Old Habits…

StuckinaBook All 30 Comments

Those who thought I have learnt good habits, or become a better person, under the strictures of Project 24 probably had those beliefs dispelled on January 1st, when I bought twenty-four books. Just in case there are any lingering doubts, I thought I’d better share with you my purchases since the beginning of the year (Jan. 1st purchases not included – posted about them already!) Oh, how I missed going into a bookshop, gleam in my eye, wallet in hand, knowing the only things holding me back were time and the limited number of bags one man can carry at any one time!

One of my favourite bookshops for potential bargains is Notting Hill Book & Comic Exchange. A cramped ground floor, with the choice pickings – and three sprawling, untidy basement rooms, where books are all only £1 each. Last time I went they were 50p each, but I suspect they made nary a jot of profit that way. Last Saturday I met up with Sakura (aka Chasing Bawa) and we went book-hunting. Sakura wisely took books to exchange, thus getting vouchers to spend in the shop. I can never find more than one or two books I am willing to part with, and they’re always in Somerset rather than Oxford, so it was cold cash I parted with.

I bought nine books… and they came to £9. Not all were downstairs, but they actually only charged me 50p for some, so it balanced out. Nine pounds! When you think that the uncomfortable bus journey to and from London cost £13… Anyway, enough prevarication – here’s what I got.


– Foreigners by Leo Walmsley
Jane (Fleur Fisher) wrote this very compelling review of Love in the Sun by Walmsley – I’ve not been able to track that down, but thought it might be worth picking this one up.

– The Gipsy in the Parlour by Margery Sharp
Another author Jane likes, but one I actually first read in 2003 or thereabouts – I read The Foolish Gentlewoman after reading in letters by P.G. Wodehouse that he liked it a lot. And last read in 2003, so far, but I’ve got a fair few waiting on my shelves.

– Loving by Henry Green
All manner of people have told me to read this, and a nice Penguin never goes amiss.

– The Mist in the Mirror by Susan Hill
I’ve not read any of Hill’s ghost stories… I’m not entirely sure I want to, as I’ll most likely be terrified, but… maybe in the summer.

– The Empty Room by Charles Morgan
Like Margery Sharp, Morgan is an author I read once, enjoyed, and never quite returned to. Still, at least this will give me another option.

– Aiding and Abetting by Muriel Spark
You all know that I’ve become besotted by all things Spark – and this is simply another (short! hurrah!) novel of hers to add to the shelves.

– The Girl With Glass Feet by Ali Shaw
I read this a year or so ago, but it was a library copy, and I thought I’d quite like one for myself. You know how it is.

– The Child That Books Built by Francis Spufford
I’ve been considering getting this one for a while, since it sounds exactly the sort of thing a bibliophile would enjoy, and at £1 I felt I could take a gamble.

Most excitingly, I spotted Potterism by Rose Macaulay. To be honest, I still can’t remember whether or not I have a copy (LibraryThing says no) BUT when I flicked it open…


Eeek! And for only £1! Having checked it against examples of her autograph online, I am confident that it is bona fide Macaulay – and am utterly delighted.

After all this excitement, we then popped to a nice little cafe, where Sakura kindly bought me a cup of tea, and we ooohed and aaaahed over each other’s purchases.

But this is not all! I have been hungrily around Oxford’s bookshops; I have bought one or two things online – here are my other finds.


– Diary of a Provincial Lady by E.M. Delafield
Yes, of course I already have this – but my 4-in-1 copy is falling apart, and I’ve been looking to replace it.

– Mr. Norris Changes Trains by Christopher Isherwood
This novel has been on the edge of my book-consciousness for a while, but I can’t remember why. Did one of you mention it? A beautiful Folio edition (sans boxy-thing – it’s the yellow patterned book) swung the deal. But illustrations by Beryl Cook… can’t say I’m excited about those.

– Leonard Woolf by Victoria Glendinning
Oh, the times I walked past this in the £2 bookshop last year! Praise be that it was still there in 2011…

– Letter from New York by Helene Hanff
I didn’t realise the author of 84, Charing Cross Road had done much more, so was pleased to spot this collection of articles.

– The Demon Lover and other stories by Elizabeth Bowen
I bought this in Langport, Somerset in the sweetest, and most bizarre, bookshop I’ve seen in ages. Dozens of pieces of furniture placed at random… not many books, but this collection of stories might help me find my way back to Bowen, after not enjoying The Last September. 2010 was the year of giving authors another go; something I should continue this year – since it was so rewarding.

