Howl, Kaddish, and other poems Allen Ginsberg Andrew McMillan is the reason for me reading Allen Ginsberg - I am just ashamed that it has taken me so long! Reading this so soon after finishing Kerouac has slightly messed with my brain - I am starting to feel like part of the Beat Generation, like a young, disillusioned man, endlessly searching for truth and honesty and beauty. Even now, Ginsberg's style seems unconventional - it must have shocked and awed when first published - with it's long, winding sentences, peculiar line breaks, and complete disregard for standard meter. But all this adds to Ginsberg's power. He is angry and passionate and contemporary, though some of his words resonate with society today. The images in Ginsberg's poetry are vivid and mesmerising. I can picture him sitting in a coach station on "great wooden shelves and stanchions posts and beams assembled floor to roof jumbled with baggage"; I see Ginsberg bent over his typewriter, wondering if his audience of the future "will [...] eat my poems or read them".
As I read 'Kaddish', I was gripped by Ginsberg's depth, his love for his mother and his battle between the guilt and the responsibility he feels. My heart broke for his strength through such adversity. But the poem I loved most was 'Sunflower Sutra', an account of a day spent with his friend, Jack Kerouac, mulling over the beauty of the tiny details in the world around them; finishing in a loud, uplifting call to arms:
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.
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.
The Land of Decoration Grace McCleen London, Vintage, 2012, 291p
I intend for this summer to be the summer I read all those books that have been sat on the shelf behind my desk waiting to be read. This last weekend I have spent in Somerset with First Story, and although I didn't get much time to read (because I was doing other awesome things), I did find the time to indulge in The Land of Decoration. Judith is a Jehovah's Witness. Like her father, she believes the end of the world is imminent, and soon she will be reunited with her lost mother. Within the confines of her room, she dreams of this new and beautiful land, playing with the world she has created out of cardboard and string. But when one of her playtime dreams comes true, Judith learns that such power comes with terrible responsibility. You cannot help but sympathise with Judith. Her father still mourns the loss of her mother; her classmates pick on her and exclude her; and society calls names at her for her beliefs. She finds refuge in her religion, talking to the voice of God; and her experiences prove there are good people in the world - her teacher, for example, is a diamond in an otherwise tragic story. Although I found this novel took some time to develop, it turned into something of a psychological thriller. It reminded me of The Icarus Girl - in The Land of Decoration, Judith finds companionship with her Godlike voice, and slowly their conversations turn dark. I love the way this novel is written, drawing from a Biblical style that parallels Judith's imaginary world creation. I am not sure what Grace McCleen is trying to say about religion in this novel, and I am hesitant to speculate, but what I found fascinatingly thought-provoking was the sway between Judith's psychological distress and her ability to find peace in her faith in God. But what was most poignant was the relationship between Judith and her father, a man who stands weak beneath the loss of his wife, the pressures of his faith and his distance with the society around him. You never doubt he loves his daughter, but you spend the whole novel wishing he could fully share his love and his life with her.
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.
The Bunker Diary Kevin Brooks London, Penguin, 2013, 259p *Possible spoiler alert* It is hard to write this blog without giving too much away - and I desperately do not want to give anything away, since I was given a little warning regarding how haunting and spine-chilling it is and I worry that too much information might detract from the tension of the story. When Linus wakes up in an abandoned bunker, he is angry at himself for being tricked by a blind man who kidnapped him. He finds himself alone, but, with five empty rooms around him, suspects that this won't be for long. The only way in or out is a lift, which comes up and down at set times through the day. As time goes by, more people are sent down to join him, each from vastly different backgrounds, each having been tricked in strange and well-planned ways. And they are being watched; there is no way out. Together, the captives work out how to communicate with their captor, but every attempt at escape seems wrought with punishment. They struggle to be civil with one another, especially in the context of this unusual situation. As the characters sink into desperation and depression, the reader is trapped with Linus in this underground dungeon. I have not read any Kevin Brooks before, though I have always been intrigued by the packaging of his novels. In fitting with the dark trend running through this year's Carnegie list, The Bunker Diary is a strong contender, full of mystery, tragedy and a slither of hope.
