Some books I’ve bought recently

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Remember early in 2019 when I said I wouldn’t be buying any books this year? Except special occasions? Well, that is increasingly looking stupid. Cos I’ve bought a lot of books this year. I’ve also read a lot, but still…

Anyway, the silver lining to my total lack of self-control is that I get to do a haul blog post! It’s not all from one place, but here are books I’ve bought over the past month or so. Many of them on two trips to a great secondhand bookshop in Wantage.

Here’s some more details, from top to bottom…

This Other Eden by E.V. Knox
I love a collection of essays – to the extent that my essay shelves are bursting. Might need a shelving rethink.

Don’t, Mr Disraeli by Caryl Brahms and S.J. Simon
I’ve not read anything by these two, but I keep seeing A Bullet in the Ballet around. I guess they were good at titles! This mystery novel will tick Project Names anyway, and that’s enough to convince me that it’s a good purchase.

Alexander’s Bridge by Willa Cather
Another that will work for Project Names, and a novel by Cather that I hadn’t even heard of. I think she might now be on my list of “stop buying books by them and actually read one” now.

The Man in the Brown Suit by Agatha Christie
Sad Cypress by Agatha Christie
I haven’t bought a book by Christie for ages – mostly because I bought dozens when I was around 14, and have still not quite made my way through them. But I am coming towards the end of that pile, so picked up some cheaply in a charity shop.

The Reason I Jump by Naoki Higashida
I can’t remember how I came across this book, written by a severely autistic boy about his experience, but I do know that I thought it could be a good way for me to try and understand autism better.

Heat Wave by Penelope Lively
I do have a few unread Livelys, but it was a heat wave when I picked this up, and clearly I’m that suggestible.

Wine of Honour by Barbara Beauchamp
Peace, Perfect Peace by Josephine Kamm
Spam Tomorrow by Verily Anderson
Table Two by Marjorie Wilenski
I’m grouping these because they’re all among the latest reprints from the Furrowed Middlebrow series from Dean Street Press. I got three as review copies, and then bought these four on top – it is such a fascinating looking batch this time around. They’re all connected with WW2. Do check them out!

Sixpence House by Paul Collins
One of my favourite books of the year so far is The Book of William by Collins, all about the First Folio. So it was only a matter of time before I got hold of his book about living in Hay on Wye, and I finally crumbled.

Keep The Home Guard Turning by Compton Mackenzie
Rich Relatives by Compton Mackenzie
Mackenzie is DEFINITELY on the list of authors I should stop buying and start reading – but I’ve made an exception here because the first one was recommended by a couple of people, and because the second is a sequel to Poor Relations, which I loved. At least I think/hope it is.

The Question Mark by Muriel Jaeger
I don’t read a lot of science fiction, but Karen made this one sound so interesting that I went right out and bought the British Library reprint.

There’s a Porpoise Close Behind Us by Noel Langley
I read a fun little book by Langley a while ago, and I couldn’t resist (a) this title, and (b) the fact that it features theatre actors. That’s one of those elements of a novel that I cannot resist.

The Sun in Scorpio by Margery Sharp
The Innocents by Margery Sharp
I am increasingly loving Sharp, and so was delighted to find a couple of her novels in the wild. In Wantage, to be more precise.

Song for a Sunday

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There’s not a lot of Sunday left here, but let’s sneak in a Sunday Song. You might think that I only listen to female singer-songwriters – but sometimes I listen to male singer-songwriters! And James Morrison is up there among my favourites. This song – ‘Power’ – is from his new album.

Madame Verona Comes Down the Hill by Dimitri Verhulst

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Earlier in the year, I experimented with different book recommendation websites – you can read my exploits here. My favourite was Which Book, and I had great fun playing with the different sliders to determine what sort of book would match my mood. The results aren’t the usual fare, and they include a lot of translated fiction. I definitely recommend having a go.