– The Bondmaid by Pearl S. Buck
Since I loved The Good Earth last year, this leapt into my hands. I daresay Buck will follow the Sharp-Morgan path, of arriving on my bookshelf and never making it to being read, but… maybe one of you can give it a shove in the right direction?

– Daphne by Justine Picardie
Everyone else was reading this a few years ago… now I might join ’em.

– England, Their England by A.G. MacDonell
This was recommended to me by Tim, my colleague, and the first page was very funny. I’m not sure what led Tim to recommend it, since I don’t think we’ve talked much about books we like, but… I’m quietly hopeful.

Not pictured is The Public Image by Muriel Spark, which I bought in Somerset and left there. And lovely Deanna, who reads this blog, says another Spark is winging its way from her… I will thank her suitably profusely when it arrives!

Phew! There you go. For those who didn’t read my blog before 2010, this is more or less standard Stuck-in-a-Book behaviour…

And as always, I’d love to know your thoughts on them: have you read any? Which should fight its way to the top of the tbr pile first? Just how exciting is that Rose Macaulay signature?!

Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close

StuckinaBook All , 14 Comments

My housemate Mel (who also edits fab flash fiction blog The Pygmy Giant) was telling me about the book she’d just finished, and was so enthusiastic about it that I told her to put her money where her mouth was. Well, I expect I said something more sensible and less slangy. Either way, she speedily wrote this brilliant review… enjoy and, if you’re like me, be severely tempted…

Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close

Yesterday I finished what I think might possibly be the best book I’ve ever read. It’s probably not, but the fact that I am sitting here trying to get over it makes me think it’s a real contender.

I was introduced to Jonathan Safran Foer perhaps a year ago when my old housemate Liz leant me his first novel, Everything is Illuminated. I’d heard about that book a lot, but always thought it sounded like some pretentious intellectual tome that I’d never want to wade through. It was not. The strange-sounding title comes from the narrator’s technique of trying to write well in English by using a thesaurus far too liberally. It was funny, weird, tragic, original and totally brilliant. I recommend that one too…

So I bought Extremely Loud & Incredibly Close on the back of that good experience. The title is again inspired by the narrator’s distinctive way of describing things. It again features the stories of multiple generations of a family, and again much of the narration is done through letters.

If I had to tell you what it’s about, I’d say it’s about missing people. It’s about loss, and how loss can disrupt your entire life. It’s about the personal consequences of war. It’s about regret, and the things you just can’t talk about. It’s about things being simple, yes and no, and things being complicated.

In summary, Oskar is a smart, nine year-old nerd. He loved his dad above all else. His dad was killed in the twin towers on September 11. A year later, going through his dad’s things, he discovers a mysterious key in an envelope, and makes it his mission (his ‘raison d’etre’ – he’s learning French) to find out what it unlocks. He travels all across New York meeting everybody in the phone book with the surname Black. They can’t help but love him – he’s unintentionally funny, curious, and straightforward. The humour comes from Oskar’s telling of the story, but it’s also crushingly sad.

At the same time, we gradually learn the story of Oskar’s grandfather, who left his grandmother before his dad was born, through a series of letters written to the son he never met. What is completely brilliant about this is that Grandpa can’t talk, so communicates by writing in notebooks. His letters are interspersed with photos of doorknobs (you’ll find out why) and pages that he has written messages on to other people. This is so cleverly done, it means that everything is gradually (as the author would say) illuminated. The fact that he has YES and NO tattooed on his hands becomes symbolically significant too. I love the way all his words, all his days are recorded in books, on the backs of envelopes, on napkins or on his own arms – what these pieces of paper are used for, where his words get stuffed, what washes off, is fabulous. e.g.:

Later that year, when snow started to cover the front steps, when morning became evening as I sat on the sofa, buried under everything I’d lost, I made a fire and used my laughter for kindling: “Ha ha ha!” “Ha ha ha!” “Ha ha ha!” “Ha ha ha!”
In fact, all the parts written by Oskar’s grandfather are a wonderful stream of poetry.

Thirdly, we find Oskar’s beloved grandma writing him a letter/typing out her life story, explaining things that were never said, and perhaps giving us a more reliable version of events than her husband’s. Oskar’s grandparents witnessed the bombing of Dresden, and basically lost their lives there. They meet again in New York, Grandpa tells us, like this:
… the place was half empty but she slid right up to me, “You’ve lost everything,” she said, as if we were sharing a secret, “I can see.”
The three narrators are excellently drawn, each with their own writing style and their own way of expressing their story. And the writing is just beautiful. I cried at a letter from Stephen Hawking; I did not predict that. If you’ve never lost somebody vital, I don’t know how you will react to this story, but I think it will probably still break your heart.

