Insights


I did enjoy all your thoughts about Ishiguro, thank you for sharing them – nice to see a wide sprectrum of opinion, too. It would be very dull (and there would have been no point in the book group meeting) if we all agreed!

A much briefer post today, about a book I’ve only flicked through, but which looks rather wonderful. I bought it at the National Portrait Gallery a while ago, it’s called, as you can see above, Insights: The Bloomsbury Group by Frances Spalding.


Basically, it’s the Bloomsbury Group in paintings, with biographical details, especially those relating to artistry. Not to be confused with The Bloomsbury Group reprints by Bloomsbury, this is Virginia Woolf et al. In fact, this resource is so wonderful that I’m going to list the ‘et al.’ – Desmond MacCarthy; Leonard Woolf; Vanessa and Clive Bell; Duncan Grant; Roger Fry; Lytton Strachy; Dora Carrington; Lady Ottoline Morrell; John Maynard Keynes; E.M. Forster; Frances Partridge; Gerald Brenan; David Garnett; Philippa and Marjorie Strachey; Margery Fry; Bertrand Russell.

For each there are two or three pages – one being a painting, then the others a mixture of paintings/photographs and biographical detail. As a biography of the Bloomsbury Group it is not exhaustive, but it is certainly unique as a resource. And something really interesting, beautiful, and quick to browse through – giving a real feel for the group and their interaction with art.


A great ‘coffee table book’, or gift – which is said a lot, especially around Christmas, but I do think this is a brilliant little book for anyone interested in these people or the period. Fear not, you don’t have to go to the National Portrait Gallery to pick up a copy – it’s available here on Amazon.co.uk and Amazon.com, not to mention The Book Depository, which is cheapest of the lot.

Never Let Me Go… Or Do, If You Feel Like It

Quite a few book reviews coming this week, so long as I can motivate myself to do it… I try and be that little bit more lucid when talking about a book. Which doesn’t always go that well… Speaking of not going well, I’ve had a few recent reads which haven’t quite been up to scratch. Not, ahem, below scratch, but nothing getting me too excited at the moment. Thought I’d share my thoughts on one or two of them nonetheless, mixed in this week with some books I’ve really liked, but somehow not managed to get around to writing about yet. Look out for reviews of two non-fiction titles (gasp!)

First off is a book group choice: Never Let Me Go by Kazuo Ishiguro. I hadn’t read anything by Ishiguro before, though of course was aware of him, and always had him down as someone I’d investigate at some point. When I mentioned that I was reading Never Let Me Go to people, the response was always extreme. But not always to the same side. People assured me that I’d either love the book to the extent that I’d have the cover tattooed across my chest; others told me I’d loathe it so much that I’d send Ishiguro lengthy hate letters, and firebomb his kitchen.

So I was rather surprised when the main effect was… apathy. I was just completely underwhelmed.

For those who don’t know the premise of the book, we open with Kathy H telling us about her life as a carer. She looks after other people in the process of making ‘donations’ – they make up to four of these, then they ‘complete’. It’s never specified what the donations are, but it’s obvious pretty early on that it’s parts of their bodies. After setting the scene there, Kathy reminisces about her school life at Hailsham; the various friends and exploits she had; the school’s emphasis on art creation; the Sales where they bought much-prized tat. And so forth.

In terms of plotting, Ishiguro can be quite subtle. (I don’t want to give away everything in Never Let Me Go, so I’ll try to write about it without revealing central things…) But, once he unveils the ‘secret’ of the book (about two-thirds of the way through) I was left thinking ‘so what?’ So much mystery had been built up, so much supposed suspense, that the answer deflated the book. Like the school children, who discover the secret when we do in the narrative, we have been ‘told and not told’. The information is always there, but in such a way as it doesn’t sink home.

The inclusion of subtle little details can be quite clever – I liked the early emphatic anti-smoking teaching to the kids, and how that later makes sense – but there must be a better way to build up tension than to end paragraphs with ‘But that was nothing compared to what happened at the lake’, or ‘And that was the day that Ruth did what she did’, before going onto something different. I was reminded, I’m sorry to say, of the Goosebumps books. Did anybody read them? A cliffhanger at the end of every chapter, which likely as not would turn out to be nothing.

