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. 

Lady Windermere's Fan

Lady Windermere's Fan
Oscar Wilde
Diderot, 2012, 80p

My love for Oscar Wilde is now several years old, stemming from a trip to Dublin where I got to spend a little too much time around his jade statue. Though, in reality, my affection is probably older than that. 

Lady Windermere's Fan is one of Wilde's plays that I haven't read before, somewhat surprisingly. It is a comedy of errors, in which a happily married couple become suspicious of each other when a new and mysterious woman enters their lives. Talk around town is that Lord Windermere is keeping this woman, and Lady Windermere is shocked to find that all the evidence confirms this.

Simply, it is a matter of miscommunication, or lack of communication on Lord Windermere's part, as he tries and fails to protect the woman he loves.

Wilde's writing is full of humour and wit; a sort of comedy commentary about manners and status in late nineteenth century England. This mysterious woman, Mrs Erlynne, is initially condemned by society, gossiped about and speculated upon by the established members of highest social order. But when she is introduced in person, many are wooed by her charm and sweetness - suddenly their harsh words are forgotten and everyone wants to sing her praises. I imagine this was rather commonplace in Wilde's social circles.

One of my favourite Oscar Wilde quotes comes from this novel - and reading it in context made it all the more emotive:

"We are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars."

Love in a Cold Climate

Love in a Cold Climate
Nancy Mitford
London, Folio Society, 1995, 241p

I only discovered Nancy Mitford rather recently, and now I am obsessed. Her wit; her unique observations of the world around her; her strange ability to write a whole book in which nothing much happens - all these things I adore.

Love in a Cold Climate is one of her better known novels. It is about the wealthy classes in between the wars, as they attempt to find their places in a world that is no longer dominated by old money and status. Linda almost watches from the outside - she is not fully immersed in this world where diamonds represent social standing, but is welcomed into it by friends and distant family. She has grown up with her aunt and uncle, spending time with the Montdores, a local family with a lonely and beautiful daughter, Polly. Much of the book is taken up with descriptions of tea parties and balls, with the drama focusing around the eventual romance between Polly and a much older widower. 

Linda's commentary, very much in the style of Mitford's other protagonists, is full of humour and subtle disdain, highlighting the ridiculousness of these eccentric families. Through the Montdore family, mothers fail and daughters rebel - children act as a temporary distraction when couples get a little bored of each other, and a constant disappointment with their inability to live up to expectations. 

And love is constantly revered, with everyone being "in love" with everyone else far more often than is necessary. But this madness is warm and touching, reminding the contemporary reader of a time long lost, never to return.

Pigeon Pie

Pigeon Pie
Nancy Mitford
London, Capuchin, 2012, 159p

Last year, my mother read an extended biography of the Mitford sisters, and regularly updated me on the information she has learned about the family of socialites. I was intrigued, so when I stumbled upon a novel by one of that multitude, I thought it might be time I learned more.

Sophia Garfield is a sophisticated young woman of the upper class at the outbreak of the Second World War. She lives with her husband, with whom she has a marvelous arrangement that involves Sophia having a lover and he entertaining a woman who comes across as a religious lunatic. When she accidentally stumbles upon a secret within her house, Sophia is enlisted as a spy, and finds herself torn between the desire to show off to her friends and an uncertainty about who she can trust.

I knew I'd love Pigeon Pie from the opening line - it is witty, intelligent, and sharp. Although Nancy lived the high life, she clearly found it very entertaining and uses the upper classes as great fuel from which to be inspired. In part, you can see her own experiences in the novel, as she laughs at the ridiculousness of those Brits who supported the Nazi. She mocks the selfishness and naivety of those who sit in the Ritz and drink tea whilst discussing politics, when they seem to be so oblivious of what is really taking place in Germany. 

The whole novel feels a little like a farce, with Sophia's strange domestic set up, the way she trips and falls into a career in espionage, and the coming and going of her friends in parliament. And yet, beneath the comedy is a serious commentary on national socialism and the outbreak of war in 1939. 