I don’t remember which sliders I used to get the result of Madame Verona Comes Down the Hill (2006) by Dimitri Verhulst, though I’m pretty sure ‘short’ was among them. This novella is only 145 pages and there’s with a big font. Definitely up my street! I think it might also be the first Dutch novel I’ve ever read – with thanks to the translator, David Comer. [A commenter has told me that it’s actually translated from Flemish – be more precise, publisher!]

Madame Verona lives in an isolated house on top of a hill, on the outskirts of a small village. ‘As far as anyone knew, it had always been inhabited by outsiders, people from elsewhere, who came here with a romantic view of isolation and paid for it later with large chunks of their mind.’ But there is no sense that Madame V has particularly suffered from her isolation, even though her husband has been dead for more than twenty years. She has the gift of dogs loving her, as the first chapter dwells upon. They have been a constant, and a dog is accompanying her as she comes down the hill.

In terms of plot in the ‘present day’ section of the novella, the title pretty much sums it up. Snow is thick on the ground, and Madame Verona has slowly made her way down the steep hill. And she knows that she won’t make it back to the top. She is too old and too tired. She has, in essence, come down the hill to die.

We flit to and from this present day, but the novella is really a mixture of memories and reflections – sometimes clearly Madame Verona’s thoughts, and sometimes a broader and more philosophical narrator’s voice. These aspects go together well. We see the specifics of the village and of Madame Verona’s marriage – and we hear more general considerations of time and community and particularly age. Here’s a rather lovely passage I noted down:

Silence is often more intense after its return. When a tree accepts its defeat, creaks and capsizes, all life flies up and off. There’s crowing and cawing, branches crack, it rains feathers and down, rabbits flee to their underground shelters. All things considered, the titan’s contact with the actual ground is quiet; people generally expect it to be louder. It’s mainly the rest of the forest that kicks up a fuss and makes a racket. And once the creatures have assessed the damage, silence comes back. Eyes and leaves turn to the light that has never shone so brightly here. A place has come free, the struggle can begin, because the space will be occupied, by something or someone. It’s like that for trees, it’s like that for people.

I might have appreciated a little more about Madame Verona in the present day, because it is a bit sparse there, but this is a very enjoyable little book. It has aspects of melancholy, but Verhulst’s thoughtful exploration of little facets of life mean it doesn’t feel bleak – helped by the beautiful descriptions of the landscape. There is a lovely tone to it that comes through the translation. That translation can be a little clunky (‘She wasn’t brave enough to go downstairs herself. And what if she did, and found herself eye to eye with a person of bad will, how would that lead to a better outcome?’) but that is the exception rather than the rule.

Thanks, Which Book, my first read based on your recommendations certainly went well!

Eve in Egypt by Stella Tennyson Jesse

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A year ago, Michael Walmer sent me a review copy of Eve in Egypt (1929) by Stella Tennyson Jesse. And look, here I am, I finally read it! It turns out it needed another August before I could turn to so vibrant a cover.

This was Tennyson Jesse’s only book – and, as you may well have surmised, she was the sister of the more-famous F Tennyson Jesse. Her sister wrote novels like A Pin To See The Peepshow and The Lacquer Lady that weren’t connected to her own life. Stella, on the other hand, drew influence straight from her own experiences. I suspect she was not much like Eve, but she certainly went to Egypt. And, boy, you’ll know it by the end!

Here’s how we meet Eve:

The funny thing was that Eve woke up that morning rather depressed than otherwise. “ If,” as she said to herself afterwards, “ I had had that wonderful feeling that something beautiful was going to happen, I could
have understood it; but to think that everything lovely in life began that morning, and that I never guessed it !
I only woke up with that horrid feeling of there being something unpleasant in the background. That does
really seem odd.”

And, after all, the something unpleasant had not been so very bad. To be exact, it was two proposals ; and
though Eve, like all nice-minded young women, deprecated the idea of a proposal that she couldn’t accept,
nevertheless there remained in her mind, as in the mind of every woman similarly situated, a pleasant residue — a sort of nice sugary sediment, as it were. After all, every proposal is a tribute to one’s charms, there’s no
getting away from that.