My biggest disappointment, however, was the writing style. Though I’ve never read Ishiguro before, I always had the idea that he was a great prose stylist. The writing in Never Let Me Go is just so bland. Yes, it’s in the form of a first person narrative from a youngish, not-overly-bright woman, so perhaps it’s appropriate, but it was just so… bland. I know I should support that with quotation, but that’s the problem: it’s all This Happened then That Happened, I Was Happy, I Was Sad. Nothing significant to quote. I don’t know how he’s got this reputation as a great prose writer… I wondered if his other books were better in that respect, but someone told me that they were all quite similarly written.

One other small quibble… I thought the title was rubbish. It refers to a song which Kathy likes to listen to, yes, but it doesn’t evoke the book at all. Gives completely the wrong impression.

Much of the discussion at book group was over the fact that none of the children resist their fate, nor try to escape it. And any criticism of the book was considered to be a nod towards this argument… well, that part didn’t bother me at all. I thought making them passive was a good idea. My problems were with style – and the fact that I finished the book without it really seeming to have begun.

This has been a pretty negative review, but that’s mostly through disappointment. I was hoping to love Ishiguro, and I couldn’t. The idea was interesting, it could have been developed into a great book. Never Let Me Go isn’t dreadful, but it was just so pointless and average. An evening of book group couldn’t persuade me otherwise, but if anyone *does* want to be counsel for the defence?

One final point… doesn’t the cover remind you of one of the covers for Helen Garner’s The Spare Room?

Stuck-in-a-Book’s Weekend Miscellany

It’s that time again – c’est le weekend! And so, of course, I have a book, a blog post, and a link for your delectation. Come in, sit down, have a cup of tea and a slice of cake. I even made a cake yesterday – coconut and orange sponge (like the chocolate and orange, but with a sizeable amount of coconut instead of cocoa powder.) I haven’t tried any yet, but I’m looking forward to having some tonight… mmm. Anybody got any baking photos to share? I’d love to post a link to them.

1) Let’s start off with the book. Beautiful Books published Angela Young’s Speaking of Love, which I loved, and then they did me the kindness of putting my name on the back of the paperback – so I consider them little less than heroes. And respect their judgement, of course – so I’m looking forward to starting Lanterns on their Horns by Radhika Jha. A very striking cover, I think you’ll agree. Read more about it here. Apparently it involves the artificial insemination of cows to end poverty in an Indian village, and is compared (admittedly by the publishers) to Charles Dickens (great) and Naguib Mahfouz (who? I’m sure he/she is famous, but my knowledge of non-British writers is shamefully low. Unless Mahfouz is British, of course, in which case I don’t even have that excuse.) There’s a review on (the aptly named) Farm Lane Books here.

2.) The link – my e-friend Sherry, from the dovegreybooks reading group, sent me a link to an article from the Telegraph which is likely to strike a chord with Stuck-in-a-Book readers. Click here to read it. It’s called ‘There’s no smell on the shelves of cyberspace’ by Simon Heffer, and is about the pleasure of browsing real life bookshelves, as opposed to clicking a link and getting the book delivered. The internet has done wonderful things for book-lovers – and dire things for their bank accounts – but there will always be room for the surprises and serendipities of bookshops. Call it the thrill of the chase for those who prefer a more leisurely pace. To whet you appetite, and show that Simon Heffer is One Of Us, here’s a quotation: “I realised at an early age that hours passed in shops full of old books constituted one of the greatest joys of civilised existence.”Yes, Mr. Heffer, we can but agree.

3) And the blog post – it’s Paperback Reader again. Over the past fortnight or so she has been sporadically putting up photos of colour-themed bookshelves. Some are kept like that all the time, some were done for the photo-op. Here’s the link, which cleverly shows you all three relevant posts (white, orange, and silver) because she knows what she’s doing with tagging. (Something I manifestly failed with the only time I tried to do it.) Harriet did the same thing with her shelves a while ago – but I don’t know if she’s kept them like that. Harriet? I’ve toyed, occasionally, with putting all my books in colour order… but while I love to look at other people’s photographs, I know I’d never be able to find anything. Plus all my bookcases are double-stacked (and now books are in piles on the floor) so it might not have the same effect. The picture above isn’t from Paperback Reader, but one which did the rounds on the blogosphere a couple of years ago.

