2000s

Billybob

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You’ll be delighted to know that my failsafe computer tactic – ignore the problem and it will go away – has once more worked its magic. My ‘b’ key, though needing a tiny bit more persuasion than the others, is almost as good as new. All through the magic of ignoring the issue. Trust me, if restarting the computer doesn’t fix the issue, then try ignoring it. Like all other dangerous animals, it secretly craves attention, and will right itself if is starved of it.
So why is this particularly pertinent today? Well, I realised I hadn’t blogged properly about Shakespeare by Bill Bryson. That’s a lot of ‘b’s, especially when you remember that William is known fondly as Billybob by myself and others who took the Shakespeare paper alongside me in finals.

The Carbon Copy bought me Shakespeare for my birthday, along with the wonderful and moving film Amazing Grace and, possibly my favourite, a little picture of Eeyore receiving his birthday balloon. My previous experience with Bill Bryson is positive – loved Mother Tongue, which I read about five years ago. Fascinating stuff on the evolution of the English language, and incredibly readable.

‘Readable’ always sounds a bit like damning with faint praise – cereal packets deserve the same honour – but it really isn’t. Take it from one who had to read a lot of literary criticism, readability (is that a word?) is a must. Shakespeare follows suit – Bryson has obviously done a great deal of arduous and scholarly research, and the resulting book manages to be both deeply informative and incredibly amusing. Tricky combination.

So why do we need another book about Shakespeare? Bryson is honest enough to tell us how many thousands are on offer. Can’t remember the exact amount, but enough to make sure I could comfortably be reading a book about Shakespare every week for the rest of my life – not mentioning the rate at which they’re still being published. What sets this book apart is that Bryson’s character and authorship is expressed through style and wit, not groundless speculation or wide context. Shakespeare is only about 200 pages long, but it is an essential and reliable tome. Everything we know about Shakespeare is in here. A few theories and possibilities are mentioned, but they are shown to be just that, and not argued as certain. The funniest chapter is the final one, on Anti-Stratford theorists i.e. those who, for some reason or other, refuse to believe Billybob wrote his plays. Littered with such scathing lines as “an excellent theory, if it weren’t for the complete lack of evidence to support it,” and “X demonstrated amazing foresight in, seeing as he died before many of Shakespeare’s plays were written, secreting enough manuscripts that they could be gradually released, and correctly estimating the time period between his own and Shakespeare’s death”. I paraphrase, but you get the gist – very funny.

For the rest of the book – the first chapters sketch out Shakespeare’s life; where he was, different instances at which he is mention in some document or other. A nice touch is that Bryson often details the person who discovered a new fact about Billybob, often through laborious and painstaking reading of many manuscripts and documents. Credit where due, is Bryson’s motto. Subsequent chapters talk about the plays and the sonnets – not lit crit, but where they were performed or when they were first published. All very interesting, and if it sounds dry (and to me it doesn’t!) then Bryson’s wit and charm will fascinate you.

There have been thousands of books written about Billybob, and I daresay there will be thousands more, but for the facts in an engaging and funny way, this can’t be bettered.

The Kite Runner – and a pondering…

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I read The Kite Runner for Book Group last week, and after a few people raved about it, I was expecting something brilliant. Well, I quite liked it – there we go, nothing if not effusive! The first 100 pages or so were great – a very vivid and complex portrait of an unequal fraternal relationship. Fascinating glimpse at issues of servitude, power, jealousy, love and a very believable pair of main characters. For those not in the know, Hassan is the son of Amir’s father’s Hazara servant – so the boys are the same age, and very close, but in very different circumstances. Perhaps their relationship is best shown in the sport which gives the novel its title – Amir flies his kite in an important local competition; Hassan is one of those who run after the cut-down kites, to keep as prizes. Hassan runs after them in order that he can give the kite to Amir – and his loyalty is such that he will endure much rather than relinquish the kite.

