The Lacuna review

I’ve been meaning to write this review for sometime, having finished this book upon our arrival in Singapore (just over 3 weeks ago now) but what with moving to a new country and everything that comes with it, I just hadn’t found the time. Then, this morning I went onto Google, and discovered that today is Diego Rivera’s 125th birthday (bit random – you have to love Google) and thought ‘I have to blog about this book today’ … you’ll understand why soon!

The Lacuna is written by Barbara Kingsolver, and tells of the life of Harrison Shepherd, an American boy growing up in Mexico in the 1930′s. His mother Salome is a social-climbing flapper girl, who sees Harrison as a bit of liability – a quiet, introverted boy who is curious about the world around him – often giving him cigarettes instead of dinner. The pair bounce from place to place, as Salome takes up with various rich men, moving from a coastal jungle town, to Mexico City, to Virgina, and back to Mexico again. Harrison is the complete opposite of his mother, quiet and thoughtful. He spends much of his time recording events and observations in his notebooks, which form the backbone of the book. He is a likeable character, and quickly acquires a random assortment of skills from helping the servants in the kitchen, running errands, and one fateful day, mixing plaster for Diego Rivera, who is painting a mural.

Harrison soon finds himself firmly ensconced in the Rivera household, working as a cook for Diego Rivera and his wife Frida Kahlo, and then later as secretary to exiled Russian Marxist and politician, Lev Trotsky. I had enjoyed the book up to this point tremendously – Kingsolver paints a beautifully rich picture of Mexico. I could almost feel the scorching, dry heat, and see the higgledy-piggedly streets in my mind’s eye – but for me, this is where the book becomes brilliant. I loved how she cleverly weaves fact and fiction together, to create something captivating. I loved reading about the day-to-day happenings of this extraordinary household, getting the know the characters of Kahlo and Trotsky, who I must confess I knew very little about before reading this book. I completely fell in love with them. This arrangement fascinated me – I wondered how Rivera and Kahlo, famous Mexican painters, had come to live with Lev Trotsky, exiled from Russia. What is even more extraordinary is how their lives interacted, with Kahlo and Trotsky embarking on a short affair.

The start of World War II eventually forces Harrison to leave Mexico and move to America, where he eventually settles in Asheville, North Carolina. Here Harrison settles into a new life as a writer, under the watchful eye of his sternographer, Violet Brown. Violet becomes Harrison’s sole support as he writes his novels, deals with his own burgeoning celebrity, and then later comes up the scrutiny of Edgar Hoover and the ‘House of Un-American Activities Committee’. Harrison is eventually vilified by these investigations and accused of ‘communist’ behaviour. In an attempt to preserve his name he instructs Violet to burn all his diaries and papers, but unbeknownst to him, she saves them and creates the story from them, following his death. There are sections of Harrison’s life missing – gaps, or lacunae – hence the book’s title.

This novel is very much about the struggle Harrison Shepherd has trying to find an identity that he is comfortable in, and one that allows him to connect with and celebrate his past, in an atmosphere of suspicion and political upheaval.

I loved this book. I loved escaping into the fact/fiction world of pre-war Mexico. I loved learning about a place in history that I knew very little about, and some fabulous artists, who I was broadly ignorant about until reading this. Books that draw me in but teach me something at the same time are always winners with me. There is a great interview with Barbara Kingsolver on the Faber & Faber website about The Lacuna, and having read it I think I appreciate this book even more.

How To Be a Woman review

Let’s get one thing clear – this isn’t the type of thing I usually read: I love getting lost in a fictional world normally. But the hype around Caitlin Moran’s book How To Be a Woman, and some interesting assessments of it by ladies whose opinions I value persuaded me that this was a book that I probably should really read.

I didn’t really know what to expect from it. What I got was Moran’s frank and funny assessment of seminal female moments/revelations in her life to date. She cleverly combines personal anecdotes with a critique of the state of modern feminism, as well as starting some interesting debates along the lines of  ‘can you think/do xxx and still be a feminist?’. You know straight from the outset that this will be a book to divide opinion!