Carey Sharey


I mentioned a little while ago that I’d bought Edward Carey’s Observatory Mansions and was excited about reading it, after loving his second novel Alva & Irva last year (more here). I’ve included various different cover images throughout this post, interestingly different. Carey has only had two novels published, in 2001 and 2003, so I’m a bit worried that the novelistic pen has dried up. Here’s hoping not, as Carey might just be my favourite living author… which sounds very impressive until you realise how few living authors I like. But still.

Observatory Mansions is every bit as quirky as Alva & Irva. I probably overuse the word ‘quirky’, but no other description will do for Carey’s work. At the centre of this novel is Francis Orme, whose earns his keep working as a living statue. One of those people entirely painted white, who stand on plinths in the park. He wears the white gloves all the time, though, and recoils at the thought of seeing his hands. When the gloves become dusty or dirty, they are removed and carefully kept in a box, his glove diary. And that’s just the start of the surrealism.

Central to Observatory Mansions is ‘The Exhibition’. Francis steals and catalogues objects ‘soley for the reason that they are loved; that their former owner prized them above his or her other possessions.’ This is everything from someone’s false leg to a treasured photograph to love letters. It’s all kept in the cellar, secretly, and Carey includes a list of all 996 objects at the back of the novel.

And of course Observatory Mansions is itself important. An old mansion divided into flats, once isolated and now on a traffic island in a busy highway, very few tenants remain. And they’re all grotesque, from the ex-teacher who cries and sweats 24 hours a day, to the lady so obsessed with television that the soap opera characters are her reality. The novel opens with the unwelcome arrival of a new tenant, Anna Tap – myopic, chain-smoking, woollen-dress-wearing Anna. Francis exerts much of his energy to get her to leave… but she has a life-altering effect on everyone in Observatory Mansions.

Which sounds like a heart-warming fairy tale. Observatory Mansions definitely isn’t that. As a hero, Francis is incredibly selfish, violent, unkind, and antisocial. I did find The Exhibition difficult… unkindness in novels affects me rather. But Carey’s talent lies in presenting the quirky in such a way as the inconceivable sheds some light on reality, and on human foibles. This novel isn’t the achievement that Alva & Irva is – sections in the middle need some editing, there isn’t the undercurrent of empathy which pervades Alva & Irva – but Observatory Mansions remains evidence of a staggering mind, an author of unusual talent whose name ought to be included amongst the significant writers of today. And since his second novel is better than his first, I’m hoping the trend is ongoing, and waiting for that third novel…

Virago Interviews

One or two of you were interested in finding out who was interviewing whom (or whom who, or something. Colin?) in the Virago book Writing Lives: Conversations Between Women Writers (ed. Mary Chamberlain) which I mentioned yesterday. What am I here for but to oblige? The ‘new’ Virago writers (bearing in mind this was published in 1988) interview the ‘old’ Virago writers – some of these appeared elsewhere, but nevertheless they fit well in with the others. Lots of names I don’t recognise, I confess, but avenues to explore…


Writers in the first column are interviewees; in the second, interviewers.

Maya Angelou – Rosa Guy
Natalya Baranskaya – Pieta Monks
Marjorie Barnard – Zoe Fairbairns
Dora Birtles – Joyce Nicholson
Kathleen Dayus – Mary Chamberlain
Elizabeth Hardwick – Helen McNeil
Dorothy Hewett – Drusilla Modjeska
Yvonne Kapp – Sally Alexander
Molly Keane – Polly Devlin
Mary Lavin – Eavan Boland
Rosamund Lehmann – Janet Watts
Paule Marshall – Mary Helen Washington
Naomi Mitchison – Alison Hennegan
Grace Paley – Cora Kaplan
Angela Rodaway – Carolyn Steedman
Dora Russell – Cathy Porter
Phyllis Shand Allfrey – Polly Pattullo
Mary Stott – Liz Heron
Eudora Welty – Hermione Lee
Rebecca West – Marina Warner