There is an event about 100 pages in which changes the lives of the central characters, the nature of the relationship, and the rest of the novel. To be fair to Khaled Hosseini (the author) the event doesn’t feel signposted in any way. I’m always annoyed by pages which scream “Look! Most Important Event Happening Here! Get Ready For Everything To Change!” But after it happens, the main force of the novel is lost. I waded through the remaining 200 or so pages with some interest, but The Kite Runner had rather, ahem, run out of steam.

And it got me thinking. Much of the reason I didn’t enjoy the second half of the book, aside from its having lost momentum, was the violence and gore it involved. Don’t get me wrong, this wasn’t a slasher-horror or anything, it was just rather too much for a reader with as squeamish an imagination as mine. I think that political situations are best told through character, rather than graphic description. It’s easy to write something fairly disgusting (it’s farcically easy to write something which will make me feel ill) but difficult to write in such a way as creates true empathy.

So what was my pondering – it was about novels being challenging. Challenging mindsets and emotions rather than using long words, of course. I’ve always just assumed that they should (sometimes) be challenging – and in some areas I still do. I love it when novels change the way I think, especially the way I think about people, but I will no longer feel guilty for squeamishness. I always thought the fault was with me, being put off by novels too ‘challenging’, whilst now I think they’re just difficult to read without feeling ill.

Hmm. I’m still not entirely sure, though.

Two Ravens – The Books!

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Sorry for some technical difficulties yesterday – I’m going to blame my faulty internet connection. The USB Wireless thing was sticking out the back of the computer, when I accidentally smashed it against the window sill, and it came apart. Now works only sporadically. I went into Argos today but they didn’t have any in stock, so I shall have to be patient.

Anyway, as promised, here is my report back on three books published by Two Ravens Press. As always, the absence of ‘b’s is not intentional… I’ll write about these novels in the order that I read them – which also, coincidentally, happens to be the order I’d place them evaluatively.

First off, Parties by Tom Lappin.
It took me some time to notice the pun on ‘parties’, despite the fact that the cover, with its ballgown and political rosette, give the game away. Yes, this is about parties of both a social and a political nature, and specifically Beatrice, Grainne, Richard and Gordon. I’m going to be brutally honest – after the first chapter I had made up my mind. I wouldn’t mention it on my blog, because I don’t like being critical about new books, especially those published by small presses, but I did not get along with at all. It was only the fact that I’d been sent the novel that made me continue at all. Thank goodness I did.
I don’t know what it is, but the first few pages seem like another novel to the rest – or perhaps I just needed time to get into Lappin’s world and writing. Either way, I encourage potential readers to persevere – having read a couple of other reviews, I see I wasn’t the only person who almost gave up. Keep going.
Parties is structured so that each chunk of the novel has a one-word subtitle – Crisps, Coffee, Champagne, Beer etc. – and the following section is divided again into Beatrice, Grainne, Richard, Gordon. Not always that order. And what Lappin has done, one gradually realises, is write a magnificent bildungsroman – but in actual fact four of them in one. There are four protagonists, each so rounded and stunningly, painfully accurate and whole that it is difficult to believe they are not real.
Beatrice is a very beautiful part-Italian who bewitches men (mostly her tutors) but has a wry intelligence and discontent which the reader sympathises with, and allows her to be approachable as a character. Grainne is a little podgy and has manages to combine dreaming optimism with self-loathing and realism – she is paired with Gordon, a political climber who will exhaust everything and everyone to reach his pinnacle. Richard writes musical journalism and has listless relationships, while always admiring Beatrice.
It is hopeless to define these characters so briefly, since they are complete and can only truly be understood when the novel is read. I found Beatrice and Grainne the stand-outs of the four, but really all four are needed. Though their paths throughout the novel are dogged with disilluion and dissatisfaction, there remains an undeniable warmth and truth to the novel throughout. Quite unlike the sort of novel I usually read, but so utterly engaging that the characters remain in my head several months after I read Parties. Not for the faint-hearted, perhaps, but a striking work which I would foist on you – if you can get through the first pages. Oh, and I am the most apathetic person in the world when it comes to politics (which I’m sure would displease the author immensely) so if you have the slightest interest in that area, you’ll probably value Parties even more.

