A few bits and pieces

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Oops, sorry if you got an incomplete ‘My Life in Books’ post in your inbox – I pressed publish before I’d written it – but it is a sneak preview that the series will be coming back next week! More information on that soon… I want to make sure the My Life in Books archives are up to date before I write too much about it.

Isn’t that all mysterious? If you were reading Stuck in a Book in 2014 or earlier, you might remember what it is. If not, then watch this space.

I’ve had a fairly frustrating week, book-wise. Or, rather, bookcase-wise. Argos have stopped making the bookcase that I have in my living room (I have five of them in here at the moment). I’ve shunted some furniture around to make room for one more, and now I have to get one that doesn’t match. Frustrating. So I thought I’d try on ebay. Success! I had to pay a bit extra, but could get the colour I wanted.

Only, when it turned up, it was the wrong colour and the wrong depth. I contacted the seller, and they very quickly responded, apologising for the mistake. They sent me another… that was the wrong colour (and the correct depth, at least). I contacted them again… and they said that Argos weren’t making that colour anymore.

So, essentially, this ebay seller was waiting for people to buy things, then just going to Argos and sending the product out – pocketing the difference. If I’d wanted that colour, I’d have bought it from Argos myself for less!

Anyway. Argos Man came and collected the two wrong bookcases, and I’m left with piles of books on the floor. If you know how I can get my hands on a Maine Tall Wide Bookcase – Putty (standard depth), then let me know…

But, other than that, it’s been a nice week for books. Quite a few long-awaited review books coming to the house – and a few that I just buckled and bought, truly having given up on my book-buying ban. And I guess they’ll just have to pile up on the floor until a new bookcase arrives…

Stuck in a Book’s Weekend Miscellany

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Happy weekend, y’all! My bro is coming to visit, and one of my besties is having a leaving do, so it’s a weekend of ups and downs… I’m hoping to get some reading in there, and have picked up something for Women in Translation Month. More on that below, with the link, book, and blog post.

1.) The link – is a fun profile with Nina Stibbe in the New York Times that was doing the rounds on Twitter recently. She talks about Persephone and Backlisted, so we like her. AND she talks about Lolly Willowes, though I would dispute that it is a book “nobody reads anymore”…

2.) The blog post – is Paula at Book Jotter and her plan to read more books by and about Tove Jansson. Jansson is one of my all-time faves, and the Women in Translation Month choice I’ve made is Tove Jansson: Work and Love by Tuula Karjalaninen. I’ve had it for a few years, and it’s now been long enough since I read Boel Westin’s biography of Jansson that I fancy reading another.

3.) The book – lots of us loved Shaun Bythell’s The Diary of a Bookseller – well, I’m really excited to read Confessions of a Bookseller. And a review copy arrived this week, hurrah!

 

 

A Time to Dance, A Time to Die by John Waller

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I don’t remember where I first found out about the dancing epidemic of 1518, but I know that I’ve read the Wikipedia page for it several times over the years. And finally I decided I should follow the notes at the bottom of the page, and get a copy of A Time to Dance, A Time to Die (2008) by John Waller. He’s written another book about the phenomenon, or possibly the same book under a different title – I can certainly see why it would fascinate a researcher.

In short, in 1518 France a woman started manically dancing. She seemed to be in something of a trance, and without much knowledge of what was going on. Gradually other people in her community started dancing too. Eventually dozens – possibly hundreds and thousands; accounts differ – of people were dancing alongside her. They danced for days, and many died of exhaustion. Why did it happen?

Waller does a great job of putting it in the context of other similar events from the medieval period. In different places across Europe, contagious dancing would spring up – not that often, and sometimes only with a handful of people, but 1518 certainly wasn’t an isolated incident.

One of the reasons that 1518’s dance epidemic turned out to be so protracted and have so many casualties is that physicians and religious figures actually encouraged the dancing. They believed that the dance was a curse from St Vitus (connected now with the medical condition known as St Vitus’s dance – apparently without reference to the 1518 event). And they suggested that the only way to placate St Vitus was to voluntarily dance. A bit of a Catch 22, no?

