Mini

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The good people at Penguin seem to specialise in making boxsets with the express purpose of making them impossible for me to resist. Books with near-identical designs, in a box, cry out to me and find a home waiting for them on my shelves – even if I rarely get around to reading all or many of them.

Well, they’ve done it again. To celebrate the 50th anniversary of Penguin Modern Classics, they’ve created the Penguin Mini Modern Classics. As you’ll know, I love me some short books – and this selection of reasonably priced short books just hits the spot. Penguin asked 25 different bloggers to write about two of the 50 books – thus covering all fifty, and I was lucky enough to be one of those bloggers. So you’ll hopefully see reviews of them pop up everywhere across the blogosphere this week…

First things first – click here and then here for the rather spectacular Penguin websites for the Mini Modern Classics – you’ll come away hankering for the lot, I’ll wager. I’ve shamelessly stolen this picture from them.


You’ll be wanting to know what I got sent, won’t you? Wait no longer….

The Machine Stops & The Celestial Omnibus – E.M. Forster

I must get around to reviewing Howards End soon, but suffice it to say that I thought it was brilliant. Another case of Third Time Lucky (so encouraging for keeping trying with authors) and I was keen to read more. Well, none of the three novels I’ve read of Forster’s could have prepared me for these two stories. I think (and this is an incentive to have a gander through the Mini Modern Classics) a lot of authors are more experimental or playful when they turn their hand to short stories. Perhaps they feel they have less to lose?

Anyway, Forster is certainly playful in these stories, originally published in 1928 and 1911 respectively. Perhaps playful isn’t the right word, as there are menacing tones to his fantasies. ‘The Machine Stops’ envisages a world where people live in isolated rooms, performing all communication and receiving all their needs through an international machine:
There were buttons and switches everywhere – buttons to call for food, for music, for clothing. There were the hot-bath button, by pressure of which a basin of (imitation) marble rose out of the floor, filled to the brim with a warm deodorized liquid. There was the cold-bath button. There was the button that produced literature. And there were of course the buttons by which she communicated with her friends. The room, though it contained nothing, was in touch with all that she cared for in the world.
It is a truism when writing of past dystopic (or is this utopic?) literature to suggest that the prophecies have come true. Obviously these have not, to the extent Forster writes – nor do I think much can be profited by worrying too much about it. Instead, I think Forster’s imaginative vision should be appreciated for what it is, and read as a fascinating tale – and a forerunner of Orwellian literature. For this world is crumbling; dissenters are punished – there is much to ponder on in this short, vivid tale.

‘The Celestial Omnibus’ is more lighthearted, but equally enjoyable – I shan’t write much, as the joy in this story comes from seeing how Forster treats the idea of a bus that travels to Heaven. And I’m in danger of the ironic failing of writing too much about short stories… I’ll just conclude by saying that this pairing was a brilliant idea from Penguin, and has opened my eyes to facets of Forster which I’d never have expected.

The Magic Paint and other stories – Primo Levi

I’m afraid I’ve only read the first two stories from this collection of eight – each of which is only around 5-10 pages. I will certainly finish it, possibly later tonight, but I wanted to write this post out before I went to bed. The title story concerns a paint which has miraculous properties (I love how Penguin have somehow correctly guessed my love of fantastic stories!) This is told with a wonderful matter-of-factness, and even within a few pages manages to incorporate a twist and a denouement. Impressive, Mr. Levi. I think I’m going to value this mini collection…

All in all, Penguin seem to have got off to a good start! I’m looking forward to seeing what other Mini Reviews appear, and (let’s face it) to getting some of the stories. The only others I’ve read are Katherine Mansfield’s astonishingly good ‘Bliss’, and Virginia Woolf’s beautiful ‘The Lady in the Looking-Glass’ – all so very promising as a great collection of international short stories. Thanks, Penguin!

EDIT: David is creating a list of Mini Modern Classic reviews as they appear, which is very kind of him – click here to see it (scroll to the bottom – once you’ve been enticed by Saki, that is!)

