Project 24: The Agony and… no, just the agony, really…

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Project 24 is starting to get difficult… I’m already halfway through April on my allowance (if you count the book which is winging its way to me at the moment, to be revealed when it arrives) and, though there aren’t many specific titles I’ve had to avoid, I just miss book shopping…

But today was the first time that I stood in front of a book, something of a battle of wits, forcing myself not to buy it. The book in question is The Spy in the Bookshop: Letters Between Heywood Hill and John Saumarez Smith 1966-1974. It was in the £2 bookshop in Oxford which I walk past everyday. I really enjoyed the letters of Heywood Hill and Nancy Mitford, The Bookshop at 10, Curzon Street, and would love to have the follow-up… but I’m not excited enough about it to make it one of 24. But it’s only £2. But… but… but… this is so difficult!

I need to start planning what I’m going to do in January 2011… I’m thinking trip to Hay-on-Wye, trip to the Bookbarn, rather large splurge on my Amazon basket…

Tell me – if you’re joining in, which books have made Project 24 (or whatever number you’ve chosen) especially difficult?

Can Any Mother Help Me?

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I don’t remember where I first heard of Jenna Bailey’s book Can Any Mother Help Me? but it has been across the blogosphere like wildfire over the past year or so. Ironically, a few people bought it because of a mention or two here at Stuck-in-a-Book in the past – because I got my copy in mid 2008. It was one of those titles I just *needed* to own immediately, had to read immediately… and then, of course, it somehow languished on my bookshelves for the best part of two years. But no longer!

Can Any Mother Help Me? tells the story of the Cooperative Correspondence Club – known to its members as CCC – which began in 1935 when a young woman wrote to Nursery World:

Can any mother help me? I live a very lonely life as I have no near neighbours. I cannot afford to buy a wireless. I adore reading, but with no library am very limited with books. I dislike needlework, though I have a lot to do! I get so down and depressed after the children are in bed and I’m alone in the house. I sew, read and write stories galore, but in spite of good resolutions, and the engaging company of cat and dog, I do brood, and “dig the dead.” I have had a rotten time, and been cruelly hurt, both physically and mentally, but I know it is bad to brood and breed hard thoughts and resentment. Can any reader suggest an occupation that will intrigue me and exclude “thinking” and cost nothing!

The solution was to set up a collective magazine (of which there were apparently over two hundred that are known about) to which women would contribute, under pseudonyms ranging from ‘Sirod’ (Doris backwards) to ‘Cotton Goods’ (for the proudly working-class) to ‘Elektra’ and ‘A Priori’. The members came and went, but over half a century these women sent around their contributions on all manner of topics, but mostly simply about their own lives. Ad Astra organised it all, and sent them out in the beautiful homemade covers shown in a picture below.

The book is essentially a selection of articles from different magazines, with editorial material provided by Bailey. She has grouped the articles thematically: issues of raising children (members had to be mothers – the issue was raised of allowing non-mothers to join, but it was decided against); the war; everyday life; marriage; working; hard times; growing old. There are quite a few ‘voices’ in the book, and only a few become really familiar, but it’s certainly an interesting sample and cross-section of a fascinating project.

I loved the idea of the CCC, and did enjoy reading the book, but somehow it didn’t *quite* match up to what I was expecting. Or rather, what I was hoping – because I didn’t know how I expected Bailey to arrange the material. She could only really pick and choose certain pieces, it would be impossible to give the feeling of belonging to the group – instead, I felt a little like an eavesdropper. Also, once all the articles were typed up, with marginalia noted in neat little font, the feel of the magazine was lost. I’d have loved a facsimile edition of one or two copies of the magazine – so that all the original handwriting and margin notes and crossings-out would have been reproduced. But perhaps that wouldn’t be possible, or too expensive, or even illegible.
When Claire reviewed the book, she pondered over blogging as a modern equivalent of the CCC. In a way it is, but much closer (in my experience) is the Yahoo Group I’m in. Are other people in these sorts of email groups, where people send out emails to a whole group, and correspond that way? They’re not as popular as they once were, but the one I’ve been in since January 2004 (a quarter of my life!) is incredibly dear to me. The experiences of the CCC sounded very familiar – the cautious and slightly nervous initial face-to-face meetings, which become regular and joyous occasions; the feeling that you can share close, personal events with people you’ve never had the opportunity to meet; the joy of kindred spirits. Who knows whether we’ll still be going in fifty years’ time (with some record-breaking-aged people, if we do) but I know that it has been, and will continue to be, a very special part of my life.

If Bailey’s book couldn’t quite convey this sense of intimacy and special-ness, that’s only to be expected, because the reader must remain an intrigued outsider to the group. At the same time, it is the only way that we can now remember such wonderful groups and I applaud Bailey (and the Mass Observation project which held the material, and also gave rise to significant books like Nella Last’s War) for immortalising the CCC and making their venture accessible to many.

