A Tale From This City

More Tales of the City by Amistead Maupin is one of those books that feel like I have already read, and loved. There was a TV series made a few years ago based on the first couple of books in the series, which I loved, so I just assumed that I also loved the books, even though I never actually got around to (ahem) reading any of them.

I did finally read a volume, and it was odd - I found it hilarious and witty and sharp, but kept forgetting that I was enjoying it when I wasn't actually in the act of reading it. Finding out that it was originally a newspaper serial subsequently made into a series of books helped this to make sense. And the idea of different writing styles for different formats was really illuminated for me. It doesn't make a bad book, but I can see that it would be far more memorable as something read in snippets, with forced waiting for each installment.

I feel like I have probably read enough for now, although if I were stuck in a holiday house somewhere with rain pissing down outside and nothing else to do, I would be very excited to find one of these books on the shelf to read. Or if I were stuck in bed with a cold.

Oddly, it isn't merely funny fluff, but it is written in such a way that it feels as though it is. There is really great stuff about relationships, gay rights, city life and human emotions and I suppose that is what makes it such an engaging read - the possibilities for connection with the reader are great, yet it is also possible to just have a little giggle and forget about it.

Irma Voth

It's funny - I really enjoyed reading this book, but now that I come t write about why, I'm not sure what to say. Although I love how the character's name sounds both strong and soft at the same time... I suppose it created an atmosphere that as compelling. And the first person narrative made me want to know more and more and more about Irma. She was intriguing andlikable.

At the outset I thought it'd be intense and gloomy (probably partially prompted by the cover image that looked like a new edition of The 19th Wife). I thought I'd need some kind of sponge-cake read to follow it with but it turned out to be a nice balance; intense, gloomy, quirky, fierce and beautiful.

See what I mean about the cover? I guess a book about present-day Christian-esque cults in America says "black clothes, long hair and DON'T SHOW THE FACE" to the cover designers of this world.

The Kitchen Sink

After having finished When God Was A Rabbit I wasn't able to settle on a new book for a while. It was just too wonderful. Too, too bloody wonderful. I finally kicked on with a couple of travel memoirs, and then a couple more kitchen sink dramas, with mixed results.

The first memoir was Searching For Women Who Drink Whisky by Miranda Kennedy. Kennedy's approach to writing about her experiences living in Delhi is refreshing - rather than a list of "I saw this, I met them, I did that" she used a lens of Indian women's lives through which to focus. I would have liked it to go a little deeper, but but I still enjoyed it. The ideas she raises about women's liberation and traditional roles for modern women are thought-provoking, and a little distasteful.

No Chopsticks Required by Katrina Beikoff didn't seem to go very far beyond the surface, but I'll admit that I didn't finish it. I think it would have been fine if I hadn't just read a rather good travel memoir, but because I had, I needed something to do more than fill in the mental gaps of space in my brain like a magazine in the dentist's waiting room fills in time. Really, it was just someone grappling with language difficulties, unfamiliar surroundings and Shanghai's extreme pollution and the only thing that made it different from the thousands of other travel memoirs out there was the odd big word or two. I am coming across a tad too grumpy - I would definitely recommend this to someone with an interest in or connection to China, or to someone who needs a "holiday read" (euphemism for "no effort required"), even though I didn't love it myself. It was ok.

Cuckoo by Julia Crouch was also "ok". I had high hopes for this kitchen sink psycho drama, and I really loved reading it but the ending was a big fat lard lump of disappointment. Not only was it weak and a tiny bit confusing, but it opened up a lot of other holes in the plot when I tried to figure everything out. AND made me notice things about the central character that were uneven, which I had been quite happy to ignore while the story was rollicking along. Another one for the "holiday read" pile.

Too Close to Home, Georgia Blain. This book took me three days instead of two to read because it made me sad and uneasy, so I needed to put it on stop for a little bit. It really did get to me. Part of what I loved was the Sydney and Australia references, which might make it too specific for other audiences, especially some of the references to Australian politics. I don't think so though.

