Author: StuckinaBook

All Men Are Liars by Alberto Manguel

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I see quite a few people write about Alberto Manguel’s non-fiction, about reading and libraries, but not so often his novels. I picked up All Men Are Liars (2008, translated from Spanish by Miranda France) in Washington D.C. in 2013, off the back of enjoying that non-fiction, and it’s interesting to see how the kind-hearted wisdom that characterises his non-fiction does or doesn’t transfer here. I was also drawn by Jason Booher’s excellent cover design.

The title is a quote from (some translations of) Psalm 116 – but this isn’t a biblical book, or even the feminist polemic you might expect from that title. In context, the phrase is really about the way different accounts of the same instance will contradict.

The instance, or at least the person, is a writer called Alejandro Bevilacqua. He has died in suspicious circumstances, falling from his balcony the day before his masterpiece was published, and the various characters of the novel take it in turn to narrate their history with him – and what they know of his death. Amusingly, the first of these men is an author called Alberto Manguel…

While at times it feels like they are under police inquiry, they are actually speaking to a journalist called Terradillos, who is piecing together the truth about Bevilacqua’s life, or is at least trying to. Each account is as much about the speaker as it is Bevilacqua, and we quickly get a sense of their character.

He had something of the provincial gentleman, Alejandro Bevilacqua, an unruffled air and an absence of guile which meant that one toned down jokes in his presence and tried to be accurate about anecdotes. It’s not that the man lacked imagination, but rather that he had no talent for fantasy. Like St Thomas, the Apostle, he needed to touch what he saw before he could believe it was real.

That is why I was so surprised the night he turned up at my house and said he’d seen a ghost.

Each person has their frames of reference, their own go-tos for metaphor, and their own placing in the geopolitics that is the true heart of All Men Are Liars. Because almost everyone involved is an Argentinian ex-pat whose lives were forever changed by the brutal politics of the period. Bevilacqua was imprisoned and tortured for reasons that were unclear to him, and other speakers in the novel have experienced similar ordeals.

There are central questions in the novel – who truly wrote Bevilacqua’s masterpiece, which his lover found amongst his belongings and got published without his involvement; what machinations led to Bevilacqua’s torments and death – but above all it’s an experiment in perspective. What even is lying, if people can tell untruths without realising? Where is the line between deceit and subjectivity?

All Men Are Liars is an interesting and pretty captivating novel, though I did feel a bit at sea by my poor knowledge of mid/late-century Argentina. Manguel is a delightful companion even when he’s writing about dark topics, and there were continual chinks of light coming through the miseries and antagonisms he describes.

I think I’d still start with his non-fiction and treasure books about reading above this sort of fiction, but there is probably more urgency to All Men Are Liars than anything else I’ve read by Manguel. And I think that’s the truth?

And the next club will be…

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Thanks so much for your contributions to the 1970 Club! There are so many books I now want to read (with The Woods in Winter by Stella Gibbons head of the pack) – and some I now know to avoid… There were also quite a few on my shelves that I hoped to get and didn’t, especially Losing Battles by Eudora Welty.

ANYWAY, it’s been fun as ever – and more and more people seem to join in every time. Next year will be the tenth (!!) anniversary of the club, but that’s not until October. First, in April, we will be doing… the 1952 Club!

It’s 21-27 April, but we will warn you nearer the time, of course. Thanks to Karen, as ever, for co-hosting so wonderfully!

The Listeners by Monica Dickens – #1970Club

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The 1970 Club is drawing to an end, and I have a LOT of reviews to catch up on – perhaps foolishly, I’ve been away since Thursday. But it’s been great, as always, and Karen and I will be announcing the next club soon.

But, sneaking in to the final hours, I want to write quickly about The Listeners by Monica Dickens. It’s been years since I read any Dickens, M. – I first fell for her for the wonderful comic memoirs One Pair of Hands and One Pair of Feet (and the slightly less wonderful third in the trilogy, My Turn To Make The Tea). Far more of her output, though, were more serious novels. I bought The Listeners back in 2009 and had long been intrigued by its premise: it follows people who phone the Samaritans and people who answer those calls.