Personally, I really loved it. More than I thought I would if I’m honest. I was worried it would be a bit vitriolic and ‘shouty woman’ but actually Moran is searingly honest which I both respect and admire. She also brings a great deal of humour into some otherwise very serious situations. Rather than undermining her message, I think it actually strengthens it – women are versatile and multi-faceted people; we can both laugh over rude jokes but have serious conversations about gender equality all in the same conversation. I found myself LAUGHING OUT LOUD on the train as I was reading it (to some very disapproving looks from fellow travellers). I loved the frank recollections of her childhood, terrible boyfriends, and becoming a mother for the first time. I also found the chapter on abortion written very sensitively and well-executed (but still with the Moran stamp all over it).

I think the important thing to remember is that this is one woman’s view of being female. It is not supposed to be a manual or a guide for all women to read and nod their heads at. I’m confident Moran meant it to provoke debate, and to reinvigorate modern feminism to be something all woman can identify and connect with. On that aim, I think she suceeds. I thoroughly enjoyed How To Be a Woman and would recommend it to anyone who wants to read a funny, frank, and intelligent insight into the mind of a modern woman.

Something completely different: reviewing the Kindle

As is fairly obvious, I love reading. I love bookshops, particularly weird quirky second hand ones. I love curling up in a chair with a book. I couldn’t imagine life with an e-reader.

I’d been curious – before Christmas there had been lots of adverts, and every now and then I’d spot one on the tube, but I never got close enough to one to check out the screen – my biggest worry about getting one. I’d read reviews on Amazon and remained in two minds. Then, The Boy bought me one for Christmas and I was completely and utterly sold.

I never thought I’d enjoy books in an electronic format, but the Kindle is so user friendly I almost forget I’m using an e-reader. I was worried my eyes would get tired looking at a screen for hours, but its just so easy. The biggest selling point for me though has come when I’ve taken it on holiday. Usually, this means cramming my clothes around all the books I’ve packed (I can get through 7 or 8 on a 2 week holiday given half the chance!).  But when we went to Thailand, all I had to pack was the Kindle; my bag has never been lighter. Not only did I get through all the books I’d downloaded in advance, but the handy wi-fi and 3G connection meant I was able to download a new book sitting by the River Kwai!

The selection of books available now is growing all the time – from new releases to the extensive library of FREE classics. Its meant that I’ve actually read a lot of classic books that I’d just never got round to buying copies of – I’ve just finished reading The Count of Monte Cristo. I read all the Jo Nesbo books on it – every time I finished one, it was just a few clicks and I had the next one ready to read, fuelling my obsession!

The majority of books I’ve read recently have been on the Kindle. Its just so easy. I’ve started reading an actually book again recently (and actually it is a gorgeous Scarlett Thomas one with the black edged pages – yum) and whilst I will never lose my love for the physicality of a book, and my childhood dream of having an actually library crammed with books, I must say I’m a bit of a Kindle convert.

Does anyone else have a Kindle, or another e-reader? What do you think? Do you prefer it to paper books, or will the paper back reign supreme?

Jo Nesbo Part 2 (or when I discovered I like crime fiction)

I have now officially exhausted all Jo Nesbo books that are available to me a) in English b) on the Kindle (more on that soon!).  I have now read the remainder of his back catalogue – Nemesis, The Devil’s Star and The Redeemer. One of the things I love about reading an authors entire back catalogue is that you start to understand how their writing style develops. I would certainly say that is true of Nesbo. The Redbreast and Nemesis are good books, and certainly gripping in places, but compared to the twists and turns of The Devil’s Star, which culminates in a dramatic close, and mysterious characters in The Redeemer, they simply aren’t as sophisticated.

In the detective Harry Hole, Nesbo has created a character who evolves over each novel. I certainly appreciated this, and reading the back catalogue helped me to understand, with perhaps a finer level of empathy, some of Harry Hole’s behaviours and motivation in Nesbo’s later books. Watching the events that happen to Harry Hole, and his ever-changing relationships with women and his police colleagues, makes him infinitely more likeable than perhaps he might appear on first read of The Snowman or The Leopard.

I am sad to have finished the series (for the time being) but I must say, I have a new-found appreciation for the crime genre. I’d never particularly enjoyed crime fiction when I’d read it previously, but there is a crop of modern crime novelists  that has piqued my interest. The difference being that the characters are clever and engaging, and the storylines are complex but not ridiculous. So, if like me, you were a crime sceptic, I would urge you to try some Jo Nesbo or some Kate Atkinson for a British take. I guarantee you won’t be disappointed.

