The next club… is 1944!

Thanks for all the wonderful contributions to the 1977 Club – I’m always surprised and delighted by how many people join in, and what a wide variety of authors we get. This time, I knew very few of them – out of my comfort zone – but have come away with the usual list of books to look out for.

Initially, Karen and I had thought we’d go back to the 1920s, and continue on back through the decades. But then we thought perhaps it would be fun to do things a bit differently now – and let random.org decide what year we’ll be doing. And, based on that – we’re going back to 1944 in October!

This will be our first club that looks at a wartime year – which will be a new and interesting perspective. We’ve got six months to go, but I hope you’ll pencil it in your diaries!

I Want To Be A Christian by J.I. Packer – #1977Club

Sneaking into the final day of the 1977 Club with my second review. And it’s been another great bunch of reviews from everyone – amazing variety, and lots of authors I know very little about. News about the next club soon, but do keep any 1977 Club reviews coming for the next few hours!

I’ve had I Want To Be A Christian (since republished as Growing in Christ) by J.I. Packer since 2004 – it was one of the books my Dad gave me when I went to university. I’ve read bits and pieces of it over the years, finding the bits that were most necessary at any point, but this was the first time I read it all the way through. It is perhaps not particularly relevant to 1977 specifically – its themes are literally eternal – but they do draw a line from to my Dad in 1977, or thereabouts, reading it for the first time.

As the title suggests, this is a book for people looking to find out more about the Christian faith, or perhaps very early in it, and it explores the central tenets of knowing Christ and being part of His church. I’ve been a Christian for my entire adult life, so there wasn’t anything in here that came as a surprise to me – but Packer writes it very well, phrasing it neatly and concisely, as well as bringing out the joy and wonder of what he explains.

The book is in four sections. The Apostles’ Creed, baptism and conversion, the Lord’s prayer, and the ten commandments. For the first, third, and fourth sections, Packer can take the words one by one – explaining what they mean, how they relate to the Bible, and what they mean for a life walked with God. The second section is necessarily a little more abstract, but is backed up with scripture, and gives an overview of some of the discussions theologians have had. But this book isn’t about deep debates and minute interpretations – it’s all about the essentials.

Packer has a great way of summarising the essential truths of something well known, and illuminating them further. I liked this on the Lord’s Prayer:

We need to see that the Lord’s Prayer is offering us model answers to the series of questions God puts to us to shape our conversation with him. Thus:  “Who do you take me for, and what am I to you?” (Our Father in heaven.) “That being so, what is it that you really want most?” (The hallowing of your name; the coming of your kingdom; to see your will known and done.) “So what are you asking for right now, as a means to that end?” (Provision, pardon, protection.) Then the “praise ending” answers the question, “How can you be so bold and confident in asking for these things?” (Because we know you can do it, and when you do it, it will bring you glory!) Spiritually, this set of questions sorts us out in a most salutary way.

There are many, many books that introduce people to the Christian faith. Many would be a lot more like storytelling than this one – there are no anecdotes, no personal testimonies. I love those sorts of books, but I think there’s also a vital place for this gentle, simple, step-by-step explanation of the tenets of faith – particularly one that you can feel recognises, in every word, the glory and wonder of what he is writing about.

Apple of My Eye by Helene Hanff – #1977Club

 

Why am I always super busy during club weeks? I will do catch-ups properly towards the end of the week (yes, it is already towards the end of the week, SORRY) but I’m really excited to be getting the notifications that people are joining in. And Karen is on it like a pro.

My first 1977 Club read is one I picked up in a brilliant bookshop called J C Books in Watton, Norfolk. If you’re ever in Norfolk, make sure you get there. It’s Apple of My Eye by Helene Hanff – most famed, of course, for 84, Charing Cross Road, though I don’t hear a lot about her other books. Any fan of 84CCR should get a copy of Q’s Legacy pronto, which is sort of a sequel – but I’ve enjoyed all the books I’ve read by her, more or less.