Edinburgh Books

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Those of you who thought I’d buy myself more than 20 books in Edinburgh – well, sorry, but you lose. I did buy myself 19… and I did buy four for other people. That includes two copies of William by EH Young – one of which I gave to Karen (aka Cornflower – lovely to see her again!) and the other will be up for grabs when my review is posted. Enough about that… I’m sure you want to see the haul that (somehow) accompanied me home in the train.


Bernard Shaw and Mrs. Patrick Campbell – Their Correspondence
This was perfect for my recent piqued interest in theatrical history and so forth – Mrs. Patrick Campbell seems such a fascinating character, and I can’t wait to dip into this one. In another shop I held a book signed by Mrs. PC – but it was £75. (Which reminds me; today at work I held a book signed by Vita Sackville-West!)

The Grasshoppers Come – David Garnett
You probably know that I love Lady Into Fox; this one was on my ‘should probably read’ list, although I don’t remember why I chose this title in particular for that list…

Moor Fires – E.H. Young
I hadn’t heard of this one, and have since found it is incredibly scarce (if you don’t want a nasty POD copy) – so my £2 purchase was a bit of a find! Critics do say her early novels aren’t as good as her later ones, though…

The Loved and Envied – Enid Bagnold
I do believe that Carol’s review of this was awarded Best Review of Virago Reading Week by Rachel – it certainly led to me picking up a copy when I spotted it.

Thunder on the Left – Christopher Morley
After loving Parnassus on Wheels and The Haunted Bookshop, I’m keen to try more Morley – and this one has an encouraging introduction from Hugh Walpole.

Designs for a Happy Home – Matthew Reynolds
I read about this on Karen’s blog ages ago, so it was appropriate that I finally snared myself a copy whilst on my way to visit her.

A Model Childhood – Christa Wolf
The first of several VMCs, I have a feeling I left this in the bookshop when I was last in Edinburgh, 16 months ago. This time I was tempted enough to pick up an account of a childhood under Nazi Germany.

A View of the Harbour – Elizabeth Taylor
LibraryThing tells me I already have this… but I certainly don’t have this beautiful edition. I’ve already promised to send my duplicate up to the friend with whom I was staying… once I find it. Also, when I bought it (in a charity bookshop) the sales assistant was a very friendly, knowledgeable man who’d read all Taylor’s novels and said this was his favourite!

Our Spoons Came From Woolworths – Barbara Comyns
Ok, I knew I already owned this, but not with this cover – I love Stanley Spencer’s paintings so much (and they’re so Comyns-appropriate) that I couldn’t leave this on the shelf.

Fraulein Schmidt and Mr. Anstruther – Elizabeth von Arnim
One day I will read another E von A, after loving The Enchanted April… here is more fodder, when that moment comes.

The Caravaners – Elizabeth von Arnim
And here’s a bit more…

Three Came Unarmed – E. Arnot Robertson
Do you ever find, even when you’ve not read a word an author’s written, that you’re so sure you’ll enjoy them that you fill your shelves with their novels? This is the fourth or fifth EAR novel to be waiting in the wings… (Picture is of McNaughtan’s Bookshop, from which this and several other books came.)

William: the Pirate – Richmal Crompton
One of my ambitions this year was to accumulate as many old William books as I could, if they were a reasonable price. One down, so far!

Lady Rose and Mrs. Memmary – Ruby Ferguson
Yes, I have the Persephone edition of this pleasing tale, but I couldn’t resist this beautiful, interesting old edition. And the money from it went to charity… so, basically, I did good.

Maurice – E.M. Forster
Having loved Howards End (oops, still haven’t written about it) I thought I’d see which EMFs I loved and which I didn’t by adding more to my arsenal.

Apricots at Midnight – Adele Geras
I know little about this, but Clare (the friend whose flat I was staying in) bought it for me as she loves it and wanted me to have a copy – thanks Clare!

How Can You Bear to be Human? – Nicholas Bentley
Need I even say that I bought this entirely for the title?

Joy and Josephine – Monica Dickens
I have plenty Monica Dickens waiting to be read, but someone told me the other day that this novel is about twins – and you know how I can’t resist those.

Violet to Vita – the Letters of Violet Trefusis to Vita Sackville-West
More Bloomsbury stuff to read one day…

I was going to list the books I bought a week or two ago in London, but that’ll have to wait for another day, as there’s more than enough to be going on with for now!