Booking in Bristol

I spent the weekend with my brother in Bristol – of course I wanted to see him, but I also wanted to go to the Books for Amnesty shop. It has its own website, which is quite impressive for a charity bookshop, and I documented my first visit to it about a year ago. It’s good quality, cheap, quick turnover, and for a good cause. Of the six books I bought there, all had been put on their shelves in the last month (they date them when they put them out) so the shop really does warrant frequent visits. And of course I also bought three books in another shop… these nine came, in total, to £8.40. A success, I think you’ll agree. Keen eyes will spot 12 books in the Recent Acquisitions pile below… two came from the Albion Beatnik Bookshop in Oxford, one through the post after being recommended by my friend Barbara-from-Ludlow.

Dandelion Wine – Ray Bradbury
This is the one Barbara-from-Ludlow recommended, as being in the same sort of area as my dissertation.

English Short Stories of Today – ed. E. J. O’Brien
Includes a story by David Garnett, Edward Sackville-West, Antonia White etc. The ‘Today’ in question is 1934.

The Sandcastle – Iris Murdoch
I keep piling up the Murdochs that I *will* read one day… Someone recommended this to me once, I think.

Summer at the Haven – Katharine Moore
A friend of Joyce Grenfell, wrote some non-fiction (e.g. this on maiden aunts) – this slim novel is about an old people’s home, and is apparently amusing and optimistic. Might make interesting reading alongside Elizabeth Taylor’s Mrs. Palfrey at the Claremont.

Howards End – EM Forster
Despite not having much luck with his novels so far, I thought I’d persevere. Mostly because of the beautifully inviting cover to this edition. I snapped this up before it even reached the shelves – the shop assistant was putting it out, and I took it from her very hands…


Family Money – Nina Bawden
Not read anything by her yet… but her name has always been on the peripheries of my reading. I’ve had Tortoise by Candlelight forever, though no idea from whence it came.

Family History – Vita Sackville-West
This rang a bell in my mind… I was reminded later that someone was going to send me their spare copy of this. Goops.

The Shutter of Snow – Emily Holmes Coleman
I know nothing about this author, would love to be enlightened. The 1930s novel is about madness, a theme I love reading about… will let you know.

Clash – Ellen Wilkinson
Another author about whom I know nothing, but a £1 Virago ought not be left.

Writing Lives: Conversations Between Women Writers
Newer Virago writers interview older Virago writers – what’s not to like? I can give a full list of authors later, if anybody’s interested?

Among You Taking Notes – The Wartime Diary of Naomi Mitchison
I thought I had other books by her… but apparently not. I always like to have letters or diaries on the go.

Behindlings – Nicola Barker
Sounds quirky and weird, and maybe my cup of tea… at 40p, I thought I could risk it.

Cakes and Houses

As promised, the recipe for this Chocolate Orange Cake. It’s not the world’s most complicated recipe, but it was rather yummy. Apologies if you’re a seasonsed baker – this may all seem a bit simple. But I thought I’d explain every step thoroughly, just in case baking newbies want to have a go. And if you wait ’til the bottom of today’s post, you can see the joint effort of me and my housemate Mel… never has something aimed at children been compiled with such panache and skill.

I should warn you, before I start, that my baking is never an exact science. As long as you beat well, and have things more or less in ratio, it can’t go far wrong. I’ve tried to make the recipe chatty, but following the bits in bold will work just as well…


Chocolate Orange Cake

– 250g margarine/butter
– 250g golden or normal/white caster sugar
– 230g self-raising flour (we don’t really have cake flour in the UK…)
– 20g cocoa powder
– 3 eggs (medium or large)
– small amount of baking powder
– ditto vanilla essence
– an orange

For the icing:
– icing sugar, butter, cocoa powder… as needed

Preheat the oven to 190C/375F/Gas Mark 5
(sorry, no ‘degrees’ key)

1) Cream together the margarine and the sugar. And mix it quite well. But don’t wear yourself out at this stage. Exert a huge amount of will power not to eat the entire sugary-buttery mixture… seriously, I sometimes put 10g extra of each in, just to compensate for the amount I know that I’ll eat at this stage.