Oh, and for anybody reading this in Oxford… the £2 bookshop has a number of copies…

Signed Solar!

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It’s an embarrassment of riches around the blogosphere at the moment, with at least one other blog I’ve spotted running this competition – for a signed copy of Ian McEwan’s latest offering, Solar. Thank you, Random House, for offering this!

Also, there are Solar T-shirts to be won – so mention in the comments if you’d fancy one of these, otherwise I’ll assume you’re just in the draw for the book.

And, because just saying ‘me please!’ isn’t all that entertaining for you, I’d like to know which Ian McEwan novel is your favourite, or (if you’ve not read any or many) which you fancy reading. Other than Solar, that is…

For me – it’s a toss up between Atonement and Black Dogs. I’m going to go with Black Dogs. And the one I want to read next? The Child in Time, I think.

No.6

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Project 24 – #6


Drastically scaling back the number of books I’m allowed to buy in 2010 has meant that the ones I choose are likely to come (and have come so far) in three categories:

They’re out of print books which rarely become available, and the opportunity is too good to missI’ve physically been to a great secondhand bookshop and don’t want to come away empty-handed…They’re books I’ve been wanting to buy for years, but couldn’t really afford.
My sixth book of 2010 falls in category 3 – The Heirs of Jane Austen: Twentieth-Century Writers of the Comedy of Manners by Rachel R. Mather. This book could have been written with me in mind – it looks at EF Benson, EM Delafield, and Angela Thirkell as (unsurprisingly) the heirs of Jane Austen – two of my absolute favourite authors (EMD and JA), and two I like a lot (EFB and AT) all in the same book together? Wonderful. I have actually read this already, a few years ago – lent by a kind Thirkellite – but knew at some point I’d have to have a copy myself. So, there you are – no.6 has been chosen. (Sorry that I could only find a tiny picture of the book – the cover is too shiny to take a good one with my camera, under electric light.)

Which would take me to the end of March. Except, ahem, another is on its way… and I’m going to Paris at the end of March, and will be visiting the Shakespeare & Co. bookshop. Let’s hope April is a lean month…

Stuck-in-a-Book’s Weekend Miscellany

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I’m so pleased that a lot of you enjoyed the review the other day – I’ll keep my eye out for similar things in the future, so watch this space…

And it’s the weekend again, so time for a book, a blog post, and a link.

1.) The book – is one for those with deep pockets. It’s no secret that I love EF Benson’s Mapp and Lucia series, and have quite a few of his books which I’ve yet to read – but what enhances my love for these wonderful six books is (as you’ll see if you follow that link back there) the beautiful Folio edition I have of them. My friend Barbara-in-Ludlow originally lent me her set, and I hankered after them for years… eventually finding the set for only £25 in Blackwell’s Second Hand Department – possibly the only recorded instance of there being a good value book there. It was indeed a frabjous day, and I’m pleased to report that the Folio Society have reprinted this boxset – which you can see here. The colours have changed a bit, but it still looks wonderful. Thanks so much Helen for bringing this to my attention. Here’s the downside… it will set you back £120. Less if you’re a Folio Society member, perhaps, but… well, I was lucky enough to find them at a reasonable price, but they’re scarce enough and give me more pleasure than almost any other books I have. (I should be working on commission!)

2.) The blog post – is a review by Elaine at Random Jottings. This fits in nicely with the previous post, since Elaine has just read The War Workers by E M Delafield. This was one of my favourite books read in 2008, but I didn’t write about it on my blog because it was so difficult to find copies. Now that a POD company is issuing it, it seems fair to point you in its direction! First stop, Elaine’s wonderful review.

3.) The link – is not remotely reverent. But is very funny. Anybody familiar with Bonnie Tyler’s Total Eclipse of the Heart (or, indeed, anybody who isn’t) will love this literal interpretation of her music video…

E M Delafield

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I was thinking – it only seems fair that I should share with you some of the fruits of my research, which means that you get the fun bits without having to write huge swathes and have your supervisor ask you to re-write them. Basically, you’re getting the fun bit of my doctoral work, without even having to pay university fees.

Don’t worry, I shan’t quote reams of literary criticism or anything like that, but part of my recent work has been looking through old periodicals for reviews of the Provincial Lady books. And I thought you might quite enjoy the review Time and Tide gave to my favourite of the series, The Provincial Lady Goes Further. A bit nepotistic, since PLGF was serialised in Time and Tide, but never mind…

Alongside this review is a picture I came across by accident in another issue of Time and Tide – not sure how flattered EMD would have been by this likeness, but thought I’d share it with you nonetheless.

Let me know if this sort of thing interests you, and I’ll pop some more contemporary reviews in as and when I find them.