I don’t want to put in too many spoilers, but to tell you what I love about this book, I think I just need to quote some astonishing lines that express so well some of the experiences of grief.

“You never write to me.” “But I’m with you.” “So?” … It’s the tragedy of loving, you can’t love anything more than something you miss.

When I no longer had to be strong in front of you, I became very weak. I brought myself to the ground, which was where I belonged. I hit the floor with my fists. I wanted to break my hands, but when it hurt too much, I stopped. I was too selfish to break my hands for my only child.

“I lost a son.” “You did? How did he die?” “I lost him before he died.” “How?” “I went away.” “Why?” He wrote, “I was afraid.” “Afraid of what?” “Afraid of losing him.” “Were you afraid of him dying?” “I was afraid of him living.” “Why?” He wrote, “Life is scarier than death.”
Warning – this is from near the end:
“I wish I hadn’t found it.” “It wasn’t what you were looking for?” “That’s not it.” “Then what?” “I found it and now I can’t look for it.” I could tell he didn’t understand me. “Looking for it let me stay close to him for a little while longer.” “But won’t you always be close to him?” I knew the truth. “No.”
So this all sounds depressing, but there is so much humour and humanity in here that it’s a million miles from being a dirge. There are also nice little mysteries and clues and unexplained things that all come together later on in the book.

In summary: Oh My Goodness. In my boundless enthusiasm about this book, I feel like I’ve turned into Oskar. It’s extremely original and incredibly sad. You’ll laugh, you’ll cry, you’ll be astonished.

Personal Pleasures

StuckinaBook All , 7 Comments

I’m currently, and slowly, reading Personal Pleasures by Rose Macaulay, one of the books I bought under Project 24. It’s a collection of paeans to the m
any and various delights Macaulay encounters in life – from believing to disbelieving, from doves in the chimney to improving the dictionary. It’s a hodge-podge, or perhaps a hotch-potch, and certainly good fun. It does feel a little over-written compared to Macaulay’s novels, with elaborate expressions and fanciful imagery. You can imagine Philip Sidney penning it, whilst not musing on Astrophel and Stella. Having said that, Macaulay delights in pulling the rug from under your feet, and each section has a little turning-point where she considers the flip-side.

This isn’t really a review of the book – that would be foolish, since I’m not even halfway yet – but I thought I’d treat you to one of the sections which tickled me. AND this prepares you for some Macaulay news coming later in the week…

‘Departure of Visitors’

An exquisite peace obtains: a drowsy, golden peace, flowing honey-sweet over my dwelling, soaking it, dripping like music from the walls, strowing the floors, like trodden herbs. A peace for gods, a divine emptiness.

Fair Quiet, have I found thee here,
And Innocence, thy Sister dear!
Mistaken long, I sought you then
In busy Companies of Men. . . .
Society is all but rude
To this delicious Solitude.

The easy chair spreads wide arms of welcome; the sofa stretches, guest-free; the books of gleam, brown and golden, buff and blue and maroon, from their shelves; they may strew the floor, the hairs, the couch, once more, lying ready to the hand. “I am afraid the room is rather littered….” The echo of the foolish words lingers on the air, is brushed away, dies forgotten, the air closes behind it. A heavy volume is heaved from its shelf on to the sofa. Silence drops like falling blossoms over the recovered kingdom from which pretenders have taken their leave.

What to do with all this luscious peace? It is a gift, a miracle, a golden jewel, a fragment of some gracious heavenly order, dropped to earth like some incredible strayed star. One’s life to oneself again. Dear visitors, what largesse have you given, not only in departing, but in coming, that we might learn to prize your absence, wallow the more exquisitely in the leisure of your not-being.

To-night we shall sleep deep. We need no more hope that you “have everything you want”; we know that you have, for you are safely home, and can get it from your kitchen if you haven’t. We send you blessing and God speed, and sink into our idle peace as into floods of down.

But you have unfortunately left behind you, besides peace, a fountain pen, a toothbrush, and a bottle of eye lotion with eye bath.