Jo Nesbo – my latest book crush

Hello there people – sorry for being incredibly lax on the old blogging front, but after spending the weekend sofa bound because of a sprained foot, I have been inspired by other bloggers, and now am back in love with the blogsosphere…Wordpress I’ve missed you.

I thought I’d celebrate my return, by telling you about my latest book/author crush … Jo Nesbo. I read the first of my Jo Nesbo books, The Snowman, after downloading it onto my Kindle in a rain storm in Thailand (ps. I also have a massive technology crush on my Kindle). From the first few pages, I was hooked. I can’t tell you how much I am fascinated by Harry Hole, the protagonist in The Snowman. Ok, he is the stereotypical drunken, maverick detective, but there is something more to him that I like – maybe its his troubled past, devil-may-care attitude, hidden vulnerability – who knows.

Nesbo writes crime fiction beautifully – the novels twist and turn in the most unexpected ways, but the true beauty lies in Nesbo’s exposition of character. With a Nesbo book, its not enough to know ‘whodunnit’ but more interestingly ‘why’.

I finished The Snowman and picked up the next in the series, The Leopard. Again, another twisty plot, albeit with some rather gruesome details! There are some moments where you have to question the brain that came up with some of the details – quite horrific – don’t read if you are squeamish! But I found it a great psychological thriller.

I’ve now gone back to the beginning of the Harry Hole series – well, as far back as I can in the English translations. I’m now reading The Redbreast – an earlier Harry Hole book, which cleverly ties together present day, and a narrative from WWII. I haven’t finished it yet but I’m already trying to guess the ending, but I know I won’t have thought of every detail!

If you like other clever crime writers, like Kate Atkinson, or yes indeed Stieg Larsson, then I’d really recommend Jo Nesbo. I can’t wait to read future books by him.

The Long Song review

I think after reading Small Island I found myself a new book crush, in the form of Andrea Levy. There was something about her style and characterisation which captivated me. Everything she wrote was so real for me that I was really excited about reading The Long Song. I actually read this book when we were in Cuba (yes the review backlog is really that long!) which I think made it even more vibrant (even though it’s clearly not Jamaica…).

The Long Song is set in Jamaica in the early 19th century, on a sugar plantation. The timing of the novel is crucial as it spans the period just before and just after the abolition of slavery. The novel is written in the style of a memoir by a lady named July. We learn that her book is being published by her son Thomas – whom she abandoned on a doorstep when he was just a baby, and learnt the world of publishing through several twists of fate. July is instantly engaging – her memoir is interspersed with passages where July speaks directly to the reader, in her forthright, no nonsense way. July’s voice is hugely engaging for the reader, and by beginning with her speaking, Levy instantly hooks the reader into her story.

July is the child of slave overseer, Tam Dewar, who raped her mother, a slave working on the sugar plantation. From her conception onwards July’s life is eventful. She is plucked from the plantation, and security of her kin, at the age of 10 years old, when Caroline Mortimer, mistress of the plantation, takes a fancy to her and starts her working as her personal servant. July is a cheeky child and incredibly manipulative, in the odd way that children can be. Caroline slowly grows to be incredibly dependent on her servant, who she renames Marguerite. Classic July moments include her cutting pockets out of dresses so as not to repair holes (a chore she despises), and laying the table for a lavish Christmas feast with an old bed sheet, rather than a tablecloth. I couldn’t help but warm to July. On the surface there is a lot to dislike about her, but I found her flaws endearing.

The abolition of slavery shatters the rhythms and hierarchies that have been built up over years, in an incredibly violent way. The day that slavery is abolished ends with a shooting. Those two events in combination start a train of events that will alter the lives of both Caroline and July forever. I thought the way that Levy handled the topic of slavery and its chaotic abolition with incredible sensitivity, and also honesty. It made me realise, perhaps rather naively, that just because something is abolished it doesn’t just disappear overnight, and the vacuum left by the absence of it can be devastating.

I’d definitely recommend this book. Levy is warm and funny, but also sensitive and evocative. I thought that this was a brave book but it felt like one she needed to write (that sentiment is certainly echoed in the interview at the back of the book). Give it a read – I don’t think you’ll be disappointed.

