Apple and Rain Sarah Crossan London, Bloomsbury, 2014, 329p
This is such an incredibly and irresistibly heart-warming book, it was a joy to read. Apple has vague memories of her mother leaving, late one night around Christmas, leaving her with her Nana. And every year, Apple dreams that her mother will come back and claim her again. Nana is loving and well-meaning, and Dad is distantly present, popping up at important holidays; but it is her mother that Apple wants back. But when her mother eventually does come home, things aren't quite like Apple expected. She moves away from her Nana, but her mother isn't around much anyway, and Apple has unexpected company in her mother's flat. Apple tries to find comfort at school - she loves her new poetry teacher, but is scared about opening up with the truth; and meanwhile, her best friend is moving on. As her mum's absence increasingly becomes a social welfare issue, Apple does all she can to protect her mother from a potential visit from the police. Apple is forced to grow up far quicker than any young girl should have to, and as you read you long for her to be returned to her Nana's guardianship. Despite all the badness happening around her, Apple is a patient, contentious young lady. She doesn't get mad at her mother when she is away for days; she is far from the typical teenager. Throughout the Apple and Rain, Crossan treats the reader to snippets of Apple's creativity, inspired by great poets and universal themes. At points, it seems like poetry is the only good and true thing in Apple's life. I love the infectiousness of her love for the written word, and I am sure many young readers (and writers) share Apple's fear of sharing her most honest feelings with her teachers and classmates. It is amazing that a novel that explores a young girl's confused feelings about her absent mother can be so uplifting and enlightening.
Oh Dear Silvia Dawn French London, Penguin, 2013, 432p Whilst on holiday for half term, having finished Gone Girl far more quickly than I had anticipated, panic began to set in that I would not have enough books to last me the week. Luckily, the wonderful hostel I was in - Ani & Haakien in Rotterdam - had a book swap, so after skimming through a few, I swapped Gillian Flynn for Dawn French, and found a story that had an uncanny number of similarities to it's predecessor. Silvia is in a coma. It appears she fell from her balcony, and she is visited regularly by her friend, sister, ex-husband and nurse. Each visit brings with it a one sided conversation - Ed talks about their separation, his resulting depression, and his eventual recovery through his love of nature. Jo, the eccentric older sister, causes mayhem through the ward with her non-traditional methods to try and bring Silvia back to consciousness. And Winnie watches over Silvia every day, trying to offer comfort and nurse her back to health. It would appear that Silvia has changed greatly in recent years, and there is some resentment held by her family towards her new friend, Cat. Silvia has aggressively distanced herself from her family, leaving her son, daughter and granddaughter feeling angry and confused. Cassie struggles to find the confidence to visit her mother, whilst Jamie remains in Afghanistan, refusing to come home. But as the story unfolds, it becomes clear that this change was the result of a minor, regrettable incident, in which Silvia irreparably ruined her chances of a normal family life. This makes the novel sound far darker than it actually is. Oh Dear Silvia is an easy read, and has an optimistic tone. And yet it explores some complex ideas about family and relationships, especially around forgiveness. I was impressed by Dawn French's accessibility and the fullness of her story - what a great transformation from comedian to novelist.
Gone Girl Gillian Flynn London, Phoenix, 2013, 496p Another one of those contemporary novels I have been meaning to read for a while, I finally found a few days on my half term holiday to be drawn into the dark, haunting world of Nick and Amy Dunne. And all I needed was a few days (my flight was delayed, I was stuck in an airport for three hours longer than expected), despite this being a 500 page novel. Gone Girl is the story of a missing woman and her husband, who suddenly finds himself accused of her abduction and possible murder. Their relationship was on the rocks, and the police find significant evidence that places Nick at the scene of various unsavoury disturbances. And despite having the support of his sister and Amy's parents, Nick finds himself hurled into a media storm determined to drag his name through the mud. The novel is narrated through both Nick and Amy - Nick's narrative explains what happens following the disappearance, whilst Amy's diary recounts their past: how they met, their marriage, their move to the suburbs, and their slow deterioration. Nick is clearly not the perfect husband, and Amy's diaries increasingly cast light on a growing fear she felt around him. But the narrative is not as honest as it may seem, and in the second half of the novel, a whole new level of psychotic drama unfolds. It is so difficult to write about this novel without ruining the plot, though I am sure most people have a vague idea of what happens (especially since the movie adaptation was recently released). But I will say that it is a haunting novel about the darker side of relationships. As the story unfolds, it is not just Nick who is revealed to be a dishonest character, but Amy's true colours begin to show. These are not individuals that you root for or support - neither are 'in the right' - but you are gripped as you watch them destroy themselves and the world they have built together.