At Laski

StuckinaBook All , 14 Comments


If you’re familiar with Stuck-in-a-Book and my reading habits, you’ll know that it usually takes a while for books to work their way up the tbr pile. Understanding friends are very kind, and don’t complain, but Hayley (also known as Desperate Reader) will be pleased to finally read my thoughts on the book she very generously bestowed upon me: Love on the Supertax by Marghanita Laski. Truth be told, it might have been a loan originally, but Hayley sweetly said I could keep it. Crime does pay, it turns out.

Marghanita Laski is a name a lot of us know, and a lot more people encountered her through Persephone Books, who publish her novels The Village, Little Boy Lost, To Bed With Grand Music, and The Victorian Chaise-Longue. I’ve read the second and fourth of those, and haven’t quite been able to put my finger on what it is that defines Laski – those novels had little in common, and Love on the Supertax throws another tone into the mix, leaving me very satisfied, but rather confused.

Love on the Supertax (1944) is Laski’s first novel, and is a very amusing romp through the battle of the classes, and the eternal question of whether romance can flourish between people of different classes. This has been a theme in the English novel from Richardson’s Pamela onwards. But I don’t recall it being done in the way Laski does… in that Clarissa is desperate to leave her privileged background and become part of the socialist working-class. Yes, you’re thinking, we’ve been here before with Lady Chatterley, and still aren’t sure we want our wives and servants reading it. Well, fear not; there is no sense of Clarissa getting a thrill from dabbling below her class – instead, Sid feels he is wandering below his. For it is accepted by all that he would be marrying below himself, if uniting himself with posh Clarissa – not the other way around.

A fairly simple start for a satire, perhaps, but it works so well. The scene where Sid introduces Clarissa to his parents is hilarious – her wafer-thin slices of bread don’t go down well. Here’s another taster, to give you the idea:
“No,” said Sid Baker. “I think you’re a good deal too much influenced by superficial differences, and that you attach too much importance to heredity. Personally, I think environment is far too influential. I’d guarantee that if you took an aristocrat’s child at birth and placed it in a working-class home with all the environmental advantages that would entail, that child at twenty-one would be indistinguishable from me.”I loved Love on the Supertax, and it adds another string to Laski’s complex bow, for it is again so unlike the other Laski novels I’ve read. A quick read, it has charm and wit – and although I daresay it was motivated by a serious point, Laski has the writerly wisdom not to over-emphasise any social critique. Instead, this is a tongue-in-cheek and very amusing novella casting an unusual view on 1940s England. Thanks, Hayley!

Things to get Stuck into:

Economy Must Be Our Watchword – Joyce Dennys: I feel a bit guilty suggesting this, since it is more or less impossible to find, but Dennys’ tale of a selfish and unself-aware (or self-unaware??) woman trying to economise is so, so very hilarious.

Stuck-in-a-Book’s Weekend Miscellany

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Happy weekend folks, hope you’re enjoying 2011 so far! And let’s make a pact, shall we, to say twenty-eleven, rather than two-thousand-and-eleven? Ok? ‘k.

A fair few links and blog posts for today, as they’ve been building up for a while…

1.) I love Mary’s blog Mrs. Miniver’s Daughter, especially this lovely anecdotal post.

2.) John Self, over at Asylum, has written a brilliant and insightful review of Barbara Comyns’ exceptionally good and unusual novel Who Was Changed and Who Was Dead – click here to read it. The new edition I mentioned a while ago from Dorothy, A Publishing Project is now out in the US; a copy is winging its way to me. Check out the Book Depository for free worldwide shipping on it…

3.) …and whilst we’re on the topic, ‘seventydys’ (in the comments on the above review) linked to an interview with Danielle Dutton, who founded Dorothy.

4.) The man behind Caustic Cover Critic has set up Whisky Priest publishing, reprinting some of his favourite out-of-print books using a POD publisher – see more here. He uses his expertise to make some really beautiful covers, although I can’t say I love the colours on the spines – but, lots of intriguing titles.

5.) And finally… the Oxonian Review have written all about my favourite film from last year, Another Year. Rather more high-falutin’ than my own thoughts – and probably rather more well-informed too!

Wikio for January

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The good people of Wikio have sent me January’s list – everyone loves a list, so here you go! I am very intrigued by the blog name above mine… and, as always, nice to know so many of the other people on it (and realise how delightfully daft this all is.)

