Category: Uncategorized

STRAIT IS THE GATE by Andre Gide

A mystifying and annoying book which for some reason is very famous. Basically this guy and his first cousin fall in love as teenagers. He has to go away to travel and study, while she stays at home (because, gender). They embark on a long correspondence. Over time she gets more and more religious, and somehow convinces herself that what she really needs to do is sacrifice his love for her so he can more fully love god. And apparently the sacrifice is only good if she does not tell him what she is doing. I mean: there are a lot of weird issues here from this lady. Though the guy needs to take some responsibility, because this nonsense goes on for YEARS. Doesn’t he have any friends to tell him he needs to block her number? (Metaphorically only, as it is 1909). Eventually she goes off to die poetically in a sanatorium. So dumb.

Apparently the real Gide married his cousin after an eleven-year courtship. Apparently also he was a self-confessed ‘pederast’ and eventually ran away from her when he was 47 with a 15 year old boy (!!), at which point she burnt all his letters (that he called ‘the best part of me’). In the novel, his travels take him to North Africa, from where he writes to her of his love. In real life, this is where we know he discovered his really gross interest in young boys. I didn’t like this book, but I can see that it has a weird kind of emotional charge. I think it is because it is telling one messed-up story to cover the much more messed-up story that is actually going on.

THE MANDIBLES by Lionel Shriver

A fun novel of the near future, in which America slips into hyperinflation and then economic collapse.  It was written with real joyful sizzle of wide-eyed surprise and horror, with a  strong vibe  of this-could-never-happen, which is quite fun for a Zimbabwean, to whom it has already happened. 

I have not Wikipedia-ed the author (who I know from the wonderful WE NEED TO TALK ABOUT KEVIN) because I am a little worried about how much time she spends on Twitter reading about questionable topics like Replacement Theory (snore). That said, there were lots of fun parts of this book. I really enjoyed imagining a world in which the young work low-level jobs (the rest taken by robots) and pay 90% tax so the old can live lives of luxury.  That feels uncomfortable close to likely to me.     

There is lots of juicy writing here.  Try this couple, who are well-off but love to bargain hunt:

Which is how they ended up in a pretty drab apartment in Florida: it was a steal.  Caught up in money-as-a-game, they mistook their raffle tickets for the prize.  Because the only thing that bargain hunting ‘won’ was more money.

Or this, about looking after grandparents:

After all, old people have a horrible habit of kicking it right after you ducked seeing them at the last minute with an excuse that sounded fishy, or on the heels of a regrettable encounter in which you let slip an acrid aside.  To be dutiful without fail is like taking out emotional insurance.

Or this, about someone regretting her choices before the collapse:

But assumptions about her angelic nature were off-base.  After she’d scraped from one poorly paid, often part-time position to another, whatever wide-eyed altruism had motivated her moronic double major in American Studies and Environmental Policy at Barnard had been beaten out of her almost entirely.

I love that phrase –  ‘moronic double major.’  This book is full of the author proving to us how wrong we all are and how stupid.  I really enjoyed picturing her banging away at her keyboard.  Every page absolutely pulses with the rage of the well-fed.  It made me LOL.

THEY CAME LIKE SWALLOWS by William Maxwell

In case you feel like you have not had enough pandemic content, here is something for you. It’s about the 1918 flu, and is based on the author’s own experience of losing his mother to it when he was just 10 years old.

After the loss he was made to go and live with his aunt, so he lost not just his mother but his whole world. For this reason, the book is actually less about the flu itself and more a sort of memorial to the ordinary days of his childhood just before it.

What is particularly interesting is to be reminded of what childhood was like when boredom still existed. They spend hours in this book doing nothing much, being with their own thoughts. It’s strange to think what childhood is like now, when children have so many books and activities and phones and television. Imagine having to generate your own content!

SOUTH RIDING by Winifred Holtby

To show there has been a book written about everything, here is one on local government.  It is a touching story of a Yorkshire community in the 1930s, covering the rich, the poor, and everything in between. 

It’s shockingly contemporary in many ways.  Most affecting is the story of a very bright teenage girl whose mother dies giving birth to an eighth child, and who thus has to drop out of school at 15 to look after the other kids  Note, the doctor had told the mother she should not have another child, and she did not want one, but I guess she could not refuse her husband, who got a bit drunk and after all it wasn’t his death sentence and THANK GOD FOR BIRTH CONTROL.

Also THANK GOD FOR VACCINATION.  The author, Winifred Holtby, died at 36, of kidney issues from the Scarlet Fever she had as a child.  She knew she had only about two years to live and dedicated it to finishing this book.  It was her fifth, and she was disappointed none had been very warmly received.  This one, published posthumously, was a huge hit and is now considered a twentieth century classic.   