Time and Tide, November 12th 1932
Review by Francis Iles
‘Miss Delafield’s last book about her Provincial Lady was the Book Society’s first choice for December, 1930; the present one, though obviously a better book, is not even on their recommended list. As so often before in connection with the Book Society, one wonders and one wonders. Oh, ruddier than the Ike… [Simon’s note: this is a reference to Red Ike, one of the Book Society choices]
Miss Delafield has always seemed to me a writer who has not received quite her due. I have seen it written, and by a responsible critic, that when one has read one of her books one has read them all. The only explanation of such a remark is that the responsible critic himself has not read them all; for, with the exception of the impishly experimental Mr. C. S. Forrester, I know of no other author who has ever produced four consecutive books more different in every respect than A Reversion to Type, Messalina of the Suburbs, Mrs. Harter, and The Chip and the Block.
For the sly humour that arises out of a maliciously penetrating observation of character, with never a word of superfluous explanation or a jog of the reader’s elbow, and still more for economical, mordant delineation of feminine character through dialogue (her men are not always so successful) Miss Delafield has no equal. Her technique is as brilliant as it is self-effacing. She can pack more self-revelation into a couple of ordinary spoken sentences, than any other novelist. I always remember a certain Vicar’s Wife in one of her books, who appears only once and who speaks only five words, but from those five words we at once know everything there is to be known about her; we know what her husband thought about her and what her cook, we know exactly how she would have decorated the parish hall for a Penny Reading, and why she could never cook an omelette. She is watching a set of very inferior country tennis, and one of the players has just muffed a shot; the Vicar’s Wife turns to her neighbour and says brightly: “Just like Wimbledon , isn’t it?” Miss Delafield, in fact, lacks only a rather stronger sense of construction and plot to be one of the most important novelists writing today; for her more serious work, though less intensely individual, will stand comparison with any other writer’s, while in her own particular line of satirical humour she is unsurpassed.
The Provincial Lady Goes Further is, of course, Miss Delafield at her very lightest, and it is one of the wittiest books that has appeared for years. I read it at a sitting; and, though perhaps it would have been better taken in 100-page doses, the book stood it, which its predecessor did not. It is a better book than The Diary of a Provincial Lady because the interest is more diversified. The scene shifts more rapidly, between the country and London and even to a Literary Congress in Belgium , with the result that we meet a better-contrasted set of people. Moreover the Provincial Lady herself is shown as less of a figure of fun than in the earlier book, so that we really can believe that she has written the important novel which has opened the doors of Bloomsbury to her, with such admirable results for the reader. The whole thing is a little masterpiece of sly fun, which one will want to buy and keep because it will bear endless re-reading.’

Alice

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So, tonight I went to see Alice in Wonderland. I’ve just about come to terms with calling it that when I’m talking about the film, as I suppose it’s the proper title, but when we’re discussing the book, make sure you say Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, ok? Right. Glad we’ve cleared that up.

Tim Burton – who is the only director who could possibly do Alice – sets his version of the book when Alice is 19, paying a return visit to Wonderland. So all the same characters are there (from Through the Looking Glass and What Alice Found There as well) but he can throw in a Hollywoody Quest Plot where Alice has to slay the Jabberwocky. In a nice touch, they refer to this foretold event as The Frabjous Day.

Burton never seems to quite decide whether he’s adapting the book or creating a sequel – everything is new to Alice, who has forgotten most of what happened (Tweedledee – or is it Tweedledum? – voiced my thoughts at one point when he said “Surely she should remember all this from the first time?) but that’s a small matter when it comes to his realisation of Wonderland, which is rather wonderful. Very Tim Burton. Even better than the setting are the characters – Helena Bonham Carter is, visually and character-wise, perfect as the Red Queen; Johnny Depp is delightfully mad as the Mad Hatter; Stephen Fry was born to be a Chesire Cat. And so it goes on – some great decisions with make-up and special effects make the characters dazzling. The only dubious member of the cast was Mia Wasikowska as Alice, who wasn’t brilliant… but once she got to Wonderland she didn’t have much to do but look surprised and/or determined, and she managed that with aplomb.

My real problems with the film were mostly about the plot – I know that Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland doesn’t have a very linear plot, but it does have a brilliant rhythm and warped internal logic, which could perhaps have been carried across to the film. Instead, the plot led to the inevitable battle scene… why do all big budget films have to have a battle scene now? I blame Lord of the Rings… they’re always so long and dull and nothing happens except we see just how much money they had to throw at CGI axes.

Also – perhaps I should have expected this with Tim Burton – the film was rather more sinister than the book. I’m mostly thinking about the hedgehogs… (what a sentence to write!) who enjoyed being croquet balls in the book, but were terrified in the film. Everyone seems contentedly mad in the book, and rather more scared in the film – but I don’t think Burton will ever make a cheery film.