Death Comes to Pemberly

Death Comes to Pemberly
P.D. James
London, Faber, 2011, 324p

My second piece of meta fiction in as many book reviews, but unfortunately is one was somewhat less satisfactory than the last. Eager to stick to my rule about reading the original before watching the adaptation, I wanted to read Death Comes to Pemberly before the BBC version reached my screen this Christmas, aired over three consecutive evenings. 

We are reunited with Janes Austen's infamous Bennett family, six years after the marriages of Darcy and Lizzie, and Jane and Bingley. The Darcys are planning the annual ball, supported by their abundant staff at Pemberly, when Lydia draws up in a carriage, declaring her husband has been murdered in the woods. Darcy sets off to find out what really happened, embroiling himself in a scandal that will dig up hidden secrets and and well-repressed feelings. 

As I have noted before, some meta fiction simply makes you want to repeat the original. Unfortunately, this was not one of those sequels,: although I love the concept of a murder mystery containing all my old favourites, I felt James was unable to write the see characters as well as Jane Austen once did. 

And now, seeing the adaptation on screen, it is clear that the concept it pure genius, mixing classic romance and drama with contemporary demand for crime fiction. In the BBC version, we are one again shown those characters we so greatly loved. Darcy is stubborn but noble, sometimes misguided in his actions but always acting with the best intentions. Lizzie is intelligent and observant, and proving to be a brilliant mother and wife. Lydia and Mrs Bennett (although not in the book) return, as hysterical and ridiculous as ever. Jane and Georgiana add a touch of feminine sensibility to the whole party, and Georgiana's suitors vie respectfully for her attention.  And, to top it all off, Wickham brings drama and controversy to the peaceful existence of the Darcy home. 

But the book didn't bring any of this delight for me. I found the plot confusing and convoluted, unnecessarily jumping between characters, time and settings. Often, James' use of unclear pronoun was frustrating; for example she'd start a paragraph talking about two male characters, and continue the paragraph using just "he", leaving the reader confused about who was being discussed. As such, the revelation towards the end gave me no thrill, feeling instead like a necessary process I had to go through just to make it to the end. 

I found myself ploughing on, hoping for more, which I eventually found in the television adaptation. I think this might be the first time I've preferred the screen to the book! Hopefully, this novel will not put me off reading any P.D. James in the future.

Persuasion

Persuasion
Jane Austen
London, Penguin, 2007, 272p

My book hangover is cured!

If anyone was going to fix me, it had to be Jane Austen. Persuasion is my all time favourite book. It is like comfort food to me - warm, relaxing, like spending an evening with an old friend. I have read it a million times, and every time I have laughed and cried and gotten heart burn from forgetting to breathe.

When the lives of Anne Eliot and Frederick Wentworth cross again, eight years after she was persuaded to break off their engagement, neither can be sure what the other now feels. Anne is a gentle, intelligent and practical young woman; modest and quiet unlike her humoursly self-centered family. And Wentworth is noble and agreeable, bursting with emotions but terrible at revealing them.
  So like every other perfect couple in history, they convince themselves that the other no longer loves them. Frederick's friendly attention to Anne's nieces convince her that he must love another; and her determined modesty makes him believe she could never return his affections. Oh, why don't they just tell each other!?
  And this is exactly why I get heart burn. Austen writes so well - building the suspence, carrying the novel through stolen glances and mistaken actions. I find myself drawn right into the room with Anne and Wentworth, watching their every move, trying to be patient, knowing they will come together eventually.

I have oodles of respect and love for Jane Austen. She is so clever and timeless. Her characters are vivid and true - we all know someone like the people in this story. And the locations remain alive today, places like Bath and Lyme Regis, still classically regent. This book mocks the foolish ignorance of the upper classes, challenges the percieved differences between the sexes, and celebrates the sensibility of educated women.

But the most incredible element in this novel is that letter - Captain Wentworth's confession. I can say no more; you must read Persuasion to understand.

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. 

Someone Like You

Someone Like You
Roald Dahl
London, Penguin, 2011, 355p
(World Book Night 2012)

This novel has been sitting on my shelf for ages, so I was pleasantly surprised when I opened it to find it was a collection of short stories. It was just what I needed for the last few days of my holiday - intelligent, witty little bites of fiction. 