For those not in the know, the Samaritans run a suicide prevention hotline (I don’t know if they’d use that terminology, so forgive me if not), and I believe you can also walk in. It’s been going for a very long time, and Dickens was involved in setting up the first American branch a few years after The Listeners was published. I’m sure the Samaritans has changed a fair bit since the 1970s, and I know a bit about them from when Mum volunteered there a decade or so ago. What hasn’t changed is the non-judgemental way volunteers answer the phones – having absolutely no idea what will be on the other side. Here’s a kind, overworked volunteer called Victoria:

When she hung up the telephone, it rang again before she had taken her hand off it.

“Samaritans — can I help you?”

The beeps again, replaced by heavy breathing. A man.

“Yes? Can I help you?”

The breathing continued. It could be anxiety. It could be a joke. It could be a sex call. It could be fear or pain. Whatever it was, you waited. You never rang off first.

You tried to offer help without being officious. You tried to make contact, but if no one spoke, all you could do was show that you were there. That you were still listening. That you would listen all night if that was what they wanted. Friendship. Caring. Love. Your voice had to convey your heart.

We do later learn who is calling, and it is a genuine call. Dickens goes back and forth into different lives, picking up their crises or mundanities. Victoria is sort-of engaged to a man she doesn’t respect; Paul is married to an alcoholic who mocks the Samaritans; Sarah is young and idealistic. On the other side – the people phoning in – we have Billie, who tries to provoke but clearly needs a friend; desperate, sad Tim who ends up in hospital where he’s too scared to give his name, etc etc.

Oh, I really wanted to like this novel. It’s a theme I’ve never read elsewhere, and I trusted Dickens to portray the characters with empathy and warmth. And I think she does that. But what she doesn’t include is any sort of momentum at all. Despite many of these people being in literal life-or-death situations, somehow the novel is turgid and tedious. I believe a thrilling novel can be written about the lowest possible stakes. These characters have huge stakes – but maybe Dickens took that as excitement enough, and forgot to make any of the writing or plotting interesting. We just pop in and out of lives, with minimal character development and no narrative urgency. I ended up skimming the second half of the novel.

Sorry to end the 1970 Club on a downer, but it’s always helpful in any club to give a full overview of the year – including the books that will be going straight to the charity shop!

Island in Moonlight by Kathleen Sully – #1970Club

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You may well know Brad’s blog Neglected Books. As the name suggests, he reads and reviews books that are neglected – but we’re not talking about authors who could do with a boost, like E.M. Delafield or Rose Macaulay. We’re talking authors who have almost entirely disappeared from the world – their books are near-impossible to track down, and often Brad is the only person to have written anything substantial about them online. One author he often mentions is Kathleen Sully.

Knowing how much he admired Sully, I popped her name on my mental list and kept an eye out – little expecting to stumble across one in the antiques shop in the village next to mine. It was especially surprising, given that they only have about 100 books for sale. But I came away with a proof copy of Island in Midnight (1970).

There is a slightly odd opening, of two young women sat in a high-class restaurant. They spot an attractive man who comes in – but, as one woman tells the other, ‘he played a mean trick on me’. She thought she was accompanying him to a party – but, instead, he delivered her to a friend who wanted to have an affair. And the friend was blind.

That’s the last we see of those women, but we are introduced to Alex (the blind man) and his friend Max, who goes out of his way to help Alex cheat on his wife. From this introduction, we shift into Alex’s first-person viewpoint. This is how it starts…

Until you’re blind, you don’t know what sight is – that is, if you go blind after having perfect sight. Close your eyes, bandage them, then walk about in the room you know the best – perhaps your bedroom. You thought you knew where the dresser was – eh? You’ve banged your shin, knocked over a lamp – broken the damned thing, no doubt, and landed up in a corner. And you think you know which corner. But it isn’t. And you’re so damned confused that you’re afraid to move again for a minute or two. When you do, you move slowly, cautiously, ready for anything – even a stuffed tiger that your wife bought from a sale that day and didn’t tell you about. And all the while – and this is the worst part – you expect a light to be switched on.

Alex lost his sight in an accident that we never really learn about. I quite liked Sully’s refusal to dress up the narrative with unnecessary plot details – the reader needs to know that Alex is blind, and isn’t able to come to terms with it; we don’t need to know the ins and outs of how it happened. Sully has a stripped-back approach to storytelling, more invested in how people react to their immediate and latest environment, without dwelling unduly on the past.

