Burial Rites - The Review

I started reading Hanah Kent’s Burial Rites on a Friday evening, and finished it on Saturday morning having reluctantly paused to sleep but other than that having barely moved an inch. When I did finish it I sat very still and waited for my emotions and my imagination to come back to me. I was so utterly swept away by the scope of darkness and humanity and simplicity and complexity and pain and beauty of Burial Rites that it took me a while to come back to earth. It is one of the most moving and beautifully written books I have ever read. I wanted to eat the words up with a spoon and swallow them whole.

I don’t tend to review books on this blog that I don’t like, but normally I am quite unbothered about whether anyone takes my thoughts to heart and decides to read something I have blogged about or not. This is different. I want everyone to read this book so badly that it makes me want to cry. It is wonderful on a scale that features A S Byatt and Edith Wharton and Richard Yates. Seriously, this is an incredible read. The language is delicate and the story is bloody and dirty and sad and it is an overwhelming, fantastic combination.

Often when I read a book that I love, I think about the people I know who I think would like it. My most bookish and literary friends came immediately to mind with Burial Rites, but the more I thought about it, the more people came to mind; the friend who normally only reads Sci Fi, the friend who doesn’t have much time to read, the old boss who likes books about cats and Grandmothers solving crimes, the ex-flatmate who prefers non-fiction… It is such a beautifully realised story that anyone who appreciates good writing cannot fail to adore Kent’s book. That means YOU!!

What Not To Read

Lately, I seem to have been reading a lot of throwaway fiction. Unlike many book-type people, I don't de-value this sort of stuff as less worthy or less important than tortured Russian novelist's work or wordy tomes about existential angst. Nevertheless, I cannot really be bothered blogging about the easy stuff. It isn't that I am ashamed of what I have read, it's just that there isn't much to say about it.

The purpose of such writing is something I absolutely champion; an escape, a pursuit of fun, a way into reading and literature and thinking about ideas for people who may otherwise be intimidated. I think there should be as much of it in the world as we can possibly squeeze in. But to write here about the books I have read lately would feel like describing a massage in great detail: an excellent experience that nobody else is remotely interested in.


Lucky for the internet, I eventually got sick of the easy stuff, and gave me brain a little workout with Courtiers: The Secret History of the Georgian Court by Lucy Worsley. It was one of the best history books I can remember reading in a long time. The focus is on a period of English history that I knew very little about but having finished the book I now have a very satisfied sense of having a sound feel for events and people from the court of that time.

The book was written in a very engaging and lively way. I carried it everywhere for a coupe of weeks in the hope that I would have a spare 5 minutes to read another page or two.

As well as being informative, and employing a very approachable writing style, I just loved Worsley's content choices. Specifically, she uses a mural in Kensington Palace to pick her subjects for study, and by choosing both servants AND nobility, she is able to produce a picture of how the different strands and strata of society functioned interdependently. She is also able to examine the different roles different people had, which added so much to the richness of the book; it became a whole lot more than a list of the rich and famous, and who they were all having affairs with. It actually made the book anthropological as much as historical which I think is what made me so delighted by it.

I give this book five King Georges out of five.

Perec-a-palooza

Georges Perec's The Art And Craft Of Approaching Your Head Of Department To Submit A Request For A Raise is exactly the type of book I would have chosen to write an essay about at uni. The main reason I would have chosen it is because the title is so long that reaching the required word count would be an absolute doddle. A secondary fact in the book's favour is that it is only 84 pages long. Added to which, the whole book is one entire, absurdly long sentence with no commas or colons. I cannot think of more perfect undergraduate study fodder.

To be completely honest, it did feel at times a little like I was reading it because I had to. If it had been very much longer I might not have persevered. The gimmick of no full stops is cute, but it certainly makes one appreciate them. Reading a sentence that goes on and on becomes a tad irritating after a while. There were just about enough glimmers of humour to save it, but having read it once I wouldn't bother again. The device is useful as a way of making the reader feel as full of frustration and ennui and soul-deadened as the central character ('you'), but on the downside, it made me feel somewhat frustrated, soul-deadened and full of ennui.

The Art And Craft Of Approaching Your Head Of Department To Submit A Request For A Raise is successful inasmuch as it proves Perec's cleverness and originality as a writer. It is less successful as an enjoyable read. So count yourselves lucky that I went to the trouble to read it and blog about it; you can now discuss the book at dinner parties and thoroughly impress you friends, without having to go through the tedious business of actually reading the thing.

Whatever you think of his hairstyling choices, you certainly can't fault the man's literary inventiveness. I also read Things, A Story Of The Sixties this week, which is a completely different sort of book from The Art and Craft.... It is one of the few re-reads on my Classics Club list.

I first read Things about 15 years ago and loved it. Something about it utterly seduced me, even though I was aware that I was supposed to find the central characters vapid, silly, flakey and somewhat pathetic. In my second reading of the book, I was bowled over by how obviously I had missed the point the first time around but I eventually figured out why. I had read the book as a teenager who was longing for life to happen. Even though the things and events and objects of Things are shown to be meaningless and empty, they were still more colourful and exiting than my life was at that time.

Perec absolutely nails that lust for experience, for stuff and for status, and I think I responded to the feeling of longing for fulfillment as much as anything else. I'm glad I took the time to re-read Things because the experience was so much richer the second time around. It made me think about life and society and experiences and relationships. Read this book: if you feel ponderous, and if you want to feel refreshed.

Perec is most famous for having written an entire novel without using the letter E (A Void). What I think is even more of a head-fuck is that the English translation I have has also been written entirely without the letter E. I am looking forward to reading it sometime in the next few months, after a break from my bout of Perec-a-palooza.