Side bar, this Winifred Holtby was a dear friend of Vera Brittain (whose TESTAMOUNT OF YOUTH I read a couple of years ago).  They lived together when they moved to London after university, and then, touchingly/weirdly, carried on doing so even after Vera got married.  To answer your question, the husband did not like it, no. 

How much do you love this line from the introduction, about how Winifred was in 1935 “staying in Hornsea on the Yorkshire coast in order to escape the distractions and fatigue of life in London  . . .”  The distractions and fatigue of a life in London!  I hear you Winifred, I hear you. 

AT FREDDIE’S by Penelope Fitzgerald

Penelope Fitzgerald is such an extraordinary writer that I really did not care this novel did not have a plot.  It is about a childrens’ theatre school in the 1960s, run by a woman call Freddie, who is an institution, and knows it. She gets away with a lot :

. . . only because Freddie cared so much, and so relentlessly, for the theatre, where, beyond all other worlds, love given is love returned.  Insane directors, perverted columnists cold as a fish, bankrupt promoters, players incapable from drink, have all forgiven each other and been forgiven, and will be, until the last theatre goes dark, because they loved the profession.  And of Freddie – making a large assumption – they said: her heart is in it.

The story, which does not matter much, is about a new young teacher in whom Freddie discerns: “that attraction to the theatre, and indeed to everything theatrical, which can persist in the most hard-headed, opening the way to poetry and disaster.”

This made me laugh, as did her first flat in London where:

The interior smelled powerfully of feet.  Still she hadn’t come to London for the fresh air there, there was enough and to spare of that at home. 

What a writer!

POOR THINGS by Alasdair Gray

Here is an very fruity book about SPOLIER ALERT someone creating a living woman from the body of a dead woman and the brains of her fetus. 

It was pretty interesting as a concept, but I found I struggled to care on some level.  Everything was so wild and magically real that it was hard to feel that anything meant anything or would have any consequences. It made me think about FRANKENSTEIN, and especially why the monster in that book is male and not female.  Because, let us face it, if some mad scientist in the nineteenth century thought he could bring someone back to life he would 1000% have tried with a woman because, obviously, sex slave.  Perhaps because Mary Shelley was female it did not go in that direction, but you know realism-wise it ought to have.  Also, I’ve just been in a Wikipedia deepdive about Mary Shelley, and let me give you the sobering reflection that she wrote FRANKENSTEIN when she was just 19! However she had already led a big life, having got together with Shelley when she was 16 (and he was married), after meeting him secretly at her mother’s grave (why), and then running away with him because even though it’s 1819 she believes in FREE LOVE.   What a baller. 

THE TRIO by Johanna Hedman

I had a lot of confused feelings about this book. On the one hand, it was quite more-ish, and I finished it very quickly.  On the other hand, I felt kind of annoyed, and I can’t really explain why.  It tells the story of a sort of love triangle involving undergraduates in Stockholm.  If this is giving you fun TWILIGHT vibes, let me stop you right there.  It is way more tortured than that, and ends with the girl getting with the wrong guy.  Mostly because they DON’T COMMUNICATE.  I was like: just talk to each other! How hard is it to say: are you my boyfriend?!  Or: my feelings were hurt when . . .

Not to sound like I’m so perfect at relationships, but jesus.  Also annoying was the almost mind-boggling level of safety in which these Swedish people live.  It is deeply disorienting to read a book, especially a book about young people, that is not drenched in economic anxiety. 

I spent a good 4000 pages in Stockholm a few years ago (shout out to Karl Ove Knausgaard’s MY STRUGGLE) so I feel eerily familiar with the upper-middle class of this city that I have never even visited.  This book is very much of that world. There is a lot of describing grocery story visits and eating simple and healthy foods (grr!).  There’s also a lot of this kind of writing:

That summer, August and I would bike to Djurgarden in the mornings, and pick a tree close to the water where we’d park our bikes and lay out our towels and then spend the day swimming, sunning and reading.  I’d bring a thermos of coffee and August would come with tuna sandwiches wrapped in tinfoil.  The empty wrapping glittered in the sun after we’d eaten.

That last sentence in particular gives you a flavour of what we are dealing with.

WHAT I READ IN 2023

This year my favourite books are pretty clear.  AS MEAT LOVES SALT by Maria McCann, a wonderful, bloody love story set in the English Civil War, that made me feel weirdly proprietary about centuries-old battles (I’m looking at you siege of Basing House!).  Then IN MEMORIAM by Alice Winn, which I see in all the bookshop windows and deservedly so: it’s a heart-breaker.  Big props to this author for having the guts to think there was something new to say about WW1.  Also BOOTH by Karen Joy Fowler, a weirdly riveting account of the family of Abraham Lincoln’s assassin; THE SECRET RIVER by Kate Grenville, about the life of a man transported to Australia; and Honourable mention to AKENFIELD by Ronald Blythe, a lengthy, factual account of rural life in nineteenth century Sussex that was sort of boring at the time but which I have thought about often since. 