She is quintessentially 1920s – or at least a certain sort of 1920s. She is quite flighty and superficial, though with a heart under it all. The reason she goes to Egypt is largely to get away from having to respond to those two unwelcome proposals. And so off she goes with her sister Serena (charmingly ignorant), Serena’s husband Hugh, and the knowledgeable Jeremy.

It’s entirely obvious to the reader from the outset that she will fall in love with Jeremy, and this plot chugs along nicely in the background as we take a tour of Egypt. And this is where STJ’s experience certainly comes into play.

I’m always a little reluctant to read The Brits Abroad novels. I would rather read a novel set in Egypt written by an Egyptian (any recommendations?). But I was drawn in by the insouciance of this one, and it does deliver. Tennyson Jesse does an admirable job of making the info-dumps feel like they’re part of the conversation, and even gives humour to them and uses them to develop character. But it’s hard to deny that there are sections that scream “here’s my research!” Yes, Jeremy is educating the party – but perhaps we didn’t need quite as much of an overt history lesson.

Having said that, I was very interested by some temples that were left to flood when a new dam was built. As Jeremy explains, the locals need water and sometimes artefacts have to suffer the consequences. I went to Wikipedia. Turns out the UNESCO came along and thought that maybe the temple shouldn’t suffer the consequences, and dismantled and moved it. If I could remember the name of the temple, I’d put a link…

The experience is enhanced by some photos spread throughout the book, which I’m assuming were taken by Tennyson Jesse. As the back of this new edition says, it’s both ‘Literature – fiction’ and ‘travelogue’. I don’t tend to get on with the latter, but there was enough of the former to beguile me – and this was a fun, delightfully predictable story. And – again – what a stunning and happy cover!

Uncle Samson by Beverley Nichols

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I was looking through my Beverley Nichols books, trying to decide which one to read next – and only one of them was eligible for Project Names. And so that’s the one I chose! Step forward Uncle Samson (1950), which I hadn’t even heard of until I found it in an extremely disorganised bookshop in Cheltenham earlier in the year.

Apparently it is a sequel of sorts to the excellently-titled The Star-spangled Manner and, like that former book (which I have not read), it is Nichols’ impression of America. And those impressions are certainly varied and interesting!

America is, of course, an enormous country. Nichols can’t hope to encapsulate everything there is to say about it, or even a hundredth – but the selection of chapters he writes are certainly fascinating. It’s worth starting by saying that this is not primarily a funny book. Nichols is a delightful humorist, but in Uncle Samson he is much more in journalistic mode. Which isn’t to say that there isn’t the odd moment of levity in his phrasing. I particularly enjoyed this, from when he goes to visit a funeral home of the sort that Evelyn Waugh pastiches in The Loved One:

It would obviously be impossible to encompass all these attractions without exhaustion, so I contented myself with a brief visit to Lullaby Land, and then went on to the “Mysteries of Life” garden, containing a large statue by Ernest Gazzeri, which suggested that though the sculptor might have known a lot about the mysteries of life he knew little about the mysteries of anatomy.

A glance at the American death industry comes after sections on religious cults, including a notable one led by Father Divine (I had to Wikipedia it, but it’s definitely interesting!) and on the horrors of socialism.

The most animated Nichols gets is the section on race. While many of Nichols’ views were not particularly progressive for 1940s/1950s England (particularly as regards class), he was certainly ahead of the curve on racism compared to the lawmakers of 1940s/1950s America.

Every year 30,000 light-skinned [African-Americans] “crossed the colour-line” and began a new life as whites. If we were told that every year 30,000 Americans broke the barbed wire of concentration camps and regained their freedom we might sit up and take notice, for America is a great democracy and does not incarcerate her citizens unless they have committed a crime. Yet America runs the greatest concentration camp the world has ever seen, and the only offence of its occupants is the crime of having been born.