A few years ago I read Letter From New York, which was about the apartment building she lived in, her neighbours, and generally life in the city – collected, if I remember correctly, from various articles over the years. I rather thought that Apple of My Eye would be the same thing – but it is not. Rather, Hanff had been commissioned to write the accompanying text to a book of photos of New York, designed for tourists to get the most out of the city. I don’t know quite what happened to that book, but Apple of My Eye rather wonderfully combines her recommended highlights with an account of visiting them herself and choosing what to include. It’s not a guidebook, it’s more a witty memoir of writing a guidebook – but could certainly function as an edited highlights of New York nonetheless (or, at least, New York in 1977).

Like many people who live in a touristy city, Hanff found that she had actually visited relatively few of the Must See Locations. (I, for instance, didn’t go to the Pitt Rivers for my first ten years in Oxford, and still haven’t made it to the Oxford Museum.) If you have all the time in the world to do something, then you never do – but Hanff realises she has to do all the things she hasn’t. And someone else who hasn’t is her friend Patsy – who also, apparently, has a couple of months to spare. So off they go!

Now, I’ve never been to New York, and I don’t really like travel guides even to places I have been. So my heart sank a little when I realised what sort of book this might be. But it was wrong to sink! While I couldn’t get my head around 5th Street this and 84th Street that, and have never understood how you know which two streets something like ‘6th and 8th’ might be – because surely that could be the same as 8th and 6th – I really enjoyed this anyway. And the reason is because Hanff is so funny about the experience of exploring – and about her friendship with Patsy.

Hanff is brilliant at writing about her friends. In Letter From New York it was Arlene (and Richard and Nina et al), and here it’s Patsy – she tells us enough about them to understand not only their characters, but how she relates to them and what their friendship is like. With Patsy, Hanff has clearly got to the point in the friendship where they can squabble slightly, tease each other, rely on each other, and say precisely what they mean. Patsy is enthusiastic about coming on this tour, but also openly reluctant to do many of the proposed activities (often because of her fear of heights). Her refrain is “write that down”, often for details Hanff considers irrelevant – though, self-evidently, did write them down. Much is also made of their East vs West friendly enmities.

Curiously, while I find all the south-of-the-river vs north-of-the-river chat in London quite tedious (mostly because they seem exactly the same to me), I really enjoyed the way Hanff wrote about East vs West. For example…

Generally speaking, West Siders look dowdy, scholarly and slightly down-at-heel, and the look has nothing to do with money. They look like what a great many of them are: scholars, intellectuals, dedicated professionals, all of whom regard shopping for clothes as a colossal waste of time. East Siders, on the other hand, look chic. Appearances are important to them. From which you’ll correctly deduce that East Siders are conventional and proper, part of the Establishment and in awe of it – which God knows, and God be thanks, West Siders are not.

Hanff, it should be noted, is from the East Side – though does feel like a fish out of water sometimes.

Luckily for me, Hanff assumes no knowledge of New York at all – up to and including telling us that theatre happens on Broadway. As she darts on buses all over the place, we see Ellis Island, the Empire State Building, Bloomingdale’s, Central Park, and all the things one would expect – with a few little-known gems thrown in for good measure. The strangest part to read about was the World Trade Center  – still having bits finalised at the time of Hanff writing. Obviously she could know nothing of its eventual fate, and to read of it as an exciting new development in the city, with the best restaurant available, felt rather surreal.

Hanff is very concise in her tour – my copy of the book was only 120 pages. Obviously volumes and volumes could be written about New York, and have been, but I think this is a wonderful little book – probably even more so for somebody familiar with New York. For me, it is a funny and charming account of friendship, which just happens to have a dizzying tour of New York as its backdrop.

Better late than never: a 2017 round-up

I’ve never done my annual round-up of reads QUITE this late in the year, and I don’t know how it’s April already. But in the spirit of better late than never, I thought I’d tell you a bit about what I read last year. With some STATS. And with some comparisons with my stats for 2016.