As I said in an earlier post, I always use caster sugar. People more in the know than me assure me that granulated will work equally well but… I’m a sceptic. I use what Our Vicar’s Wife always used.

2) Measure out the s-r flour, cocoa powder, and baking powder. Yes, technically you don’t need baking powder if you’re using self-raising flour – but I find popping a little baking powder in ensures that it’s nice and fluffy. Put it this way, I’ve never had a cake come out overly solid.

A tip… I have put 230g flour and 20g cocoa powder above, but I recommend putting in as much as cocoa powder as looks right, then fill up with the flour until the scales reach 250g. Always better to have too much cocoa powder than too little…

3) Break an egg into a mug, whisk it, add it with a third of the flour/cocoa powder/baking powder mixture. Repeat three times. Doesn’t have to be a mug. You can use one of those endless little glass bowls chefs have on TV, if you like. But doing them in three bouts – rather than all at once – makes it easier to get the additions into thirds. And to fish out bits of broken shell. In between each addition, beat well. But not so flour goes everywhere.

4) Beat it really well. I think this is what separates the fluffy cakes from the doorstops.

5) Add vanilla essence. And now the exciting part. Add the zest and juice of the orange. If, like me, you don’t own a zester, a fine cheese grater works well. But make sure it’s a fine one, not one which will leave chunks of peel in your mixture. Zest/grate all over the orange, straight into the bowl, until the outside of the orange is mostly white. You want to get as much of the zest in as possible. Then chop the orange in half and use a juicer, or just squeeze the orange over the bowl – being careful to remove the pips as they inevitably fall in…

6) Is it the right consistency? Recipe books assume nothing can go wrong… as a seasoned amateur baker, I definitely don’t assume that. The juice of the orange might well have made the mixture too runny – if so, sift some more flour in. Consistencies are really difficult to describe… it should pour slowly into the baking tins. I.e. not liquidy but not stuck to the bowl… it should ‘keep a peak’, as they say of meringue mixtures. But it’s not *so* important if it’s not exactly the right consistency…

7) Put in circular tins. Which I’m sure you’ve already greased and lined with baking paper… Recipes always tell you to do this at the beginning, but I’m sure nobody does. Perhaps I’m just a baking rebel without a cause.

8) Bake for 35-45mins. Because this is quite a large cake, it needs a bit longer in the oven than most. I tend to take it out at about 30mins and poke a knife in it. If it comes out clean, the cake is done. Keep testing like this every five minutes until it is done. Use a fancy baking skewer if you’ve got one.

9) Let it cool, then ice it. I used butter icing for the centre (the rule of thumb is twice as much icing sugar as butter – I used 50g and 100g) and chocolate icing on the top. For that, use more icing sugar than you would have thought possible, sieve it – always sieve icing sugar, actually – and sieve in a tablespoon of cocoa powder. Again, better too much cocoa powder than too little. Nobody likes weak-tasting icing. Add tiny bits of water in increments, mixing well, until the icing is spreadable but not spillontothefloorable. This is usually a matter of trial and error – add some water, add some water, add some water – oh no, too much! – add some icing sugar, add some water…

If you don’t have *that* sweet a tooth, just use the butter icing in the centre, and dust icing sugar over the top, using a sieve. That makes it look very attractive, and saves on dentist bills a tiny bit.

And then hopefully you’re done! A fairly standard sponge cake, but with a few twists, and lots of little foibles which probably aren’t set in stone, but are essential for a true Simon Thomas cake. Do let me know if you have a go – I want to see pictures!

Speaking of which, and destroying any baking credentials I might have had, here is the creation Mel and I made. It’s a self-assembly baking kit, but a little old and thus the pre-made icing had gone a bit, er, funny… At least it’s brought a *little* literature into today’s post, by way of Hansel and Gretel.