You know the drill – read any? Want any? Thoughts, please!

Back from Edinburgh…

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…and going to bed. I saw lots of lovely people, bought lots of lovely books, and even read the two I set out to read. More on all of that anon.

I just wanted to say, re: William by E.H. Young – feel free to put up reviews any time you like, and I’ll do a round-up post next week. I’ll be putting mine up then too – but ALSO head on over to Darlene’s blog on 24th February to discuss William there, whether you’ve read it as part of our little readalong or have read it at any time in the past. It’s an either/or/and/both situation – if you just want to join in the discussion, that’s great – or post your review and let us know – or both! (More on the discussion at Darlene’s here.)

I’m not going to reveal too much yet, but will just say… it’s gonna be a very positive review when it comes!

Quickly, from Edinburgh…

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Sneaking onto my friend’s laptop to say THANKS for all your feedback re:dots! Lots of thoughts in both directions, but the majority of you either like the dots or don’t mind either way, so I’m gonna keep them – I like the idea of having a fixed identity as a blog, and naturally steer away from change in every facet of my life… (!) so I’ll keep ’em there. Sorry for those of you who wanted to eighty-six them (never heard of this expression before, Thomas, and I might get addicted to using it – once someone explains it to me) – hope you’ll still visit!

And now to the more important question – keep those guesses coming for the number of books I’ll buy in Edinburgh! Clare and I had a good five hour spree today, and my advice is… double the number you’re thinking of. In my defence, two of them were for other people… (one of those other people being – maybe – you! Keep a look-out later this week….)

To Dot or Not To Dot

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This post will pop up as I am sauntering around Edinburgh, having all manner of larks, I suspect… how many books do you think I’ve bought by now?

Anyway, I was just musing on the layout of my blog…. I’m not one of those who likes to change things often (as you’ll probably have noticed) but I was thinking about making a small change – I was pondering over getting rid of the background dots! Instead, it would be plain white… but I’m not sure. Being as friendly and nice as you can be, let’s put this to a vote! (Which, of course, I might not follow… being a contrary fellow.)

Do you like the dots, or should they go??

Off to Scotland…

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I’m off to Scotland for a long weekend, with William by E.H. Young and Gay Life by E.M. Delafield in tow – hope you’ve been able to track down one or other of them if you’re planning to join in a readalong. Not entirely sure about the schedule for them, but keep an eye out on Darlene‘s blog for more info about reading William. I have a feeling it might just be Danielle and I who have managed to track down Gay Life…

I anticipate coming back with armfuls of books – see you next week! (Except for a little post which will appear tomorrow…)

Book Aid International / World Book Day

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If you live in the UK, I hope it won’t have escaped your attention that World Book Day is coming up on March 3rd – and for once the BBC seems, for one, to be taking notice. There are all sorts of bookish programmes coming up – Sebastian Faulks presenting on various aspects of the novel through history; Anne Robinson interviewing people about My Life in Books (I saw one being recorded – it should be a great series) etc. – details about their programmes here.


Even better, though – Book Aid International have got a whole variety of things going on, and they got in touch with me this week. They’re suggesting that people engage with Meet, Talk, Give which does what it says on the tin. Why not organise a get-together of like-minded readers, hold a book group, and donate something to Book Aid International. Did you know that £2 will send a new book to a school library, public library, refugee camp, prison or rural community in sub-Saharan Africa? For info on Meet, Talk, Give click here. If you’re already in a Book Group, why not turn your next meeting into a Meet, Talk, Give event?

There’s more info, as well as videos etc., on their blog. Have fun!

What’s Milne is Yours

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Happy Wednesday one and all, and to celebrate this momentous occasion (which, lest we forget, happens only a seventh of the time) I’ve got a couple of books by A.A. Milne to give away. Much as I love to spread Milne’s works amongst as many as possible (and he is an author I love dearly, and wish more people read), I’ll confess that the pun-derful title to this post was a definite incentive.

The books are Milne’s autobiography called It’s Too Late Now, and a collection of humorous essays under the title Not That It Matters. Both are duplicates that I felt should pour some sunshine into someone else’s life.