Waller is working with fairly minimal historical documents, some of which contradict each other. There are frustrating gaps in what is available. So it’s understandable that the account he gives has those same gaps – and that he has to be a bit repetitive with what he can say. But it’s such an interesting and intriguing event that that doesn’t really matter. Better Waller’s approach than that he tried to make things up or assume too much.

The final chapter looks at other instances of mass hysteria, autosuggestion, and psychological ailments over time. This is the chapter I wish had been extended a bit – because he covers so much so quickly, and with many different cultures, histories, and manifestations amalgamated. And Waller is certainly not of the perspective that there are more things in Heaven and Earth than are dreamt of in his philosophy. I suppose I was not as willing as he was to rule out the involvement of God in some of these experiences. (Which is certainly not to say that I think St Vitus was cursing people – but I also believe not everything in this world can be explained without reference to God.)

I don’t know if I learned an enormous amount about 1518 that I hadn’t already garnered on Wikipedia, but Waller’s book benefits from much better contextualisation and some narrative storytelling spark. If the idea has caught your attention – maybe start on Wikipedia and see where it takes you?

The Blind Assassin by Margaret Atwood

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My book group chose The Blind Assassin (2000) by Margaret Atwood for our read this month, and initially I wasn’t going to read it. That was partly because it was SIX HUNDRED AND THIRTY-SEVEN PAGES and partly because I once owned it, and gave it away unread. I didn’t want to buy another copy. But then I was at my friend Nana-Yaa’s house, and mentioned it – she revealed that it was her favourite book, and pressed a copy into my hands. I guess I had to read it. (But it was still SIX HUNDRED AND THIRTY-SEVEN PAGES.)

The main character is Iris Chase, looking back across her long life – though there are various other layers to it. The opening line is brilliant; one of the best I’ve read: “Ten days after the war ended, my sister Laura drove a car off a bridge.”

Laura is the author of a modern classic, called ‘The Blind Assassin’. It was only published after her death, and has grown in reputation, and Atwood puts large portions of the novel into her novel. Some chapters are modern Iris; some retrace her childhood and adulthood; some are excerpts from ‘The Blind Assassin’. To add to the complexity, ‘The Blind Assassin’ is about somebody creating the novel ‘The Blind Assassin’. Confused yet? Don’t worry, Atwood was an excellent handle on it all, and the reader is never baffled. She manages three different tones/voices well too – so the three layers of the novel feel distinct and confident. (The actual story-within-story-within-story is about a world where boys are blinded by making intricate carpets and then train as stealthy assassins; one is hired to kill a young woman who is to be sacrificed as part of a custom in this world.)

As Iris looks back on her life, we see the alienating and loveless marriage she enters to save her father’s business. We see how her relationship with her sister grows more and more strained, and there is a whole mystery around that.

Positives first: it’s very well written. Atwood has an unforced elegance here that was entirely lacking in The Handmaid’s Tale, to my mind. Some of the characters are wonderfully drawn – particularly Laura’s unkind sister-in-law. And I loved the way that the plot of ‘The Blind Assassin’ (level 2 of 3) explored the creative process of someone trying to balance of art and commerce, often very amusingly. All in all, I did like the book a lot.

But… it was SIX HUNDRED AND THIRTY-SEVEN PAGES. I couldn’t get that out of my mind, every time I picked it up. It sort of soured the reading experience for me, being so allergic to long books. And, like every book I’ve read that is over 600 pages (which is admittedly not many), it would have been better if it were a great deal shorter. I think The Blind Assassin, with its multiple layers, could perhaps have justified 400 pages. But so much of the background of Iris’s life could have been cut without losing anything. There is a lot of padding. And that length puts a lot of pressure on the end of a novel – and the various revelations in this one didn’t feel strong enough to support the weight of SIX HUNDRED AND THIRTY-SEVEN PAGES.

But you have to admire the confidence of Atwood, to call ‘The Blind Assassin’ a modern masterpiece and then write the book herself. At one point it is called Modernist, and it is definitely not Modernist. That was irksome.

So, I liked this. There’s a brilliant 400-page novel hidden in it somewhere. I suppose I should be grateful it’s not a terrible 800-page novel?