Elizabeth, Beth, Betsy, and Bess…

Those with a more encyclopediac knowledge of nursery rhymes than I might automatically finish the blog post title with:

…all went together to find a bird’s nest.
They found a bird’s nest with five eggs in it.
Each took one and left four in it.

I told you I’d get excited about being able to click on the quotation function. This could be a case of Picasa 3 all over again, where I get giddy with excitement for a fortnight, then forget all about it. (It’s just a button I press on the making-a-blog-post screen…)
This is all a long preamble to talking about Shirley Jackon’s The Bird’s Nest (1954). Today’s post might be of more interest to American readers of Stuck-in-a-Book, since there seem to be a lot more copies available Stateside than in old Blighty. I had to read it in the Bodleian. Shirley Jackson is known to me as the author of The Haunting of Hill House (which I wrote about briefly here) and the brilliant We Have Always Lived in the Castle, which I’ll write about in October when the new Penguin paperback comes out in the UK. Having been very impressed by these chilling novels – very Gothic, not horror – I was really intrigued to see what Jackson’s pen made of multiple personality disorder. Or dissociative identity disorder, depending upon which guide you use.

For this is the central concept of The Bird’s Nest, which takes its title from that nursery rhyme. The novel starts with Elizabeth – reticent, uncharismatic, a little moody – who is experiencing headaches, insomnia, and occasional black-outs. With the help of Dr. Wright, it quickly becomes apparent that Elizabeth is only one personality amongst many – and the others become increasingly dominant. There is sweet, gentle Beth; feisty, selfish Betsy; airs-and-graces Bess. Much of the novel is from the perspective of Dr. Wright, debating his dealings with these personas, and pondering how to bring them all together into one being. (Lizzie, if you will. Or Elspeth or Eliza or Liz or Betty or Bette… what a versatile name Elizabeth is.) Other chapters are from the perspective of one of the four personalities – but towards the end of the novel these chop and change so quickly that it’s more or less a hotpot of different points of view. A film was made in 1957 (called Lizzie) and I’ve no idea how the actress, Eleanor Parker, managed to portray all these transformations.

And that’s a problem Shirley Jackson encounters occasionally. It’s difficult enough to keep one protagonist consistent throughout a novel – four incarnations must be a nightmare. The most obviously shifting is Beth, who starts as an ideal of Elizabeth, kind and sweet – by the end she weeps at the slightest provocation, and forever moans that nobody likes her. Betsy, contrarily, becomes much more likeable as the novel progresses. But these changes do not materially affect the novel – nor diminish the fact that, though inaccurate, The Bird’s Nest is impressively prescient about multiple personality disorder. The condition was not officially medically recognised until 1980 – this novel was published in 1954. It is a bit fanciful about the interaction of the various personalities, but the patient’s symptoms do match many of those discussed in the Wikipedia article on the subject… so, unless the person who created that article used The Bird’s Nest as their sole source text, I’m quite impressed.

The Bird’s Nest isn’t in the same league as We Have Always Lived in the Castle. The writing isn’t as pacy, the atmosphere not so intense, the characters not so well drawn – but it is still an eerie, involving, and unusual book which doesn’t shame Jackson’s oeuvre. Probably not good enough to bring back into print on its own merits, but as a fascinating example of the beginnings of a genre, and as a novel from a writer showing promise of her later brilliance, I can recommend The Bird’s Nest.

Stuck-in-a-Book’s Weekend Miscellany

This weekend miscellany malarkey seems to have settled into a blog, a book, and a link. Sorry that ‘link’ doesn’t begin with ‘b’, that would have been pleasingly alliterative… any b-synonyms for ‘link’, let me know… Also, I’ve been using this weekend frivolity to try out all the fancy colours which Blogger offers me. I do hope this doesn’t offend any more delicate senses…

Anyway, here goes.

1) This week there are two blog posts I want to point out, as I couldn’t narrow it down to just one. Elaine at Random Jottings writes about Light Relief in the form of PG Wodehouse and Betty Macdonald’s The Egg and I. Like Elaine, I’ve bypassed The Egg and I dozens of times in bookshops, but I know that next time I’ll snap it up. To quote Elaine: And then I turned to The Egg and I another title to join the distinguished list of Books I used to Shelve Regularly when I was a Librarian and turned my nose up at (sorry for the appalling grammar) and recently given to me to read by a friend who said ‘ Cannot believe you have not read these Elaine’. She also was staggered I had not read Mapp and Lucia. I do like to keep my friends on their toes. Oo, I’ve never noticed that ‘quotation’ function before. That’ll come in handy.


