FFTA

I’m getting back into the swing of Five from the Archive posts, where I dig up five previous reviews on my blog with a connecting theme. You can see all the previous ones in the index.

I’m not at all the sort of person who wants to read books about missing people usually, and the market certainly seems to be flooded with them – but these ones do appeal. And they’re not disturbing or unpleasant – at least not gratuitously. (Apparently I never wrote about Elizabeth is Missing by Emma Healey, but that is also very good.) Please do let me know your own recommendations!

1.) The Runaway (2017) by Claire Wong

In short: 17-year-old Rhiannon runs away from her aunt and guardian, living in the thick woodland near her Welsh village. Storytelling and memory play a big role in the community’s reaction.

From the review: “One of the reasons I really liked The Runaway is because of what it says about small communities. Too often these are treated as places to escape – claustrophobic, nosey, and repressive to creativity. It’s ironic that a novel where somebody literally escapes this community doesn’t suggestion that small-town life is an evil.”

2.) Still Missing (1981) by Beth Gutcheon

In short: Often mentioned as one of the more unusual choices for Persephone, this follows the trajectory of a mother’s panic, grief, and search as her son is missing and the world reacts.

From the review: “The premise has become worn through re-use, but Gutcheon takes it back to essentials, and the novel is the more powerful and personal because of it.”

3.) This is the End (1917) by Stella Benson

In short: Jay Martin has run away and become a bus conductor. This strange, funny, bizarre novel follows her family as they fruitlessly search for her – and it’s never clear exactly what’s happening.

From the review: “I want to say that This Is The End is not supernatural, but any definite statement about a Benson novel feels like a trap waiting to happen; the reader never quite knows which genre they’re reading, or what sort of response is required. Except that laughter will always be involved somewhere.”

4.) The Return of Alfred (1922) by Herbert Jenkins

In short: When James Smith (not his real name) tries to shelter in a house while on the run from his domineering father, he is surprised to be mistaken for the mysterious missing Alfred.

From the review: “I found The Return of Alfred all rather improbable – but also another total delight.”

5.) Little Boy Lost (1949) by Marghanita Laski

In short: During war, Hilary is told that his son (whom he has only seen once) – and he travels to Paris to find him. Once found, how can Hilary know it is the right boy?

From the review: “Although the plot is fairly simple, its handling is beautifully subtle, especially as the novel progresses.”

It’s #InternationalCatDay! Some of us would say that every day is cat day, but apparently they get one in particular to celebrate themselves. And it reminded me about Five From the Archive, which I did a lot in 2012, once in 2015, and never again. Until now! It’s a fun way to delve through the blog review archives and find links between books. You can see all the previous books I wrote about in the index – and, now that I’ve remember it, it might become a regular feature again. And you’ll have to forgive where the quote formatting of old reviews went awry…

Usually I only tried to include books I really love, but it turns out I haven’t read that many books about cats – so some of these aren’t my faves, but consider it an opportunity for you to tell me better ones to try!

(And do feel free to use the Five From the Archive idea and image for anything at all you fancy, if you like.)

1.) The Fur Person (1957) by May Sarton

In short: Tom ‘Terrible’ Jones is on the look out for a permanent house to live in, and tries various potential owners (or people to own) before he lands on the correct house. He is a very realistic depiction of a selfish, pragmatic, and entirely lovable cat.

From the review: “the movements of tail and paws, the stretching, the staring and waiting – everything it described with such precision and accuracy that any cat-lover (particularly those of us who love cats but don’t live with any) will thrill to the reading experience.”

2.) The Guest Cat by Takashi Hiraide (2001)

In short: A couple in their 30s find their lives and their relationship revitalised by the appearance of a visiting cat – though the novella is nowhere near as fey as that sounds!

From the review: “it is Hiraide’s writing that makes The Guest Cat the mini masterpiece that it undoubtedly is. You get the feeling that he could have turned his pen to any topic under the sun and achieved something equally poignant.”

3.) Jennie (1950) by Paul Gallico

In short: A little boy is transformed into a cat, and has to learn how to live as one by the teachings of Jennie – whose mantra is “if in doubt, wash”.

