The Hare with the Amber Eyes

The Hare with the Amber Eyes
Edmund de Waal

I am not much of a reader of biographies - only those of specific individuals I admire. But in order to see how Cardiff librarians run their book clubs, I thought I would read this and attend the meeting at Cathays. 

Edmund de Waal has a fascinating family history, spanning many nations, and measured in this book by the presence of netsuke, small Japanese figures collected by his ancestors. They are initially collected by Charles Ephrussi, a Russian immigrant in Paris, at the height of their popularity. The figures move from here, to Vienna, to England and finally back to Japan with de Waal's uncle, Iggy. 

I really enjoyed reading through the context of the journey - learning the details of the Ephrussi's attempts at assimilation into Vienna between the wars, and their eventual exclusion from the city during the Nazi reign. They were an incredibly adaptable family, spreading themselves through Europe and later into South America and the far East. And yet, despite their best efforts, anti-Semitism was too ripe to bring the family peace. 

Some elements of the story seemed too good to be true - many of the family's fortunes came thanks to their wealth, but the survival of the netsuke was incredible. During the Nazi occupation, the Ephrussi household was taken over by the Nazi bureaucracy, and their property was scattered amongst the Ayrian elite. But the netsuke escaped attention, and were smuggled to safety in the folds of the apron of the family maid. 

I would have liked to have learned more about de Waal's grandmother, Elisabeth. She was the daughter of the glamorous Baroness Emmy, a fashionable, sophisticated woman - but unlike her mother, Elisabeth had little fashion sense and was a determined, academic young woman. She fought for her education, and later fought to get her family out of Vienna during the Second World War. And after the war, she fought to regain possession of all the art and property her family lost during the Nazi occupation. I admired Elisabeth, a woman who seemed completely ahead of her time. 

The end of the novel left me wondering what might happen next to the netsuke and to the Ephrussi family, now diluted by marriage and spread across the world. 

Why Be Happy When You Could Be Normal?

Why Be Happy When You Can Be Normal?
Jeanette Winterson
London, Vintage, 2011, 230p

I have been rationing words on these last few days of my half term holiday. That is because I didn't want to rely on book swaps in hostels, since my luck with them proved to be limited. So over the last weekend of my adventure, I read and reread the Forward Book of Poetry 1994 (review coming soon), and I took my time enjoying Why Be Happy When You Could Be Normal?

Jeanette Winterson, author of Oranges Are Not The Only Fruit, is a clever and sharp writer, both of fiction and non fiction. I always find myself seeking out her commentaries in The Guardian and elsewhere, and everything I read leaves me feeling reassured that I am not alone, that life is a mad experience for all of us. 

Why Be Happy? is the sister book of the semi-autobiographical Oranges: Winterson confesses that her 1985 novel brushed over some of the harsher realities of her upbringing, including the creation of Elsie, the saviour of Oranges who makes Jeanette's harsh upbringing slightly softer. In reality, there was no Elsie. Winterson's childhood was full of explicitly repressive religious doctrine and nights locked out of the house, camped on the doorstep, as punishment for some odd crime, like reading. 

Despite only having six books in her house growing up, Winterson could not help but fall in love with words. She hid books under her mattress and learned stories by rote, just so she could indulge in the magic of literature and poetry. Her love for language is infectious, and by the end of the memoir I had a long list of things I wanted to read or return to. 

She also explores the challenges of suffering from depression, and explains the reality of finding her birth mother - a muddle of difficult administrative procedures resulting in a reunion she feels is rather less dramatic than typical reunion stories. 

What touched me most was Winterson's process of coming to understand her approach to love and relationships. Her feelings towards her adopted mother are impressively positive; she finds herself coming to the defense of Mrs Winterson whilst it is clear that her child-raising techniques were somewhat unconventional. And this has had an interesting effect on Winterson's adult life - in particular, the feeling that she is not wanted and does not deserve to be loved in the way many others think of being loved. 

This is the first book I have read more than once in years (other than Persuasion), and definitely the first book I have ever read when I started from the beginning again as soon as I had finished. It added something to the reading process that I have never experienced before - a feeling of familiarity, as I read words and scenes I had already stored in my memory, but some scenes shifted and altered as I read them a second time. 

And I think this made me love Jeanette Winterson's writing even more - she could make me laugh when I already knew the punch line; she made me put the book down and think about what I had just read; and when I knew what was coming later, I could see elements of her future being shaped in her youth. 