Diana Tempest by Mary Cholmondeley

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I’ve mentioned before how great Simon Evers’ narration is at Librivox – the free audiobook site where out of copyright books are read by members of the public. Understandably, it’s a mixed bag – but Simon Evers is brilliant, so I’ve been downloading whatever he reads. And the latest was Diana Tempest (1893) by Mary Cholmondeley.

This wasn’t completely at random. I have previously read Cholmondeley’s Red Pottage, and thought it was brilliant. Diana Tempest does something similar – mixing sensation fiction with the sort of observational comedy of manners that we expect from a Jane Austen or Anthony Trollope. It feels like it shouldn’t work, but it does, and I found Diana Tempest very funny and often nail-bitingly intriguing.

We don’t meet either Diana for a while – for there are two of them. One is Colonel Tempest’s wife, who died in childbirth. The other is his daughter. She, Colonel Tempest, and his son Archie are all left without a fortune when Colonel Tempest’s brother dies. The money, instead, goes to his brother’s son, John – whom everybody knows is illegitimate. Everybody except the infant John, of course, and it is a fact he is not told.

Colonel Tempest is a very unpleasant character – greedy, unfeeling, and with the sense that the world is very hard on him. It’s unclear what the dead Diana saw in him, because she is described as rather wonderful – not only that, she was engaged to his brother before he whisked her away. You can see why there’s no love lost.

And Colonel Tempest gets carried away, saying that he’ll give £10,000 (about £850,000 is today’s money, according to the National Archives calculator – or 1031 cows) to anybody who can redirect the fortune to him. In effect, he has put a bounty on John’s life.

Fast forward a few years, and daughter Diana has grown up. She is a charming, witty, wise, and rather delightful heroine – in the mould of Lizzie Bennett. Like Lizzie, she despises the idea of marrying for money alone, and has a friend who is clearly doing this. And like Lizzie, she finds herself admired in several quarters.

One of these quarters is John – who has grown up to be a rather serious, moral man. He tries to keep his cousin Archie is check, but is usually paying off his debts. Oh, and he keeps having brushes with death – whether that be almost burning to death, nearly being shot, etc. etc. It seems that the people who are trying to win that £10,000 aren’t super good at their job.

I loved listening to this. Cholmondeley has such a witty, ironic turn of phrase. Of course, because it was audio I have no examples – but imagine Austen’s way of exposing the ridiculousness of society in general and hypocrites in particular. On the one hand, we wait to see if she and John will discover that the other has fallen in love – on the other, we follow Colonel Tempest as he tries to track down the would-be assassins and undo his command. Will the relationship succeed, or will the killers get their target?

My only criticism is that, like many Victorian writers, Cholmondeley is never in a hurry. Chapters often begin with several minutes (/pages) of general thoughts about mankind, ambling through enjoyable aphorisms before we get to the crux of the matter. It all added to the enjoyment of the style, but sometimes I did wish she’d just get on with it, and curtail the flourishes a little.

I’m sure it would be fun to read – and it’s definitely a delight to listen to. Much recommended!

Tea or Books? #75: Moral Readers or Amoral Readers and The Summer Book vs Birthday Letters

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Tove Jansson, Ted Hughes, and fictional morality – welcome to episode 75!


 
We’re back after a bit of a break – and we’re doing poetry for the first time ever. In the first half of the episode, we discuss whether we are moral or amoral readers. Do we have the same morality in our reading as we do in real life? And does the author’s own morality affect our reading?

In the second half, we compare Ted Hughes’ collection of poetry Birthday Letters and Tove Jansson’s The Summer Book. We just about manage to find links!

You can support the podcast at Patreon, email us at teaorbooks[at]gmail.com, find us on iTunes or your podcast app of choice etc. Feel free to get in touch!

I mention a couple of other podcast episodes here – the one where Jenny and Jenny discuss fictional morality is here; my discussion about Jansson with Trevor is here.