From the review: “It is the plotting and tone which made Jennie a bit of a disappointment to me. The characters of Jennie and Peter are great – and, as I’ve said, Gallico has really closely observed cat behaviour. But the tone is too sprightly, even with the sad aspects of the story.”

4.) Merry Hall (1951) by Beverley Nichols

In short: Not really about cats, but One and Four are such well-described presences in this book about doing up a house and garden that I think it counts. (I have his cat-focused books waiting on my shelves.)

From the review: “One is Siamese and Four is a black cat, and he writes beautifully about their character and mannerisms, with every bit of the devotion that cats deserve. They weave in and out of the narrative, and won my heart completely.”

5.) Dewey: the small-town library cat who touched the world (2008) by Vicki Myron

In short: This non-fiction book is dreadful, but hilariously dreadful, about a cat who lives in a library.

From the review: “Chapters can generally be divided into two camps: those which relate incidents of no notable interest, and those which relate incidents which couldn’t possibly have happened.”

It’s been three years since I last wrote a Five From the Archive post, so it’s entirely possible that you’ve forgotten (or never knew) what it is. But I remembered it existed this week, and thought it was worth resurrecting!

Essentially, I delve through my review archives and pick five that fit a theme. You can see all the previous themes here, and will discover that they’re quite esoteric at times! Previous themes have included hands, death, and pairs of women. This time…

Five… Eponymous Novels

1.) Miss Hargreaves (1940) by Frank Baker

In short:We all knew this would turn up, so let’s get it out of the way. Norman invents an eccentric old lady to get out of a fix, and then invites her, her cockatoo, harp, and hip bath to come and stay… and she turns up. Havoc ensues!

From my review: “Sometimes sinister, sometimes sad, sometimes hilariously funny – Miss Hargreaves covers more or less all the bases, always written in the sort of delicious writing which is hardly found anymore. Miss H is one of the best characters of the twentieth century, in my opinion, and I really cannot encourage you enough to find this extraordinary book.”

2.) Miss Mole (1930) by E.H. Young

In short: Miss Mole is a mischievous 40-something woman who seeks work as a housekeeper, to the embarrassment of her cousin. She helps the family she ends up with, without the novel ever becoming too sickly sweet.

From my review: “When it comes to drawing characters, she is really rather brilliant. Miss Mole is a creation of whom Jane Austen would be proud, and I think I’ll remember her for some time.”

3.) Angel (1957) by Elizabeth Taylor

In short: Taking the extremely popular, critically mauled novelist Marie Corelli as her inspiration, Taylor documents the life of a humourless, ruthlessly selfish writer who believes herself to be a genius and alienates everybody around her.

From my review: “Angel Deverell is never a likeable character; quite the reverse. Even so, Elizabeth Taylor creates in her a character of pathos, and it is difficult to take any pleasure in her downfalls, however deserved. It is testament to Taylor’s talent that such an unpleasant protagonist can inhabit a thoroughly compelling novel.”

4.) Mr Fox (1987) by Barbara Comyns

In short: The best of Comyns’ later novels, Mr Fox is a charming but tempestuous World War Two spiv whose life is entangled with that of the heroine, Caroline. The novel has Comyns’ trademark surrealism.

From my review: “With air raids and rationing and evacuees, Comyns uses the recognisable elements of every wartime novel or memoir, but distorts them with her unusual style and choice of focus.”

5.) Skylark (1924) by Dezső Kosztolányi

In short: A Hungarian novel about what loving but overly-dependent parents go through when their ugly, not-young-anymore daughter goes away for a while. A really beautiful book.

From my review: “This narrative is so clever and subtly written. It is a mixture of quite pathetic inability to manage in their daughter’s absence, with a glimpse of what life would be like without her.”

It’s been a few weeks since I last did a Five From the Archive, and perhaps My Life in Books has brought a few new readers (hello!), so I’ll quickly explain what it is.  Once I’d been blogging for five years, I had a glance back at the hundreds of books I’d written about, and thought that it was a shame that wonderful titles would be lost in the annals of my archive.  So every week now and then, I’ll pick a theme and choose five great books from my review archive to fit it – it’s fun finding unexpected connections between much-loved books.  An index of all previous Five From the Archive posts can be found here.  This week, inspired by the wonderful school scene in Blue Remembered Hills, I have picked an apposite theme:

Five… Books About School

1.) St. Clare’s series (1941-5) by Enid Blyton

In short: I could fill this list with children’s school stories, but I’ll stick with this series which I loved as a child – mischievous (but, of course, good-hearted) twins Pat and Isabel get up to schoolgirl antics.