Next, Nightingale by Peter Dorward
I shan’t talk as much about the other two novels, as they didn’t affect me as much, but this is still an admirable book. Rosie is in Italy on the journalistic track of a 1980 bombing. She is also encountering her father, Don, for the first time in many years. And he was a witness at the bombing. Political thrillers, again, aren’t top of my list of favourite genres, but Dorward presents this one as a tale about relationships, trust, lies, self-exploration and the like. It is divided into three – the first section sees Rosie exploring and interviewing, and recognising her own inability to tackle all the issues head on. The second section flings us back to the time of the bombing, and the exploits of Don. Eventually we are back with Don and Rosie as the mysteries are settled.
I found the first and third sections the most satisfying – perhaps because it is easier to sympathise with Rosie’s position as investigative, confused, intelligent but naive. Don’s plight was rather more self-enduced, and tales of sex, drugs and longing, though not paramount, were less able to grip my attention.

Finally The Most Glorified Strip of Bunting by John McGill
A novel about the United States Polar expedition of 1871-73? This is what I meant about Two Ravens Press publishing things you wouldn’t see elsewhere, and a topic I wouldn’t have dreamt of reading about unless it had been sent to me. This trip was doomed, as may or may not be common knowledge, and this novel has a predicated ending of deaths a-plenty. Throughout a fairly witty narrative, sections of a court case (or rather interviews in a criminal investigation) are interspersed, surrounding a potential poisoning. I think, given another time and place, I might have really liked McGill’s novel, but I just found it difficult to connect with the subject matter. Perhaps because it was close to Christmas and I fancied something cosy. Even having said that, I didn’t dislike the novel, and it was obviously well-researched, but with character always at the forefront, and never sacrificed to facts and figures.

A Proper Family Christmas

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Christmas Shopping is upon us, and I daresay some of you started some months ago, stirring the pudding back in March and planning the Christmas card list last Boxing Day. For the less organised amongst us, any ideas for presents are probably very welcome – and I’d like to push one under your nose for the bookish person in your life. Or perhaps you’d like to push this under someone else’s nose, since you’re the bookish person in their life.

I also have an AA Milne quotation for every occasion. Well, I can’t remember exactly how this goes, but something along the lines of: “Every critic instantly assumes that, should a writer be able to make his audience laugh, he secretly wishes he were making them cry”. Milne didn’t always love his critics, but the point is that we shouldn’t underestimate the comic writer – I think it’s much more difficult to make readers laugh than it is to make them cry, and a comic novel done well is a wonderful thing.

Step forward Jane Gordon-Cumming, and A Proper Family Christmas. I was worried people didn’t write books like this any more. Don’t get me wrong, I love pensive, slightly depressing, high-literary fiction more than anyone – Virginia Woolf is one of my favourite authors, after all (though she is incredibly funny, I must add) – but where did novels go which gently laugh at human nature and the tangles they get themselves in? Thankfully Jane G-C has written one such novel, and I know you’ll love it.

William lives by himself in a rambling old house, such as are only found in fiction – well, I say alone, he actually lives with a rather wonderful cat called Scratch. You can’t go wrong with cats in fiction – they’re such amusing and characterful creatures. Anyway, William is an obstreperous old man, but one you can’t help loving. Despite his best efforts, every member of his family descend on his house for Christmas – his forthright siser Margery; widow Hilary and her attractive teenage son; neurotic Lesley and Stephen with their spoilt child Tobias and put-upon nanny Frances; scatty Julia and innuendo-flinging Tony with worldy-wise daughter Posy and flirty nanny Shelley; arty Leo who seems to be perpetually ignored by all; charmer and antiquities expert Oliver. Phew, think that’s everyone. What a cast! Despite a lot of characters and a lot of names, like one’s own family one never gets confused. They all have their place and, like them or loathe them, you can’t help being quietly fond of each and every one.