Someone Like You consists of a number of short stories written for adults. These are tales of gambling and murder, but told in such a way that you cannot help but read with a smile on your face. Dahl is one of the most hilarious and macabre writers - he is the master of the twist in the tale. 

In most of these stories, the protagonists is the cause of their own demise. Dahl entices you into empathising with these characters, but through ego or stupidity, the hero ends up in ruins. In just a few pages, Dahl is able to build up tension to the point that you find yourself laughing with shock and amusement as the plot suddenly turns in an unexpected direction. 

The ones that particularly stood out to me were the more wicked of the stories. Lamb to the Slaughter begins with a woman excitedly awaiting the return of her husband from work, but things take a dangerous twist when he tells her is leaving her. You read in awe as the events unfold and delight in the strangeness of it all. 

I think what is incredible about these stories is that they are both realist and surreal. The characters are not great works of imagination and the tales begin as narratives of everyday lives. But the twists and turns take you into a dreamlike world where the darkest of fantasies come to life. 

It is similar to the sensation when you might be really angry at someone, and imagine punching them in the face, but of course do not actually take action. Dahl writes those wicked fantasies into short story form, allowing the reader to release some pent up frustrations by laughing at what might happen if you did succumb to your darkest desires.

The Collected Dorothy Parker

The Collected Dorothy Parker
Dorothy Parker
London, Penguin, 2001, 610p

I first came across Dorothy Parker a few years ago at a Dead Poet's Slam, in which people performed the poems of their favourite deceased writers. Her poems were sharp and witty, full of cynicism and anger, but not ranting-and-raving anger, but a more poignant and observational social critique.

This collection includes Parker's poems, short stories, and journalistic writings. Her style is singular and her tone is unique. In the introduction to this collection, one particular phrase stood out: "the imagination of disaster". By this, it is implied that she always manages to see the worst in things, as all her stories end badly. It is suggested that Parker did not think she would live as long as she did: in an age when all young female writers seemed to die prematurely, Parker lived to the ripe old age of 73. The theme of death, particularly suicide, is prominent throughout her poems ans stories, in which many of her characters are angry, lonely or depressed. 

Most of these works were written in the 1920s, a time in which anything seemed possible. There were riches, sex and parties: the American Dream. But nothing was ever enough, and Parker highlights people's dissatisfaction with this world, anticipating the crash of the 30s. Her stories are about people who are lonely and confused, always wanting: wanting for their absent lover, wanting for a fur coat like the one the neighbour has, wanting for more of this or less of that. These characters turn to gossip, alcohol or extra-marital sex. They crave meaning and purpose, but always seem to be unable to find that fulfillment.

And yet, her language and descriptions are so captivating and addictive that I found myself in love with the beauty in the world, rather than lamenting the problems in it. Her stories are magnificently visual, and in just a few pages, you become engrossed in these worlds, intrigued by these people. For example, in one story, she describes a women as such:

"She was tall, and her body streamed like a sonnet. Her face was formed all of triangles, like a cat's is, and her eyes and her hair were blue-grey."

There is a beauty to this language that is unprecedented. Parker's humour is sharp and observational, drawing your attention to some of the most common-place things and making them entertaining:

"Men seldom make passes / At girls who wear glasses."

And that is the whole poem. Two lines: just brilliant. Though I think my favourite poem is Observation, because it perfectly encapsulates a thought I have almost every day.

 Her tone and wit continue into her journalistic writing: reviews, commentaries, columns. It is like she is sat across the table from you in a coffee shop, telling you about the play she saw last night, laughing at the unconvincing acting or praising the audience's reaction. 

I really enjoyed reading these stories and poems over the last few weeks, and I am ashamed I knew so little of her before now. Parker's stories end in tears or death - none of them offer the that fairytale happy ending - but they are real and honest, a criticism of the time in which she lived. She was a rare literary beauty, and I am glad she was an exception of her generation and lived long enough to give us such a vast and entertaining collection of writing.  