There was so much going on in this memoir, I do not have the space to explore it all in this blog, but it goes without saying that I think everyone should read this. Winterson's story makes it okay to be who you are, and I think we all need to be reminded of that every now and then. 

Chick

Chick
Hannah Lowe
Tarset, Bloodaxe, 2013, 71p

For National Poetry Day, I thought I would do a write up about some poetry! 

I have been dipping in and out of Chick for a few weeks, sneaking poems in coffee breaks and quiet moments. Last year, she was commended in the Forward Book of Poetry, and now I am honoured to be working with the Forward Foundation this year, so thought I would do some extracurricular research.

Hannah Lowe's first collection is an autobiographical exploration of her childhood, with a focus upon her relationship with her father. A mysterious and secretive figure of her memories, he was a Chinese-black Jamaican migrant, who only seems to have become part of her life towards his death. 

The poems are emotive and innocent, drawing from Lowe's memories of her youth. There are gaps and moments of hyperbole, where reality has blurred at the edges with time. But the poems are incredibly visual, creating a picture through her concrete language and intricate detail. 

One of the projects I am running at OSA with the Forward Foundation is the Forward Young Responses project (see more here), through which we are encouraging students to read the poetry of past Forward winners in the hope that it will inspire their writing. I found that, reading through Hannah Lowe's full collection, I couldn't help but recall my own childhood memories. For example, the poem, Self Portrait, Before Me is so perfectly visual that it brought to mind photographs I have seen of my childhood and my parents, and flicking back through old photos, I was minded to write. 

I am glad I got around to reading this collection; I have been meaning to read this for some time, having been recommended by one of my sixth form students. Oh, how the tables have turned!

The Silver Linings Playbook

The Silver Linings Playbook
Matthew Quick
Oxford, Picador, 2008, 289p

Unfortunately, I saw the film for this book before I realised there was a novel written before. Fortunately, I love Jennifer Lawrence, so found the film to be entertaining and touching. I have waited some time before reading the novel, to avoid getting too mixed up with the adaptations, and I am glad because, as you might expect, there were some differences. 

Pat Peoples is released from a neural institute into the care of his family, where he finds it difficult to readjust to reality. To occupy himself and get fit enough to win back his wife, Pat works out extensively every day; until someone starts following him on his runs and disrupts his routine. Tiffany seems a little crazy, too, and claims she is scouting Pat, though refuses to tell him what for. With time, the two learn to trust each other bit by bit, and Tiffany reveals she wants him to partner her in the Dance Against Depression. 

I love the complexity of the characters in this novel. Pat, narrating in long, winding sentences, is obsessive and aggressive, desperate to win back Nikki, optimistic about silver linings. He sees the good in the world, despite all the bad he had been through, and looks to God for miracles. Tiffany has lost her cop husband, which resulted in compulsive lies and dark behaviours and job loss. Pat cannot deny that she is attractive, and is so preoccupied with his wife that he does not seem to notice everyone seems to be trying to set them up. 

The Silver Linings Playbook reveals that individuals with mental health cannot be defined by distinctive labels or stereotypes. They cannot be grouped as one mass with the same behaviours and triggers. And, regardless of any internal chemical imbalance, love is complicated.

Instructions for a Heatwave

Instructions for a Heatwave
Maggie O'Farrell
London, Headline, 2013, 324p


On this gloriously warm weekend, I found myself reading a novel about the infamous heatwave of 1976. Sat in the sun, I was taken from London to New York to Ireland, invited into the lives of the Riordan family on the day their father leaves the house and never returns.

Michael Francis, Monica and Aoife haven't spoken to each other in years, having taken themselves world apart. All three have angry memories about their childhoods, and have chosen to avoid their siblings in their adult lives. But when their mother, Gretta, calls to say their father has disappeared, they must put the past behind them to bring him home. 

This is the most recent book I have read as part of the staff book club and, having never read any Maggie O'Farrell before, I had expected it to be one of those self-indulgent stories about middle class families full of secrets. And yes, whilst it is about a middle class family with secrets, it is brilliantly written and full of warmth. 