This novel is definitely a character piece – throw together a lot of disparate and amusing people, and a few Wodehousian plots, and see what happens. And what happens is a witty and touching romp through the intricacies and politics of a family Christmas. If you don’t recognise it all, you’re lucky, but you’ll love it nonetheless. A perfect Christmas present for someone who loves something to read on Boxing Day, just so long as they can’t recognise themselves in its pages… and best not give it to anyone called William, Leo, Margery, Lesley, Stephen, Tony, Shelley, Tobias, Posy, Julia… at a pinch Frances, Oliver, Hilary and Daniel will take it as a compliment…

Findings…

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I’ve been at it again. Another impulse buy today, but one which I might just impulsively read straight away… or at least as soon as I’ve finished the latest review books. And Book Group books. Oh dear.

Our Vicar and Our Vicar’s Wife met me for lunch, and after a rather yummy broccoli and stilton soup (in a cafe, not my handiwork, I’m afraid) we browsed through the QI Bookshop. For any UK readers who also watch the QI television programme with Stephen Fry, yes, this is researched in the rooms above the bookshop. I’ve not been in before, and it might be my last chance, as apparently it’s moving to the top floor, alongside the exclusive QI-members-only restaurant. Shame.

They have a small stock, but an interesting one – a stock which bears the signs of being selected by a discerning buyer. Some successful sellers; others more obscure. They even had a Persephone Book, so I was impressed from the off (The Wise Virgins by Leonard Woolf, since you ask) – my eye was drawn towards Findings by Kathleen Jamie. I haven’t heard of her before, but I could tell immediately that this was A Sort Of Book. I don’t mean that there was some ambiguity as to whether it was a book or a mantlepiece, nothing like that, Sort Of Books are a publishing house – ‘distributed by Penguin Books’, so they might be an off-shoot, I don’t know. They publish the beautiful, beautiful Tove Jansson translations, and I thought I probably couldn’t go wrong with another of their books. And so I bought it…

Findings is non-fiction, Kathleen Jamie (a poet) travels around her native Scotland watching, listening, observing – and these observations are in this book. Not the biggest fan of travel literature, or even books set in other countries, because they have so much extraneous detail. I find an author noticing her/his own surroundings afresh much more involving. Have already heard from e-friends that this was a favourite read, hope others have come across Jamie too. Perhaps I’m the last? Anyway, will let you know when I’ve read it, but I can’t imagine not really liking Findings.

Dorothy Whipple, how I do love thee

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Though I now space them out, a new Persephone Books read is always a wonderful treat, and something to be treasured. When I first found out about this publishing company, through their publishing of Richmal Crompton’s Family Roundabout, I went on a bit of a rampage, and read lots. Though they cover quite a range of decades, genres, authors, forms – and, yes, some of the writers are even male! – there is something unmistakably Persephone about everything they issue, and thus something unmistakably great. The Closed Door and Other Stories, one of the latest batch of three, was no different. Nicola Beauman, who runs Persephone Books, very kindly sent me this to review when I made ingratiating noises in her direction – and, of course, I loved it.

Most aficiandos of Persephone agree that Dorothy Whipple is one of their major finds. Crompton and EM Delafield were already firm favourites with me, and I was delighted to see them come back into the light of day, but it is Whipple who has been the nicest new face. Though decidedly a domestic-fiction-writer, she demonstrates that this need not mean anything derogatory about writing style. Nicola Beauman has had to fiercely defend Whipple against some critiques over the past few years, mostly from people who, bewilderingly, have been against niche publishing in any shape or form – but just pick up Someone at a Distance or They Knew Mr. Knight and it is indisputable that Whipple needed bringing back into print.

The Closed Door and Other Stories is different from any other Whipple I’ve read, not least because it’s short stories rather than full-length prose. The first story, ‘The Closed Door’, is easily the longest – 75 or so pages – and the other eight are snapshots of characters’ lives. I read them all together at a fast pace, which probably isn’t the ideal way to approach short stories, and I must confess I found a lot of them to be quite similar – a daughter (always a daughter) is repressed by her selfish parents who expect her to act like a servant, and dismiss any academic or romantic ambitions the daughter has. I like that Whipple doesn’t aggrandise either of these ambitions over the other, but sees both as valid modes of self-expression and fulfilment. Anyway, as you read more of the stories in the collection this scenario becomes very familiar – but each story presents a different ending/solution/irresolution. ‘After Tea’ is an especially nice contrast. When presented together, the particular culminations grow even more significant, playing off against each other, and become less ‘closing’, as it were – more problematic, occasionally more triumphant.