After an unfortunate sexual exploit, Alex’s wife intends to file for divorce and he determines to leave his current life and his homeland. Though his powers of visual recall are fading, there is one exception to this rule: an island he visited when he was only 20 years old. This is many decades in the past, but he has carried the experience with him ever since as some sort of exemplar of paradise.

Even as I write this, I can see the sweep of the bay as the ship pulled up to the tiny landing stage. The water was as transparent as the air and sky. And blue: the kind of blue you never see in this country. The white buildings set the blue off and the sand was pure gold, with gold’s soft glitter. There were oranges and lemons ripening in the orchards and the leaves of those trees were dark and polished, casting purple shadows. All shadows had intense colour on the island – no greys. The natives of the island were as beautiful as the flowers – and as innocent. And it seemed to me that there was always music: everybody had an instrument and played the thing. I promised myself an accordion but never bought one.

You can see how this sort of idyllic vision would have stayed with him. Impetuously, Alex determines to return to the island and start a new life there. He’s as selfish in this decision as he is in every other. Sully doesn’t waste too much time trying to make Alex a sympathetic character: he is monstrously self-interested, with affections for others but no pretence that he would ever put their needs ahead of his.

His chauffeur, Pell, is persuaded to accompany Alex to the island and get him set up there. As it approaches, Pell (whose perspective we get throughout his chapter) struggles to align what he’s seeing with Alex’s memories. Rather than lapping Meditterean shores in bright sunshine, he sees ‘grey water lashing at the low concrete wall of the water-front’.

Out of season, the island is miserable. Alex is spared the bleakness of the visuals, and can superimpose his recollections of the island of his youth – but he can’t ignore how abandoned and hopeless the island feels. There are no tourists, little industry, and a crowd of locals without much going for them. There’s Lyn, a tart-with-a-heart type who is running low on ‘heart’; there’s the proprietor of Joe’s restaurant whose fondness for Alex will only run as far as his income; there’s Willis, who agrees to be a sort of Man Friday for Alex while supposedly looking out for somewhere he can live – though, knowing this will be the end of their financial relationship, is in no hurry to secure anywhere.

As the story develops, perhaps the most important relationship is one suffused in memories – the woman he had a brief affair with back when he was 20, and the possible consequences of that affair all these decades later…

I know Brad doesn’t think much of Island in Moonlight, but I thought it was really good. I can’t compare with Sully’s other writing, as this is my first of her novels, but I was very much attracted by her writing style. It is sparse, often dialogue-heavy, and the shifts into different characters’ first-person narratives is done sharply, entering straight into their mindset without any fanfare. The plot whizzes by, if it can be called a plot, and there is precious little character development. But there is such an assurance to Sully’s writing that I felt totally confident in being taken wherever she wanted to take me. Island in Moonlight is an odd, sparse book that breaks a whole lot of conventional novelistic rules without putting anything too experimental in their place – and it sold me on Sully. I’ll definitely keep looking out for her.

Trespasses by Paul Bailey – #1970Club

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When I reviewed Jenny Offill’s brilliant novel Dept. of Speculation earlier in the year, I asked for recommendations for other books told in fragments or vignettes. The comment section has lots of brilliant suggestions, but I don’t think anybody mentioned Paul Bailey’s Trespasses (1970). The fragmentary style may be in vogue now, but Bailey shows that some authors were doing it more than half a century ago.

Trespasses is mostly (by not entirely) told in short, sharp vignettes. They are often headed HER or HIM or THEM or BOY or BEFORE or AFTER – being, in turn, about Ralph, Ellie, them as a couple, Ralph as a child, and then before and after the big event. We learn what that is almost immediately: Ellie died by suicide. With chronology thrown out the window, the reader is flung instantly into a maelstrom of perspectives, events, and memories. Here’s a taste – this is the first page or so:

EARLY

It is May and the sun is shining. It is warm.
Early this morning, walking in the grounds, I stopped before an apple tree. I looked up at its branches, which seemed to droop under the weight of so much white and pink.
My head was empty; I could enjoy the blossom.

HER

She has been dead some weeks. Mrs Dinsdale complained – the state of her bathroom due to all that blood. People who disposed of themselves, she told me, were as inconsiderate as they were wicked. If wicked was putting it too strong, perhaps unnatural was nearer the mark. My wife had gone against nature.