O'Farrell's characterisation is astonishing - the plot plays out over just three days, leaving her plenty of room to develop fully rounded and realistic individuals. Gretta, for example, is a lonely and desperate woman, raised Irish Catholic and shocked by some of the choices her children have made. Her pride is overwhelming; but what I love most is the fact O'Farrell has made her one of those mothers who would take to an empty room if she thought there was a chance someone was listening. 

The Irish Catholic heritage has a strong impact upon the family - strangely, it makes them all proud and guilty in equal measure. But the fact that the Riordan family are so multi-dimensional makes for an interesting and reflective novel - one that I particularly enjoyed reading whilst sat in the sun. 

When the Guns Fall Silent

When the Guns Fall Silent
James Riordan
Oxford, OUP, 2013, 153p

The events of Christmas Day in 1914 is the stuff of legends. It is written about, adapted for television, and heralded as one of the great symbols of humanity.

When the Guns Fall Silent is another account of this day. When veteran Jack takes his grandson to see the graves in France, he finds the grave of one of his friends has been recently visited. Upon the memorial sits a picture of a group of young men on Christmas Day in 1914, Brits and Germans together on that unique day. Jack sees a face he recognises, and visions of the war return to him.

This novel recounts how Jack ended up on the front line, even though he was too young to be there. When war breaks out and young men join the army, Jack and his friend Harry are recruited to the Portsmouth FC first team. Part of their commitment involves training with the military reserves, and the boys soon find themselves beaten down and remoulded into soldiers. Taking pride in their new-found heroism, they sign up and are shipped to France, where the horrors of war are like nothing they could have imagined.

Then, on Christmas Day, a German soldier plants a Christmas tree, and soon the two sides have agreed a temporary ceasefire. It is almost unimaginable that they can go back to killing one another the next day.

The trenches have become such a vivid image in the minds of the public that Riordan does not need to waste time describing the grime and horror, but instead can concentrate on the development of Jack and his German comrades. He also fills the book with facts about the war - little snippets of information about the suffrage movement and war propaganda disguised as fictional elements of the story.

When the Guns Fall Silent is a touching, beautifully written story; perfectly timed for republication this year.

The Adoption Papers

The Adoption Papers
Jackie Kay
Tarsat, Bloodaxe, 2013, 64p

I don't think I have enjoyed a collection of poetry as much as this in some time. It has such depth and details, and is of an incredibly consistent high standard. 

Jackie Kay's collection of poem explores families, romantic love and issues of society. The collection begins with the autobiographical story of Kay's adoption through the eyes of her biological mother, her adopted mother and herself. It discusses her feelings of abandonment and her confusion about her identity, though, as life often works out, comes to no solid conclusions. She also describes the issue of race as a black child raised by white parents in Scotland in the 1960s and 70s. The story is told through poems, pinpointing significant moments along the journey. It is incredible how she engages with the inner thoughts of both her mothers. 

Following this engaging story are a series of other poems that look at a whole range of themes and subjects. One that stood out to me was 'I try my absolute best', a poem about the difficulty of doing right by your child. She talks about feeding her baby healthy food and avoiding things full of chemicals, just to find out that everything you thought was okay is in fact ridden with potential hazards.

Her ability to articulate political issues and social discontent is profoundly powerful. 'Severe Gale 8' looks at elements of society (the NHS, the economy, etc.) in a series of chapter-like poems, using repetition to reinforce the stagnation of social change.

I love Jackie Kay's style: she is approachable and accessible, even if you have not lived the life she has. Her subjects become universal through the way she writes as she makes it alright for you to have experienced self-doubt or to have questioned who you are. The Adoption Papers is a poignant, modern and engaging. 

An Abundance of Katherines

 

An Abundance of Katherines
John Green
London, Penguin, 2013, 227p

I adored The Fault in our Stars. I thought it was one of the best books of this year, recommended to me by my teenage brother and adored by every students I suggested should read it. An Abundance of Katherines has been met with praise by many John Green fans - and, in reading it, you can see why - but I am not as awestruck by this novel.

Colin has dated and been dumped by nineteen Katherines. He is a child prodigy, scared that he might not fulfil his expected potential, so sets to work to prove The Theorem of Underlying Katherine Predictability, in which he will demonstrate the inevitability of his being dumped. With his best friend, Hasan, the comically overweight sidekick, Colin sets off on a road trip on the day of his graduation from high school in the hope that maths can solve all his problems.