Against the stories which fall into this mould, a couple stand out as really beautiful evocations of character and predicament – ‘The Rose’ and ‘Wednesday’ particularly. The latter is quite a brave portrait – a divorcee adulteress (though one coerced into it by her husband, we are led to understand) on one of her monthly permitted visits to her children. Agonising and realistic and a painful gem.

In case you hadn’t ascertained this yet – The Closed Door is a book definitely worth buying! Just spread the stories out a bit.

Sense and Cinematography

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I saw The Jane Austen Book Club at the cinema tonight, and thought I’d use its various links to literature to excuse a rather more pop-cultural reference than usual… I read Karen Joy Fowler’s novel, from which the film was adapted, over the summer – must confess, not very impressed. Lots of unnecessary sex and not enough literary comment. My preference probably puts me in the minority, but with ‘Jane Austen’ in the title, I hope I’m not alone… Anyway, it was fun to read the novel and spot comparisons and parallels with JA’s oeuvre, but that was about where the enjoyment ended, give or take a few quite emotional scenes. Essentially six people meet up to discuss the six JA novels, one chosen by each of them, and the resultant book group is a backdrop for their relationship goings-on – divorcee, lesbian, teacher-with-crush-on-student, woman with Wife of Bath tendencies, dog-loving singleton and convenient token male. With SciFi obsession, like all guys, obviously.

The film hadn’t removed any of these elements, but I am more forgiving of modern films than I am modern novels – largely, I imagine, because I’ve seen hardly any older films. Somehow what seemed rather fatuous and saccharine in prose became sweet and passingly profound on the silver screen. It was refreshing that they anticipated their viewers had read at least some Jane Austen – reminds me of a different experience sitting in the cinema while watching the 2005 Pride and Prejudice; the number of people who laughed uproariously at certain bits suggested they hadn’t encountered them in prose beforehand. Literary snobbishness over… for a moment or two, anyway. Where was I? Oh yes – the film laboured the parallels between novels and book group members even more than the novel did, but that was quite entertaining. What really made the film work was the cast – especially the brilliant Emily Blunt as Prudie, the teacher-with-a-crush. Her marriage was falling apart; she joined a book group to avoid thinking about her thoughtless husband, and cannot countenance other members being trivial or unacademic. Oh, and she speaks in French quite a bit – despite having a potentially irritating character, Blunt makes Prudie loveable and endearing. I didn’t know the rest of the cast before (except Lynn Redgrave, who makes a fleeting and funny appearance as Prudie’s hippy mother) but they are a great ensemble.

Worth a watch, if only because IMDB imaginatively lists the Plot Keywords as ‘Book Club / German Shepherd’…

Dear Nancy/Jessica/Unity/Diana/Pamela/Deborah…

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Not the whole Birthday Books list just yet, but shall tease you with the biggest one of the lot, to whet the appetite. I knew this one was coming, as I’d not-too-subtly suggested it as a present option from my library colleagues Lucy and Clare, who have become very good friends in the two months I’ve known them. Both bookish types, and great fun as well.

So, it was without surprise, but with great delight, that I unwrapped The Mitfords: Letters Between Six Sisters edited by Charlotte Mosley. They’d also sneaked in another book – more on that when you get the full rundown – today is just about Nancy and co. My previous acquiantance with the sisters consists only of The Pursuit of Love, and 10, Curzon Street: Letters Between Nancy Mitford and Heywood Hill. Even so, they’ve been on the horizon for most of my life, and I was keen to get my mitts on this beautiful collection of letters.