Number of books read
I read 107 books last year – which is seven more than I completed in 2016, and one more than I read in 2015. The only reason I can give for the slight increase is living on my own giving me a bit more time for reading – and perhaps the fact that I had more holidays than usual, with the extra leave time my new job gave me!

Male/female authors
I read 47 books by men and 60 books by women, which is about the usual ratio for me – though I read 44 fiction books (novels, stories, plays etc) by women and only 21 fiction books by men – with the ratio weighted towards men in the non-fiction category. Huh. It’s also the first year for a while where I didn’t read any books written by a man and a woman.

Fiction/non-fiction
65 of the books I read were fiction, and 42 were non-fiction. It did feel like I read quite a lot of non-fiction last year, but I’m still surprised it was quite that high. Still more fiction, of course, and I doubt that will ever swap around, but… watch this space?

Books in translation
An all-time high of eight books last year – so how did I do in 2017? Well, I read six – My Brilliant Friend by Elena Ferrante (from Italian), Closely Observed Trains by Bohumil Hrabal (from Czech), Burning Secret by Stefan Zweig (from German), The Man Who Walked Through Walls by Marcel Ayme (from French), and Letters From Klara by Tove Jansson (from Swedish). So, not a huge number – but I do like that they were all from different languages.

Most-read author
There was never going to be any doubt about this. 2017 was the Year of Beverley, and I read six books by him. At least that number still waiting for me on the shelf, thankfully!

Re-reads
I re-read six books in 2017 (one more than 2016), and nearly all of them were either for the podcast or for book group. And, again, I’m pretty happy at keeping the re-read number down – so I can get through the tbr piles.

New-to-me authors
In the past two years, I’ve read 47 new-to-me authors. Have I kept to that number?? Er, no. But pretty close – 53 of the books I read were by authors I hadn’t read before, so it’s still very much on the half/half cusp. Again, I’m pretty happy with that ratio.

Most disappointing book
Probably the Elena Ferrante, because so many people had told me how good it was. And it found it rather so-so and a bit boring. But I’m often a bit bored by books about childhood, so perhaps I should persevere with the next one at some point… or perhaps I shouldn’t. We’ll see.

Oh, wait, it’s got to be The Woman in White by Wilkie Collins. I’ve had it on my shelf for 14 years, and found it enormously too long, and quite tedious. Sorry! Looking at my list, there were quite a few disappointments… but I won’t linger over those.

Most delightful non-Beverley discovery

All this fuss about Beverley Nichols, it’s important to remember that I also read Emily Eden for the first time. Her Semi-Attached House and Semi-Detached Couple are well-crafted delights that bear comparison with Jane Austen.

Most deceptive mention of an author in a title

I loved Nina Sankovitch’s memoir about reading a book every day for a year – Tolstoy and the Purple Chair – but only one of them was Tolstoy, and it was such a bizarre idea to call the book that. It can only have put off readers fearful of Tolstoy-heaviness, and disappointed Tolstoy fans.

Most deceptive mention of a book in a title

Does Jacob’s Room is Full of Books by Susan Hill count? I don’t know if I can get over my frustration that the title doesn’t work on two levels in the way that Howards End is on the Landing did.

Most horrifyingly racist book

The Sleeper Awakes by H.G. Wells took a rather unexpected and vile racist turn towards the end. Ugh.

Favourite comparison

Reading two novelised accounts of the Bywaters/Thompson murder case back to back – F Tennyson Jesse’s A Pin To See the Peepshow and E.M. Delafield’s Messalina of the Suburbs – was extremely rewarding and interesting. It also led to one of my favourite podcast episodes.

Animals in book titles
There are always some, somehow. I never think about this until I get to the end of the year (ahem, or April) and find that a whole bunch have turned up again – so which were there in 2017? Mostly birds, oddly. Bird by Bird by Anne Lamott, A Footman for the Peacock by Rachel Ferguson, Hackenfeller’s Ape by Brigid Brophy, Birds, Beasts, and Relatives by Gerald Durrell, The Pelicans by E.M. Delafield, The Men Who Stare at Goats by Jon Ronson, and Swans on an Autumn River by Sylvia Townsend Warner.