Oddly, I actually enjoyed the mathematical structure Colin attempted to assign to romance. I think there is some beauty in maths, especially when it is used to help someone get a better understanding on something their are struggling to process. Not only is Colin trying to get over a break up, but he is worried that he might not ever experience that eureka moment that all child prodigies dream of / are expected to have. The maths helps him process the turmoil of being an oddball teen.

The reason John Green's fiction is so popular is that it appeals to the awkward geek inside us all. Colin is an unconventional protagonist, outside the mainstream, claiming to not really understand or like other people. And yet, he overcomes social adversity to win friendships and hearts. Green's audience attach themselves to these unconventional protagonists, clinging to meaningful quotes and inspirational moments. One of these that has stuck with me is:

"...you don't remember what happened. What you remember becomes what happened"

This is something noted by Colin when he realises that he has misremembered one of his relationships, finally allowing him to get a better grip on his theorem.

The weirdest thing about reading this novel was that my name is Katherine, and with nineteen ex-girlfriends with the same name, Colin's story is slightly biased against them. Admittedly, none of them were particulary malicious break ups, but I couldn't help but feel a little bad about being a Katherine.

I did not feel as attached to The Abundance of Katherines as I did to The Fault in Our Stars, and I think this is because I started to notice the repeated tropes of John Green's writing. What makes him so appealing to some also makes him seem rather predictable to others. But there is some undoubtedly brilliant writing in this novel, particularly in a scene in which Colin finds himself in a cave with Lindsey, a girl he meets on his road trip. Here, everything is pitch black, and the scene is carried by the dialogue, which is shaped by the fact that Lindsey and Colin can't even see each other. Because of the lack of scenic description, it feels claustrophobic and tense, jumping back and forth between the two characters. And as the reader, you feel like you are right there with them, which is exactly what every reader dreams of.

The Making of Us

The Making of Us
Lisa Jewell
London, Random, 2011, 390p

I think I am still a little hungover from reading William Boyd's Any Human Heart, meaning I have been unable to settle into any other novel since I finished his masterpiece. So I went in search of something a little more simple, to get my mind back in the game, and was recommended a bit of Lisa Jewell.

In various places across London, Dean, Robyn and Lydia know something is missing from their lives. Young Dean has just become a father, but has lost his girlfriend in childbirth, and he does not feel strong enough to give his daughter all the love and attention she needs. Robyn has just moved in with her boyfriend, but isn't feeling as awesome as she usually does. Lydia never had any family, and is now struggling to be happy with the fact her best friend is starting one of her own. The Making of Us is about these relationships between parents and children, brothers and sisters. And, in classic popular literature fashion, the three protagonists are all brought together by a mysterious and handsome French man.

I read and loved Lisa Jewell when I was a teenager - I remember recommending Ralph's Party to everyone I knew, though now I cannot even recall what it was about! With The Making of Us, I found myself wanting to edit it - making cuts to long unnecessary paragraphs. But still, I like her style and tone - the plots are not too challenging, but the stories and characters are likeable, so you find yourself wanting things to end well.

Fingers crossed this has cured my William Boyd hangover.

If I Stay

If I Stay
Gayle Forman
London, Black Swan, 2009, 250p

The concept behind this novel is unbelievably tragic. From the wreck of her parent's car, Mia can see her broken body being held together by the paramedics. She knows she is hurt, but cannot feel it; instead, she watches from the outside as her life falls apart and her friends and family pray for her recovery.

Based on true events, this novel is a spiritual exploration of the thin line between life and death. It asks difficult questions about what it means to lose everyone you love and how you are meant to live when life alters irrevocably.

If I Stay is also a novel about music - it has it's own soundtrack. Mia is a cellist and her family and boyfriend are ardent rock fans. Music runs throughout the novel, from the moment the accident occurs, drawing out memories and emotions, sometimes long forgotten.

Memory is an important theme in this novel. As her body tries to recuperate, Mia's spiritual other dreams of the past - of meeting her boyfriend, of laughter shared with her family. The use of different tenses is brilliantly emotive - sometimes, the memories are written in present tense, as if Mia is experiencing things that happened long ago for the first time. And particuylarly poignant is when Mia refers to her mother in the past tense, slowly coming to terms with what has happened.

I have mixed feelings on finishing this novel. I loved reading it - so poetic and musical, intricately composed. But it was the kind of book that should have made me cry and, strangely, I shed not one tear.