Haven’t finished (come on, my birthday was only a few days ago!) – in fact, only read the introduction so far, but that was enough to make me want to post about it. Charlotte Mosley explains that the book only represents a small fragment of the extant letters – and only three ‘links’ between sisters are unrepresented at all by surviving letters. My A Level Maths has to be dusted off here – if there are six sisters, each of whom can write to each other… call sisters ‘x’… carry one… divide by the number you first thought of… I think that gives 30 possible letter-routes (taking, say Diana-to-Pamela as distinct from Pamela-to-Diana) and thus 27 combinations covered in the book. Phew! What an amazing collection. Might be a bit tricky to keep track of who’s who, writing to whom, what their relationship is (in terms of temperament – obviously they’re all sisters), but thankfully there are mini-biogs and symbols in a family tree for each of them. The symbols are quite amusing, actually – while Nancy gets a ink-stand and quill, Jessica has her life summarised by a hammer and sickle. Reminds me of The Carbon Copy’s version of Scissor, Rock, Paper, entitled Hammer, Sickle, Stalin.

Anyway, where was I?
With so many letters from which to choose, chances are the most pertinent and entertaining will be here. There’s something to be said for comprehensive editions, but they can be a bit difficult to wade through – for instance, Virginia Woolf’s A Writer’s Diary was much more palatable than Volume One of the unedited thing. I’ll let you know more choice excerpts as I read through – I think this is going to be one I read a small portion from at the end of the day, and may take me til next birthday to finish – so shall just finish with one.

‘I had letters from you & the Lady [Nancy] & Henderson [Jessica] today, wouldn’t it be dread if one had a)no sisters b)sisters who didn’t write.’ [Deborah to Diana]

For you and us both, Debs!

But a lifetime burning in every moment

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Every now and then a book comes along which makes you think “wow”, and prevents the normal day-to-day activities taking place without a constant desire to be reading said book. It leads one to read whilst walking to work, often quite perilously, and sneak a copy under the desk in the library. This week such a book reared its head.

Back in one of my earliest posts, I asked people to suggest novels or plays with twins in – as a twin myself, it’s something I find endlessly interesting. Partly because the topic is fascinating, partly because I like discovering how accurate authors are in portraying twinship. Twinhood? Twinicity? Of course I can only compare to my own experience, so it’s not the most objective test. But it keeps me off the streets.

Anyway. A novel nobody mentioned back then was Linda Gillard’s A Lifetime Burning, but it is probably the most convincing portrayal of being a twin that I have ever read. Even more so than The Comedy of Errors. Then again, Topsy and Tim presented rather more verisimilitude than old Billybob. I don’t want to tell you too much about the plot of Gillard’s novel, for three reasons. Firstly, it will ruin genuine shocks and surprises which enhance the reading no end and add richness to the writing; secondly, Linda has said that she doesn’t really do plots – more characters to whom things happen; thirdly, it would sound ridiculous. I don’t mean that as a criticism at all – but a synopsis of the novel would make you think “wow, what a crazy amount of things happen to this family”, whereas reading the novel makes you think “Wow!”

So, not revealing the main plot points – but suffice it to say that the Dunbar family do not live uneventful lives. The novel focuses on Flora, whose funeral is witnessed in the opening pages, and flits between first and third persons, and many different times throughout her life. She is forceful, hopeful and often quite selfish, but with a disarming self-awareness – and great closeness with twin brother Rory. They are not identical personalities, nor are they wholly disparate (the two usual paths taken with twins in fiction) but rather complementing characters; individuals but intertwined.

Though the novel jumps all over the place, I never found it confusing – rather a path towards illumination and comprehension of the characters, understanding (rather than sanctioning) the way they act. Linda Gillard writes with lyrical intensity, beautiful prose which is powerful without being overly ‘flowery.’ I enjoyed her previous novel Emotional Geology, but this is leagues ahead of it – can’t recommend it enough. The subject matter isn’t uncontroversial, but nothing in A Lifetime Burning is gratuitous – and almost every other modern novelist I’ve read could take a leaf out of Gillard’s book.

Crow Lake

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The camera is behaving slightly better today. Nothing I did, so think it’s just fickle. The focus modes have all been experimented with beforehand, but thanks for the tips, guys!