Wikio.co.uk – January Literature Ranking

1 Charlie’s Diary
2 Crooked Timber
3 Book Chick City
4 Quaerentia
5 The Book Smugglers
6 Stuck In A Book
7 Reading Matters
8 Savidge Reads
9 An Awfully Big Blog Adventure
10 dovegreyreader scribbles
11 My Favourite Books
12 booktwo.org
13 Asylum
14 UrbanTick
15 A Don’s Life – Times Online WBLG
16 Pepys’ Diary
17 Cornflower
18 Just William’s Luck
19 BubbleCow
20 Gaskella

Ranking made by Wikio.co.uk

Age Cannot Wither Her

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Whilst we’re talking about unusual narrative structures (as we were with Sarah Waters the other day) some months ago I read Remember Remember by Hazel McHaffie, which she very kindly sent to me as a review copy. I find Alzheimer’s sad, terrifying, and fascinating all at the same time, partly from experience within my own family, and I am drawn to writers who can portray dementia well. Or, indeed, any sort of illness or mental state which requires the author to give a wandering narrative voice.

McHaffie’s novel is split into halves. The first is devoted to Jessica and her attempts to grapple with her mother’s (Doris) dementia. Doris is becoming a danger to herself, and Jessica makes the difficult decision to find a residential home for her. Whilst sorting through Doris’ possessions, she makes unnerving discoveries about her mother’s and her own past. Thrown in amongst this intrigue are the everyday stuff of difficult children, unhelpful siblings, and a love interest in the form of Aaron the lawyer. I did wonder a bit whether Aaron was added at the suggestion of an editor, because he didn’t seem quite to fit with the rest of the novel – does every book need a love interest, really? – but we shan’t squabble over him.

To be perfectly honest, all this felt perfectly serviceable, but perhaps a little uninspiring. Documenting the grief and anguish of caring for a mother with dementia is done well, but other people’s grief can only be documented so many times. And, like love, it is all-consuming when one experiences it oneself, and difficult to find captivating when one is not – with the very honourable exception of Susan Hill’s In the Springtime of the Year.

So I was flicking through, thinking Remember Remember a perfectly good – and perfectly ordinary – novel, when the second half launched itself. Suddenly we move from Jessica’s viewpoint into Doris’:
The board says summer. 29 August. A sun, smiling. I smile.
Yellow. I hate yellow.
“You OK, Doris?” a blue lady says as she stomps past.
Doris? Doris isn’t here. But I know where she is. Hiding. Hiding under the shed in our garden. Hiding from Papa.The reader is swept into Doris’ confused and disorientating perspective on the world – and it is confusing and disorientating. This has been done brilliantly elsewhere – I recommend Eric Melbye’s Tru and Margaret Laurence’s The Stone Angel – but, if not quite at their heights, McHaffie offers a unique twist to the narrative of dementia. Each chapter of Doris’ perspective takes a step back in time. To be honest, I never worked out if the time gaps were sequential or cumulative (i.e. did ‘three years earlier’ mean subtract another three years, or simply three years from the present?) but that doesn’t really matter. What McHaffie cleverly presents is a mind, and thus a prose, that gets gradually more and more coherent – the mirror image of a mind disassembling through dementia.

As with Sarah Waters’ novel, there is much that is revealed through this anti-chronology – and I don’t want to spoil anything for potential readers. What I will say to anybody who does pick up Remember Remember is: persevere. The first half may feel a little ordinary, but I think McHaffie was just readying herself for the second half. That’s when things get interesting – in terms of structure, narrative events, and especially narrative voice.

Thanks for sending me your novel, Hazel – and I’m pleased I finally remembered to write about it! And, because I forgot to mention it earlier, a big gold star to Tom Bee, who provided the design and image for the beautiful cover. Give yourself a pat on the back.

1000!

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I’ve been scheduling posts to appear at various times, and have a few drafts waiting, but I hope and I think I’m right in saying… this is my 1000th post!

When I started my blog, back in April 2007, I thought it would be good fun and I’d have a dozen or so readers. I never dreamt that I’d be offered review copies of books, or get to meet so many wonderful bloggers in person, or even that I’d still be bothering with it in a year’s time. Here we are, over three and a half years later.

I’d love to give you all sorts of stats about number of comments, or word count, or whatever – but I don’t think I’ve any way of doing that. I can tell you there are about 290 book reviews up – see the lot here – and far more lovely readers than I’d ever imagined.