The second blog post is this one from Simon at Savidge Reads – mostly I just like the fact that it has pictures of bookshelves. (The one above is actually one of my own, taken last year.) But he also asks from where we inherit our love of books – parents? grandparents? teachers? nowhere? The comments make for fun and interesting reading.

And whilst I’m posting blog links, I happened upon one of my own sketch-based posts which I’d forgotten about, and which made me chuckle… narcissistic, much? It’s from the days when most of my sketches involved my Stuck-in-a-Book self-portrait.

2) Icon Books emailed me a little while ago, wondering if I wanted to review any of their books. Not my usual sort of publisher (they’re non-fiction publishers, for a start) but I looked through their Literature section, and they sent me a couple. I’ve got Shakespeare on Toast: Getting a Taste for the Bard by Ben Crystal (any relation of David?) and Nobel Lectures: 20 Years of the Nobel Prize for Literature Lectures edited by John “Did Cruella de Ville Dye Her Hair?” Sutherland. I’ll be interested in the former, though it’s preaching to the converted – but I’m really looking forward to the latter. Just a shame it was published too early for Doris Lessing’s speech.

3) Graduating from university, or simply seeking a new job? I was sent a link to the 50 Books You Should Read Before Entering The Real World – click here – though it has little in common with my own 50 Books You Must Read But May Not Have Heard About. (Speaking of which, it’s ongoing, and in no order, but hasn’t been updated for a while… I’m always open to ideas about obscure books which should make the list). The list has lots of books related to jobs and finances etc, but also a section on Fiction and Memoirs. The only one of those I’ve read is the much-overrated The Catcher in the Rye… but that shouldn’t put me off the rest.

Bowen Out

Have you ever settled down to a new author, really confident that you’ll enjoy the book in front of you. You’ve heard great things about the author from those whose opinions you respect. You like all the authors to whom this author is compared. It’s the right period, right genre, right topic. And yet… somehow it doesn’t work at all.
That was my experience with Elizabeth Bowen’s The Last September.

I’ve read Bowen’s name so often in books about the period, heard it in conversation, always put her down as someone I’ll really enjoy, one day, and then… no. It’s not that I thought the book was *bad* – I could see that the writing was very good – but somehow it was a struggle. Despite being quite a short book, I lost track of who was who (or whom was who, or something) and what was going on. The novel, by the way, is ‘a comedy of manners set in the time of the Irish Troubles.’ It’s set in a big family house, where tennis-parties remain the focus, against the strife and riots. (By the way, the book cover shown isn’t the one I read, but it interested me because it’s the same cover image that Persephone used for their Persephone Classics version of Cheerful Weather For The Wedding by Julia Strachey, blogged about here, not Mariana by Monica Dickens as I wrote before…)

Sometimes I thought I was getting the hang of it. This paragraph is, I think, a great example of Bowen’s writing:

He listened, took off his trench-coat, stepped to the drawing-room door. The five tall windows stood open on rain and the sound of leaves, rain stuttered along the sills, the grey of the mirrors shivered. Polished tables were cold little lakes of light. The smell of sandalwood boxes, a kind of glaze on the air from all the chintzes numbed his earthy vitality, he became all ribs and uniform.

And so it goes on. These moments, I could see that the writing is beautiful… but then I’d get lost and listless again. Perhaps it’s because Bowen’s writing is so often visually descriptive? I can’t ‘see’ things when I read – visual description rarely works for me, unless I concentrate fiercely on it. Hmm.

I was talking to someone at lunch the other day who told me that The Heat of the Day is much better, and that I shouldn’t give up on Elizabeth Bowen yet… can anyone else convince me to persevere? Explain perhaps why I struggled? Or give examples of their own stumbling blocks in books or authors that they fully anticipated loving?