I think he writes more about race than anything else, and he is baffled and angry about it – recounting his own embarrassment that he hadn’t considered the obstacles that would be in the way when he tries to meet up with a black friend. America still has a terrible problem with racism, and a President who is openly racist without seeming to suffer from his voting base – but Uncle Samson does remind us that at least some progress has been made. And I’d have written a rather more hopeful sentence there under the previous President, as opposed to the one who thinks black American women should “go home”.

Let’s move onto cheerier things. He meets Walt Disney! That is rather an enchanting chapter. I don’t know how accurate it is as an overall portrait of Disney, but Nichols certainly seemed won over by him – particularly his childlike enthusiasm for Fantasia – and tells of employees who are similarly devoted. I hadn’t expected an interview with Disney when I started reading Nichols’ work, but why not?

Another surprise, and a fascinating section, is Nichols visiting Alcoholics Anonymous – as an observer rather than a participant. He writes glowingly about what a wonderful initiative it is, and wishes that something similar existed in the UK.

What a curious and beguiling set of topics Nichols addresses! It’s interesting to compare this with modern-day America, and the topics that Nichols would write about now. Race and the movies would both still be there. Funeral homes probably wouldn’t (while guns and the lack of a national health system certainly would). Some things have changed a lot and some things don’t seem to have changed at all.

I was a little disappointed when I started and it wasn’t a comic work, but I was quickly won over. It doesn’t rank up there with Merry Hall, but it’s very good in a different mood. Nichols is a great journalist/essayist – nothing here pretends to be objective, and it’s all the better for it. For a very singular trip to mid-century America, track down a copy now.

Reeds in the Wind by Grazia Deledda

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Women in translation month! I usually intend to join in and then don’t manage it, but have managed a bit better this year – in that I’d finished one and I’m halfway through another. First up, Reeds in the Wind (1913), translated by Martha King from Italian – though I think perhaps Italian with Sardinian dialect thrown in there?

My friend Phoebe lent this to me a few years ago, and I’ve been meaning to pick it up ever since, so WIT month was a great excuse. I think she’s been to the area where it’s set, which I absolutely haven’t done. I wonder how much of rural Sardinia looks the same a century later? Deledda was quite a noted author, and certainly an extremely prolific one. Even a glance at her Wikipedia page is quite exhausting. But Reeds in the Wind is one of her most famous, apparently.

The protagonist is Efix – a man who has served the Pintor family for many years. He is a loyal servant, placing the dignity and happiness of the family above his own – and, indeed, above almost anything. And the family is no longer the dominant force in the area that they once were. Three unmarried sisters make up the current crop – Ester, Noemi, and Ruth. There was a fourth sister – but she disgraced the family by running away with a man and having a baby. And then dying.

It’s years later, and that man has grown up. News reaches the sisters (and Efix) that Giacinto intends to come and meet his aunts – and perhaps stay with them. He brings with him a youthful recklessness that threatens the life that the Pintor sisters have made for themselves. And Efix is determined not to let him do that.

I really enjoyed reading this novel. The supporting characters all rather blurred, and even the three sisters didn’t have the most distinct personalities, but the chaos caused by a cuckoo in the nest is handled so well. As life becomes upturned, we see family secrets coming to life, and the community around them being outraged and enjoying the outrage. There’s a section where Efix is forced to live away from the community that is perhaps less strong, and feels rather out of Deledda’s range of experience and observation – but anything in the small Sardinian landscape is captivating.

I’m not usually one for landscape descriptions, and I don’t remember any specifics, but Deledda certainly conveys the atmosphere of the environment really well. And you can feel how essential the land and its produce were to the self-sufficient community. There is a benevolent claustrophobia to it all, that can lose its benevolence as soon as something shifts in the ecosystem, or your standing slips in the social rankings. It’s vivid, and Martha King manages to keep that vividness in the translation – that has the added difficulty of being translated more than eighty years after the original was written. It never feels jarring in period or tone.