To see the rest of my Carnegie reviews, click here.
A Streetcar Named Desire Tenessee Williams London, Methuen, 2009, 90p
What I like most about reading a play is that it can so often be done in the space of a day. And in that time, with a play like A Streetcar Named Desire, you can go from the comfort of your living room to the streets of Louisiana.
Blanche DuBois is visiting her sister, Stella, and her new husband, Stanley. She is a fragile, dreamy woman who is shocked to find her sister, once a Southern belle, is living in a dingy flat in New Orleans. To Blanche, Stanley seems aggressive and common, but Stella is smitten, and though they fight often and loudly, they make up with sweet kisses and tenderness. But the addition of Blanche to Stanley and Stella's household puts a strain on the couple, and it becomes increasingly apparent that Blanche may not be telling the truth about her visit.
Tenessee Williams' play is gritty and dramatic, contrasting Stanley's rough manners with Blanche's fragile state of mind. To Stanley, Blanche appears to be a compulsive liar, though she is suffering from mental health problems and seems to have a fantastical way of rationalising her past.
After I read the book, I watched the 1951 movie with Vivien Leigh and Marlon Brando, which added another level of depth and drama to the play. Brando's performance - borish and sensual - is the complete antithesis of Leigh's scatty and angelic Blanche. And between the two sits the marvellous Kim Hunter (Stella), torn between sister and lover.
Stay Where You Are and Then Leave John Boyne London, Random House, 2013, 247p
I love the way John Boyne writes - it is so poetical and descriptive that you become completely lost in his world. His novels are so emotional, taking you on a journey of love, loss and hope.
Alfie's fifth birthday is overshadowed by the outbreak of the First World War. At the last minute, most of his friends find they cannot come to his party, caught up in their own family concerns. And those who do attend are distracted by the impending stress and fear of war. The next morning, Alfie's father volunteers, convinved it will be over by Christmas. But four years later, he still isn't home and his letters have stopped coming.
Although his mother tells him his father is away on a special secret mission, Alfie is convinced his father is dead. Until one day, shining shoes in Kings Cross station, he accidentally reads the papers of a doctor and discovers his father is actually in a hospital in Ipswitch. He sets out to bring him home, but finds himself totally unprepared for the impact the war has had on the mind of his father.
John Boyne is the kind of writer who manages to make you completely adore a character before putting them in a situation of drama and heart ache. Stay Where You Are and Then Leave is slow paced in the early chapters, setting a scene of wartime poverty and family separation. Alfie is a fundamentally good young boy - perhaps a little idealised in contrast to many teenage protagonists of today - but he is determined to go about his secret mission alone rather than asking his mother or neighbours for help and advise, which innevitably cannot end as well as he hopes. So as the reader, you watch helplessly as Alfie stumbles into territory from which you are convinced will only end in tears.
Today, we have a much better understanding of shell shock than doctors had in the early twentieth century. We can empathise with the distress of battle and the struggle faced by soldiers returning to everyday life. But people continue to suffer from the psychological effects of warfare, and not all families are as lucky as Alfie's.
My sixth formers are currently studying Othello, and I am ashamed to say that it is one of the few plays of Shakespeare I have not read. I barely even knew anything about the plot, so I set out to rectify this.
The play begins with a conversation between Iago and Rodrigo, two courtiers who are discussing the Moor, Othello. During the first scene, they do not state who they are talking about, instead referring to the soldier in racial slurs such as "an old black ram". The two men are outraged that Othello has secretly married Desdemona, jealous and angry at the rising social status of their colleague and rival.