From my review: “Blyton appears to have had a pathological hatred of ‘tell-tales’ (which always seems to me to be invented as an excuse for teachers to ignore the majority of children’s squabbles) and a fervour for sport, and Janet (in the ‘good egg’ category) is so bluntly rude that I wanted to push her down a well – despite all these things, I’ve been joyously reliving my youth through these books.”

2.) More Women Than Men (1933) by Ivy Compton-Burnett

In short: My favourite ICB novel so far, the politics and in-fighting of a girls’ school provide a perfect setting for Compton-Burnett’s characteristic wit and discord.  There is only one line of dialogue from a pupil…

From my review: “Would people talk like this?  No, definitely not.  Would people act like this?  Probably no.   But would people feel like these characters feel?  Yes – absolutely – and it is Ivy Compton-Burnett’s genius that she can interweave the genuine and the bizarre.”

3.) Curriculum Vitae (1992) by Muriel Spark

In short: I would pick The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie if I’d ever reviewed it here – so this is the next best thing.  Spark’s brilliant autobiography includes wonderful sections on Miss Christina Kay, Spark’s teacher and the inspiration for Miss Jean Brodie.

From my review: “There are definitely signs of Spark-the-novelist in the structuring of
the autobiography.  Her usual trick of playing around with time makes an
appearance, but it’s the enticingly disjointed beginning which made me
realise Spark-the-autobiographer was no real distance from
Spark-the-novelist.”

4.) Dusty Answer (1927) by Rosamond Lehmann

In short: We follow only-child Judith Earle through childhood and emotional student days (I’m stretching a point), as she is forever tethered to the family that lived next door.

From my review: “It takes a talented writer to write about childhood without the novel feeling like a children’s book, and Lehmann achieves this wonderfully.”

5.) The Well-Tempered Clavier (2008) by William Coles

In short: A cross between Othello and Notes on a Scandal, an affair between pupil and piano teacher at Eton becomes a study in jealousy.

From my review: “The Well-Tempered Clavier is a beautiful book, managing to use a simple narrative voice without a consequently bland style – honesty, beauty, and passion pervade the novel, but so do humour, youthfulness and energy.”

As always – your suggestions, please!

In case you’ve not spotted this feature before at SiaB, it’s one where I look back through my 5+ years of blogging, and pick out five reviews of good books which have an interesting or unusual connection…

Reading At Freddie’s made me wonder why I hadn’t previously thought of today’s FFTA topic, since it is one which I actively seek in the books I read… and then I was surprised by how few I could find in my past reviews.  But enough to compile a list for you!  (I would have included Wise Children by Angela Carter, but it already appeared under books about twins.)  As always, feel free to use the idea and logo, and do add your own suggestions in the comments – in fact, this is a category for which I’d really value suggestions, especially novels, so put your thinking caps on!  (oh, and the cartoon took AGES, so… you’d make my day if you said something nice about it!)

Five… Books About The Theatre

…that theatre…

1.) To Tell My Story (1948) by Irene Vanbrugh

In short: A largely forgotten name now, Dame Irene was once a much-loved stage actress – she was Gwendoline in the first The Importance of Being Earnest; co-founded R.A.D.A., and appeared in the first British colour film.  She also appeared in many of A.A. Milne’s plays, which is what attracted me to her autobiography.

From my review: “Although Vanbrugh rarely delves into her private life too deeply, she does talk about becoming a widow. Much of To Tell My Story moves away from tales of specific performances to more general, and very fascinating, ruminations upon all manner of aspects of acting – from etiquette, to creating a part, to being in a revival.”

2.) And Furthermore (2010) by Judi Dench and John Miller

In short: One of Britain’s – nay, the world’s – favourite actresses gives anecdotes from her many years of success on stage and screen.  (It makes for a fascinating contrast and comparison with Irene Vanbrugh’s autobiography.) 