Food, Glorious Food

Last night I ate dinner at Red Chili, one of the best Chinese Sichuan restaurants in Sydney. It is slightly tucked away, so doesn't have the headline factor and queues out the door, but it is always packed. All I have been able to think about since we left is how delicious it was.

I've been thinking a lot about Chinese food lately, in large part due to my new cookbook, Every Grain of Rice by Fuchsia Dunlop. I've been pouring over this book even more than I normally would with a new cookbook; it seems to hold the answers to secrets and riddles that I feel will change my life if I can just figure them out. I have had so much fun choosing a recipe, heading off to Chinatown and sourcing strange new ingredients. Upon returning home with the loot, the process of cooking is super-easy and sizzlingly fast and exciting, and the result has been Food Heaven every single time.

Dunlop's name on the cover of a magazine in a bookshop window thus caught my eye, and I am mighty glad it did. Lucky Peach; The China Town Issue is a great read. It is published by McSweeneys and other contributors include Harold McGee and Anthony Bourdain. It's just lovely to read about people's food memories, recipes, experiments and musings in such a fresh and smug-less way.

I am slowly chipping away at a few other things, most of which are food related. Increasingly, reading about food makes me happy and content with life. Perhaps it's the interactive potential, perhaps it's my greedy appetite, or perhaps it's linked to how food is a soother and comforter in times of uncertainty and distress.

I have just made myself quite hungry looking at google images of "Red Chili Haymarket" to add to this post, but nothing quite fits the bill. Instead, here are some words with which you may create your own image of what we ate last night: Pumpkin deep fried in duck yolk and salt, sizzling chicken stirfry with mixed mushrooms and vegetables, pork ribbons and leek in chili oil.

The Misinterpretation of Tara Jupp

A few years ago, I read a purely delightful book called The Lost Art of Keeping Secrets. It floated about in the back of my mind from time to time after I had read it, until one day I decided that I really, really wanted to read it again. I almost never re-read books, but I loved it just as much the second time. Any possible consideration of reading it a third time was indefinitely put on hold when I discovered that the author, Eva Rice, has written a new book: The Misinterpretation Of Tara Jupp. I am not ashamed to tell you that I squealed when I found this out!

This is not a book that anyone would expect to win great literary prizes, it doesn't set out to teach you things about life or the world or human nature, and you won't swoon at any beautiful turns of phrase, but I loved pretty much every page. If I were to be picky I'd say Rice's first book has a slice more magic to it, but that could well be because it is set in the 1950s which I'm a bit of a sucker for. ... Tara Jupp is the kind of book I wish there was more of: intelligently written, interesting and non-formulaic yet easy reading and fun. It's a very difficult balance to strike so I am always pleased when I find a book that does the job. It's the perfect holiday read when you don't want your brain to turn to complete mush, and you want to read a plot line than is complex and unexpected while still being an utter confection of a book.

Read this: If you want to take a break from predictable chit lit where the characters' shoe brands are mentioned on every second page OR if you want to take a break from heavy-going mid twentieth century French philosophy.

Quite A Good Book

A Visit From The Goon Squad was a book I quite enjoyed reading, but I'm afraid I can't get excited about it. When something wins a prize it's difficult, if not impossible, not to place a heavy weight of expectation on what it will deliver. I suppose it is inevitable that sometimes that expectation leads to disappointment. A Visit From The Goon Squad won the Pulitzer for fiction in 2011, and the 2010 winner (Tinkers)was a book so shivery and delicate and poignant that I still sigh dreamily when I think about it. Another past Pulitzer winner, The Namesake, is one of my favourite books of all time so I was expecting nothing less than to be astounded by The Goon Squad. I was disappointed.

I liked the writing style, the characters, the observations, and most of all the twist that was the final chapter. I am glad that I read A Visit From The Goon Squad but if I am perfectly honest I was hoping for a transcendent reading experience and I got an enjoyable one instead.

Bon Apetit

My first ever post on one of the 52 books I have pledged to read as part of The Classics Club is a bit of a cheat. I couldn't resist; ever since I baked a cake and handed it in to my tutor instead of writing an essay, I have delighted in breaking rules. So the first book is not exactly what I would consider a classic, but I have a really good reason for letting it slip through the Classic Definer Net of Criteria, which I will explain. But first: what is the book?

My Life in France by Julia Child. The book is a memoir of a time in Child's life when she was creating what I do consider a classic: Mastering The Art of French Cooking, and that is why I have let it slip through. I have dipped into Mastering while reading My Life in France and quite enjoyed the added context the biography gives the cookbook.

What I have loved so much about My Life in France is that it is a joyful, inspiring and exciting read. Child's enthusiasm for her discoveries is palpable and invigorating. My Life in France is a story about a mind awakening, horizons expanding, and passions and direction in life being discovered. It is utterly heartwarming and reassuring to know that it really can happen to a person at any age.

It ramped up my own enthusiasim for food, cooking and eating (always fairly high to begin with). I have slowed my reading pace in order to peruse more deeply than normal several books on my groaning recipe book shelves, including Jamie's Great Britain (Jamie Oliver) and Four Seasons Cookery Book (Margaret Costa). This has been a wonderfully pleasurable and informative experience, and I wouldn't have thought to do it if I hadn't been reading My Life in France.

So, if one chooses to define a classic as a book that can make you think deeply about a topic, and open you mind to new ideas and possibilities then My Life in France most assuredly counts as a classic. And if if one chooses to see a classic as a book that has been engaged with multiple times and in multiple ways, you could equally use this definition to include My Life in France in a list of classics. I whole heartedly give this book five sticks of butter out of five.