Equally interestingly laced through the narrative is the folklore and faith of the community – the superstitions that guided their understanding of the world, thrown lightly into sentences. There is no complex theology here, or even a faith that would be recognised by outsiders, but the sort of daily fears and hopes that have been passed down through generations, unimpeded by outside influences – and that would disappear in the next few decades. I think Deledda is better at communities than individuals, but perhaps that was more important in this novel. It’s a fascinating snapshot.

Tea or Books? #76: Illustrations (yes or not), and Miss Hargreaves vs Miss Boston and Miss Hargreaves

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Miss Hargreaves! Finally! But also illustrations and a novel by Rachel Malik.

In the first half of this episode, we discuss whether or not we want illustrations in our books – taking a little venture to graphic novels on the way. In the second half – only four years after the podcast started – we finally read my favourite novel, Miss Hargreaves by Frank Baker. We compare it to the similarly-named Miss Boston and Miss Hargreaves by Rachel Malik, and discover that that’s about all it has in common.

Fun! Please get in touch if you have any topics – or any questions to ask or advice you’d like us to give! We’re at teaorbooks@gmail.com. And you can support the podcast at Patreon or find us on iTunes. We appreciate all your reviews and ratings so much.

The books and authors we mention in this episode are:

Crossing to Safety by Wallace Stegner
A Shooting Star by Wallace Stegner
Fair Stood the Wind For France by H.E. Bates
Dark Hester by Anne Douglas Sedgwick
The Old Countess by Anne Douglas Sedgwick
A Terrible Country by Keith Gessen
Sylvia Plath
To The Lighthouse by Virginia Woolf
A Room of One’s Own by Virginia Woolf
Edith Olivier
Tove Jansson: Work and Love by Tuula Karjalainen
Tove Jansson: Life, Art, Words by Boel Westin
Enid Blyton
The Making Of by Brecht Evens
Panther by Brecht Evens
The Wrong Place by Brecht Evens
Ethel and Ernest by Raymond Briggs
Persepolis by Marjane Satrapi
The Mind’s Eye by Oliver Sacks
Emma by Jane Austen
Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen
Charles Dickens
Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland by Lewis Carroll
Winnie the Pooh by A.A. Milne
Harry Potter series by J.K. Rowling
Little by Edward Carey
Alva and Irva by Edward Carey
Country Matters by Clare Leighton
The Heir by Vita Sackville-West
Miss Pettigrew Lives For a Day by Winifred Watson
Mr Norris Changes Trains by Christopher Isherwood
Excellent Women by Barbara Pym
Jane and Prudence by Barbara Pym
Agatha Christie
Curtain by Agatha Christie
Sleeping Murder by Agatha Christie
Elephants Can Remember by Agatha Christie
The Love-Child by Edith Olivier
Lolly Willowes by Sylvia Townsend Warner
Before I Go Hence by Frank Baker
I Follow But Myself by Frank Baker (autobiography)
Mr Allenby Loses The Way by Frank Baker
The Shooting Party by Isobel Colegate
Beneath the Visiting Moon by Romilly Cavan
Wine of Honour by Barbara Beauchamp

Miss Carter and the Ifrit by Susan Alice Kerby

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When I was offered some review copies of the new Furrowed Middlebrow titles from Dean Street Press, top of my list was Miss Carter and the Ifrit (1945) by Susan Alice Kerby – and not just because it qualifies for #ProjectNames. It’s just the sort of premise I absolutely love – and, as it turned out, also a novel that I loved.

Possibly my favourite genre of books is the fantastic – books set in this world, but with an element of fantasy of them. It’s the sort of book I did my DPhil on, but I hadn’t heard of Kerby or her novel – thankfully it was published a bit too late to match the focus of my thesis, or otherwise I’d have been anxious about leaving it out.