Strange things that happened in books this year

Always my favourite section – and everybody else’s too, as far as I can tell from the comments. Here’s a selection of this year’s oddities – a man travelled through time to medieval England; a man slept for decades and found he was the leader of a revolution; time was rationed based on wealth; a servant was reincarnated as a peacock; the Brontes popped up in Woolworths; a man walked through walls; a hearing trumpet opens up a surreal world; a couple thought they might be father and daughter; a couple were brother and sister; someone got murdered in the theatre; someone survived suicide to be murdered; an ape went loose in London; boating rights somehow led to communism.

 

The 1977 Club starts today!

Yep, somehow six months have passed – and the 1977 Club kicks off today.

To join in, just read and review a book published in 1977 – any sort of book, any language – and put a link to your review in the comments here. If you don’t have a blog, feel free to link to GoodReads or wherever, or put a whole review in the comments if you want to!

Because of A Century of Books, I’ll probably only manage one or two 1977 books myself – but I’m really looking forward to what you all come up with. Between us, we can get a really good overview of the year.

Dancing Girls by Margaret Atwood

1streading’s Blog

HeavenAli

Kaggsy’s Bookish Ramblings

Injury Time by Beryl Bainbridge

Madame Bibi lophile Recommends

Starring Sally J Freeman as Herself by Judy Blume

Booked for Life

Dreaming of Babylon by Richard Brautigan

Kaggsy’s Bookish Ramblings

A Rumor of War by Philip Caputo

746 Books

The Passion of New Eve by Angela Carter

Pining for the West

Adventures in reading, writing and working from home

In Patagonia by Bruce Chatwin

Literasaurus

A Flat Man by Ivor Cutler

Intermittencies of the Mind

The Golden Child by Penelope Fitzgerald

Madame Bibi lophile Recommends

JacquiWine’s Journal

The Women’s Room by Marilyn French

Mirabile Dictu

What Me Read

Apple of My Eye by Helene Hanff

Travellin’ Penguin

Stuck in a Book

Midnight Express by Billy Hayes

Kaggsy’s Bookish Ramblings

Fluke by James Herbert

Intermittencies of the Mind

Little Mountain by Elias Khoury

1streading’s Blog

The Shining by Stephen King

Annabel’s House of Books

The Honourable Schoolboy by John Le Carre

What Me Read

Pining for the West

The Hour of the Star by Clarice Lispector

Shoshi’s Book Blog

The Harafish by Naguib Mahfouz

Winstonsdad’s Blog

The Danger Tree by Olivia Manning

HeavenAli

Coming into the Country by John McPhee

What Me Read

Sextet: Six Essays by Henry Miller

Intermittencies of the Mind

The End of a Family Story by Peter Nadas

Winstonsdad’s Blog

I Want To Be A Christian by J.I. Packer

Stuck in a Book

A Morbid Taste for Old Bones by Ellis Peters

She Reads Novels

Johnny Panic and the Bible of Dreams by Sylvia Plath

Kaggsy’s Bookish Ramblings

Book Jotter

Quartet in Autumn by Barbara Pym

Tredynas Days

Bookword

Hard Book Habit

Books and Chocolate

Ramblings of a Red Headed Snippet

Staying On by Paul Scott

Harriet Devine’s blog

The Box Garden by Carol Shields

The Dusty Bookcase

Buried in Print

Die Widmung by Botho Strauss

Beauty is a Sleeping Cat

Charmed Life by Diana Wynne Jones

Adventures in reading, writing and working from home

Staircase Wit

A round up of a number of books!

The Literary Sisters

StuckinaBook’s Weekend Miscellany

As I write this, a little in advance of the weekend, we are being promised heat and sun and all sorts. I intend to spend the weekend reading, but I might go as far as opening a window. MAYBE TWO WINDOWS. Crazy, huh?