The Taming of the Shrew

The Taming of the Shrew
William Shakespeare
London, Penguin, 1974


Yesterday evening, I was lucky to get to see the Globe Theatre on tour at the Bodleian Library Quad, performing The Taming of the Shrew.

The Taming of the Shrew is controversially my favourite Shakespeare play. I say it is controversial because, in theory, it goes against all my feminist beliefs. It is a story about two sisters, Katherina and Bianca. Thier father insists that the eldest must be married before the youngest; but Katherina is a shrew: angry, stubborn and difficult. Bianca's suitors are relieved when they stumble upon Petruchio, an eccentric gentleman who is determined he can take her.

In theory, I have a real problem with this play: i.e. the idea that a woman can be tamed. We cannot. And yet, I find this to be an intelligent, witty, moving story about relationships between the sexes. Katherina is a headstrong heroine, loud and feisty, and Petrichio is a ridiculous pedant. In my humble opinion, both are tamed: they come fo realise they must manage their behaviour and inhibitions in the company of others. As such, Katherina appears "tamed", but I consider Petruchio to also be somewhat more sedate.

I found it a strange contrast to read a play with so little stage direction. Other than telling the characters when to enter and exeunt, Shakespeare leaves the play in the hands of the director. This means every performance is different and adaptation is flexible. I think this is why there have been so many interpretations and modernisations of his plays.

Before seeing the play last night, I went to a pre-show talk, in which I found two subjects discussed to be of particular interest. First, the repeated references to possessions throughout the story. Money is key: it breeds friendships, supports marriages, and defines relationships. On several occasions, Bianca's suitors debate who has the most right to her hand, arguing over their wealth and land. Elsewhere, Petruchio calls Katherina his possession, and Katherina later declares one's husband is "thy lord, thy king, thy governor". Yet, given the contemporary society, this is understandable. This is a story about bourgeois families vying to out-bid each other for the "love" of a beautiful woman. And this is why Petruchio and Katherina's love seems so much more valid: they are both rich and crazy but they don't need anything from each other. They are whole as individuals, and their union makes them a strong team. (Or maybe I'm just a hopeless romantic.)

The other thing I was particularly interested in was the concept of performance. The Taming of the Shrew is a play within a play. At the beginning, a lord plays a trick on a drunk, dressing him in finery and pretending he is a lord. He employs a passing troupe to put on a play, and hence the well-known story begins. As such, it has been argued that the play can be seen as a farce, a comic commentary on gender roles and a criticism of the bourgeois values that dictate society (and hence, a misogynist tale it is not. Hurrah!).

And so, I hope I have been able to justify my love of The Taming of the Shrew. And if not, no one can deny the appeal of Shakespeare performed outside on a warm summer's evening.

The Great Gatsby

The Great Gatsby
F Scott Fitzgerald
London, Everyman's, 1991, 148p

As an English graduate, I am ashamed that I have not read this novel in the past. The Great Gatsby is emblematic of it's time, portraying 1920s New York as the centre of materialism and wealth.

Narrated by Nick Carraway, Fitzgerald's novel tells the tale of Jay Gatsby, party host, socialite, and subject of many rumours. Those in Gatsby's circle are living the American dream - wearing expensive gowns, drinking champagne through the night, exploiting the possibilities of wealth and privilege. Underlying this descriptive element is a tale of romance, as Gatsby embarks on a conspiracy to be reunited with his past love, Daisy.

Carraway's tale is one of few characters and little drama, excepting the rather unexpected fall from grace at the end, which I shall not spoil. Through his narrative tone, Carraway is quietly critical of all that Gatsby's guests represent - many are uninvited, few actually know the host, and all speculate on the truth of gossip suggesting he's a German spy, or perhaps he's killed a man. Few of these wealthy elites seem happy with their lot, though by appearance they have achieved the American dream. It reminds me of American Psycho (just with slightly less sex and murder), with Patrick Bateman's tireless hatred of the life that he leads, and the ideology of consumerism that overwhelms society. 

You float through this novel on a bed of Fitzgerald's words - he uses the most romantic language to describe the parties and people. He perfectly captures the Jazz Age, contrasting it's beauty and excitement with horror and dissatisfaction.