PEACE

Endless green and blue: below and above. And one apple tree – white and pink, because it is always spring – darkening the earth, and fiercely light against the sky.
Some birds, occasionally singing, and a sun just strong enough to look into.

THEN

It was not a scream in the strict sense of the word. It was more like a howl.

We can’t rest in reflections on Ellie’s act, because of the constant jumps in time. Indeed, a funeral is mentioned in the opening pages – but we quickly realise it is Ralph’s father’s funeral, many years earlier. We are wrong-footed so often that you quickly give up trying to work out where you are, and instead take it all in like an abstract painting. What it conveys brilliantly is Ralph’s state of mind, after his wife’s suicide – unable to process anything properly, and disoriented to the point of mental collapse.

But considering how fragmentary, achronological and formally experimental Trespasses is, I was very impressed by how clearly the secondary characters come to life. Through a jigsaw of fleeting encounters, we get to know comic creations like landlady Mrs Dinsdale and her vicious relationship with her daughter, who would now probably be described as ‘sex positive’. Ellie and Ralph’s respective and contrasting upbringings speak a lot to their meeting across class barriers, and their mothers are fun and oddly poignant to spend time with.

I couldn’t decide if their gay friend Bernard was surprisingly progressive for a 1970 novel or not – he is a camp caricature of arch sayings, but nobody seems bothered about his sexuality. He speaks of his own actions with a mixture of shame and shamelessness, and he is one of two background characters given long, non-fragmented sections to narrative about themselves in the second half of the novel. Bailey keeps us on our toes, with this traditional approach to novel writing feeling fresh and even jarring, coming in the midst of the experimental.

The one thing we never get a grasp of (and I think this is a good narrative choice) is why Ellie made the decision to kill herself. When the novel came out, suicide had only been decriminalised in the England for nine years, and I’m sure it wasn’t considered with as much understanding as it is now. It is a bold topic for a novel, and Bailey writes it brilliantly. The experimentalism is never allowed to overshadow character, and Trespasses is first and foremost a book about character – often very amusingly, but there is something deeply moving about Ralph’s raking back and forth through his memories, for clues about what would happen.

I’ve read two Paul Bailey novels – his debut, At the Jerusalem, and now his second. I’ve been unintentionally reading them in order. I don’t see him much discussed now, though he is in fact still alive, but I’d love to hear from anyone else who admires and enjoys his work. And I’m glad the 1970 Club sent me back to my Bailey shelf. In my year of loving fragmentary novels, this is an excellent find.

#1970Club: your reviews!

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It’s the 1970 Club! This week, we’re reading and reviewing any books published in 1970.

Please share your links to 1970 Club reviews in the comments, wherever you write them – blog, instagram, GoodReads etc. If you don’t have anywhere to post a review, please feel free to put your thoughts in the comments.

Tau Zero by Poul Anderson
Words and Peace

Scrambled Egg for Christmas by Verily Anderson
The Captive Reader

Trespasses by Paul Bailey
Stuck in a Book

The Lime Works by Thomas Bernhard
Winston’s Dad

Are you there, God? It’s me, Margaret by Judy Blume
Sidonie Maroon
Literary Heir Hunter

‘Brodie’ by Jorge Luis Borges
Kaggsy’s Bookish Ramblings

McGillahee’s Brat by Ray Bradbury
This Reading Life

Rommel Drives on Deep into Egypt by Richard Brautigan
Kaggsy’s Bookish Ramblings

Language and Learning by James Britton
Rattlebag and Rhubarb

Family Pictures by Gwendolyn Brooks
Typings

Bury My Heart at Wounded Knee by Dee Brown
Hopewell’s Library of Life

Last Summer in the City by Gianfranco Calligarich
Winston’s Dad

Difficult Loves by Italo Calvino
Kaggsy’s Bookish Ramblings

Passenger to Frankfurt by Agatha Christie
Just Reading a Book
She Reads Novels
What Me Read