I'm now trying some history once again, but there is a new fiction title on my horizon that looks like it might be 2011's answer to The Nineteenth Wife.

Ha Ha Ha

I have recently read three very funny but wildly different books: Wigs On The Green (Nancy Mitford), Sexually, I'm More Of A Switzerland (David Rose) and When God Was A Rabbit (Sarah Winman).

Wigs On The Green has been out of print for decades and has only just become available again in the last few months. It is a pre-World War II satire on Nazis and fascism and political fervour, so it isn't hard to imagine a few raw nerves being touched. I found it curious; in some ways it is even fluffier than Mitford's other novels, yet the underlying sentiment is far more serious than this lightness might suggest. It is definitely worth doing some background reading on it first, at least the introduction which in my edition is written by Charlotte Mosley. I really like the idea of deadly serious messages being delivered in seemingly flippant ways, and by making certain characters and ideas appear utterly ridiculous, Mitford does this splendidly. The book's biggest flaw is that it's too short.

I've been reading the other two books simultaneously, because Sexually... is a collection of personal ads from the London Review of Books and therefore something to be dipped into. I'd really like to read a section of the personals in the paper itself, to get an idea of how typical these ones are. They are sometimes completely bizarre, often hilarious and at other times totally incomprehensible. Really, the best thing for mw to do is give some examples:

This advert may well be the Cadillac of all lonely hearts adverts, but its driver is the arthritic granddad with a catalogue of driving convictions. Arthritic Granddad (67) with a catalogue of driving convictions including "Driving whilst trying to turn the dang wipers off", "Driving whilst wondering if his urology appointment has come through", "Driving whilst "Hey! Isn't that where your Aunt Maude's first husband lived after the divorce came through? He's settled in Jersey now. I could never stand him - he used to do this thing with his teeth..." " Would like to meet someone who knows how to stop the oven from beeping. Box no 9729

I walk the line between indifference and, meh, whatever. If you're going to write do it quickly. The OC is on in half an hour. Woman. Thirties. Box no 5710

The finest mind in the academic world conceived this ad, but it was his secretary who took two and a half hours out of her day to collate his angst-ridden ramblings, phone the LRB and pay for it with her own money. He's basically looking for an affair with a twenty-something idiot tart who needs good grades. I'm looking for a better job, a decent pension package, and a man to 50 who's great in bed and doesn't make condescending comments about every damn book I read. Man, 57. Or his secretary, 43. Box no 1207

Casanova began his career as a librarian. I've begun mine as a museum curator, which is more or less the same thing except it involves old bones and stuff instead of books. And there is a designated picnic area in a museum whereas libraries don't like you bringing in food. And we have fun maps you can colour in as you go around. And help points for the disabled. Man, 24. Museum curator and potential Casanova. Box no 7971

To be honest, it almost makes me want to be single so I can give it a crack.

And now to When God Was A Rabbit. Funny, funny, funny! Yet also terribly sad and beautifully written. It is Winman's first novel and she really is an excellent writer with a fantastic ability to draw characters. There were several awkward moments when I laughed out loud while reading this book in public. There is a lot of sub-par writing out there, so I find it really heartening to read something of this quality.

Strike Two!

My second teen book! It was Tortall, a collection of short stories by Tamora Pierce. I just loved her stuff when I was a teenager and it was fantastic to go back to her work and realise that I still love it. Some of the stories left me wanting to know and read more which is a frustrating aspect of short stories, but also the sign of a good writer being able to hook you in on very little.

While I was reading it, and enjoying the rich imaginary worlds and nicely rounded characters, I realised that the reason I often don't like teen fiction is that it seems to me to be somewhat anaemic. Perhaps because younger readers are not expected to pick up on subtleties of character, structure or style they are often absent. It is possible that I am being unfair, given the very small sample size I am basing all this on, but I figure blogs are supposed to be all about ill-informed agro rants so I might as well go with it.

