? by Beverley Nichols
I still haven’t read anything by Mr. Nichols, despite accruing quite a few, but this collection of portraits of notables, originally published in Sketch in 1926. To be honest, I haven’t heard of most people featured, but mentions of E.F. Benson, Margaret Kennedy… it all looked too fun to ignore.
The Provincial Lady Goes Further by E.M. Delafield
Look away now, Colin… Yes, I do have a copy of this… but not one with A.P. Watt’s illustrations! Plus this is my favourite of the series, and it will be nice to have it separate from the others… oh, I have no excuses, but I couldn’t bring myself to leave it there…
Oh, and we went to The Theatre of Small Convenience – and enjoyed an 8 minute puppet show in rhyme about a turtle evading being baked in a pie. Possibly aimed at children… but we loved it, and it’s charmingly done. Plus, four out of the five of us were vegetarian, so we cheered on our cause!
Those shelves, redux
Sorry posting has been so haphazard of late… and thank you for your lovely messages about Lylah. The funeral was a perfect send-off, and she’d have been very pleased. But – as a lady who listed, in an interview she once did for the local paper, her greatest extravagance as ‘books’ – she’d be very happy for us to move onto that most excellent of extravagances…
You might remember what my shelves looked like the other day… Well, now everything is in place and there’s even a little bit of room for more. Don’t try and compare photos too closely, because I madly decided to change everything around again – so the books didn’t have chance to settle down before they were up and moving again.
I know book-organisation is something most of us are interested in (which is a mystery to many of my friends, who just cram their books onto shelves without any sense of order. Not that the arbitrary method is necessarily bad – viz. Howards End is on the Landing, which I’ve just started rereading – but it only really counts if it’s a conscious decision… the sort of decision non-bibliophiles wouldn’t even consider. Mine are done thematically, and then alphabetically within that… sort of. Some are just in height order…
Bookshelves (1.)
Need you ask about the first one and a half shelves? All my lovely Persephone Books. And it made sense to follow them up with Virago books… and the rest of these shelves are taken up with what I call ‘doveish’ books – i.e. they correspond to the undefinable but unmistakable tastes of the dovegreybooks online reading group (not to be confused with dovegreyreader – we came first!) Oh, except for the bottom shelf, which is, er, books which would fit onto a small shelf… and books I’ve read which I’m waiting to blog about. And Jane Austen, and Mapp and Lucia.
Oh, and the bottom shelf is for books I’m currently reading (supposedly).
Bookshelves (2.)
Top shelf: diaries and notebooks; SPACE FOR MORE BOOKS!
2nd shelf: Christian books; Those which I’m calling ‘other’ – mostly post-1960 novels, and those which didn’t fit in anywhere else
3rd shelf: Books relating to my research; library books (some crossover here!)
And then CDs, which aren’t of interest here…
Bookshelves (3.)
Top shelf: Virginia Woolf (primary)
2nd shelf: Virginia Woolf (secondary); Bloomsbury and other similar books (Katherine Mansfield, Roger Fry, etc.)
3rd shelf: Books to Read Soon. This incorporates my Must Read Soon, Must Read Very Soon, and Must Read Immediately shelves from the previous house… These should be in some sort of order, but currently they’re not.
4th & 5th shelves: books waiting to be reviewed. And some which should be on the 6th shelf…
6th shelf: Non-fiction, literary theory, diaries, letters, that sort of thing…
So, there we are! They’ll probably all be rearranged at some point, but I’m quite happy with it for now… and, of course, at the moment books aren’t scattered across every remaining surface. This will, naturally, change.
Failure….
The post I meant to put up will have to wait, because I’ve got the wrong bits of my camera out… so instead I shall tell you how I’ve failed at a recent book.