Swallows of Kabul review

This is a book that the boy was given, that I ended up reading first in one of my searches for books that I haven’t read in the house (I read this before Christmas but am being very slow in putting up reviews at the moment!). It’s a slim little volume that packs a huge punch. Yasmina Khadra is actually the pseudonym of an Algerian army officer, Mohamed Moulessehoul, who wrote under the guise of a woman to avoid censorship by the military.Swallows of Kabul is an incredibly haunting, evocative book, and not at all what I expected. It explores the lives of 4 people living in Taliban controlled Kabul, and how their lives are interwoven in ways that none of them expect.

Mohsen Ramat has grown used to executions and violence on the streets under the Taliban – they have subdued him, and left him wandering the city without a purpose. His marriage to the beautiful Zunaira is troubled. She understand the enormity of her loss of freedom and dignity, staying inside their house because to go on the streets is to make the loss a reality, and all the more difficult to bear. Zunaira is the only light that Mohsen has left and he begs her to walk with him in the streets. Reluctantly, she agrees, persuaded by her love and memories of happier times. Tragically, Zunaira is humiliated when she leaves the house, serving to tarnish her husband with the same cruelty of other men. She refuses to remove her burqa in the house, much to Mohsen’s horror and despair. In the end, tragedy strikes and Zunaira’s fate is propelled into the control of another man – Atiq Shaukat.

Atiq broods on his own discontent – he works as a jailer for the Taliban, guarding prisoners before they are executed. His wife suffers from a terminal illness that leaves her wholly dependent on her husband. Atiq finds his soul slowly being crushed by the oppressive nature of his existence. When Zunaira enters Atiq’s world, she turns everything upside down.

I found The Swallows of Kabul a heartbreaking book. I found myself despairing in the face of so much helplessness and fatalism. You understand how, under such oppression, the human spirit can slowly give up – an awful thing to acknowledge. In Kabul, the women are the bearers of hope and light but women have been extracted from society, hidden from men by the walls of houses or the soft folds of a burqa. In the face of that loss, men turn to despair and eventual madness.

This is a beautiful book. Incredibly sad but powerful. It made me think a lot about the differences between the sexes and how one cannot survive without the other. Men and women need each other to achieve a balance in their lives, and if you remove one, the other crumbles.

Waiting for Columbus review

This was another of my train station book buys. I seem to buy a lot of books in train stations, partly because I have t travel around England so much with work, and partly because I get really OCD about missing my train so end up with loads of time to kill before the train departs! There’s only so much coffee a girl can drink before its time for a mooch around a bookshop!

So, Waiting for Columbus. It intrigued me from the blurb on the back, and made me curious to find out more. A man appears out of the sea, washed up from the Straits of Gibraltar. He appears delirious and claims to be Christopher Columbus. He’s taken to an asylum in Seville to recover. Under the ministrations of Conseula, his nurse, he begins to tell his story. It’s pretty fantastic at times – Conseula struggles to understand what is truth and what is total fiction. As Columbus reveals more and more of himself and his tale, Conseula finds herself falling for this mysterious man, and the lines between fantasy and reality blur even further. Through their tale twists the story of Emile Germain, an Interpol officer on the hunt for a missing person who is presumed dangerous. As the trail he is following leads him to Spain, the two stories intersect in a most unlikely way.

Thomas Tromifuk is a clear author. He cleverly juxstaposes the modern world and the historical one, to leave you constantly questioning whether Columbus’s story is fact or fiction – even though logic tells you it must be fiction, there is something oddly compelling about his narrative which never erases that small sliver of doubt that it just might be true!

I think the only thing that didn’t really work for me Conseula falling for Columbus. I could understand how he entranced her, how she couldn’t get his story out of her head, but I didn’t really understand how that lead her to desire him in the way which she grows to. I suppose his honesty is a little startling at times, but I suppose for me, I thought she should have been able to put aside her feelings and curiosity in favour of helping a patient. It just didn’t sit right in my mind.

Columbus tells a tale of love, loss, pain and pleasure – there is something in his story that struck a very deep chord with me, although I couldn’t tell you exactly why. I found this book suprisingly beautiful – the ending is incredibly powerful – there is a depth to it which is hard to explain. Just go and read it with an open mind – I think you’ll be pleasantly suprised.