From my review: “As a rule, a biography focuses on the career and an autobiography on the childhood – or so I have found – so it’s nice to have an autobiography which looks mostly at the area which interests me most. Because it is Dench’s decades of theatrical experience which captivate me – each play seems to come with its own amusing or intriguing incidents, and I love the atmosphere conveyed of being part of the company.”

3.) The Town in Bloom (1965) by Dodie Smith

In short: Friends reuniting and reminiscing 45 years after their youth spent in a ‘club’ kicks off a novel about a girl’s life in the 1920s theatrical world, with some intrigue and romance thrown in.  First half brilliant, second half tedious… the brilliant first half earns the novel its place in FFTA.

From my review: “It was a brave, and a delicious, decision on Dodie Smith’s part to make Mouse no prodigy – she is an appalling actress, and no amount of advice from Crossway can make her anything else. So, instead, she starts working in one of the theatre offices with Eve Lester, a kind, sensible, and wise woman in an environment of those who are often kind, but rarely the rest.”

4.) Being George Devine’s Daughter (2006) by Harriet Devine

In short: Best known to most of us as a blogger, Harriet’s father was the director George Devine.  This book combines autobiography with biography of him, and offers the fascinating perspective of a child who met everyone in the theatre.

From my review: “It must be tempting, writing about oneself and one’s family, to have all sorts of references to jokes the reader won’t understand, or people who are relevant for one story but never again. Harriet doesn’t do this – there is nothing here that would be edited out if the book were fiction; it all comes together to form a structured narrative whole. Throughout it all, Harriet’s tone is beautifully honest and thoughtful, without being unduly introspective or (conversely) coolly detached. It is the perfect tone for autobiography.”

5.) The Dover Road (1921) by A.A. Milne

In short: Not about theatre per se, but I had to include a play somewhere.  An eloping couple found their car breaks down outside a very curious hotel… and meet a very interfering (and hilarious) proprietor.

From my review: “Yes, the scenario is a little contrived, but who cares about that – The Dover Road is a very funny play about the benign meddling of Latimer and the various mismatched pairings under his roof.”

I’m still enjoying these jaunts down memory lane – I’m not sure how much longer I’ll be able to think of themes which encompass five great books each time, but even with 45 titles down, I have about 300 other reviews to consider… fun!  Do use the Five From the Archive idea and badge, if you so wish.

Five… Books About Holidays

This may be cruel, as the summer quietly dies, but (if it helps) some of these holidays are far from desirable…

1.) The Enchanted April (1922) by Elizabeth von Arnim

In brief: Four seemingly incompatible women join each other for a month in beautiful Italy – which has a powerful effect on them all.

From my review: “The castle is described beautifully, and especially the garden – attention drawn often to the wistaria, which happens to be my favourite plant. Everywhere is brightly sunny, airy, thick with the scent of flowers and bursting with nature. It could have been horribly overdone, but E von A strikes just the right note.”

2.) Illyrian Spring (1935) by Ann Bridge

In brief: Another idyllic trip to Italy sets off an intriguing friendship between (Lady) Grace Kilmichael and young artist Nicholas.  Heavy on snobbery, but made up for by being simply beautiful.

From my review: “There are a few, a very few, authors who manage to write about the visual in ways which focus upon characters’ emotions and their responses, even if this isn’t stated explicitly, and that works for me. I’m thinking the moment when Jude looks out over Christminster in Jude the Obscure, and more or less every moment of Elizabeth von Arnim’s The Enchanted April. Ann Bridge joins that select few, for me.”

3.) The Great Western Beach (2008) by Emma Smith

In brief: A lovely childhood memoir of visits to Cornwall, which manages to be joyful despite some tough subject matter.

From my review: “I think the most useful way I can write about this book is to describe the style. First person, but neither from the author’s current perspective, nor from the child’s. It is all written as though she were looking back at the events from a distance of only a couple years – some hindsight and analysis is permitted, but alongside childhood ignorance of certain things, and a child’s language.”

4.) Straw Without Bricks (1937) by E.M. Delafield

In brief: Not a traditional holiday, perhaps, but here Delafield casts her witty and sensible eye over Soviet Russia, even living in a commune.