It’s Too Late Now (1939) is one of my favourite books. To be honest, only a fairly small segment is devoted to his life as an author, and only four pages are given over to Winnie the Pooh et al. Instead, he talks of life during childhood; at university; as a soldier in WW1; as assitant editor of Punch, and so on and so forth. I love Milne’s whimsical but perceptive tone wherever I encounter it, but probably no more so than in this brilliant and diverting account.

Not That It Matters (1920) is representative of his humorous, light-hearted work at the beginning of his writing career. The essays are collected from various newspapers and magazines, and cover a miscellany of amusing topics – perfect for dipping into as and when. For a taste (or, if you so wish, to read the whole thing) click here.

I’m happy to send these off anywhere in the world – just put which one you would prefer in the comments (if you’d be happy with either, that’s fine too) and I’ll do a draw sometime next week.

From the mouths of babes…

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My book group met tonight to discuss Bonjour Tristesse (1954) by Francoise Sagan (as usual, imagine the cedilla), translated from French by Irene Ash. I hadn’t heard of it, or the author (whom I’d wrongly assumed was a man) and so I went away to the internet to find a copy… and when the images came on the screen, I realised that I already owned it. Bonjour Tristesse was one of the 20 short books collected in my Penguin Great Loves boxset – hurrah! Each one comes with its own tagline ‘Love can be —-‘ on the back; this one has ‘Love can be complicated’.


Sagan (not her real name, but we’ll roll with it) was only 18 when Bonjour Tristesse was published, which is rather sickening for those of us who are only just coming to terms with the fact that we won’t ever be infant prodigies. It concerns 17 year old Cecile (imagine the accent) and I must confess my heart sank at this point. I had a horror of it being a female version of The Catcher in the Rye, a novel I thought hugely irritating and very overrated. If I had to sit through the meanderings of a lovesick, self-indulgent teenage girl… well… I’ll read the first paragraph, anyway:

A strange melancholy pervades me to which I hesitate to give the grave and beautiful name of sadness. In the past the idea of sadness always appealed to me, now I am almost ashamed of its complete egoism. I had known boredom, regret, and at times remorse, but never sadness. Today something envelops me like a silken web, enervating and soft, which isolates me.
This was actually quite promising. True, it is dominated by the introspection so beloved and teenagers (and probably everyone else too, only we learn to mask it better once we pass 19… although I was only 21 when I started this blog, so…) but there is a beauty to the expression of worn sentiments; ‘what oft was thought but ne’er so well expressed’ as Pope said of ‘wit’, fulfilling his own criterion.

Sagan continues in similar style throughout. Her constant introspection, and detailed observation of everyone around her, never irked me because the prose was often so beautiful, and the thoughts so striking. But perhaps I should mention the plot, and that complicated love.

Cecile lives with her young widower father Raymond, a hedonistic man with a revolving door of mistresses. They are on a holiday in the South of France with Raymond’s latest mistress, a rather stupid young woman called Elsa; they are all enjoying frivolity and (in Cecile’s case) the throes of a first love – when Anne turns up on the scene. Easily the most skillfully drawn character of the novel, Anne is a friend of Cecile’s late mother, the same sort of age as Raymond, and gently, elegantly insinuates herself into their lives.
When exactly did my father begin to treat Anne with a new familiarity? Was it the day he reproached her for her indifference, while pretending to laugh at it? Or the time he grimly compared her subtlety with Elsa’s semi-imbecility? My peace of mind was based on the stupid idea that they had known each other for fifteen years, and that if they had been going to fall in love, they would have done so earlier. And I thought also that if it had to happen, the affair would last at the most three months, and Anne would be left with her memories and perhaps a slight feeling of humiliation. Yet all the time I knew in my heart that Anne was not a woman who could be lightly abandoned.Cecile doesn’t like the way things are going, and hatches a plot to remove Anne from her life and that of her father. Anne is far from an archetypal wicked stepmother, but Cecile sees her as destroying their extant way of life, and unsettling the equilibrium of a superficial but contented life. Anne is, in fact, a determined, kind, ever-so-very-slightly desperate character; in polished control of herself, but aware that it will not be many years before her chances of settling down dwindle away.