The Shadow out of Time

The Shadow out of Time
H. P. Lovecraft & I. N. J. Culbard
London, SelfMadeHero, 2013

There are an increasing number of classics being adapted to graphic novels recently. In my library, I have graphic versions of Dickens and Shakespeare. For reluctant readers, graphic novels are a more accessible route into stories, through use of illustrations and short pockets of text.

The Shadow out of Time is a rather complicated novel, and this graphic adaptation continues to use the complex terminology of the original. When Professor Peaslee loses five years of his life, he struggles to piece together the facts amidst terrifying nightmares. He learns of a mysterious race older than man, who draw from human experience to create a library full of the secrets of the universe. 

It is a dark, mysterious story. I found it confusing in places - I couldn't make sense of the strange fantastical beings Peaslee uncovers. Lovecraft is a master of the weird, and this story spans great passages of time and space. Peaslee is a engaging protagonist, suffering through horrendous nightmares, determined to understand what has happened to him, travelling across the world to gain the knowledge he so desires. But he remains surprisingly lucid, eager to do what is best for his son, in spite of his overwhelming psychological trauma.

The art work in this graphic novel are incredible, particularly the scenes towards the finale that take place at night. It is incredible that Culbard is able to illustrate the drama of the situation using dark blues and blacks. On some pages, I had to look incredibly closely to see the detail. 

This is not the sort of graphic novel you might give to a reluctant reader, as the language and story are so complicated. But for a lover of fantasy, regardless of age, this is a beautiful piece of art and literature.  

Any Human Heart

Any Human Heart
William Boyd 
London, Penguin, 2009, 490p

It's quite nice to read a 'grown-up' novel for once. Any Human Heart contains the diaries of the fictional Logan Mountstuart, detailing his life across the twentieth century, incorporating real events and people. At different times, Logan is a writer, a spy or an art dealer; he lives in London, Paris, New York and Africa; he experiences the hardship of the Second World War, the swing of the sixties, and the simple peace of family life. I was utterly engrossed.

The diaries begin during Logan's school years, boarding in Norfolk, and travel with him all over the world. They are sporadic and often undated, with gaps filled by an omniscient, anonymous narrator. In places, there will be a gap of many years, but then they pick up again for no apparent reason. His entries vary in detail and tone, sometimes philosophical, sometimes bluntly matter of fact, but always honest. Being a well-educated writer, Logan's vocabulary is sophisticated and complex, with many words that I had to look up, but I loved the challenging nature of the novel. 

It is a magnificent account of life, true in it's everyday occurrences and extraordinary moments. As Logan states:

"Isn't this how life turns out, more often than not? It refuses to conform to your needs - the narrative needs that you feel are essential to give rough shape to your time on this earth."

Logan's life is not without drama, but it also has great sections in which nothing much happens. And yet you get drawn into the details, from the days spent hobnobbing with literary greats to the end of year reviews in which he always declares he must cut down on alcohol. 

What I admire most about this novel is the historical accuracy. There were episodes I read that seemed to be great works of literary fiction, but turned out to have actually occurred. Logan mixes with Hemingway and Virginia Woolf in the 1930's London - his fictional adventures pass cross their real lives. Later, he works for the Duke and Duchess of Windsor, becoming embroiled in a murder scandal that later sees him imprisoned in Switzerland under mysterious circumstances. I was so in awe of Boyd's detailed knowledge of the twentieth century, to the point where I started to believe the fictional characters in the novel must also be real. 

Any Human Heart was a pleasure to read. It is a gift to history and literature. 

The Maze Runner

The Maze Runner
James Dashner
Frome, Chicken House, 2011, 371p

Hailed as a must-read for Hunger Games fans, The Maze Runner is currently being adapted into a movie franchise. When Thomas wakes up, he finds himself in a darkened lift, unsure who he is or where he is being elevated. When the lift stops, he is in the Glade, a microcosm of young boys abandoned to their own devices. They have set up a society in which everyone has a role and order is law. 

But there is no way out. Beyond the Glade is the Maze - an ever-changing mess of alleyways infested by deadly creatures. For two years, Runners have mapped the Maze, searching for an escape, trying to avoid the Grievers: gooey mechanical monsters that scratch, sting and kill. Thomas can't remember anything about his life before, but he knows he wants to be a Runner.