I mentioned it a while ago, and it was for book group tonight (which I actually didn’t attend, because I’d forgotten Our Vicar and Our Vicar’s Wife were passing through on their way from visiting friends far up north). Yes, it’s The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo. I don’t often give up on books, but I gave up on this… because I was finding it so infernally dull, and then I read Elaine’s recent post on it, and thought that it might develop into the wrong sort of not-dull…
I know it’s an enormously successful series, and has highlighted all sorts of violence against women which needs uncovering, but… well, I might be able to admire the author’s intentions, but I can’t admire his writing. Another failure with very popular books… I’ll retreat to my idiosyncratic doctoral research and my 1930s housewives’ novels, thanks very much…
Of greater worth than gold
By the time you read this, I will be at the funeral of a lady called Lylah Goodwin. It was not unexpected, but is not really less sad for that. Lylah was a lovely, witty, literary, very musical and devotedly Christian lady who lived in my old village (Eckington) for most of her 70+ years. She taught us the piano, and I have stayed in touch since. But Lylah Goodwin has a very special place in my heart and life for one especial reason – and it is one which may well have spilled over into your lives. For it was Lylah who first told me about Miss Hargreaves – which, I’m sure you know, is one of my favourite novels. She was so pleased when it was republished by the Bloomsbury Group, and reread it in its new incarnation. I will reread Miss Hargreaves many times, and will think of her every time.
Lylah was able to plan the readings and hymns she wanted, and today at the service I will be giving a reading which she chose:
1 Peter 1: 3-9 (NIV)
Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ! In his great mercy he has given us new birth into a living hope through the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead, 4and into an inheritance that can never perish, spoil or fade—kept in heaven for you, 5who through faith are shielded by God’s power until the coming of the salvation that is ready to be revealed in the last time. 6In this you greatly rejoice, though now for a little while you may have had to suffer grief in all kinds of trials. 7These have come so that your faith—of greater worth than gold, which perishes even though refined by fire—may be proved genuine and may result in praise, glory and honour when Jesus Christ is revealed. 8Though you have not seen him, you love him; and even though you do not see him now, you believe in him and are filled with an inexpressible and glorious joy, 9for you are receiving the goal of your faith, the salvation of your souls.
I won’t be reading this at the funeral, but this conversation between Norman and his father from Miss Hargreaves feels like a fitting tribute to a very special lady.
“An idea of mine,” he said. “Just an idea of mine. About sound. Go and strike a great fat arpeggio chord of D flat on the piano, boy.”
I went to the piano.
“Hold the loud pedal down,” he said. “Strike bass D flat – then A flat a fifth higher – then tenor F – and so on right up the piano to the highest F. Then sit still with your foot down on the loud pedal. Listen. You’ll understand something.”
I did as he commanded, very slowly and powerfully striking the notes, then sitting silently, the loud pedal down, and listening. Slowly, slowly the great chord trembled away into space. For nearly a minute we could hear it. It was hard to break the silent afterwards – a silence that was no longer a silence and never, never could be again.
“My Goodness!” I said.
“Hush!” whispered father. He stood at the window, looking out. “Still there,” he murmured. “Never dies, you know. Never dies. Going on, all round the world, my boy. You can’t cancel it. That’s my idea. You and your Miss Hargreaves – that chord, my tune. Mysteries, boy; all mysteries. Don’t be surprised at anything. When you understand what that chord does, you’ll be near to understanding everything.”
A Vote….
There are so many reviews I want to write, and I’m always too sleepy! You’ll have to do with the tidbit that today I read from a book called The Gaping Pig. Its subtitle is Literature and Metamorphosis, which spoils the image of what could have been an intriguing novel… plots on a postcard, please.
On my blog I’ve occasionally thrown out little votes, to find out whether blog readers prefer Hardy or Dickens; Charlotte or Emily Bronte; Art or Music etc. Today’s might not apply to a lot of people, but it’s about writers’ (or, indeed, any published) letters and diaries. Do you prefer reading diaries or letters? Your instinct might be to say “both” (or perhaps “neither”) but if it is “both”, think a little deeper and you might well have a preference…
OK – here it is: Letters or Diaries – post in the comments, with reasons if you like, and we’ll see which is the victor!