From my review: “This is certainly not the ‘funny book’ that her publisher was hoping for. Delafield’s own political leanings were to the left, though not as far as Communism, and she treats the country and its inhabitants seriously. Much of this is with a subdued horror – at the indoctrination, the lack of freedom, the systematic removal of beauty and individualism – but she never makes Communism’s adherents appear ridiculous. The humour is often directed towards her fellow tourists, or such quintessentially British anxieties as having to wait around for something to happen, or wondering how to pass someone one is keen not to engage in trivial conversation.”

5.) Beside the Sea (2001) by Veronique Olmi

In brief: Easily the darkest of these books, a mother struggles with two young sons while staying in a dingy hotel beside the sea.

From my review: “I was initially thrown by the tone of the novel, being so different from what I expected – and I did worry that it would be like so many other novels, in a ‘real’ voice which is so jarring and unsatisfying. But Olmi is much cleverer than that – though the reader might think at the start that this is an average mother, it is soon obvious that she is not. Unreliable narrators always make for interesting reading, and this one gives away only so much – and how much of that is true or reasonable is difficult to gauge…”

a gold star if you can spot the pun… ahem.

As always – over to you!  These themes are just to make us think a bit out of the box, or make unusual connections between books we’ve read, so… holidays in fact or fiction, folk?

It’s getting to the point where I can’t remember which books have featured in Five From The Archive and which haven’t, so I’m doing my best to think up new aleatory connections between the books in my review archive… and the one I came up with for today is definitely unusual!

Five… Books About Hands

1.) Halfway to Venus (2008) by Sarah Anderson

In short: Anderson runs a travel bookshop, and had an arm amputated after a severe childhood illness.  Halfway to Venus is a fascinating personal, social, and cultural history of amputation and limbs.

From my review: “It is to Anderson’s credit that Halfway to Venus brings out so many questions and reflections and reactions. A very honest book of autobiography, it is also a fascinating compedium, and with an engaging writing style which is all too often omitted from well-researched non-fiction.”

2.) The World I Live In (1908) by Helen Keller

In short: the counterpart to Anderson’s book, Keller explores the significance of hands when they provide the main sense-based interaction with the world.

From my review: “When I say that Keller’s worth as an author is not merely as a novelty, I mean that she should not be patronised, nor her writing viewed as some sort of scientific experiment.  She is too good and perceptive a writer for that.”

3.) Maestro (1989) by Peter Goldsworthy

In short: Eduard Keller is a Viennese refugee in Australia, teaching 15 year-old Paul the piano in an unorthodox manner – which begins with studying the importance of each individual finger.

From my review: “Their relationship isn’t romantic or fatherly or even particularly close.  Keller resists any sort of emotional connection, and Paul is far too full of youthful insensitivity to do anything but blunder into conversations in which he is too immature to participate, even if Keller were willing.  But what Goldsworthy builds between Keller and the Crabbes is still somehow beautiful.  The connection between people who never open up to one another; the legacies left behind a relationship which could not even be called a friendship.  Goldsworthy has done this beautifully.”

4.) Observatory Mansions (2001) by Edward Carey

In short: Francis Orme works as a living statue, but concentrates most of his efforts on an underground exhibition of sentimental objects he has stolen from residents of Observatory Mansions.  This book comes under ‘hands’ because Orme is very protective of his, always wearing white gloves, which he removes and archives as soon as they get slightly dirty.

From my review: “I probably overuse the word ‘quirky’, but no other description will do for Carey’s work.”

5.) Immortality (1988) by Milan Kundera

In short: Kundera’s postmodern narrative starts with him seeing a woman’s distinctive gesture with her arm.  He names her Agnes and invents a story around her, around that gesture. And then weaves it into a literary, historical intertextuality that darts all over the place, including Rubens, Goethe, Hemingway, Beethoven…

From my review: “I don’t know why postmodern stuff is so often annoying, but with Kundera, it isn’t annoying at all. He completely disrupts the novel form, and throws the reading experience into a whole new category, but it isn’t self-indulgent. His writing is so good, he is so very, very perceptive, that it works.”