The books and authors – and poems! – we mention in this episode are:

A Time to Dance, A Time to Die by John Waller
Dead Man’s Folly by Agatha Christie
The Mirror Crack’d From Side to Side by Agatha Christie
Alfred Tennyson
Hickory Dickory Dock by Agatha Christie
Chronicle of Death Foretold by Gabriel Garcia Marquez
The True Deceiver by Tove Jansson
The Catcher in the Rye by J.D. Salinger
Dorothy L Sayers
The Restraint of Beasts by Magnus Mills
All Quiet on the Orient Express by Magnus Mills
The Secret History by Donna Tartt
Frenchman’s Creek by Daphne du Maurier
Madame Bovary by Gustave Flaubert
Anna Karenina by Leo Tolstoy
The Crimson Petal and the White by Michel Faber
Hamlet by William Shakespeare
Macbeth by William Shakespeare
Daphne du Maurier by Margaret Forster
Letters From Menabilly by Daphne du Maurier
Oriel Malet
Diary of a Provincial Lady by E.M. Delafield
Mrs Miniver by Jan Struther
Ian McEwan
Mrs Dalloway by Virginia Woolf
V.S. Naipaul
Rudyard Kipling
Mrs Palfrey at the Claremont by Elizabeth Taylor
Angel by Elizabeth Taylor
At Mrs Lippincote’s by Elizabeth Taylor
Mrs Tim of the Regiment by D.E. Stevenson
Excellent Women by Barbara Pym
Jane and Prudence by Barbara Pym
Cold Comfort Farm by Stella Gibbons
Some Tame Gazelle by Barbara Pym
Agatha Christie as Mary Westmacott
‘Suttee’ by Ted Hughes
‘Daddy’ by Sylvia Plath
Ariel by Sylvia Plath
The Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath
‘Wuthering Heights’ by Ted Hughes
‘Wuthering Heights’ by Sylvia Plath
‘Chaucer’ by Ted Hughes
Sun City by Tove Jansson
A Winter Book by Tove Jansson
Fair Play by Tove Jansson
Miss Hargreaves by Frank Baker
Miss Boston and Miss Hargreaves by Rachel Malik

Three more crimes

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Specifically, three more British Library Crime Classics! Thanks to the British Library for sending these to me – I am keen to dive in, but I thought I’d give you all a quick intro to them before I choose which one to read. These tasters are all taken from the British Library website. Let me know which of these appeals the most!

Surfeit of Suspects by George Bellairs

“At 8 o’clock in the evening on the 8th November, there was a terrific explosion in Green Lane, Evingden.”

The offices of Excelsior Joinery Company are no more; the 3 directors are killed and the peace of a quiet town in Surrey lies in ruins. When the supposed cause of ignited gas leak is dismissed and the presence of dynamite revealed, Superintendent Littlejohn of Scotland Yard is summoned to the scene.

But beneath the sleepy veneer of Evingden lies a hotbed of deep-seated grievances. Confounding Littlejohn’s investigation is an impressive cast of suspicious persons, each concealing their own axe to grind.

Bellairs’ novel of small-town grudges with calamitous consequences revels in the abundant possible solutions to the central crime as a masterpiece of misdirection.

Deep Waters ed. by Martin Edwards

From picturesque canals to the swirling currents of the ocean, a world of secrets lies buried beneath the surface of the water. Dubious vessels crawl along riverbeds, while the murky depths conceal more than one gruesome murder.

The stories in this collection will dredge up delight in crime fiction fans, as watery graves claim unintended dwellers and disembodied whispers penetrate the sleeping quarters of a ship’s captain. How might a thief plot their escape from a floating crime scene? And what is to follow when murder victims, lost to the ocean floor, inevitably resurface?

This British Library anthology uncovers the best mysteries set below the surface, including stories by Arthur Conan Doyle, William Hope Hodgson and R. Austin Freeman.

Murder in the Mill-Race by E.C.R. Lorac

“Never make trouble in the village” is an unspoken law, but it’s a binding law. You may know about your neighbours’ sins and shortcomings, but you must never name them aloud. It’d make trouble, and small societies want to avoid trouble.

When Dr Raymond Ferens moves to a practice at Milham in the Moor in North Devon, he and his wife are enchanted with the beautiful hilltop village lying so close to moor and sky. At first they see only its charm, but soon they begin to uncover its secrets – envy, hatred and malice.

Everyone says that Sister Monica, warden of a children’s home, is a saint – but is she? A few months after the Ferens’ arrival her body is found drowned in the mill-race. Chief Inspector Macdonald faces one of his most difficult cases in a village determined not to betray its dark secrets to a stranger.