I have more links than usual this weekend, so don’t let anybody tell you I don’t spoil you. In fact, I’ll focus just on links this weekend.

1.) In Praise of Margery Sharp – from the New York Times. I’ve read three Sharp novels over the past 15 or so years, and really must read some more from my shelf – as they’ve all been brilliant.

2.) Do we need more than 120 words? – I wrote a piece for OxfordWords about Toki Pona, a recently created language with only 120 phonemes. It was really interesting researching the piece, and you can read all about it by following the link above.

3.) A new Marilynne Robinson novel! – don’t get too excited yet; it’s been announced, but there’s not even a title yet. Actually, do get excited – cos it’s the fourth in the Gilead series!

4.) Copy editors chat – this isn’t a new link, but I found it this week. The style guide doyenne of the New Yorker chats about her career, and maybe even tries to justify some of the New Yorker‘s sillier aberrations. (Did you know they use teen-ager and coöperative?)

5.) Judi, Maggie, Eileen, Joan – did somebody somehow bottle my dreams and hopes? This documentary is already my favourite film and I haven’t even seen it yet.

Tea with Walter de la Mare by Russell Brain

This is one from my books-about-authors shelf – more particularly, my books-about-authors-by-people-who-knew-them-a-bit shelf. It’s one of my favourite genres, and the king of it has to be the memoir of being Ivy Compton-Burnett’s secretary, by Cicely Greig. Well, Sir Russell Brain was not a secretary, but he did become friends with Walter de la Mare later in life – and Tea with Walter de la Mare (published in 1957, the year after de la Mare died) is an account of that friendship.

More particularly, it’s an account of the various times Brain and his wife (and sometimes children) went to visit de la Mare – and he clearly rushed straight back to make notes afterwards. Incidentally, I didn’t know who he was – but all the info you might need is on Wikipedia. It really amuses me that he was a scientist, with the surname Brain… As for his companion – I suspect de la Mare is chiefly known for ‘The Listeners’ and ‘Fare Well’ (“look thy last on all things lovely”…) and perhaps Memoirs of a Midget, but is no longer the literary giant he was at the time of his death. And he’s also related to my friend Rachel, so she tells me.

And the book? I enjoyed this insight into knowing de la Mare (‘W.J.’ to Brain), but it has to be confessed that Brain isn’t particularly good at writing. You can only enjoy this as you might enjoy a series of index cards. His accounts are often more or less “and then he said this… and then he said this… and then he said this”. It is a jumble of topics and thoughts, from the deeply philosophical to the frivolously anecdotal. Brain faithfully records it all, and retells stories in the most pedestrian way possible. Here, for instance, is a story sapped completely dry:

Janet told him a ghost story she had heard of a man who went to stay in the house of some people whom he did not know very well. He was visited in a dream by an ancestor of the owner of the house, who revealed to him some facts which the family did not know, and which ultimately proved to be correct.

Isn’t that almost a satire of how not to tell a story? I picked it because it was amusingly bad, but it’s not a huge outlier. Though there was at least one story I very much enjoyed:

He told us about the only occasion on which he had sat on a jury. It was a slander case before Lord Reading – so good-looking. He spoke so well, and was so polite. A butcher was suing the local medical officer of health. When the jury retired, there were at first ten, and then eleven, for the medical officer, but one stood out for the butcher. He said he knew what medical officers of health were. All the rest of the jurymen argued with him in vain. finally W.J. said: “We must get this settled: I’ve got to catch a train.” Whereupon the recalcitrant juryman said: “Oh, well, if it’s a question of a train, I am with you.” So British, thought W.J.!

So, it’s a bit of a mixed bag. It’s a little frustrating that a much better book was hiding behind this one – had Brain been a better writer, this could have been a wonderful gem of a book. As it was, I enjoyed flicking through it – but in much the way that I’d enjoy reading a list that gives me a taste of a period and a man, but not an enormous amount else.