As the narrative continues – how much is packed in! – Cecile gradually has a change of heart, and has to choose between derailing her plan or watching it carry itself out. Sagan’s cleverness is in her unreliable narrator. One starts reading the novel assuming that Cecile’s perspective is accurate, or at least the one that a young author wants us to accept. It becomes clear, however, that Sagan is fully aware of Cecile’s blind-spots and limitations; Raymond, Elsa and especially Anne become distinctive characters outside of the peripheries of Cecile’s flawed judgement. Even while we continue to see events through Cecile’s eyes, the reader can look back upon Cecile and discover her deficiencies and incomplete self-awareness. If Sagan isn’t quite so successful with the male characters (Cecile’s beau Cyril is a one-dimensional besotted fool; Raymond has few hidden depths) then that should not diminish from the clever and sophisticated characters she has created in Cecile and Anne.

Ultimately, this summer is a coming-of-age (how I loathe that phrase, but I can think of no other) for more than just Cecile. Anne and Raymond also change over the course of the summer’s events. Elsa might. Cyril probably does, off-stage, as it were. They all have glimpses of futures they could have, and futures they want to avoid; whether or not they succeed in altering their courses – that’s the path we take with them. Bonjour Tristesse is a rich novella which would bear future re-reading. It would be an impressive work for any author, not simply an eighteen year old – but it is especially sickening that an eighteen year old should achieve it.

Books to get Stuck into:

I Capture the Castle – Dodie Smith: I’ve mentioned it in this section for another review, but it really is the coming-of-age novel par excellence. A lot of similarities with Bonjour Tristesse, albeit rather more amusing and less philosophical.

Brother of the More Famous Jack – Barbara Trapido: another bright young girl, growing up amongst unconventional types, this novel extends the scope beyond a dizzying summer to many years of after-effects.

The Rivals

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I saw Sheridan’s The Rivals (1775) at the Theatre Royal, Haymarket in London on Saturday, as I mentioned I would, and it was very, very good. To be honest, although the acting was great, I think it would be difficult to do the play badly. It might be up there with The Importance of Being Earnest of an actor-proof play, out of which even the most amateur of groups could wring many laughs.

Even if you think you know nothing about this play, chances are you do – for it is from The Rivals, and more precisely the character Mrs. Malaprop, that we get the malapropism. This maiden aunt (played on Saturday by the incredibly wonderful Penelope Keith, one of my heroines) speaks with ‘words so ingeniously misapplied, without being mispronounced’ – leading to all kinds of amusing mishaps, which have little impact on the plot, but are richly enjoyable. For example: ‘He is the very pineapple of politeness’; ‘Promise to forget this fellow – to illiterate him, I say, quite from your memory’ and so on and so forth.

Although it is Mrs. Malaprop whose fame has lived longest, The Rivals is really mostly concerned with the complex love polygon (for triangle would be too simple) taking place with almost every character on stage. Chief amongst them is Captain Jack Absolute (played with saucy and energetic panache by Tam Williams) and Lydia Languish. They love each other, but he is under an assumed name, since she considers love more romantic if with one from another caste (shades of Love on the Supertax here?) His father (Peter Bowles, making a To The Manor Born reunion which made my little dreams come true) has arranged with Mrs. Malaprop (Lydia’s aunt) for the two to be married – but Lydia doesn’t know they are one and the same. All very confusing, and that’s just for starters. It’s all the most wonderful tangled web, of the variety beloved by late-18th century playwrights and P.G. Wodehouse alike. And that’s not even mentioning the less important characters, all of whom are embroiled somehow.

It’s such a fun play, and plotted so skillfully. Laughter rang throughout the theatre – which was shamefully nowhere near full, but that does mean you might still be able to secure tickets before it closes on 26th February. I agree with everything Charles Spencer says in his Telegraph review, from compliments about Simon Higlett’s beautiful set design, to Spencer’s relief that they haven’t tried to make the play ‘relevant’ by needlessly updating or meddling with it. I love that a play from 1775 can still cause such joy and levity – and the chance to see Penelope Keith and Peter Bowles reunited was a delightful added bonus. I’d love to see more Sheridan plays now, especially School for Scandal… I wrote on these for finals back in 2007, but they have drifted from my mind.

If only the theatre weren’t so hideously expensive…