My real life included a lot of London and Europe, and a little of America and Southeast Asia, but my reading life was much more varied: not one but two memorable shipwrecks (both with cannibalism), shoplifting in Uganda, the decline of a Bavarian family in the 1800s, the journey of Livingstone’s heart out of the Congo, and etc.  It is also interesting to see which books I maybe did not ‘love’ as much, but which still stayed with me.  There were AKENFIELD, but then also a biography of the author Sybille Bedford, which introduced me to a life in which working-for-money played no part, and no one expected it to, a kind of mind-bending and liberating proposition for me.  Or there was the WHITE TIGER, a novel of rural Indonesian life, which I have almost totally forgotten other than this one haunting line, from a man who lies dying: “The years had gone by so quickly, life receding in the distance like a train narrowly missed”

This year was 66 books, surprisingly about three-quarters by women.   As ever, it’s been a relief from daily life and a solace, and I can’t imagine what I would do without it. 

DON’T LOOK AT ME LIKE THAT by Diana Athill

GREAT GRANNY WEBSTER by Caroline Blackwood 

SEVERAL SHORT SENTENCES ABOUT WRITING by Verlyn Klinkenborg

STAY TRUE by Hua Hsu

MONKEY BOY by Francisco Goldman

THE ART OF SCANDAL by Regina Black

MOSCOW STATIONS by Venedikt Yerofeev

BOOK LOVERS by Emily Henry

HAPPY PLACE by Emily Henry

BEACH READ by Emily Henry

YOU AND ME ON VACATION by Emily Henry

THE ENCHANTED APRIL by Elizabeth von Arnim

YOU, AGAIN by Kate GoldbecK

ANGEL by Elizabeth Taylor

MISS LONELYHEARTS by Nathaniel West

BUDDENBROOKS by Thomas Mann

WILLIAM’S WIFE by Gertrude Trevelyan

THE MOOR’S ACCOUNT by Laila Lalami

ALL THIS COULD BE DIFFERENT by Sarah Thankam Mathews

THE PRIVILEGES by Jonathan Dee

AN INSTANCE OF THE FINGERPOST by Iain Pears

SYBILLE BEDFORD by Selina Hastings

IN MEMORIAM by Alice Winn

THE MARCH by EL Doctorow

THE L-SHAPED ROOM by Lynne Reid Banks

KINTU by Jennifer Nansubuga Makumbi

THE RED AND THE GREEN by Iris Murdoch

AS MEAT LOVES SALT by Maria McCann

CLEOPATRA AND FRANKENSTEIN by Coco Mellors

VLADIMIR by Julia May Jonas

PINEAPPLE STREET by Jenny Jackson

IN THE CUT by Suzanne Moore

DEAR GIRLS by Ali Wong

THE STRANGER IN THE WOODS by Michael Finkel

FOREVER YOUR ROGUE by Erin Langston

BURMA BOY by Biyi Bandele

WE ARE ALL COMPLETELY BESIDES OURSELVES by Karen Joy Fowler

THE WAGER by David Grann

RAINBOW’S END by Lauren St John

QUIETLY HOSTILE by Samantha Irby

BOOTH by Karen Joy Fowler

TINKER TAILOR SOLDIER SPY by John Le Carre

PRIDE AND PREJUDICE AND ZOMBIES by Jane Austen and Seth Graham-Smith

OUT OF DARKNESS, SHINING LIGHT by Petina Gappah

THE RIVER AND THE SOURCE by Margaret A Ogala

A WREATH FOR THE ENEMY by Pamela Frankau

WHO WAS CHANGED AND WHO WAS DEAD by Barbara Comyns

AKENFIELD by Ronald Blythe

SARAH THORNHILL by Kate Greville

I’M A FAN by Sheena Patel

THE BRIDGE OF SAN LUIS REY by Thornton Wilder

THE CITY AND THE STARS by Arthur C Clarke

IT ENDS WITH US by Colleen Hoover

THE SECRET RIVER by Kate Grenville

FOR THY GREAT PAIN HAVE MERCY ON MY LITTLE PAIN by Victoria Mackenzie

THE TWO KINDS OF DECAY by Sarah Manguso

REALLY GOOD, ACTUALLY by Monica Heisey

I’M SORRY YOU FEEL THAT WAY by Rebecca Wait

TRESPASSES by Louise Kennedy

ACTS OF DESPERATION by Megan Nolan

CALEDONIA by Elspeth Barker

MAN TIGER by Eka Kurniawan

DRIVE YOUR PLOUGH OVER THE BONES OF THE DEAD by Olga Tokarczuk

RIDDLEY WALKER by Russell Hoban

NIGHTS AT THE CIRCUS by Angela Carter

FOSTER by Claire Keegan