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.
We Are All Completely Beside Ourselves Karen Jay Fowler London, Serpents Tale, 2013, 308p Last week, just before the winner of the Man Booker Prize was announced, the OSA staff book club met for ice cream and a discussion about one of the shortlisted books. We Are All Completely Beside Ourselves is a very unusual novel. Before reading it, I knew there was a twist, but not what that twist was (I love that avid readers do not share plot spoilers with each other, and will strive to continue that here). The narrator is Rosemary, who commences her story at the midpoint. Having been a talkative child, she has learnt to start in the middle; but her story jumps back and forth so that it slowly reveals itself over time. As an adult, she confesses to being a lot more thoughtful and quiet than she was as a child, and that may be because she has not seen her brother or her sister for many years. Instead, she has carried the burden of her parent's loss (the details of said "loss" not being immediately explained), and has become an introverted young woman. Rosemary admits to being a biased and potentially unreliable narrator. She notes that,
"An off-told story is like a photograph in a family album. Eventually it replaces the moment it was meant to capture."
As the novel progresses, it becomes clear that her childhood memories are not the same as her parent's maturer adult experiences. But the profound effect of her upbringing is clear in her adult life. Parts of this novel reminded me of William Fiennes, who writes autobiographical accounts with extracts of scientific information, about birds or epilepsy. Towards the end of We Are Completely Beside Ourselves, Karen Jay Fowler talks increasingly about animal rights; though in our book club, we felt there were a few too many inconsistencies between Rosemary's account of her experiences and her examples of cruelty to animals. One of our book club members managed to read the book twice, and said it revealed much more on a second reading. I enjoyed the experience of reading We Are Completely Beside Ourselves, but I am not sure if there were too many coincidences for my liking.
Trouble Non Pratt London, Walker, 2014, 381p Trouble has been celebrated as one of the best contemporary novels about teen pregnancy, but I felt like it was about so much more than that. With drama between friends, romance through school, and the moments of tragedy, you could almost forget that the book centred around a growing baby. Hannah is fifteen and pregnant. She has a bit of a reputation around school, and rumours immediately spread. She expects her best friend, Katie, to stand by her, but when Katie starts dating Rex, she becomes part of the most popular group in school and drops Hannah. Aaron is new to the area, with a mysterious past and a determination to move on. Somehow, he ends up friends with Hannah, and soon finds himself offering to be her fake baby daddy. He's convinced there is more to her than the popular kids see, and his faith in her allows the development of a beautiful and strong friendship. The novel plays out over the course of Hannah's pregnancy, with elements of the truth being revealed as the story unfolds. For the first half of the book, you can only speculate about who the father is, allowing your mind to play through every scenario, even the worst cases. Meanwhile, although it is clear Aaron is haunted by his past, you can only guess at what happened to bring him into Hannah's life. Their friendship is all about compromise, which is what the best real life friendships are about. Hannah and Aaron are similar in many ways, but also incredibly different, and in situations where all she wants to do is talk, he sometimes finds himself bottling up. But their trust is inspiring, and, with the support of family and other friends, they make it through the trials of the pregnancy. Trouble is about so many of the challenges facing young people today - peer pressure, sexuality, bullying (especially cyber bullying), conflict with parents, the expectations of school and society - that the pregnancy plot almost a subplot. But that is what I liked about this book - that it was about so much more than what you see on the cover.