This novel is sickeningly thrilling, all because of the horrendous Grievers. The Maze is rather difficult to visualise, but Dashner details the monsters like something from his nightmares. He is not afraid to be graphic in scenes of violence, with pain and death being a constant threat to this group of boys. And, with Thomas and his companions having few or no memories, the reader is constantly guessing, wondering what is next and what came before. 

That element of mystery is what kept me gripped. The pace is quick from the first page, but begins to lag at the half-way point, when the path the plot will takes seems inevitable but frightening. But the uncertainty is a constant, with hints of revelations floating before you and then being pulled from beneath you. Nothing is obvious - you cannot tell good from bad, safe from danger, truth from lies - but it all feels terrifyingly possible.

Arguably, this is a story that has been told a million times before - an amalgamation of everything from The Lord of the Flies to the Hunger Games - but it feels original. It may not be flawless (in particular, I didn't feel any strong connections to any of the characters, though all had been well developed), but it is thrilling and intelligent, keeping the reader eager for more. 

The Music Room

The Music Room

William Fiennes

London, Picador, 2009, 211p

Although not a fantasy novel, The Music Room read like a dream. William Fiennes had the most unusual childhood, growing up in a castle, owned by his family for many centuries. It is a true story, detailing his childhood - adventures around the vast estate, day-to-day interruptions from the visiting public, and the difficulty of understanding his older brother's epilepsy.

This novel can be broken down into three elements: Fiennes' vivid descriptions of the castle and countryside, exploring the beauty of the Oxfordshire countryside; memories of Richard's behaviour, a result of brain damage caused by an epileptic fit; and a documentation of the history of scientific discovery with regards to epilepsy, from early speculations to more recent attempts at solutions. 

It is incredible how Fiennes brings you into his memories, placing you at the scene - be it a walk through the forest, or witnessing a fight between Richard and his parents. He does this by switching between tenses: first reminiscing about his memories of a particular event, then changing to present tense, taking you right into the depths of the memory, like it is happening right now. It has a powerful effect on your imagination, hypnotising you into this dreamy world. 

I knew very little about epilepsy or brain damage before reading this novel, but now I feel far more informed, open-minded, sympathetic. As Fiennes grow up, he realises that his childhood will be temporary, whilst Richard's is not something he will grow out of. Richard is short-tempered, finds it difficult to rationalise, and his moods are often dictated by the Leeds United score. 

Reflecting on his childhood, Fiennes comments on how little he questioned. He never thought to ask why visitors toured his house through the day, or why people were so accepting of Richard's unusual behaviour. It is not until we grow up, leave home, meet others that we realise that our experiences are often unique. As in When God Was a Rabbit, we see here how we are moulded and defined by our family and childhood. 

When God Was a Rabbit

When God Was a Rabbit

Sarah Winman

London, Headline, 2011, 324p

Family has always been important to me. They have been the one constant throughout the good and the bad. I've always thought of us as pretty conventional and incredibly lucky, but perhaps not interesting enough to be a subject of literature (though my mother might disagree). I think that is why I loved this novel so much. It is just a pretty normal family, doing mostly normal things, but they are always there for each other. 

When God Was a Rabbit is a fictional biography of a young girl, Elly Portman. She introduces her family with all the love of a doting daughter, describing their flaws, habits and secrets in intimate detail. Her parents are open-minded and liberal, allowing her the opportunity to develop in her own time. She is particularly attached to her older brother, who looks out for her like a good brother always should. 

The novel is split into two parts, the first being her childhood and the second being her adulthood, with little discussion of her adolescence. However, I didn't feel this left the novel lacking. There are some brilliant comic scenes in her childhood, including a moment in which she is cast as the innkeeper in the school nativity. When Mary and Joesph arrive at the door, she cannot bring herself to turn them away, and rewrites the history of the Christian religion by inviting them in. 

In many ways, this novel is very closely tied to the time in which it is set. Winman sporadically refers to significant cultural and historic events of the time, with a focus on random acts of violence, such as IRA bombings and presidential assassinations. These events have an impact on the world and on the family, conflicting with the love shared in their small unit. The contrast is dark and unsettling. It reminds you of the frailty of life and how lucky we are when we get through another day.

It was lovely to be amongst my family as I read this book. (I'm at home for the weekend.) Every family has stories to tell, and even these fictional accounts prompt memories of holidays spent together, laughter shared, arguments fought. Family has a profound affect on who we are and what we do. For Elly, family is everything. 