To look at Miss Georgina Carter you would never have suspected that a women of her age and character would have allowed herself to be so wholeheartedly mixed up with an Ifrit. For Georgina Carter was nearing fifty (she was forty-seven to be exact) and there was something about her long, plain face, her long upper lip, her long, thin hands and feet that marked her very nearly irrevocably as a spinster. That she wore her undistinguished clothes well, had a warm, human smile, was fond of the theatre and had never occasioned anyone a moment’s trouble or sorrow, were minor virtues which had never got her very far.

That’s the opening paragraph, and that’s the Miss Carter who is the mainstay of the narrative. She has lived a quiet, unassuming life. As it’s wartime, she is working for the government’s censorship department – blacking out bits of letters – but, otherwise, she has spent years in middle-class isolation. She has one good friend, and that’s about it. The rest is propriety, boredom, and a little loneliness.

Into this life comes the Ifrit – whom she names Joe. He emerges from wood that she is burning on her fire, freed from a curse of centuries. And he is to obey her every whim. (I had heard the word ‘ifrit’ somewhere before, but didn’t know exactly what it was – the OED says it’s an alternative spelling of ‘afrit’ – essentially a genie.)

What I loved about Kerby’s novel was how she takes this fantastically unlikely scenario and makes every subsequent step believable. Joe is enthusiastic and bombastic, and is gradually taught to behave in a way more befitting the 1940s. The extent of his fantastic abilities is rather elastic and not always coherent – he can shape-shift and conjure up any foods required, but he has to dart around the world at lightning speed to gather clothing.  But it doesn’t really matter – if anything, it makes the reader feel as enjoyably dizzied as Miss Carter.

And Miss Carter is a wonderful character. Kerby starts with the isolated spinster trope, and gives us added dimensions – of ‘might have beens’ and ‘maybe still could bes’. She is sharp but uncertain – independent but unsure of this strange new thing happening to her.

It’s such a fun book, and Kerby handles the absurdities and humour well alongside a genuine pathos. I heartily recommend it, and if the other new Furrowed Middlebrow books are this unusual and winning, then we’re all in for a treat.

My Life in Books: thank you!

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What fun that week was! Thanks to all the bloggers who participated in this series of My Life in Books, and for all the readers and commenters. It always seems like an unmanageable amount of coordinating and organising, and somehow it all slots into place and is enormously fun and interesting.

I thought I’d answer a few questions about My Life in Books that I’ve seen here or on social media – just to have them all in one place.

How many people have done My Life in Books?
Astonishingly, 82 people now! That’s bloggers and blog readers and members of my family. Some of those people haven’t had blogs for years, some are going strong, and some have moved onto others types of blogs entirely. It has been nine years since it started, after all!

How are the people chosen?
Essentially I ask people if I like their blogs – though there are plenty of people on my waiting list whose blogs I also like! There are a handful of people I can’t believe haven’t done it yet, just because I didn’t happen to think of them when I was emailing people. And I think four people have turned down participating, over the years – all with good reasons, of course. Well, three out of the four had good reasons, but that’s another story (and a long time ago!)

How do I pair people up?
This is the fun bit! I love choosing pairings – and I always choose the pairs before I get any of the book choices back. So when there are neat coincidences – like both partners choosing Pride and Prejudice this time – it’s just that: a coincidence. Except that I pair people that I think will work together, based on what I know of their blogs. That doesn’t necessarily mean I think they have similar tastes (though sometimes it is that) – more that I think their reading lives will read interestingly alongside each other.

How does the last question work?
The last question is asking what a participant thought of their partner’s choices – and this year, for the first time, also what book they’d recommend. I only ever send a list of five books, without any of the context. My hope is that brings the reading to the fore – and makes it a bit harder to make the educated guess about what their reader is like!

Will My Life in Books be back?
I certainly hope so! I intended to take a year off, and that somehow became five years. But it was so fun that I’m keen to make it an annual event again. Watch this space for My Life in Books 2020!