Wuthering Heights Emily Bronte Oxford University Press, 1946, 419p
It's been a while since I read Wuthering Heights - the last time was when I was at school, and something about this summer has made me return to it. (Let's hope it's not a reflection of my love life.) Wuthering Heights is the darkest of romances. Cathy and Heathcliff grow up together, roaming the moors of Yorkshire, driving their carers mad with their angry rages and rebellious natures. But their relationship changes when Cathy gets engaged to the rich, sophisticated Edgar, with whom she hopes she can maintain Heathcliff through her new connections. It is a classic case of a couple lacking in communication - neither Cathy nor Heathcliff tell the other of the strength of their love, until it is too late and both are ravaged with anger and heartbreak. But the story continues beyond the lives of these two characters - Cathy has a daughter, also called Catherine, a feisty replica of her mother; and Heathcliff has a son, Linton, a sickly, delicate boy in whom his father can find no pride. But Heathcliff is determined that the union of these two youths will solve all his problem, bringing the families and estates together. It is hard to sympathise with any of the characters in this novel. It is narrated by Nelly, a servant at Wuthering Heights has watched all the events unfold; but even she arguably supports in the destruction of the characters in her meddling. And yet, you cannot stop reading, becoming engrossed in the devastation and tragedy of their lives, holding onto the slither of hope that it might be okay in the end.
It has taken me a little longer to read this final book in the Divergent series than the previous two. When I started it, I jumped right in, eager to find out what happens to Tris and Tobias, but I found this book slower paced and less gripping than Divergent and Insurgent. It's hard to write about this novel without giving anything away. Let's just say this: Tris, Tobias and their friends learn that the world they have known is not what it seems. As the city divides - people choosing whether to defend the system of factions or battle for factionless society, it becomes clear that the city is only a small part of a greater plan, and the young characters begin to see themselves as tiny elements of a much greater world. Here, everything becomes a little science fiction, which is where I lost my connection with the series. Where I had previously loved the dystopian action - pages filled with fights and Tris' inner turmoil - the final book in this series felt like it got too big for itself. It felt a little like the Resident Evil books, where each new story reveals a darker and larger conspiracy. Veronica Roth clearly had a big plan for her series, but this novel did not seem to fulfil her ambitions. Allegiant is written from the points of view of both Tobias and Tris, switching between the two narrators chapter by chapter and revealing Tobias' inner most thoughts and fears, particularly as their romance developed. Unfortunately, although Veronica Roth has created a clear and complex character in Tobias, I did not find his narrative all that distinct from Tris' and sometimes had to flick back to the start of a chapter to work out who was talking. Apparently, Roth has written some mini-chapters from Tobias' viewpoint previously, and I would be interested to read these and see if they are any better. When I spoke to the students at school about this book, those who hadn't read it were excited by the final novel in their nre favourite series, and those who had read it convinced me it got better at the end. Admittedly, as the revelations unfolded and the action built up, I rediscovered my love and respect for Tris and her companions (increasingly, the other female characters became intriguing, particularly Christina). But I cannot ignore my disappointment at the turn this series took towards science fiction and that it just felt a little too much like dragging myself through tar.
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."
Divergent Veronica Roth London, HarperCollins, 2011, 487p I have been pestered for weeks by students who wanted me to read this novel. Admittedly, I have been meaning to get around it since before the movie trailer came out, so as I read it, I pictured the established cast as the characters, something I usually wish to avoid. Tris lives in a world where people are not defined by race or age or sexuality, but by their characteristics. Society is divided into five factions: Abnegation, where one lives a life of abstinence from all luxuries, characterised by selflessness; Amity, for kind individuals who focus on friendship; Candor, for those who are honest and frank; Dauntless, for the brave and fearless; and Erudite, where the scholars find themselves. Tris is born into Abnegation, but the system recognises the potential for people to feel disconnected from their faction; so in their sixteenth year, individuals can take an Aptitude Test and can choose to change factions. Tris' Aptitude results are inconclusive, suggesting she has the characteristics of more than one faction - she is Divergent. At the Choosing Ceremony, Tris selects Dauntless, and is thrown into a brutal training routine. She finds herself in danger, both from within the Dauntless sector, where competition for membership is fierce, and from across the factions - her results are causing suspicion amongst some of the leaders, who are concerned that the Divergent will rebel against the system, contradicting it's structure and history. Although Divergent has not received as much hype as the Hunger Games books, they are becoming quietly popular amongst teen readers. Tris is a great role model - honest, brave and selfless, a true Divergent. Opposite her is Four, one of the trainers in the Dauntless camp, a man who makes Tris' heart flutter - he is secretive and mysterious, but the way he slowly let's Tris in to his life is heart-wrenchingly romantic. The structure of the factions gives young readers something to associate themselves with - for example, I am pretty confident that I would be Erudite (as I am sure many Librarians would agree), though I hope I am not quite as evil as the leaders of this faction... Like the best dystopian novels, this structured society subtly reflects some of the issues of our own lives - like the fact that so many communities are fractured by labels, splitting people into self-perpetuating 'types' and turning them against each other. Now I just have to wait for the students to return the next book in the series to the Library!