But… it does smell really nice. It’s maybe the nicest-smelling book I have. So, there’s that.

An Anthropologist on Mars by Oliver Sacks

One of the books I took to the Peak District was An Anthropologist on Mars (1995) by Oliver Sacks – a copy I bought in Washington DC, and thus one of those lovely floopy-floppy US paperbacks, rather than the stiffer UK ones. I’ve written about quite a lot of Sacks books over the years, and he’s one of my favourite writers (and people – though of course I didn’t know him personally). He’s certainly my favourite non-fiction writer – and that’s why it’s a bit of a shame that I didn’t love An Anthropologist on Mars quite as much as some of the others. It’s not where I’d recommend to start.

The themes and approach in this book aren’t wildly different from many of his others – it was perhaps the structure and specific topics that left me a little cold, but I’ll come on to that later. Sacks divides the book into seven sections, each concerned with a different patient and Sacks’ diagnosis and study of their lives. Rather than summarise them all myself, I’m going to shamelessly plagiarise the Wikipedia entry:

  • The Case of the Colourblind Painter discusses an accomplished artist who is suddenly struck by cerebral achromatopsia, or the inability to perceive colour, due to brain damage.
  • The Last Hippie describes the case of a man suffering from the effects of a massive brain tumor, including anterograde amnesia, which prevents him from remembering anything that has happened since the late 1960s.
  • A Surgeon’s Life describes Sacks’ interactions with Dr. Carl Bennett, a surgeon and amateur pilot with Tourette syndrome. The surgeon is often beset by tics, but these tics vanish when he is operating.
  • To See and Not See is the tale of Shirl Jennings, a man who was blind from early childhood, but was able to recover some of his sight after surgery. This is one of an extremely small number of cases where an individual regained sight lost at such an early age, and as with many of the other cases, the patient found the experience to be deeply disturbing.
  • The Landscape of His Dreams discusses Sacks’ interactions with Franco Magnani, an artist obsessed with his home village of Pontito in Tuscany. Although Magnani has not seen his village in many years, he has constructed a detailed, highly accurate, three-dimensional model of Pontito in his head.
  • Prodigies describes Sacks’ relationship with Stephen Wiltshire, a young autistic savant described by Hugh Casson as “possibly the best child artist in Britain”.
  • An Anthropologist on Mars describes Sacks’ meeting with Temple Grandin, a woman with autism who is a world-renowned designer of humane livestock facilities and a professor at Colorado State University.

As you can see, the title of the collection comes from the final essay – it is how Grandin describes her interaction with the world, while trying to comprehend social mores. I have a thing about titles – they’re often so important in how we understand a book – and was a bit annoyed that this collection took a comment by Grandin and made it seem as though Sacks were the anthropologist in question.

I’ll start with the positives – the chapter ‘To See and Not See’ was completely fascinating. Jennings, the patient, technically has the ability to see – but since he cannot remember ever seeing before, he has no concept of what sight is. Having lived for decades without seeing, he cannot understand the idea of visual distance, or representation (paintings mean nothing to him). Sacks explores how our comprehension of sight creates a world around us – and the very human reaction when someone is expected to understand their world in a fundamentally different way. The footnotes lead to various useful precedents, and it’s an extremely well put together chapter.

Indeed, the first three chapters before this were also good – though not with quite the same philosophical and psychological interest for me. Sacks is very humane and empathetic in portraying (in the first chapter) a painter who can no longer see colour – recognising not just the scientific elements of this, but the enormous changes and challenges the painter must face in ways that non-artistic people wouldn’t. On the flip side, Sacks writes with admiration of Bennett, the surgeon with Tourette’s – awed by how he maintains his professional life.

The final three chapters were less interesting topics to me (though it’s very possible that you’d find them fascinating, if they happen to be areas of interest to you). But there were problems there that existed even in the chapters I found up my street – everything is slightly too drawn out, and without the pacing of Sacks’ best work. He lingers just that little too long on every insight, not deepening our relationship with the patient, but slowing its progress down. There are fewer tangential details and anecdotes than in other of his books, too, and it’s impossible not to wonder if this was largely a collection of things that didn’t make it into The Man Who Mistook His Wife for a Hat.