Iago is driven by viscious resentment, and sets out to destroy the Moor. He plots behind the backs of his fellow courtiers, whispering false secrets in their ears, tricking them into believing the worst in others. He convinces Othello that Desdemona has been unfaithful to him with Cassio, and drives Othello to committing the most evil of crimes against his once beloved wife. It's classic Shakespearean tragedy - a dangerous romance that transforms social barriers and parental expectations; a jealous subordinate, unhappy with his own lot and pent on revenge; proud men who are fooled by their inferiors and seem unable to talk rationally with their wives; and a drunken fight scene. But best of all, the students at my school love it! With many of them being from Muslim families, they fully understand the challenge of racial differences and the value of chastity and virginity. Othello is a surprisingly modern text, remaining relevant with students for whom an honour killing can be a reality. Once they have gotten a grasp of the language of the fifteenth century, the tragedy and drama grips them - I don't think I have met a group of teenagers so excited by Shakespeare.
The Bell Jar Sylvia Plath London, Vintage, 2005, 234p
I have a whole lotta love for Sylvia Plath, despite her reputation as being rather depressing. I first read The Bell Jar during A-Level for my coursework, for which I set about on a focused study of the themes of the novel, with a particular emphasis upon gender. It has been such a long time since I read it that it felt like reading it for the first time, and again I savoured every minute. Esther Greenwood is spending a summer in New York, having won a writing scholarship to work at a reputable fashion magazine. Holed up in a female-only hotel full of fellow winners, she is trying to make the most of this opportunity, but finds herself overwhelmed by the hypocrisy of world in which she finds herself. On returning to suburban Boston, Esther is exhausted but completely unable to sleep, and spirals into depression as she contemplates her future prospects. First published in 1963, The Bell Jar outlines the plight of the educated, middle class young woman in a society with offers limited opportunities outside domesticity. Esther is surrounded by women who work under the thumb of powerful men or gave up their jobs to marry. When she thinks of her future, she knows that whatever decisions she makes will cut off a hundred other opportunities, and she finds herself unable to act. The feeling of completely lack of control overwhelms Esther, making her feel stifled and suppressed, like she is trapped beneath a bell jar. Reading today, with a better understanding about mental health, the story of Esther Greenwood is disturbing and frustrating. She finds herself isolated, unable to talk to anyone about how she feels; and when she tries to explain, she is patronised and mocked. Contemporary treatments included electroconvulsive therapy, a traumatising experience that offers no solution to Esther's feelings. The story is thought to be semi-autobiographical, with Esther's life unfolding in a similar way to Sylvia Plath's. But I always felt this novel was more universal than that, appealing to many young people, growing up unsure of what lies ahead. But there is such beauty in Esther's sorrow. The imagery she uses is profoundly unique, demonstrating the complexity of the depressed mind. It is almost as if she sees more than the rest of us, and this deep awareness sinks her into melancholy. The Internet is flooded with meaningful quotations from the novel, adopted by readers as a reflection of their own lives. Reading this again, I was able to distance myself from Esther's story, whereas I used to read too deeply into it and relate it to my own life. Now, I am able to note the beauty in the melancholy, seeing the nuances of the language and the detail in the images. For me, this novel is not a sad one, but one of incredible originality, poignancy and beauty.
The Shock of the Fall Nathan Filer London, HarperCollins, 2013, 307p
The Shock of the Fall is the debut novel of Nathan Filer, a registered mental health nurse turned creative writing genius.
When Matt's brother dies, everything changes. Matt idolised his older brother and blames himself, and a decade later we meet Matt at a day centre where he is in a therapy program. With access to a computer, Matt has decided to start writing about what happened at the caravan park in Dorset.
Matt is an incredibly honest narrator, detailing with vivid descriptions the tiniest of details: such as the way one of the care nurses clicks and winks at him, or the excitement of the morning routine of his childhood. But there are hints of secrets untold, to be revealed as you edge deeper and deeper into his story.
Mental health is a complex and sensitive subject to novelise. Here, Filer is informed and open, demonstrating the full range of emotions experienced by his young protagonists, from numbness to raging anger, from confusion to desperation. The plot jumps back and forth, from present day as Matt taps away at the computer to memories of his childhood, shared with his brother and later without. It's repetitive, too - Matt openly states that he sometimes feels like a broken record, unable to move on or escape.