Over to you!  A rather tricky category, but let me know if you have any suggestions…

I was thinking about doing a FFTA about unmarried women, because I’ve read a lot of those in the past year or so, and I imagine that one day I will – but I thought it might be more interesting, and more unusual, to select books about pairs of women.  Because there turned out to be a few in my reviews archive.  None of these are about romantic pairings (well… one could be, but it’s not overtly) but instead female friendships (and, er, unfriendships.)  It’s a surprisingly rich and varied vein of the books I’ve read – well, five of them at least! – and I’d be interested to hear your suggestions.  As always, the books don’t have to be novels – one of mine is not, for starters.  On with the show!

1.) Two Serious Ladies (1943) by Jane Bowles

In short: A dry, barbed, wonderfully strange account of Miss Goering and Mrs. Copperfield, whose eccentric lives only overlap for a few moments.

From my review: “In many ways the novel doesn’t follow any progression at all – the ladies merely experience a great deal, whether grasping at it enthusiastically or raising an ambivalent eyebrow at life.  Bowles’ astonishing talent is creating a dynamic that, if not unique, is highly unusual – strange, surreal, and yet grounded to the mundane.  Her ear for dialogue is astonishing – dialogue which is almost never realistic, but always striking.”

2.) Fair Play (1989) by Tove Jansson

In short: Two artists live on an island together, in this set of calm vignettes.

From my review: “Each chapter has a small incident occur, and Jansson wraps her delicious prose around it. By the end she has provided a beautiful portrait of an unconventional couple, co-dependent and close rather than affectionate.”

3.) Keeping Up Appearances (1928) by Rose Macaulay

In short: Half-sisters Daisy (30, shy, secretly a popular novelist under a pseudonym) and Daphne (25, self-assured intellectual) try to mingle in the same social circles, with mixed success.

From my review: “Though Keeping Up Appearances isn’t as funny as Crewe Train, nor quite as memorable, it does present a clever idea. Because, dear reader, I haven’t told you the central concept which surprises the reader and twists the interpretation completely, which comes about halfway through the novel.”

4.) Sex Education (2002) by Janni Visman

In short: Two women grow up together, but their friendship turns to rivalry…

From my review: “It’s a presentation of the rivalry between friends, and the damaging effects of jealousy – but a quirkier edge would have catapaulted the novel into a higher league. I’ve no idea how the quirkiness could have been added – but obviously Visman did, because she delivered it in Yellow.”

5.) Joyce & Ginnie: the letters of Joyce Grenfell and Virginia Graham (1997)

In short: well, it’s the letters of Joyce Grenfell and Virginia Graham!

From my review: “The exchange of letters between the two women spans many, many years, and offers a unique perspective upon the lives of each – life as they wished to convey it to their closest friend. Without the modesty (assumed or otherwise) requisite for autobiography, or the idolatry of biography, reading letters may feel a little like encroaching upon a friendship, but also allows closer and more genuine understanding of the women than available elsewhere.”

And…. over to you!

This week I wanted my Five From The Archive (where I revisit old reviews from my blog – it’s been a while, so some of you might not know about it!) to be novels about families.  Obviously that encompasses many, many novels – so I decided to be a little more specific, and insist that they have a relative of some sort in the title.  Makes it more fun to pick them!  Here are my five – as always, let me know which you’d suggest…

1.) Sisters By A River (1947) by Barbara Comyns

In short: The surreal account of Barbara Comyns’ childhood by the Avon in Warwickshire, paving the way for her later, equally surreal, novels.

From the review: “Tales of ugly dresses and bad haircuts are told in the same captivating, undemonstrative style as those of Grannie dying and Father throwing a beehive over Mother. If this motley assortment of remembrances were made-up… well, I don’t think they could have been. Such a bizarre childhood, so of its time, and yet utterly fascinating.”

2.) Travels With My Aunt (1969) by Graham Greene

In short: Meeting his Aunt Augusta at his mother’s funeral, Henry is caught up in her bizarre (and often illegal) cavorting around the globe.

From the review: “But the characters have the same indomitable spirit, eccentric manner, and amusingly unpredictable speech. The success of Greene’s novel, for me, is through character – through Augusta and Henry’s conversations, where two wholly different characters meet and travel together.”

3.) Parents and Children (1941) by Ivy Compton-Burnett

In short: A typically Ivy Compton-Burnett novel – sprawling family, endless brilliant dialogue, and occasional doses of rather surprising action.

