Sorry – too late for a proper post. My housemates and I were at a pub quiz (we came 4th… or second last, depending on which way you look at it). Tomorrow I’ll give a little description of Bredon Hill walk with my brother The Carbon Copy – today you’ll just get a sneak preview with my favourite photo from yesterday, somewhere on top of the hill. Oh, and do try out Caroline’s eight-word-synopses in the comments from yesterday.
The Carbon Copy and I spent the day in sunny Worcestershire, walking around our old haunts (we moved from Worcestershire 2.5 years ago) and generally wallowing in a bit of nostalgia and climbing Bredon Hill, our local hill. More on that soon, but will tantalise you with the fact that ‘Bre’ means hill; ‘don’ means hill; of course ‘Hill’ means hill. And thus Bredon Hill means hill-hill-hill. Just in case you couldn’t tell at a first glance.
Following on from yesterday, I thought it might be amusing to think up some 8 word book reviews. Well, more synopses. If that. But it’s quite fun – try and work out which books they are, or leave your own 8 word book synopses in the comments! Who said it isn’t sophisticated here?
1) She bought flowers; had party (someone else died).
2) Does he love her or previous wife? Oh!
3) Struggling writer; poor girls; rich Americans – all sorted!
4) Matchmaker gets it wrong, then marries her brother.
5) Plain governess ousts madwoman from the attic… eventually.
6) Kill or not? Fakes mad, goes mad, dies.
7) Man makes up old lady; she appears: chaos!
8) Some Irish people wander around for a day.
9) Hot air balloon accident; stalker; some awkward situations.
10) Someone’s always watching. Anarchy… but then the rats…
The Carbon Copy is here for the weekend, so no time to write long posts at the moment. He also pointed out that ‘Reading Between The Covers’ post sounds like I’ve never actually read a book, and just look at the covers and “how many birds I saw on the day I bought the book”… oops, if I came across as a bit of a dullard! Succinctly, what I meant was that if I want to enjoy a book, I’m more likely to do so.
Being a brief post, I’m going to tell you about the book I’m reading in as few words as possible. It’s Yes Man by Danny Wallace.
Review in 10 words: Man starts saying yes to everything. Non-fiction. Very funny indeed!
Hmm. Verbose. Let’s try 5 words: Man always says yes; funny!
3 words: Comedian says yes!
1 word: YES!
Time for some Booking Through Thursday fun, methinks. Still a few minutes left of Thursday:
Here’s something for Valentine’s Day. Have you ever fallen out of love with a favorite author? Was the last book you read by the author so bad, you broke up with them and haven’t read their work since? Could they ever lure you back?
Well, the short answer is “no”, so this is more to discover your experiences than to disseminate mine. Then again, I did write yesterday’s post with the intention of sparking off a wildfire discussion… two comments! Perhaps you’re all better people than me, and only ever allow the contents of a book to inform how much you enjoy it… ;-)
I did write a bit about Second Book Syndrome here – by which I mean reading a second book by a beloved author (not necessarily their second book, just the second you’ve encountered). And I can’t think of any author’s books which have stopped me in my tracks and caused our relationship to break down…
out J. L. Carr’s A Month in the Country. I daresay I still will, if you’ll bear with me for a while. Carr’s novel was my not-so-Secret Santa present from work colleague, friend and hurdy-gurdy enthusiast Clare (along with Vita Sackville-West’s All Passion Spent and the DVD of The Go-Between) and was duly read back in December. And, yes, I loved it. But I realised that I’d more or less loved it before the first sentence had been read… and for these reasons:
So what qualified a book for privileged pre-treatment in my world?
a) a gift or a recommendation from a friend
b) found in a good bookshop, or chosen on a hopeful whim
c) design/cover
d) from 1900-1949
e) I should really be reading something else….