A Room Swept White review

Ok…I have been pretty rubbish about blogging in the last few months so as a result I have a ridiculous backlog to deal with. So, a New Years resolution … I will stay on top of my reading and blogging this year!

I read A Room Swept White back in autumn 2010. I’m a big fan of Sophie Hannah – I have been ever since her first books – Gripless and Cordial and Corrosive – both of which I read as a teenager. Her reinvention as a crime writer I also enjoy, having reviewed The Point of Rescue back in 2008.

This most recent book from Hannah tells the story of Fliss Benson, an aspiring TV producer, working for the enigmatic Laurie Natriss. Fliss receives a mysterious card one day at work, sixteen numbers arranged in four rows, which make little sense to her. On the same day, Laurie Natriss hands over the documentary he is working on to Fliss, and then promptly disappears. The documentary is a simple one – it tells of the miscarriages of justice involving cot death mothers wrongly accused of murder. Helen Yardley, Rachel Hines and Sarah Jaggard were all imprisoned on the testimony of Dr Judith Duffy, but later released and Duffy suspended on allegations of misconduct.

This book started off extremely well. Hannah is good at weaving intrigue and complex plot lines that leave you eager to uncover more. I found myself thinking one thing, and then immediately being swayed by another piece of information that was revealed. It was a fascinating critique of medical witnesses, which is very topical considering all the cases in the past few years where parents and carers have been convicted upon the testimony of ‘expert’ medical witnesses.

However, I found the characters strangely unsympathetic. You would think mothers wrongly accused of murder would be enough to stir some compassion, but oddly they didn’t do it for me. I thought Fliss was rather a strange character – I couldn’t empathise with her. The strong characters for me where in the police force – Charlie Zailer and Simon Waterhouse, who have appeared in Hannah’s previous crime fiction works. I would have liked to have seen more of them if I’m honest.

By the end of the book the plot twists and turns had rather exhausted me. I wasn’t sure what or who I believed anymore. It was a shame in a way – such a promising start and compelling, controversial material. It all just got a little silly at the end. However, given that I’ve enjoyed so much of Sophie Hannah’s writing in the past, I’m hoping that this is just a little blip and that her next book will be back up to her usual standards.

The Thousand Autumns of Jacob de Zoet review

I like David Mitchell. I like him because he’s not afraid to try something different. I adored Cloud Atlas when I first read it, and since then every book I’ve read by him has impressed me. I don’t always love everything that he’s written but I can’t help but like him because all his writing is so clever. The Thousand Autumns of Jacob de Zoet is no different.

Set in 1799 in Dejima, a Dutch trading outpost in Japan, Mitchell’s latest book tells of a clerk, Jacob de Zoet. Jacob is seemingly unassuming at the start of the book, but he harbours a desire to reach a higher post. However, this is plan is somewhat hampered by politics, both between the Dutch, British and Japanese, but also the ‘office politics’ of his superiors and their Japanese counterparts.

Jacob finds himself entranced by Orito, the only female student of Dr Marinus and a pioneer midwife in the region. However, the story takes a twist to the sinister, as Orito catches the eye of Abbot Enomoto who runs a bizarre nunnery, full of strange misdeeds and secrets.

The plot is clever. I found it took me a while to get into it as, if I’m honest, it takes a little time to get going. However, once more, I have to admire Mitchell’s skill as a writer. There is so much research that has gone into this book. I loved all the deft jokes around the ‘lost in translation’ exchanges between the Dutch and Japanese, orchestrated by their not always reliable interpreters. There are vast chasms between the two cultures, both dictated by strict hierarchies and observation of unspoken rules.

Mitchell’s characterisation is rich and complex. I loved the contrast between the boorish, mercenary, and drunk Dutch, compared to the reserved and secretive Japanese. It creates a great deal of tension in the book, which builds slowly to a compelling crescendo.

I’ve got give Mitchell credit for this novel. It’s definitely a slow burner but there is a huge amount to it, and as a reader you slowly to start to appreciate it for the creativity it illustrates. There are echoes of Haruki Murakami (there’s a talking cat!) and also of Umberto Eco. I really think David Mitchell continues to create modern masterpieces and I’d highly recommend this book to anyone who has enjoyed his previous work.