Places by Colette
Kaggsy’s Bookish Ramblings

Fantastic Mr Fox by Roald Dahl
Literary Potpourri
Calmgrove
Literary Heir Hunter

Fifth Business by Robertson Davies
Somewhere Boy
What Me Read

God is an Englishman by R.F. Delderfield
She Reads Novels

Our Friends from Frolix 8 by Philip K. Dick
Typings

The Listeners by Monica Dickens
Somewhere Boy
Stuck in a Book

Play It as It Lays by Joan Didion
Somewhere Boy

Tamara by Geoffrey Dutton
ANZ LitLovers

Troubles by J.G. Farrell
Hopewell’s Library of Life
Typings
Book Around the Corner

Time and Again by Jack Finney
Words and Peace

Desperate Characters by Paula Fox
Bookish Beck

Rat Race by Dick Francis
Literary Potpourri

Don’t Go To Sleep in the Dark by Celia Fremlin
She Reads Novels

New Year’s Eve by Mavis Gallant
This Reading Life

A Fairly Good Time by Mavis Gallant
Buried in Print

White Dog by Romain Gary
1st Reading

The Woods in Winter by Stella Gibbons
Adventures in reading, running and working from home
Sarah Matthews
Read Warbler

The Amazing Mrs Pollifax by Dorothy Gilman
Fanda Classiclit

Doctor on the Boil by Richard Gordon
Somewhere Boy

Count Julian by Juan Goytisolo
Winston’s Dad

The Female Eunuch by Germaine Greer
Rattlebag and Rhubarb

Eden, Eden, Eden by Pierre Guyotat
Winston’s Dad

84 Charing Cross Road by Helene Hanff
A Hot Cup of Pleasure
David’s Book World
Wicked Witch’s Blog

Fadeout by Joseph Hansen
Beatnik Loner

The Honours Board by Pamela Hansford Johnson
Somewhere Boy

My Sister’s Keeper by L.P. Hartley
Somewhere Boy

All Creatures Great and Small by James Herriot
buchpost

Charity Girl by Georgette Heyer
Wicked Witch’s Blog
What Me Read

I’m the King of the Castle by Susan Hill
Bookish Beck
Books Please

A Bargain for Frances by Russell Hoban
Staircase Wit

Crow by Ted Hughes
746 Books

Metropole by Ferenc Karinthy
Words and Peace

Mog the Forgetful Cat by Judith Kerr
Rattlebag and Rhubarb

Being There by Jerzy Kosiński
746 Books

The Man Called Noon by Louis L’Amour
Love Books, Read Books

Swords and Deviltry by Fritz Leiber
Sweet Freedom

Astercote by Penelope Lively
Pining for the West

Hope Against Hope by Nadezhda Mandelstam
Kaggsy’s Bookish Ramblings

When in Rome by Ngaio Marsh
Book Word

Daddy Was a Number Runner by Louise Meriwether
Madame Bibi Lophile

The Bluest Eye by Toni Morrison
Volatile Rune

A Fairly Honourable Defeat by Iris Murdoch
Somewhere Boy
Calmgrove

The Dead Sea Cipher by Elizabeth Peters
Staircase Wit

Alhambra by Madeleine Polland
Staircase Wit

Indoctrinaire by Christopher Priest
1st Reading

Barnabas, Quentin and the Crystal Coffin by Marilyn Ross
The Dusty Bookcase

Love Story by Erich Segal
Literary Heir Hunter

Rich Man, Poor Man by Irwin Shaw
A Hot Cup of Pleasure

The Naked Face by Sidney Sheldon
Mr Kaggsy

Tower of Glass by Robert Silverberg
Wicked Witch’s Blog
Pining for the West

Maigret and the Wine Merchant by Georges Simenon
Kaggsy’s Bookish Ramblings
AnnaBookBel

Maigret’s Madwoman by Georges Simenon
Kaggsy’s Bookish Ramblings

The Rich Man by Georges Simenon
1st Reading

The Driver’s Seat by Muriel Spark
Book Word
Just Reading a Book
A Hot Cup of Pleasure
MsLizReads
Pear Jelly
Around the World in 800 Books

The Crystal Cave by Mary Stewart
Lizzy’s Literary Life
Tales from the Reading Room
Elle Thinks

Thursday’s Child by Noel Streatfeild
Fanda Classiclit

The Dead Mountaineer’s Inn by Arkady and Boris Strugatsky
Fanda Classiclit
Winston’s Dad
Finding Time to Write
A Hot Cup of Pleasure
Words and Peace

Island in Moonlight by Kathleen Sully
Stuck in a Book

Abigail by Magda Szabó
Staircase Wit
All the Vintage Ladies

Find a Crooked Sixpence by Estelle Thompson
My Reader’s Block

The Strange Last Voyage of Donald Crowhurst by Nicholas Tomalin & Ron Hall
Somewhere Boy

The Mystery of the Coughing Dragon by Nick West
My Reader’s Block

The Man of Slow Feeling by Michael Wilding
Whispering Gums

#1970Club coming up on Monday!