I’ve realised that I haven’t yet blogged about Crow Lake by Mary Lawson, so time to get that sorted out. First, I’ll let you know the little process taken from having no clue who or what Mary Lawson is, to being able to blog about Crow Lake. It goes something like this…

1) In the morning wander through the blogs, it goes something like this – Cornflower, Random Jottings, Dovegreyreader, Bluestalking, Booksplease, Crafty Person, A Work In Progress, Books and Cooks, Janice’s Reading Diary, Angela Young, anyone else for whom I have time. Hadn’t realised until typing that I had such a rigid structure. The ‘anyone else’ is vast and wide and takes many, many minutes – but before that, this is pretty much the daily round-up. I read to find out what my e-friends have been up to, but also largely for book recommendations. To differing degrees, I know I have shared tastes with these bloggers. If Elaine, Lisa or Karen like something, then I’m going to be interested. Crow Lake, however, started it’s Stuck-in-a-Book life as a recommendation on Margaret’s blog – she wrote about it here.

2) Books that REALLY excite me go onto the Blue Bit Of Card. Some bloggers, I know, write down almost every book they see recommended – I’m much more picky. Most books have to rely on luck – it’s sink or swim. If I remember them, then they get read. If not; obviously we’re memorable enough. The Blue Bit Of Card is for when a book looks great, but I don’t trust my memory.


3) Usually I trot off to abebooks or Amazon. Crow Lake, again, is different – I found it on the shelves at Honeypot, a church-linked bookstall/coffee morning/craft-making/gossip that Our Vicar’s Wife organises and I was visiting.

4) Almost finished it on the train home!

So, back to the novel. It takes place on two time periods – Kate Morrison is a lecturer, invited to her nephew’s 18th birthday party, which starts her thinking about her childhood – the other time period. She lives near Crow Lake in the back of beyond with her brothers Matt and Luke, and toddler sister Bo. When their parents are killed in a car crash, they learn to fend for themselves. This novel shows the sacrifices each has to make, and the lasting ramifications of these – and the guilt Kate still feels about having a PhD when Matt had to sacrifice his academic futherment. Along the way their lives become entangled with the mysterious Pye family, haunted by years of hatred and violence within previous generations.

Lawson writes with so many character nuances, and is concerned with subtle issues of empathy, sympathy, unity, hope, hopelessness, courage, foolishness, pride, misunderstanding – it’s all there, as anyone who’s read it must agree. Kate’s reunion with her family, along with the reader’s gradual understanding of their shared childhood, is tautly emotional and very absorbingly written. The ending and the re-analysis of Kate’s feelings demonstrate the most sophisticated writing on Lawson’s part, and a truly complex depiction of family and humanity. There are so many categories this novel could fall in which would have put me off – tragic childhood; Southerners-are-salt-of-the-Earth; violence – but Lawson proves that, though a lot of dross may be written in these areas, they can be used brilliantly. Oh, and a lot of it is very funny too. For instance, Kate and Luke trying to teach Bo nursery rhymes for the first time:

‘What are the main ones?’ (Kate)
‘I don’t know. Teach her the ones you like best.’ (Luke)
I couldn’t think of a single one. ‘I don’t remember any,’ I said.
‘ “Hickory Dickory Dock”,’ Matt said. He was sitting at the kitchen table writing to Aunt Annie.
Self-consciously I said, ‘Say “Hickory Dickory Dock”, Bo’
Bo paused in her work and looked at me suspiciously.
‘She thinks you’ve flipped,’ Matt said, scribbling away.
I tried again. ‘Bo, say “Hickory Dickory Dock”.’
‘Icky Dicky Dock,’ Bo said brusquely. She looked around her, searching for a particular saucepan.
‘Good!’ I said. ‘That’s good, Bo. Now say “The mouse ran up the clock.”‘
‘Dis pan,’ Bo said. She seized the largest pan and started whamming the others into it in order of size. She was pretty good at it, too. She didn’t make many mistakes.
‘She’s ignoring you,’ Matt said in a pause in the din. ‘She’s decided you’re nuts.’
‘Come on, Bo,’ I said. ‘”The mouse ran up the clock.”‘
‘Silly,’ Bo said, sparing a moment to wave a stern finger at me.

…