From the review: “Life-changing events are encompassed by lengthy, facetious discussions – gently vicious and cruelly precise, always picking up on the things said by others. Calmness permeates even the most emotional responses, and ICB’s writing is always astonishing in its use of dialogue.”

4.) My Cousin Rachel (1951) by Daphne du Maurier

In short: Philip’s cousin Ambrose goes to Italy, marries Rachel, and (er, spoiler) dies – leaving Philip, and the reader, in doubt regarding Rachel’s culpability or innocence…

From the review: “The novel has a lot in common with Rebecca – and not just the setting. The same intrigue, power, and issues about what is left unspoken in relationships. […] My Cousin Rachel is brilliantly successful in the sense that I have never left a novel so uncertain as to a character’s guilt or lack of it – and either interpretation seems quite valid.”

5.) Brother of the More Famous Jack (1982) by Barbara Trapido

In short: Katherine is an ingenuous 18 year old when she meets the Goldman family, but living alongside this enchanting (but bewildering) assortment of people – most of whose names begin with J – helps propel her into adulthood.

From the review: “Katherine herself it is difficult not to like, if only for this: ‘I reverted, as I do in moments of crisis, to rereading Emma, with cotton wool in my ears.'”

Over to you!

I hope the Canadian bloggers among you don’t mind my affectionate teasing in the sketch(!)  Although I’ve never been to Canada, I feel a certain affinity with that nation – we Brits (when we’re not binge-drinking football fans) also radiate politeness (even when seething), and apologise when someone bumps into us.  Kate Fox’s Watching the English is a brilliant read for this sort of thing, and will probably appear in a Five from the Archive at some point – but, for today…

Five… Books By Canadians.

1.) Too Much Happiness (2009) by Alice Munro

In short: A collection by one of the world’s most acclaimed short story writers.  Munro examines many themes, but particularly death and intrusion.

From the review: “In playing with the short story genre, Munro invents a formless form appropriate to her superlative talent as an observer of human nature and human interaction.”

2.) Literary Lapses (1910) by Stephen Leacock

In short: Very amusing sketches by an exceptionally gifted comic writer, not well known outside his native land.

From the review: “Stephen Leacock is a humorist par excellence. If I utter his name in the same breath as PG Wodehouse, it is not because their styles are all that similar (though both make fantastic use of stylistic exaggeration) but because Leacock is the only writer I would dare hold up to Wodehouse.”

3.) Crow Lake (2002) by Mary Lawson

In short: A sister returns to visit her family, feeling guilty that she has studied for a PhD while her siblings have had to sacrifice their education… but things become more complex than that…

From the review: “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.”

4.) The Penelopiad (2005) by Margaret Atwood

In short: A re-telling of The Odyssey from Penelope’s perspective.

From the review: “The ‘hook’ of Atwood’s narrative, though – a more original feminist viewpoint – is the death of Penelope’s twelve maids. Odysseus apparently had them hanged upon his return from his voyage. I suspect this is a footnote in Homer’s original, but Atwood plays it to its full potential, and it really is an ingenious angle: why were they killed, when they had aided Penelope?”

5.) Let’s Kill Uncle (1963) by Rohan O’Grady

In short: A troubled orphan, Barnaby, is sent to a Canadian island and befriends a local girl, Christie.  Nobody would believe that Barnaby’s kindly uncle is, in fact, a manipulative, evil man, intent on killing him.  Barnaby and Christie hatch a plan to kill the uncle first…

From the review: “When I read in the blurb that Donna Tartt had called Let’s Kill Uncle a ‘dark, whimsical, startling book’, I was a little confused. Surely those words clash a bit when placed together? And I’m still not sure that there is much whimsy in the novel, unless you describe any scene without blood as whimsical – but it’s certainly the lightest dark book I’ve ever read. Or possibly the darkest light book.”

Over to you!  Which would you suggest?  (I chosen this ‘five’ theme because I’ve read so few Canadians – I imagine many of you would be able to suggest dozens.)

I should add that I loved The Stone Angel by Margaret Laurence, but apparently never blogged about it.  And, before you suggest it, I really did not like The Handmaid’s Tale…