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Just popping in for a quick reminder that the 1970 Club is coming on Monday!

Hosted by me and Karen (see her post about it), we ask everyone to read one or more books published in 1970 and post a review wherever you post reviews. Any type of book, any language, anything goes!

Since I’m doing A Century of Books, I’ll just be reading a handful – but I’m looking forward to finding out what everyone else is reading, for recommendations to stock up on.

Happy reading!

Interpreter of Maladies by Jhumpa Lahiri

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Interpreter of Maladies Audiobook by Jhumpa Lahiri | Rakuten Kobo United Kingdom

A Century of Books can sometimes turn up some real gems that I wouldn’t have otherwise read. When I was looking through my books, I didn’t find anything I particularly wanted to read from 1999 – so I did some googling about 1999 books, and decided to listen to the audiobook of Jhumpa Lahiri’s debut collection of short stories. And, my goodness, it’s among the best short story collections I’ve ever read.

The stories are mostly about the lives of people in India or part of the India disapora abroad – largely the US. Each story is primarily about relationships – the things that are said and unsaid, or taken for granted, or misunderstood. Lahiri is so, so good at circling around a pairing of people, whether they are a couple, colleagues, or strangers, and gradually creating a complex portrait that tells us about their whole lives in a snapshot.

Two of my favourite stories in the collection are about married couples. In the opening story, ‘A Temporary Matter’, Shukumar and Shoba are a couple whose relationship has grown strained and silent – but they take advantage of a protracted power cut to use each evening to share things they’ve never told each other. (‘The notice informed them that it was a temporary matter; for five days their electricity would be cut off for one hour, beginning at eight P.M.’) The secrets range from surprising to bitterly shocking. It’s such a beautiful and restrained portrait of a couple who have faced tragedy and don’t know how to communicate.

The other married couple I was fascinated by are Sanjeev and Twinkle in ‘This Blessed House’. They have recently moved to a new home in Connecticut, and begin to find Christian relics around the house, hidden in corners, behind radiators, in drawers. Twinkle is delighted by them all – while Sanjeev doesn’t understand, since they aren’t Christians, and is increasingly embarrassed by her exuberance. It’s perhaps the funniest story in the collection, but still has a lot to say about a marriage where husband and wife don’t quite understand each other – and what happens when only one of the pair is troubled by this.

I’ll just mention the title story, since you might be wondering what an ‘Intepreter of Maladies’ is. Mr and Mrs Das are Indian Americans visiting India – they have grown up abroad and don’t understand either the language or the culture, but treat it with the slightly patronising fondness of the tourist. Mr Kapasi is hired as their driver and tour guide – when he is not doing this work, he is a translator at a doctor’s clinic. While Mr Kapasi’s wife belittles the work, Mrs Das is very complimentary about how vital his role is: without his translation, his interpreting of maladies, the patients could never be treated. And Mr Kapasi takes her kindness and encouragement as a sign that they could become long-distance friends, penpals, and perhaps more. It’s a touching story about how the significance of a relationship in one person’s mind doesn’t guarantee the same in the other person’s mind.

Lahiri’s stories are mostly calm. There are some bigger changes in people’s lives and relationships, but even these are just larger-than-usual ripples on the surface of seemingly tranquil lives, not crashing waves. Her vantages and choices of perspective are interesting and unusual, and she uses them to reveal so much about ordinary human lives. And the writing is simply beautiful, with a measured, thoughtful rhythm to the sentences that feels observational rather than overly poeticised.

This is my first Lahiri book and it surely won’t be my last. Having listened to the audiobook, I’m going to make sure to pick up a paper copy when I have the chance. Lahiri is a stunningly good writer, and I’m glad I’ve finally read her.