I’m not proud of these prejudices, and I don’t suggest that they should be in place, I merely suggest that they are. When I need to, I can turn them off – and that’s what I try to do for book reviews on here, and definitely do for the times I’ve written for (student) newspapers. But I’m sure I’m not the only one open to these foibles. They certainly don’t mean my mind can’t be changed, but they push it in a certain direction.
A Month in the Country proved to be heading in the right direction from the off. I experienced a certain Uninformed Decision setback when I discovered the book was from 1980, and thus not my period of ease, but this proved immaterial to my enjoyment of the short, largely-autobiographical novel. Tom Birkin arrives by train to a rural community in the north of England, hired by a reluctant Rev. Mr. Keach to uncover and restore a medieval mural on a church wall. Nearby, Charles Moon (like Tom, a war veteran) is digging for the grave of an ancestor of the church’s patroness. The process is slow, and the narrative winds along with Tom, exploring his relationships with the other villagers, and Moon, and a gentle passage of discovery. The most interesting scene is that when Tom visits the vicar and his amiable wife, Alice, only to discover their monstrous and secluded vicarage seems to alter both their personalities. Like the rest of the novel, this is shown subtly and calmly, but is a fascinating glimpse into one facet of the village, which could be explored much further. Even without all my preconceptions, this is one to look out for.
I did it! I drove on a road! Not a car park, not a simulator, but a bona fide road, with kerbs and cars and all. I didn’t even hit either the kerbs or the cars. Spent my time starting, stopping, changing gears, turning and memorising various acronyms. POM and MSPSL and so forth. My driver isn’t an effusive chap, but I think I was great!
Which got me thinking. Every now and then I like to pick a theme relevant to my everyday life, and see what books we can think of, together. It won’t surprise you that today’s theme is driving. Hmm… where, in the vast and varied world of literature, has an author decided to pick driving as the central issue? Where are cars or vans or caravans or cars-with-trailers-on-single-carriageways (I need to know the speed limit for such, probably in wind, rain, earthquake and on days with an ‘e’ in them)?
I must confess, my head must be spinning a bit from motorised toing and froing. All I’ve come up with are Wind in The Willows and the old poop pooping of Toad; I presume The Caravanners by Elizabeth von Arnim has some of said vehicle in, though I wouldn’t stake my life on’t. Thomas De Quincey wrote an odd little bit of prose called The English Mail Coach, which came in handy for my essay on travel and the Romantic Imagination. Not really motorised. Come on, I clearly need your help – so get thinking, and let me know!
Today’s post was going to be about On Chesil Beach by Ian McEwan, as I’ve just come from Book Group where we discussed it. I was going to introduce the novel, say that I liked it, muse about the characters and the successful avoidance of a villain/victim scenario; maybe express surprise that I’ve read four count-’em-four of McEwan’s novels; tell you about the group’s response… but then I discovered a post about On Chesil Beach here… by me. Oh. So I have already written about it.
Instead, we’re going to cast our eyes over to something rather less literary. Well, not literary at all. What’s the opposite of literary? This. It is Neighbours. And today was a big day for followers of this Australia soap opera – it moved channels. Before you slope away to look at the view or flick through the newspaper, stay with me. Actually, you can probably skip the next bit. I’m just going to comment on the soap for a bit… So, Neighbours has been with the BBC for longer than I’ve been alive, and after 23 years a bidding way means that it’s moved to the least successful of the terrestrial channels, Five (which was once Channel Five, but has jettisoned the ‘Channel’ bit). More importantly, Five is a channel my digital television refuses to pick
up… and so I have to go to a friend’s house everyday. So worth it.
In its heyday, Neighbours got in excess of 18 million viewers in the UK – this is down at about 5 or 6 million now, but 120 million worldwide. There is sun, family, not a lot happens but it happens in a friendly way – everything exciting or tragic is offset by a fun run or a BBQ competition. Not for Neighbours the gloom of Coronation Street (I mean, listen to their respective theme tunes – it tells you everything) or the drama of Eastenders – they’re happy meandering along with the occasional ‘plane crash, and a lot of borrowed casserole dishes. You’d think they could just buy their own. The characters are all nice (Paul was evil, but then had an operation to remove a brain tumour, which turned him nice. As our American cousins would say, go figure); most are attractive; many are funny – that’s something Neighbours does better than any other soap – humour.