Still, worth seeing – doesn’t match up to the book, but it is one of my favourites so that comes as no surprise – and I got all excited about it being in 3D (you just know in five years time that our 3D film technology is going to look wildly dated). Let me know if you’re going to see it, and what you think… (and make sure you read the books)

My previous experience with getting videos across from YouTube haven’t always been successful, but hopefully above this post is the 1903 version of Alice which I’ve seen linked to in a few places… look out for some wonderful ‘surprise-acting’ and quite impressive effects for over a hundred years ago.

David Golder

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As I mentioned yesterday, amongst the hmphing, the trip to London gave me the opportunity to read Irene Nemirovsky’s David Golder (1930), her second novel and the one which propelled her to fame in France. More importantly, given that I had about two hours of travel in which to read it, it’s fairly short. Which is always a plus here at Stuck-in-a-Book. I read Suite Francaise (along with most of the country, it seems) about 18 months ago for my book group, and wrote about it here. About the only things that David Golder has in common with that novel are a) the influence of Nemirovsky’s Jewish heritage, and b) her great writing.

As Patrick Marnham points out in his introduction, David Golder is actually vulnerable to accusations of anti-Semitism – at least it would be if it were published now, in its use of something of a stereotypical central figure. David Golder is ‘an enormous man in his late sixties’, obsessed with accruing money. His ruthless lust for money – which drives a former business partner to suicide in the opening pages of the novel – make uncomfortable reading when one bears in mind the sort of anti-Semitic propaganda was shortly to be used. Since Nemirovsky was herself Jewish, it is less awkward – although (again, as the introduction points out), she was keenly pro-assimilation and considered herself French at least as much as she considered herself Jewish.

But Nemirovsky is cleverer than any initial conclusions about David Golder suggest, of course. We soon learn that Golder is in fact the least mercenary of his family once his wife Gloria and grown-up daughter Joyce are introduced. In one of Nemirovsky’s brilliant little passages, Golder ‘pictured his own wife quickly hiding her chequebook whenever he came into the room, as if it were a packet of love letters.’ Both Gloria and Joyce are forever asking Golder for money, buying expensive jewellery, and all the while declaring that he does nothing for them. And, it appears, even believing it. Gloria happily spends 800,000 francs on a necklace, but begrudges the money he gives his daughter; who, in turn, throws a tantrum when he won’t buy her a car.

David Golder sees the protagonist facing several crises. His businesses aren’t doing well; he realises the disrespect and lack of love his wife and daughter show him; he has a heart attack. All of these are devastating to him, and come to a head when he discovers that he has not much time to live – the novel then follows his final months (as he sees them). Will he forgive his family and try and build a life with them? Will he exact revenge upon them and leave them penniless? Will other avenues open up, other priorities?

Nemirovsky’s portrait is – belying the opening feeling I had – subtle and even wise. She has no heavy-handed point to make, but rather a fascinating individual to delineate. Golder and his family feel real, and his actions feel like real actions, motivated by his realisations and emotions rather than plot direction or authorial intervention. In short, David Golder is a very good piece of writing, and encouragement to me to read more widely in Nemirovsky’s work. Perhaps Suite Francaise did so well because of the true story attached to it – Nemirvosky’s death in Auschwitz and the subsequent discovery of the manuscript over fifty years later. But as Nemirovsky’s daughter Denise, and translator Sandra Smith, stressed at the talk I (almost) attended – we can decide to view Irene Nemirovsky either as a victim or a writer. They – quite rightly, and strongly – believe she should be seen as a writer.

Hmph

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I am very annoyed with myself. Today I should have been reporting back on Jewish Book Week for the second time, and specifically a talk entitled Celebrating Irene Nemirovsky. Except… for some reason, I was certain that the talk started at 7.30pm. Just managed to get onto the Tube at about 7.10pm, gave the ticket a quick check… and discovered that it started at 6.30pm. Amusingly, I’d written 7pm in my diary. I’ve probably scribbled down 2.15pm somewhere else, and midnight-under-a-full-moon somewhere else again.

So. Four hour round trip for ten minutes of a talk – which was probably brilliant, I’m afraid I have no idea. It was nice to hear Irene Nemirovsky’s daughter Denise speak (albeit briefly, and in French, ably translated by Sandra Smith who also translates Nemirovsky’s work) and the journey there gave me the opportunity to read Nemirovsky’s David Golder, so I’ll blog about that before too long.

Very frustrated with myself – but, even though I didn’t hear him talk about it, Oliver Phillipponnat was there in his capacity as Nemirovsky’s biographer (with Patrick Lienhart) and I think The Life of Irene Nemirovsky is another to go onto the list…

As well, of course, as a better organisational mind. Tsk.