I’ll use this celebratory post to announce the winner of Debo Devonshire’s Wait For Me! which is going to… Mistress Cynica! Do send me your address, and I’ll get the book off to you…

Waters run backwards

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The final book I read in 2010 – deftly added to the list I posted a couple of days ago – was Sarah Waters’ The Night Watch. This is my third Waters novel, and this year was the year of Third Time Lucky (c.f.: Evelyn Waugh; Muriel Sparks) – but not, as it happened, with Waters. That sounds like one of my shortest reviews, doesn’t it? Sorry, folks, but I’m not stopping there… After quite liking Affinity back in 2003 or 2004, I loved The Little Stranger this summer – and if it hadn’t been for that frustrating ending, it would have been one of my favourite reads this year. But I had caught the Waters bug, and my post-Christmas read was The Night Watch, only approx. four years after everyone else.

For those who haven’t read this already, I’ll give you a quick overview. The unusual angle of The Night Watch is that it is told backwards. Events kick off in 1947, and work their way backwards to 1941, stopping off in 1944. That’s not as many stepping stones as I expected, when I read various reviews of this novel in 2006, when it was published, and it does rather put the novel between two stools. On the one hand, there are all sorts of clues laid down regarding past events (further on in the narrative); on the other hand, since there are only three sections – and the final one is very short – it feels a bit like Waters didn’t let herself experiment quite enough. Al this leads me, if you’re not careful, to start talking about sjuzhet and fabula, or histoire and recit, if we’re getting all theoretical. Apologies if this is known already, but quick crash course in a bit Russian Formalism: ‘fabula’ is the chronological series of events; ‘sjuzhet’ is the way this is arranged in a narrative. So Waters has her sjuzhet all in a twist.

Which all means that Waters could be a little self-conscious when she writes this:
“I go to the cinema,” said Kay; “there’s nothing funny about that. Sometimes I sit through the films twice over. Sometimes I go in half-way through, and watch the second half first. I almost prefer them that way – people’s pasts, you know, being so much more interesting than their futures. Or perhaps that’s just me…”But, as usual, I’m getting ahead of myself.

There are plenty of characters, and plenty of things going on, in The Night Watch. Sarah Waters being Sarah Waters, quite a lot of the novel is about being a lesbian in wartime (I loved the if-you’re-in-the-know reference to ‘Quaint Irene’ from Mapp and Lucia as the name of a boat) – and four of the central characters are lesbians, who seem to all be in love with each other at various stages of the novel. Well, one of them – Mickey – appears to be immune to the charms of Helen, Julia, and Kay, but they are all embroiled with one another. To be honest, I didn’t find any of the female characters particularly well delineated – throw in Viv, Helen’s colleague at a sort of post-war dating agency, and they all rather blurred into one. Even Julia’s novelistic career didn’t help me remember which one was which until we were a hundred or so pages in.

Not so the men. Viv’s brother Duncan is doing a menial job in a factory, and has a surprise reunion with Robert Fraser. Duncan’s naive, bulky uncertainty and Robert’s confident charm are done very well – but the reader has no idea what sort of reunion is taking place. Were they colleagues, comrades-in-arms, or romantically involved? I couldn’t possibly tell you, of course…

I’m being a bit critical, so I shall redress the balance – Waters’ structure is often done very well. The careful laying of clues, and all manner of mysterious events, lead to plenty of gasp-moments in the second half. Obviously I shan’t reveal these, but the secret passing of a ring; curious Uncle Horace; and whispers of infidelity are all clues to watch out for… and lead to satisfying ‘oh, right’ moments later.

But as with The Little Stranger, which was almost all compelling reading but had a dud 100 pages, The Night Watch is longer than it needs to be, and drags occasionally. At her best, Waters can tear a story along – but at her worst, it feels rather self-indulgent and unedited.

And then… I feel a bit mean, quoting this bit, as it’s the worst offender – but:
“What’s the matter? Aren’t you happy?”

“Happy?” Viv blinked. “I don’t know. Is anybody happy? Really happy, I mean? People pretend they are.”

“I don’t know either,” said Helen, after a moment. “Happiness is such a fragile sort of thing these days. It’s as though there’s only so much to go round.”Do people talk like this? Did people ever talk like this – except in novels? It’s the sort of thing 1930s plays are scattered with, but I doubt it ever spilled over into read life…

But I’m only picking all these holes because I’m trying to work out why The Night Watch got shortlisted for all sorts of awards. There is so much to like in Waters’ novel, and it was definitely compelling reading much of the time. Writing the narrative backwards is a good idea executed without pretension, but also perhaps without reaching its potential. But somehow, for me, Waters missed the mark. The Little Stranger was very nearly a brilliant novel. The Night Watch was very nearly a very good novel. I’ve not read all of Waters’ novels, but… is she destined to always fall short from her potential? Or am I a lone voice in the wilderness? Fans of Waters – convince me!