I like to think of myself as a fairly educated reader, but even with this novel I learnt a lot. Matt talks about how people react to mental health patients - the tone, the terminology, the body language - and I found myself reflecting on my behaviour. Undoubtedly, this is the kind of novel that stays with you.
Filer wrote this novel whilst studying for an MA in creative writing, and it shows. He is a very contentious novelist, demonstrating a wide range of skills and styles - dialogue, description, soliloquised rants, and abstract dream sequences. But this variety is perfect for a protagonist with schizophrenia, allowing the reader to delve deep into Matt's mind.
This is a devastatingly emotional novel - simply beautiful. The complex style is powerfully effective, enticing the reader into a world few of us can fully comprehend.
Blood Brothers Willy Russell London, Bloomsbury, 2005, 112p I am a little ashamed that I have not read Blood Brothers before now. However, I am going to see it in Oxford in September, so thought I should probably stick by my rules and read the book before I see the play. Blood Brothers is the story of twin boys who are separated at birth because their mother cannot afford to look after them both. Mickey Johnstone is brought up by their mother, whilst Edward becomes Mrs Lyons' son. Edward is showered in opportunities - better housing, better education, a better life - whilst Mickey struggles to make ends meet. Despite their mothers' best efforts to keep them apart, the boys' paths keep crossing, with friendship turning into resentment as their class difference becomes more established. I was surprised to learn that Blood Brothers is a musical, though not in the conventional sense. It has the repetition of lyrics and building crescendo of tension through song, which supports the drama of the plot and highlights the feeling of anger and frustration. This play is a social commentary about class difference. The parallel lives of the boys reflects the nature / nurture debate - born identical, their lives fork in different directions, leading to conflict. Russell highlights the issues of class difference, questioning the consequent imbalance felt in many people's lives. It is disconcerting that a thirty year old play continues to have a strong resonance with modern society.
The Icarus Girl Helen Oyeyemi London, Bloomsbury, 2005, 322p
This novel is much darker than I had anticipated. It is a modern psychological thriller, dealing with the concept of identity through an eight year old girl. It is clever and confusing, making the reader doubt at every turn; and I adored it.
The Icarus Girl is about Jessamy Harrison, half-British, half-Nigerian, who is quiet and thoughtful; she reads a lot and has a wild imagination. Her parents take her to Nigeria, to meet her family there, where she befriends someone who seems to understand her - TillyTilly. But as their friendship solidifies, TillyTilly reveals a darker side to herself, as strange incidents occur and secrets are revealed.
For much of the novel, it is unclear who TillyTilly really is - you suspect she is a figment of Jess' imagination, but cannot be sure, as the novel is predominantly narrated from her point of view, and you cannot distance yourself from Jess' reality. As the darkness within TillyTilly is revealed, Jess starts to push away from her, but finds she cannot - they are bound together by secrets and emotions. Oyeyemi explores the complexity of growing up mixed race. Jess cannot work out where she belongs or who she is, resulting in the creation of her imaginary friend. The story develops from the focus about race into a doppelganger novel, as we learn that Jess had a twin who died in birth. As such, the novel became too complex - I found myself confused and full of questions - wishing Oyeyemi has focused on just one of these aspects. And yet, I read this book fervently. It was fairly predictable in terms of the psychological thriller genre, but very well written, with the language of Gothic horror releasing the ghostly TillyTilly into my nightmares. Oyeyemi was only 17 when she wrote The Icarus Girl, and I cannot wait to see what else she will produce.
Completely unconnected to this whole review is a lovely quote that I just wanted to include here:
"Two hungry people should never make friends. If they do, they eat each
other up. It is the same with one person who is hungry and another who
is full: they cannot be real, real friends because the hungry one will
eat the full one. [...] Only two people who are full up can be friends. They don't want anything from each other except friendship."