Another Big Tick area for this book goes to the strong female leads. At times it is a tiny bit too obvious (pssst: HERE IS A GIRL, DETERMINED TO DO SOMETHING NONE OF THE VILLAGERS THINK SHE IS CAPABLE OF. What will happen?), but generally, I think it's fantastic and certainly something I remember as being a large element of my enjoyment in reading the books when younger.

I think it's a real shame there aren't more books for teens of this calibre available, especially for girls, although I read a lot of adult fiction as a teen because of this situation and maybe that isn't such a bad solution. Speaking of adult fiction, I am going to stick to that for a while now.

History: It's All In The Past

In the last few weeks I have been on a huge non fiction bent. Tallboy and I have been reading A History of The World In 100 Objects (Neil MacGregor) together for several weeks now, and we reached object 100 last night. It was so informative and incredibly easily digestible. The range of objects discussed includes Japanese pottery, Mayan figurines, early scripts and examples of money. Each chapter is complete in itself, and many of them grapple (and succeed) to explain big leaps in the development of humankind; through the objects in question. It was fascinating.

Apart from this slow and steady bedtime read, I set aside much of my time last week to read a dear friend's Doctoral thesis. It was an interesting process for me; the intensely close reading that was required (in order to catch the odd typo) made it a rather challenging read. I didn't initially appreciate how much longer it would take me than something I would read purely for enjoyment. Nevertheless, I did enjoy it. The content itself was interesting, and I loved reading well constructed and beautifully flowing sentences that were written by someone I know!

I bookended my reading of the thesis with The Chocolate Wars by Deborah Cadbury. I have had my eye on this book for a while (it was released some time before Christmas) because I love chocolate, and I also love Deborah Cadbury's writing. She's able to pull the quirky, meaty wheat from the chaff of historical detail while making it all sound as though she's having a chat with you over a cup of tea.

Cadbury is indeed descended from the Cadbury chocolate makers and either because of the family ties or because they just happened to be more interesting, the Cadbury empire is at the heart of this book, with smaller amounts on the other chocolate behemoths such as Hershey, Mars and Nestle. It's hard to tell if there is a family bias at play or not. Much of the book focuses on the Quaker ideals of the Cadbury family and of other Quaker chocolate families (such as Fry and Rowntree). These companies all began by manufacturing and selling cocoa as a wholesome alternative to alcohol. Cadbury writes about "Quaker capitalism" and the charity and socially inclusive visions of the Cadburys, which lead to several grand initiatives including a garden village for the factory workers.

The book is chock (haha) full of much more than recipe development and marketing wars which is precisely what makes it such a great read. Cadbury uses the model of her forebears to gently critique capitalism today, and the premise of companies that think only of short term financial gain. I will add to my recommendation that of a cantankerous, notoriously difficult to please regular customer at our shop with exceedingly high standards for quality reading material: She reported yesterday that she is enjoying it!

Tried, But Failed

My recent reading experiences seem to be all about Not Finishing. I am OK with that. I started reading Let The Great World Spin by Colm McCann. I could tell after reading about a tenth of it that it was beautifully written and excrutiatingly sad. I decided that I had read enough to get the experience I needed from it. I don't want to sound flightly, but I just couldn't deal with another sad book, even if the payoff was a beautifully written story.

I also gave up on the first Kate Morton (The Shifting Fog) after quite a solid attempt of about 130 pages. It pleases me to know that her writing has improved with leaps and bounds in each of her books, but that doesn't mean I want to suffer through attempt number one. It irritated the hell out of me, I think because there was a LOT of first person narrative and it was bad and unconvincing and trite.

The Nancy Mitford I mentioned in my last post, Don't Tell Alfred was all I hope it would be; a confection of a book. Reading it was like drinking a beautifully fragrant cup of tea. Mitford's writing reminds me of my Grandmother which adds to my enjoyment. I don't have a single negative thing to say about this book so I'll stop now to prevent gushing of embarrassing proportions.