Where is all this going, then? I’m talking about the lowbrow; the distractions for when I’m not flicking through Ulysees or reciting Latin to myself (ahem… or not). T. S Eliot idolised a music hall performer, Marie Lloyd. Shakespeare thrust dancing troupes into his plays. I daresay Chaucer read Heat magazine. What’s your vice? Where do you leave the literature behind and enjoy something shamefully lowbrow, but, paradoxically, without feeling any shame? I started watching Neighbours when I was about 12 or 13, and am thoroughly addicted. If it stopped being shown on UK screens, I’d move to Australia. And I don’t see that as being at odds with loving Virginia Woolf and Jane Austen… should I?
I’m aware I may just be locking myself in the stocks and awaiting the rotten apples… but I’d like to think that someone, somewhere out there empathises? No? Just me?
Bring on the apples.
Just wanted to let you know that TOMORROW (i.e. Monday) is a special day for Angela Young for two reasons:
a) H—y B—-d-y!
b) The paperback release date for Speaking of Love has been brought forward, and can be bought tomorrow – this, you may recall, is the book which has a quotation from yours truly on the back cover. Very
exciting, and I do encourage you to buy a copy, or twelve. Amazon still think that it’s not released until March, when I checked, but I’m sure you local independent bookshop would be happy to sell it to you, or order it for you.
The second thing today is a meme for which Margaret at Booksplease tagged me. Ten signs that would indicate a book had been written by me… well, I do harbour desires to be a novelist, and have ever since I gave up dreams of being a tea-lady. But how would you know it was my novel, just from an anonymous read?
1) not a drop of blood
2) no swear words
3) definitely no blasphemy
4) some quiet irony
5) female protagonist, with a middle-class English name. Think Laura or Rachel or Clarissa or… well, moving onto no.6, quite clearly:
6) influenced by Virginia Woolf in some (probably unfortunate) way
7) hidden quotations or references to favourite books/authors
8) about people and humanity, not Issues
9) none of the sentences will end with prepositions, and nobody will ever misuse the word “less”
10) probably quite short…
It’s always a happy experience to discover a parcel waiting at home – not least because it means someone happened to be in when the postman called, and I don’t have to go through the rigmarole of arranging to collect it at a local Post Office, and then haring home from work to get there before it closes.
This parcel was even more exciting – a present from Australia! Thank you thank you thank you Sarah/Pink Lady Bug, I am delighted to receive The Angel in the Corner by Monica Dickens – and then an array of other things! A lovely postcard, several bookmarks, and (optimistically) a Christian-fish-symbol to put in my future car. All so thoughtful, and got here amazingly quickly, seeing as there are some parcels sent earlier from England for which I’m still waiting. So thank you Sarah!
I’ve not read any of Monica Dickens’ more serious novels – only the light and excellent One Pair of Hands, One Pair of Feet and My Turn To Make The Tea (MD’s experiences as cook, nurse and journalists respectively being the fodder for very funny novels). All the back tells me about The Angel in the Corner is “A tale of courage and willpower as a young girl faces degradation and humiliation in her marriage” – sounds daunting, but in the skilful hands of Monica Dickens, will doubtless also be a fascinating read.
Thanks, Karen, for alerting me to this – I’ve been Normed!
Norman Geras runs a blog at www.normblog.typepad.com and on Fridays features a Blogger Profile – a sort of brief Q & A. This week it’s me! See the profile here. Very exciting for me!
There’s a link at the bottom of it to other, previous profiles – including, from my link list, Elaine, Karen, Lisa, Susan and Lynne.