Ariel Sylvia Plath London, Faber, 2010, 81p Earlier this month we marked the 50th anniversary of the death of Sylvia Plath. In the same week, I found out my library had absolutely no Plath literature in stock. I was appalled, and I immediately rectified the situation. I first discovered Sylvia Plath at school, in an Extended English module - we learnt about literary theory and criticism, and started by analysing Ariel. I didn't rate it much at the time - the structure was perculiar, and the words didn't seem to make sense, like they had been placed on the page at random. Later at college, I read The Bell Jar, and now I am reading the her most famous collection, Ariel, in full for the first time. Somewhere along the way, I have started to understand the structure, and make sense of those words. Plath's writing is incredibly powerful, with recurring themes of death and mental health issues. She is famous for her psychiatric state. In Ariel, she writes about her experiences of mental institutions and her attempted suicides, claiming: "Dying / Is an art, like everything else. / I do it exceptionally well" (Lady Lazarus). The way she places "dying" on a separate line, all by itself, shows how explicit she is willing to be. She also references self harm, describing the sight of blood as "a million soldiers / Redcoats, every one" (Cut). In the same poem, she calls this injury a "celebration". It is incredible how she makes physical pain seem so wonderful.
Her state of mind is clear from her poems. She was not helpless or unaware of what was going on around her - if anything, she seems to be more sensitive to the world, to see it and describe it more clearly. Her words are meaningful, though subtle; and although the arrangement of the words on the page is difficult to follow, it forces the reader to really concentrate, to look closely at the words. She was not docile or weak. In fact, her poems are incredibly aggressive. In 'Daddy', each word packs a punch. To read it out loud makes one's pulse race with the anger. I came close to shouting as I spoke the words. The imagery is dark and the language is emotional. This poem comes from somewhere deep within Plath. My favourite, which I studied at university whilst looking at 1950/60s feminism, is "The Applicant". Some of Plath's poems are about the role of the woman in the domestic, middle class household, though few of those poems are in this collection. "The Applicant" is to do with the stereotypes of a 1960s housewife, defined by her appearance, trapped within the expectations bundled upon her by a misogynist society: "It can sew, it can cook, / It can talk, talk talk". The tone is mocking and dark, dehumanising and objectifying the subject to "it". It is tragic that Plath took her own life whilst still so young. In terms of prose, I feel she had her best work yet to come; The Bell Jar was just the start. But Ariel is undoubtedly one of the most wonderful, powerful and emotional collections of poems every published. It is a must-read for any self-confessed feminist, any ambitious academics, and all budding writers.
My Mad Fat Teenage Diary Rae Earl London, Hodder, 2012, 342p
I hadn't realised the new show on E4 was adapted from a novel. But since I haven't been tempted to watch the new show on TV, perhaps I should have guessed I wouldn't be that bothered by the book. Rae is an overweight seventeen year old, recently released from a mental institution. She is depressed about her weight and appearance, and suffers from anxiety about many wider political problems, including Nelson Mandela's imprisonment and the fall of the Berlin Wall. She feels as though her behaviour can influence the outcome of world events, for example turning off all the switches in her house helps prevent nuclear war. As the novel progresses, her self-hate increases. Often it fluctuates - she is happy when she spends time with her friends, and sad when she accidentally upsets someone. She has a wonderful group of mates by the end, and a lot of the novel centres around their nights spent in the pub, chatting about music and drinking. The book isn't bad per se. It was a little cliched - the same themes about friendship, school, and boys; the same insecurities that recur in most teenage diaries. It was unique in that it is set in 1989, so all the cultural references are very dated, but most were recognisable. And I guess, in terms of the television adaptation, this means the show appeals to the teenagers of today and their parents. So yes, the book wasn't bad. Unfortunately, I found it to be too caught up with the obesity theme. Teenage diaries about skinny girls barely need to mention their weight, but teenage diaries about fat girls are all about it. Sometimes, it can be beneficial to talk about something - this book offers young readers an a-typical role model, a protagonist who isn't size ten - but it also means that other areas of teenage angst are ignored. I am yet to decide if I am for or against such a strong focus on the character's weight.