Stuck in a Book’s Weekend Miscellany

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It’s sunny! I don’t have a cold! All the ingredients for a nice weekend are there. I hope your weekend is looking similarly nice, and that you have a nice pile of books ready to go. I’m finishing off a doorstopper for book group (note: set up a page limit for book club). Here’s your usual weekend miscellany trio:

 

1.) The book – The Remarkable Life of the Skin by Monty Lyman has just come out – it looks like a really interesting and accessible look at all the scientific and sociological implications of our skin. And, sidenote, Monty is a friend of mine. I’m gearing myself up to read it and hope that it isn’t too much for my squeamish soul.

2.) The link – is a month old now, but it’s a fun and encouraging look at the booksellers who are refusing to be beaten by Amazon.

3.) The blog post – is a follow up to a previous one – a round up of Sylvia Townsend Warner Reading Week. Lots of great links to reviews to hunt out!

The Shoreless Sea by Mollie Panter-Downes

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There’s a corner of the blogosphere that is very familiar with Mollie Panter-Downes’ brilliant novel One Fine Day – about a woman experiencing her life and village on one day just after the Second World War. And this corner (yes, it’s the one I’m in, of course) has probably also read some of the Panter-Downes short stories that Persephone have reprinted – and hopefully London War Notes too, non-fiction reporting on WW2. We might even have read some of her later non-fiction. But it’s not often that her earlier fiction is mentioned.

One good reason for that is that it’s nigh-on impossible to get hold of. One of her novels wasn’t even mentioned in her bibliography on Wikipedia until I added it recently – but, yes, she wrote four novels before One Fine Day. They are My Husband Simon, The Chase, Storm Bird – and this one, The Shoreless Sea (1923), published when she was only 17. It was apparently a bestseller, and certainly seems to have gone into many editions quite quickly. So why are there no copies around? What happened to them all?

Well, what happened to mine, mysteriously, is that somebody tore the board cover off. Even more mysterious, the dustjacket survived. Unless it was taken from one copy and put on another? Who knows. But it’s rather lovely to have this pretty dustjacket intact – and The Shoreless Sea has been waiting on my shelves since 2004. It was about time I read it, if only because there are so few copies about that it shouldn’t be left languishing on mine.

The novel is about Deirdre. As the novel opens she is a teenager, and the chief passions in her life are a fondness for all things romantic and a distaste for her mother. Her mother certainly seems quite selfish, and views her children only as a constant reminder of her age. Her escape is into romanticism – including wandering through the woods at the end of their grounds. It’s here that she meets Guy.

This is a real meeting of minds. They are breathlessly poetic with each other, while also realising that they are kindred spirits. It’s essentially love at first sight, though one propelled by not having met a sympathetic mind before. They agree to meet again – but, when Deirdre returns, Guy is not there…

We fast forward a bit, and Deirdre has agreed to marry a jolly sort called Terence. He is kind, fun, a little stupid, and not at all her kindred spirit. But circumstances have led her to this marriage, and she wishes to make the most of it. A couple of years into their marriage (while she is still about 20), and Guy turns up again…

Deirdre laughed a little.

“Wasn’t it Swinburne who wrote ‘Fate is a sea without shore’? That;s exactly what I feel – as if I’m battling all alone in a stormy sea, and that any minute I may sink. Dahlia, if Guy doesn’t go away soon I – I, the last wave of all will swamp me.

That’s where the title comes from if, like me, you aren’t up to speed with your Swinburne. I thought it might be a misquotation from Coleridge, fool that I am.

It was fun to see what Panter-Downes was like as a teenager – and she certainly has the gift for compelling storytelling right from the start. There is a lot less subtlety in this book than in her later work, and it’s very evidently written by somebody whose only experience of romantic love came from reading about it – but, at the same time, there are plenty of novels published in the 1920s by older authors which have much the same feeling. I suppose each period has its variety of dialogue that sounds right in a book but not in real life, and the 1920s lent towards stoical hysteria. An oxymoron of sorts, perhaps, but one that sums up the 1920s for me.

Is this her best book? No – but it’s great fun, not completely predictable, and with some moments of beauty that peek through the heightened saga and give promise of what was to come.