Unnecessary Rankings! Muriel Spark

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It’s time for another unnecessary rankings! In today’s iteration, I’m turning my attention to a very prolific novelist – I’ve been steadily reading her for years, helped by the fact that most of her books are very short. There are still a couple I haven’t read (The Bachelors and Aiding and Abetting), but this is my ranking of all of Muriel Spark’s other novels/novellas. I’ve written reviews of most of them, so if you’d like to know more, you’ll probably find details in my masterlist of reviews.

Let me know which Spark novels you’d put at the top – or, if you’re feeling in the mood, the bottom.

20. The Public Image (1968)
I’m baffled that this one got shortlisted for the Booker. It’s probably the only Spark novel I’ve found boring, and I found Spark’s look at celebrity through the lens of a film actress to be (shockingly, for her) predictable and tedious.

19. The Takeover (1976)
Reading the Wikipedia summary, I’m realising I remember the Italian setting (Lake Nemi) but none of the characters – which speaks volumes.

18. Robinson (1958)
Spark’s second novel is a play on Robinson Crusoe that sadly isn’t very successful, in my eyes.

17. Not To Disturb (1971)
The novella is mostly focused on the servants quarters in a house where tragedy has happened – or is shortly to happen? I enjoyed the writing but never really knew what was going on.

16. Reality and Dreams (1996)
A more successful look at the world of acting and cinema than The Public Image, this late-career Spark novel is about a film director who wants to keep control of his film after falling from crane…

15. The Mandelbaum Gate (1965)
The gate in question is between Israel and Jordan, and a knowingly charming man called Freddy lives in the region, crossing back and forth with some kind of diplomatic immunity. Things get complex when ‘half Jewish’ Barbara comes on the scene, having followed her archeologist fiance to the Holy Land, and accidentally becomes part of a crisis. This is far and away Spark’s longest novel, at 400 pages, and it’s interesting to see her do her thing at greater length.

14. Territorial Rights (1979)
A bunch of mostly unpleasant people antagonise each other in Venice. It’s very good, but somehow misses the (forgive me) spark that her novels have at their finest.

13. The Hothouse by the East River (1973)
The most memorable detail of this book is that the heroine’s shadow falls in the wrong direction. Elsa spends much of her time looking out the window at the East River. But what is she really looking at? Why has her psychoanalyst, Garvin, moved in as their butler? And is Elsa living in reality or hallucination? Even for Spark, The Hothouse by the East River is particularly weird – but it has quite a satisfying conclusion. It’s also the most recent of hers I read, and that was three years ago, so I need some more Spark and soon.

12. The Finishing School (2004)
Spark’s final novel is set at a finishing school in Switzerland, and is a fascinating exploration of how creativity can create divisions and emnities that fester under the surface. She was still innovative and excellent right to the end.

11. The Driver’s Seat (1970)
One of Spark’s most discussed novellas – we know from the outset that Lise has been killed while on a trip abroad, but don’t know who does the deed. It is psychologically and narratively very satisfying, but it’s outside the top 10 because of my (often-mentioned!) problems with the title.

10. The Comforters (1957)
Spark started her output showing how odd her choice of themes would be: Caroline, a novelist, starts to hear voices and typewriter noises through the walls, and begins to wonder if they are dictating her actions. From the outset, Spark shows an astonishing assurance in her writing.

9. The Ballad of Peckham Rye (1960)
The arrival of Dougal Douglas in Peckham Rye spells disaster in the lives of many of his neighbours – the brilliance of Spark’s plot is that she never outright names him as the devil, but it’s hard to draw any other conclusion. Her eccentricity is on full display.

8. The Abbess of Crewe (1974)
Who but Spark would set the Watergate scandal in a nunnery? This is perhaps her most direct extended satire, and she’s clearly having a lot of fun doing it. It could be a one-note joke, but her confidence and brilliance with character mean the novel is a success.

7. The Girls of Slender Means (1963)
I think this novel – about the young women resident at The May of Teck Club – is the best example of Spark’s frequent manipulation of narrative time. That is, she gives away huge plot points long before they happen, mentioning them in passing, and shows how compelling a novel can be even when we know precisely what will take place. I think almost all of her novels are worth reading, but the top seven on my list are all masterpieces.