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.
As I neared the end of this book, I had no idea how it would possibly come to it's conclusion with so few remaining pages. After a slow and leisurely build up, I was impressed that everything managed to come to a conclusion so quickly and smoothly. When Sophie is orphaned in a shipwreck, she is adopted by the eccentric and loving Charles. He teaches her about books and dreams and she learns to never ignore a possible. But as she grows up, the authorities become increasingly concerned about whether it is appropriate for Charles to remain her guardian, as she is less feminine than is expected of her time. So hiding on rooftops from the authorities, Sophie sets out to find her mother, presumed lost in the wreck, but Sophie still has hope. The opening of the novel is rather slow of pace - you are introduced to Charles and Sophie and their little domestic absurdities, which I loved. For Charles, education is the most important thing to distill in his ward, but the children's authorities have other ideas about how a girl should be raised. Considering the novel is caused Rooftoppers, much of the book was given over to Sophie's life with Charles, so that I found myself missing Charles' peculiarities once Sophie took to the roofs. This is Katherine Rundell's debut novel, so it can be forgiven that the balance between introduction and "rooftopping" did not seem quite right; especially since her prose style is so inviting and soothing, written like a classic children's fairytale with feisty modern characters and a dangerous path of adventure.
To see the rest of my Carnegie reviews, click here.
No poet packs such a punch as Patience Agbabi. From the opening line of this collection, she calls her reader to battle, seeps rhythm through their bones, and empowers one to be strong. Transformatrix contains a series of poems designed for performance - reading them in your head is not good enough. They are written to be shouted and sung, with unusual rhythm and unconventional rhyme that only reveals itself through the spoken word. The collection explores Agbabi's observations about contemporary society - about race, poverty, femininity and sexuality. Some are funny and some are angry, but all are passionate. The first poem is one of my favourites - 'Prologue'. As with a novel, the first line of a poetry anthology should grip you and make you want to read more, and with 'Prologue', Agbabi has written a poem full of pizzaz and joy. To read it aloud, you can indulge in the magic of language as the words roll off your tongue, each carefully crafted and executed. You can feel the influence of British music and culture, The book is broken down into sections; the focus of many being women - powerful women, subordinated women, women in love. Each little poem tells it's own story, and when collected together in sections, each part of the book tells a wider story. As a whole, Transformatrix is uplifting, exciting and invigorating.
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.
The Handmaid's Tale Margaret Atwood London, Vintage, 1985, 324p
This is one of those books I have been meaning to read for a long time - the kind of book my non-librarian friends condemn me for not having read. But at last, I can stop feeling guilty - instead, I now feel haunted by one of the darkest novels I have ever read.
In the Republic of Gilead, the roles of all are clearly defined by a strict social structure. Commanders and their wives occupy places of power, served by Marthas and Handmaids. Any rebels are swiftly removed from society, the punishment typically being death. Offred is a Handmaid, and her role is to enable procreation - she's are subject to harsh rules about sexuality and sensuality, dressed always in long dark robes.
But a repressive state does not prevent Offred of dreaming of her past and hoping for the future. She had a child, once, and a husband, and longs to be reunited with them; but fear is a powerful deterrent.
Margaret Atwood defines her writing as speculative fiction, as, unlike science fiction, the world she creates could really happen. As Offred describes, the transition from the contemporary society in which her reader lives into the Republic was slow and smooth, beginning with identity cards and scienfitic developments in relation to DNA. As such, the world Atwood has created is plausible, it could become our reality in the future.
The Handmaid's Tale is a sharp, perceptive novel about structures of power in modern America. Atwood explores issues of sexuality and desire, highlighting the impossibility of a 'moral' state, in part due to the complexity of defining what is moral. Her prose is incredibly witty and readable, drawing you into Offred's world and haunting you with the possibility of this dark, repressive future - and slowly revealing how it came to be.
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.