Granny was a Buffer Girl

Granny was a Buffer Girl
Berlie Doherty
London, Catnip, 2007, 168p

Reading Berlie Doherty is like going on a trip down memory lane. Whilst my sister was reading Jacqueline Wilson, I was reading Doherty. I read every copy that they had in the library - books full of beautiful characters, loving families and whirlwind romances. They were realistic, I could relate to them, unlike a lot of the strange fantasies or melodramas that were available to teenagers. And now, again, Berlie Doherty remains one of my favourites.

Granny was a Buffer Girl is a tale in which three generations of the same family share their best stories around the dinner table. It is the night before Jess' departure to France for a study year abroad, and with her brother, parents and grandparents, tales of love, loss and life are shared.

The stories told are beautifully written. They are not intended to shock, but are the kind of stories your own families might have to tell. They start with the story of how Grandpa Jack met Birdie, a romance that was forbidden due to religious differences. Then, the story of how Jess' parents met, and the short life of their disabled son, Danny. The stories make you laugh and cry, written with such poetic language and emotional investment. 

First published in 1986, this book feels timeless. Perhaps it is because the stories are themselves historical, dating back to the childhoods of Jess' grandparents during the 1930s; but I think it's because these stories are universal - sitting around the dinner table, sharing, loving: these are things we have all experienced. 

Set in Sheffield, the story has a special meaning for me, reminding me of the beautiful city and vast landscape in which I lived for just one short year. The city plays an important role in Doherty's novel, offering a backdrop of social change through the last century, with mines closing and the city being  built up. 

The stories are so real and compelling that you hope that, in some way, they might be true. Perhaps Doherty drew inspiration from her family, from their stories. These kind, loving people are just the sort you want to meet. As a child, they touched my life, shaped my outlook on the world, and reinforced what family means to me. 

The Ruby in the Smoke

The Ruby in the Smoke
Philip Pullman
London, Scholastic, 2012, 209p

I haven't read Philip Pullman for years, so it was like reading The Ruby in the Smoke for the first time, all over again. 

This is the first of the Sally Lockhart Mysteries - a series set in London at the end of the 19th century. After discovering that her father has drowned at sea, Sally received an anonymous note, which leads her into a world of conspiracy and danger. The novel is a sharp, enticing adventure, with a brilliant supporting cast of loyal friends and Gothic villains. My favourite is Jim, a errand boy turned hero, who finds an inner bravery that helps him to protect Sally. Also, he reads the Penny Dreadfuls, and so is very clever and literary for such an impoverished young man.

Now that I am older, I can appreciate the art and intelligence that has gone into this novel. Pullman has thoroughly researched London and Oxford during this period - short of time travelling, he has done everything to recreate this historical world. At the end of this edition, he has copied a short extract of Dickens' Dictionary of London, which is an encyclopedia of London society during the 1890s. Having read more widely, I have a different appreciation for this novel as an adult. I understand it better in the context of works that were written at the time, and stories that have been written more recently about the past. And of all that is available, this is one of my favourites.

I love a gripping crime mystery, and this one works perfectly for young adults: with the right mix of age-appropriate character to whom the reader can relate; with enough drama and excitement to keep them interested; and with historical accuracy to bring Victorian London to life. 

Cloud Atlas

Cloud Atlas
David Mitchell
London, Sceptre (Flipbacks), 2011, 854p

Flipbacks are my new favourite thing. For those who don't want to lug around a hefty novel whilst travelling, but don't want to succumb to the new technological era, these small, lightweight publications are a perfect alternative. Who would have thought I could carry Cloud Atlas in my pocket!?

Cloud Atlas is a tome of genius and creativity - an 800 page novel narrating six different interlocking lives, across many centuries. With each story, the style, tone and pace changes, keeping the reader on their toes. The stories are split, so the narrative is disjointed and, sometimes, I struggled to remember the smaller details, especially as I have been reading it over a long period of time.

But I love the unique nature of each of the lives - it is incredible that Mitchell is so flexible and creative, offering such variety whilst maintaining a narrative flow. For example, the first story is written in the form of a diary, as Adam Erving tells of his adventures at sea; then it is the correspondence of a young composer, Robert Frobisher, writing to his friend Sixsmith whilst lodging in Bruges (my personal favourite). There are movie scripts and interviews, as well as a section that is written like spoken word - as Zachry tells his story to a listening crowd. In the first few pages of each section, you have to take a moment to readjust, but soon you begin to drown in the language and imagery, and most significantly, the characters. 