6. A Far Cry From Kensington (1988)
Agnes ‘Nancy’ Hawkins is an editor at a publisher living in a boarding house, and through her we see an overwrought Polish dressmaker neighbour and, most memorably, the ‘pisseur de copie’ Hector Bartlett who stalks Agnes and whom she considers (and calls) an appalling writer and dreadful person. It’s such a spiky, fun, strange book that apparently took revenge on a real ex-lover of Spark’s. If that’s true, it is a devastating portrait.

5. The Only Problem (1984)
Of my favourite Sparks, this is probably the one I see mentioned least. Harvey Gotham is living in France, writing a book about the biblical figure Job – the ‘only problem’ being the problem of suffering. This is an eccentric enough premise for a plot, but Spark makes everything characteristically unhinged by introducing – of all thigns – a far right terrorist organisation. The novella is bizarre but so grounded in the characters that the contrast works beautifully.

4. Symposium (1990)
If I were to pick one for a Spark newbie to start with, I’d go with this one – and did, indeed, get my book group to read it. Symposium starts with a cast of characters at a dinner party – during which one household is burgled. We then follow different characters in the lead up to the party and afterwards. The book feels like the most representative of Spark’s style and often-returned-to devices, and it’s a brilliant example of them.

3. Memento Mori (1959)
WHAT a glorious premise: people living in an old people’s home keep getting phone calls reminding them that they will die. The solution to that particular mystery is SO Spark, but along the way we get to meet the wide cast of fascinating older people, written with exceptional insight and sharpness by an author who was only in her early 40s at the time. It’s also a rare example from her body of work of some likeable, even lovable, characters.

2. The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie (1961)
Yes, this one is deservedly famous. Spark is often described as a Scottish novelist, but this is her only major work to take place in Scotland – Miss Jean Brodie is a teacher whose combination of culture, romance, and megalomania inspire and damage a generation of schoolgirls. She is an astonishing creation, played to perfection by Maggie Smith in the film adaptation – absolutely unforgettable, and I’m glad Brodie has her place in the pantheon of literary greats.

1. Loitering With Intent (1981)
But my favourite is the wacky Loitering With Intent, helmed by writer Fleur Talbot. She is trying and struggling to complete her first novel, Warrender Chase, and takes on work as secretary to a group of older people trying to put their memoirs to paper. She starts fabricating their stories out of boredom and recklessness – not realising she has somehow guessed the truth. And then events in her novel seem to intertwine with the life of her boss. For my money, Loitering With Intent is the best and most enjoyable example of Spark’s weirdness, her ruthless, intelligent heroines, and a compelling plot that wrongfoots the reader.

Do let me know your favourite Sparks – or where you’ll be starting, if you haven’t read her yet.

#131: Do We Read Deeply or Shallowly? and One Year’s Time vs Which Way?

StuckinaBook Tea or Books? , , 6 Comments

Angela Milne, Theodora Benson, and reading deeply – welcome to episode 131 of Tea or Books?!

In the first half of the episode, we discuss a topic suggestion by Heidi – do we read deeply or shallowly? Do we like critical editions? Or do we just ‘switch off’ and enjoy? In the second half, we pit two British Library Women Writers titles against each other – Which Way? by Theodora Benson and One Year’s Time by Angela Milne.

You can get in touch with suggestions, comments, questions etc (please do!) at teaorbooks[at]gmail.com – we’d love to hear from you. Find us at Spotify, Apple podcasts, wherever you get your podcasts. And you can support the podcast at Patreon. If you’re able to, we’d really appreciate any reviews and ratings you can leave us.

The books and authors we mention in this episode are:

Orbital by Samantha Harvey
Tell Me Everything by Elizabeth Strout
The Spring House by Cynthia Asquith
Such a Fun Age by Kiley Reid
The Magic Mountain by Thomas Mann
A.S. Byatt
Housekeeping by Marilynne Robinson
How To Read Literature Like A Professor by Thomas C. Foster
Mary Lawson
The Haunted Woman by David Lindsay
The Heir by Vita Sackville-West
The House by the Sea by May Sarton
To The Lighthouse by Virginia Woolf
Rebecca by Daphne du Maurier
Jane Eyre by Charlotte Bronte
Beverley Nichols
Shirley Jackson
Buttercups and Daisies by Compton Mackenzie
Mr Blandings Builds His Dream House by Eric Hodgins
Concert Pitch by Theodora Benson
The Versions of Us by Laura Barnett