It’s still Sacks, so I still liked it – if it had been the first book I’d read by him, I’m sure I’d have loved it – but it was a little bit of a disappointment after reading some of Sacks’ brilliant, brilliant work. If you’ve yet to read anything by him, head to The Man Who Mistook His Wife for a Hat or Hallucinations instead.

The Psychopath Test by Jon Ronson

I’ve now read three books by Jon Ronson – the first two being So You’ve Been Publicly Shamed and The Men Who Stare at Goats – but the first one I heard of was The Psychopath Test (2011). I seem to remember my brother reading it, or perhaps my friend Mel – either way, it appealed enough to start me hunting for other Ronson books, even if it took me a few more years to finally read this particular one.

Ronson has made a name for himself as someone who explores the quirky and unusual, often meeting and interviewing strange people in his unflappable, mild-mannered (and yet, simultaneously, rather anxious) way. Whether conspiracy theorists, Internet hate figures, or CIA operatives, he treats them with a Louis Theroux-esque genial bafflement. Even while he’s immersing himself in dangerous territory, he comes across rather like a calm observer – even, somehow, when he’s telling us how uncalm an observer he is.

But there can’t be many more dangerous people to meet than those who have been declared psychopaths and imprisoned in maximum security prisons. That’s where Ronson is – initially to interview somebody who alleges he faked his psychopathy to get a lighter prison sentence for GBH, and now can’t convince anybody that he isn’t mentally ill.

(Actually, this comes after a meandering and ultimately rather pointless anecdote about people being mysteriously sent strange little books – I suppose it’s intended to hook our attention, but I found those elements rather over-long and a bit of a distraction from the main theme.)

The Psychopath Test uses the prison encounter as our introduction to the titular test – developed by Robert Hare, it is essentially a checklist to determine whether or not somebody is a psychopath. There is naturally some discomfort in the world that something so drastic could be decided by this sort of test – ending, like a BuzzFeed quiz, with a ‘yes – psychopath’ or ‘no – normal’. Ronson explores the impact of the test, as well as analysing many of the people who have been criminally psychopathic.

And this is where I began to skip pages… I hadn’t really joined the dots, to realise what sort of descriptions would be included. I went in because I’m interested by the psychological aspects – though, unsurprisingly, Ronson also tells us what noted psychopaths have done. And reading about gruesome murders and sexual assaults isn’t really my jam… so, yes, I did end up darting through some of the pages.

More interesting to me were the sections this led to – about psychopaths in everyday life. Because many are not criminals – but simply can’t understand the concept of empathy. And Ronson speaks to those who have deduced that the percentage of psychopaths in the world (around 1%) becomes much larger when considering people in power – especially business leaders. It makes one think… not least because there’s one particular businessman who is rather prominent at the moment, and has never been known to show any noticeable sort of empathy.

More broadly, Ronson looks at the ways in which mental health diagnoses were determined – a frighteningly arbitrary council, seemingly – and how overdiagnosed things like childhood bipolar disorder have become. Not least because, accordingly to the experts Ronson speaks to, there’s no such thing as childhood bipolar disorder. These parts are where the subtitle – ‘a journey through the madness industry’ – becomes much more relevant, and I’d have valued more of a focus on this strand.

So, yes, there are many interesting sections in The Psychopath Test. The reason that it ended up being my least favourite of Ronson’s books isn’t simply because I’m so squeamish – it also felt like it cohered less than the other two I’ve read. His approach felt a little more scattergun, or less carefully edited together. The framing device for the book was (as I’ve said) not a winner for me, and the pacing of his journalistic elaborations doesn’t seem quite right.

The best of the three I’ve read is definitely So You’ve Been Publicly Shamed, which is also Ronson’s most recent book – suggesting that he’s getting better as he keeps writing.,