Throughout, the characters are linked by memory, mythology, and a comet-shaped birthmark. Frobisher tells Sixmith that he is reading the diary of Erving; and later, Luisa Rey seeks out Frobisher's Cloud Atlas Sextet, after meeting Sixmith and embroiling herself in a dangerous mystery. Elsewhere, Somni 451 (a clone, who draws suspicion for being more intelligent than she was manufactured to be) becomes a deity in the distant future, after the Fall of civilisation. In this way, each character keeps the memory of the previous character alive. 

The overarching theme of greed and power, leading to destruction, subtly seeps into the reader's subconscious. Unfortunately, I felt the novel lacked the big ending I felt it deserved. But each narrative highlights the evil of greed, and the consequences of power structures - from the feminist undertones in Luisa Rey's story, to overt slavery, both in Erving's historical narrative about colonisation and Somni 451's experience as a clone in the future. In the distant future is a dystopia in which man has reverted to an ancient state, living like cavemen, due to the internal combustion of the greedy civilised world. 

I cannot recommend this book enough, both in terms of it's originality and literary beauty. It's length might seem put some people off, but it is definitely worth it to escape into these incredible worlds and fascinating lives. And with Flipbacks, you don't even have to carry around a huge copy! 

(I should really be getting paid to say these things.)

Yesterday

Yesterday (Teenage Memoirs)
Adele Geras
London, Walker, 1992, 85p

Oxford is a city that inspires imagination and creativity. I have been living here for six months now, and am still yet to fall in love with it, though I really, really want to. 

Yesterday is Adele Geras' account of her university years in Oxford, where she studied French and Spanish at St Hilda's in the early sixties. She is a warm, inviting writer, drawing you right into her Oxford. The story is reminiscent and full of love for the city, where, having spent most of her life in boarding schools or moving from country to country, she finally found a place to call home.

Geras directly addresses the fantasy of Oxford - she grew up dreaming about it, drawing on her father's stories and a map he owned. It's the place you read about in history books; the place that caused the creation of so many wonderful classics, like Alice in Wonderland. It is the centre of culture and learning; a place beautiful come rain or shine. The way Geras writes makes you want to visit, to eat at the cafes she ate in, to explore the streets she walked. Most of all, I want to meet the people she met. It's always the people that really make a place special.

I want Geras' to experience Oxford, but even she admits it has changed. I'm getting there.

Midwinterblood

Midwinterblood
Marcus Sedgwick
London, Indigo, 2012, 263p

This is an incredibly dark, brilliantly Gothic novel. I have not read something so scary in some time, and I loved the feeling it gave me. Sedgwick defines the Gothic genre in it's modern form, and Midwinterblood is a fabulous example of his skill. 

Written in reverse chronological order, this is a story of life, death, and love. It is set on Blessed Island, so far north the sun rarely sets. Mystery envelopes the island, as folk lore suggests that the people here never grow old, fueled by a unique healing plant, the Blessed Dragon Orchid. In 2073, journalist Eric Seven arrives there to learn more, but gets the feeling he has been there before.

It's really hard to write about this book without giving too much away, but let me just say that this novel contains several interlinked stories with recurring characters. It looks at the journey of two souls across many centuries, constantly searching for each other, wanting to be together. 

That's the romantic aspect, but the part I loved the most was the Gothic themes. So far from the real world, Blessed Island is eery and mysterious - all is not as it seems. Characters keep popping up, they feel like they recognise each other, even though they cannot possibly have lived that long. Sedgwick plays with the idea of life eternal, both in the literal sense, with those characters who consume the Dragon Orchid, and in terms of eternal souls, with the souls of Eric and Merle finding each other throughout the centuries, despite the odds against them. 

This novel took me back to the Gothic literature I studied at university - Poe, Hawthorne, Henry James. The suspense and drama are perfectly choreographed, taking the reader back in time, developing completely realistic worlds in each setting. Sometimes, I had to flick back through the pages to remember who was who, but I loved the slow revelation of the truth through the darkness of the story. At the end, everything came together, and all I want to do is read it again - I know it will reveal more to me with each re-reading.