Not So Sweet Worlds

Tonight I am off to my first ever book club meeting! The first title on our reading list is: Revolutionary Road (Richard Yates).I love Yates but I'd left this near the bottom of my To Read list because I had already watched the film. I know I am pretty much alone in thinking "movie first" is the best order in which to proceed with a book/movie combo, but I just think it makes so much more sense. Most people agree that the book is usually better than the movie, so this way around it minimises the chance of disappointment.

I find Yates' ability to conjure visuals with his words so strong that having seen the film a couple of years before reading the book made almost no difference to my reading experience. The images from the film faded from my mind after the first couple of pages. His writing is beautiful, sharp and desolate.

The only reason I wasn't more upset by the book was (I think) because I had just finished the emotionally raw Sweet Old World by Deborah Robertson. I found it tender, moving, melancholy and heartbreaking; it reminded me of feelings I've had and people I know and made me feel desperately sad for everyone. Yet it was still touching and gentle despite being so unutterably sad. It's hard to shy away from a book that feels so true, even if it is not about easy truths.

Soft, Sad and Beautiful

Yesterday I finished reading Tell The Wolves I’m Home by Carol Rifka Brunt.

Oh I loved this book. It was soft and sad and beautiful, like Bach’s cello music. By the end, I loved the book’s characters the way they loved each other.

It made me remember all the awkward, lonely, longing and uncomfortableness of being a teenager. Despite being about loved ones dying, and jealousies in relationships, it’s really quite a gentle book which is - let’s be honest – often what I like the best.

It won't be published until June (I think) so please look out for it when it does turn up. If you want to read a book that reminds you of cold Autumn days in a forest, afternoons drinking tea with special people, and moments of surprising and sharp beauty then this is the book for you.

Stuck In The Middle

Because it is such a long book, I was in the middle of Middlesex by Jeffrey Eugenides for several days. A colleague of mine who I shall refer to as Tim Tam has concurrently been in the middle of Middlemarch. Things became good-naturedly confusing on several occasions but eventually we had it all sorted out. We discovered to our amusement that both of us had had conversations where the person we'd been talking to thought we were reading the other "middle" book. In case anyone is still confused, this conversation illustrates the difference between the two books:

Tim Tam: I'm quite enjoying Middlemarch, but I still have a fair bit to go.
Me: I'm still reading Middlesex.
Tim Tam: Oh, are you?
Me: Yes. She's just discovered she's a he and has run away from home.
Tim Tam: Oh. Um... I don't think that happens in mine.

But enough of comparisons and on to the meat of Middlesex itself. I enjoyed every one of it's 530 odd pages. It made me realise with great clarity how important fiction can be in illuminating truths. It tells the story of an intersex person with honesty and beautiful, awkward, realistic simplicity. There's no over the top razzle dazzle or even a whiff of this being an "Issue" book. It feels like the truth and that is a wonderful thing. I am very please to inform the eleventy-hundred people who have told me over the past decade that I will love this book that you were all right. I'm sorry it took so long but I am so glad I finally listened to your advice.

The Further Adventures Of Girlbooker's Genre Fiction Reading

Reading Daniel O’Malley’s first book, The Rook was a novel experience for me; no pun intended (ok, I suppose if I’m honest I really did intend the pun). It is quite unlike the books I normally read, even taking into account the fact that I like to think I read quite a variety. It is pacey, boy’s-own-adventure-with-tentacles-and-mind-control, Science Fiction. The opening scene involves one amnesiac surrounded by numerous dead bodies all wearing latex gloves. I loved it!

A Common Loss, A Cup Of Tea

Reading A Common Loss by Kirsten Tranter is like drinking a cup of Budddha's tears tea. I think I should explain: Buddha's tears are tiny little balls of jasmine tea curled up to look like browny green knots. You put a few of them in a cup and pour hot water over them, and they gradually unfurl into long seaweedy strands of tea, gently colouring and flavouring the hot water. Much about A Common Loss begins with hard, nuggety little facts and concepts but gradually and almost imperceptibly opens up into beautiful, large, sad and soft ideas.

On the surface it is about a male friendship group and a trip to Vegas but the book is not at all what that description makes it sound like. It is, among other things, about surfaces and appearances, and how these can be deceptive; about imagined realities, fabricated realities and multiple perceptions of supposedly identical realities; and authenticity versus falseness and falsehood. So yes, lots of big ideas but they are easily digestible.

The frame of the story mirrors the ideas that the story seeks to explore, and I like that very much. A very thin layer of yang covers a large womb of yin; both in the way the characters people a physically harsh, false environment while attempting to deal with their emotions and memories, and in the way these concepts of memory, longing and grief are the real meat of the book. Also, Tranter has popped in a character who is doing research for a PhD in notions of authenticity and inauthenticity, which is a nice touch.

I give this book four Buddha's tears out of five, dropped into a lovely porcelain teacup.

Back To Work

I am back from holidays having been on a delightful reading binge! I am therefore extremely pleased to report that I have actually managed to knock over a few books on my (ever expanding) list of Books I Will Get Around To Reading One Day. I also just washed the kitchen floor so am completely brimming with self-satisfaction at my achievements.

This pile of books sits beside my bed as a physical adjunct to The List which is written in a blue notebook


So what have I been reading? A Scandalous Life by Mary S. Lovell has been on that list of mine for about two years. I have packed it into a suitcase at least three times, thinking it would make a brilliant holiday read but never managed to go past the first dozen or so pages. It was worth the wait and held up to two whole years of sporadic anticipation. It's a biography of a nineteenth century British upper class rebel: Jane Digby. I found it interesting, well researched, sad, illuminating and thought-provoking. Tallboy and I are now partway through Lovell's latest book: The Churchills, and we are both fascinated with the multi-generational story. I am also reading Wild Mary, a biography of Mary Wesley written by Patrick Marnham and would chiefly describe it as inspiring. Each of these books crosses over similar territory at times so I am enjoying the picture of 19th and 20th century Britain that is building in my mind as a result.

I've also read some kids books and some rather fluffy books that were not on the list but were happily consumed just the same. This Is A Love Story by Jessica Thompson came recommended and although I am not generally a chick lit chick I found this book utterly endearing and thoroughly readable. It's best read either in bed or - if you're lucky enough - lying by the pool at a holiday resort. It's a more grown up version of a teen novel I recently read: The Statistical Probability Of Love At First Sight (Jennifer E. Smith) which I found rather sweet and with more depth than expected.

The Tunnels Of Tarcoola (Jennifer Walsh) and Song Of The Quarkbeast (Jasper Fforde) make up my efforts with young fiction. I liked them both although I preferred Song Of The Quarkbeast. It was like a junior version of a Terry Pratchett Novel, so was probably more in line with my reading tastes.

Next up I'll be posting about A Common Loss, Kirsten Tranter's second novel which I finished this morning. I need a little more time to let the experience of it swim about in my head before I write about it.

A Year In Reading

I was going over what I'd read this year in order to pick out my favourites for a list at work and I realised that 2011 has been an excellent reading year. I wanted almost all the books I read to be my favourites, because I got so much enjoyment from so many of them. Perhaps I picked well, in terms of what I happened to be in the mood for, or perhaps I was just lucky to come across so much great stuff. Two that I regretfully bumped off the final list were When God Was A Rabbit and Once Upon A River which I posted about earlier this year. Both these books hung around in my mind for ages after I finished them. They were wonderful. Another standout was How I Became A Famous Novelist.

In the craziness that is December, I may not have a lot of time for blog posting but I'll hopefully have time to do plenty of reading, and will catch up on my posting in the new year. Buon Natale!