Love in a Cold Climate

I have seen a movie version of this book already - it wasn't bad, and so when I saw this book in the cheap-as-chips Penguin edition I decided to get it.

It has been sitting on my bedside table for a few months now, waiting, but now I am on holiday - in a bach in a beachy location with plenty of time on my hands.  Due to Easter falling one week before Anzac Day, I've taken three days leave and have ten solid days away from work! ... Anyway, the point is, I have finally picked the book up and read it from cover to cover in less than 24 hours.

The story is narrated by Fanny, a cousin/friend and onlooker on several families. She has grown up with several other English girls of the upper classes, all of whom are falling in and out of love. Along comes the beautiful Polly, home from India with her father the Viceroy and her frightening mother, and she doesn't seem interested in falling in love.

I give it a solid three stars. It was a good read with some great characters and there were some moments of real satirical genius. I particularly liked Uncle Matthew and his memories of the Boer War:

"Four days in a bullock wagon," he used to tell us, "a hole as big as your fist in my stomach, and maggoty! Happiest time of my life. The only thing was one got rather tired of the taste of mutton after a bit, no beef in that campaign, you know."

Then there's the splendid and ridiculous Cecil:

"Won't you take off your spectacles?" said Lady Montdore. "I should like to see your eyes."

"Later, dear Lady Montdore, later. When my dreadful, paralysing shyness (a disease with me) has quite worn off."

I also really liked the way it ended - it was quite funny. But I won't give away any spoilers.

It wasn't the best book ever, all the same. Perhaps it was the writing - it was fine, but not excellent. And I guess the reputation this book has for social satire made me expect a sort of 20th century Austen but it's not quite as biting as I had hoped.

So, all in all, a good-ish book. 

Now - back to the holiday! I've got Katherine Mansfield's short stories sitting waiting for me....

becoming jane

Because I am a glutton for punishment, I read the fragment of Jane Austen's unfinished novel The Watsons again, about a month ago. I knew I shouldn't have done it. It was devastating to get to the end of the few chapters and have to stop - it wasn't perfected, but it was so promising, and I am so sad that she decided not to finish it!

It was bugging me all day, and I ended up googling. I know it's silly, but I thought there was the slightest chance that SOMEONE, somewhere, might have written an ending to the novel that wasn't terrible, and if they had, I was going to read it. Austen had told someone - I think her sister - a few things about what would have happened in the novel, had she finished it, and so I hoped that this might mean that the story wouldn't be ruined completely.

I found a reference to this book pictured above on a blog somewhere - it's out of print and rather hard to get hold of - a continuation of The Watsons, written by a John Coates in 1958. I was lucky enough to find a very cheap copy on a website somewhere, and thought 'what have I got to lose?'

I must admit that when the book arrived in the post a couple of weeks ago I started to worry. What if it was terrible, and it ruined the fragment for me? The blurb on the back cover certainly didn't allay any fears. However, I used this weekend to read the book, and fortunately it wasn't a bad way to spend the weekend!

Now - Mr Coates is certainly no Miss Austen. Reading this book was actually an interesting exercise for me because it brought out Austen's skills that cannot be copied. The tightness of her plots is never something I've paid particular attention to before, but this plot was far too circuitous and made me recognise how skilfully she winds up and unravels her stories. The characterisations, needless to say, were lacking. It wasn't as funny, although it tried to be.

To be fair, however, this is all in comparison. The book I read over the weekend was enjoyable. There was something of a spark about it. And it somewhat satisfied the hunger I had to find out what would become of the Miss Emma Watson of Jane Austen's fragment. I was glad to have read it, and I may even read it again someday. It was like reading a really good piece of fanfiction. I commend Mr Coates for the attempt - he is a brave man - and I think I would recommend his continuation to someone who is suffering from the same sorrow as I after reading the fragment.

My advice, therefore: Lower your expectations if you decide to read this book, and then you'll be pleasantly surprised. If your expectations are too high you may find it difficult.

Three stars from me.

the big sleep

I am going to fall far short of reviewing Raymond Chandler's The Big Sleep appropriately. I simply can't bring myself to even attempt to describe it in its own terms. It's probably better that I don't try. Here is your review, written by a middle-class New Zealand ex-English literature student who has finished everything Agatha Christie or Ngaio Marsh ever wrote and so needed some new crime fiction addiction - and got something worlds apart from Miss Marple.

I saw the Bogart film a few years ago - liked it but can hardly remember what happened, which was good in terms of reading the novel with an open mind.

As far as the novel goes, I wondered as I started if I would be able to keep going. It's written very simply and in a matter of fact manner which is difficult to get accustomed to:

I went over to the mail slot and picked up six envelopes, two letters and four pieces of advertising matter. I hung my hat on the telephone and sat down.

But then there are all the crazy similes and personification and turns of phrase, the proliferation of guns and gutter-dwellers, the underbelly of society presented on the page, and it gets interesting:

She approached me with enough sex appeal to stampede a businessman's lunch.

The air was thick, wet, steamy and larded with the cloying smell of tropical orchids in bloom. ... They smelled as overpowering as boiling alcohol under a blanket.

The calves were beautiful, the ankles long and slim and with enough melodic line for a tone poem.

She gave me one of those smiles the lips have forgotten before they reach the eyes.

Brody's dark brown stare moved up and down my face. His Colt went on hungering for my vital organs.

... against a scribbled wall a pouch of ringed rubber had fallen and not been disturbed.

"Eddie Mars had Regan bumped off," he said calmly, and leaned back as if he had just been made a vice-president.

The purring voice had an edge, like sand in the bearings.

"You'll tell me, little man. Here, or in the back room where the boys pitch dimes against the wall."

Then there's the private detective/street talk which much of the time was incomprehensible to me but worked all the same:

"Agnes is a nice girl. You can't hold that stuff on her. It's not so easy for a dame to get by these days."
"She's too big for you," I said. "She'll roll on you and smother you."
"That's kind of a dirty crack, brother," he said with something that was near enough to dignity to make me stare at him.
I said: "You're right. I've been meeting the wrong kind of people lately. Let's cut out the gabble and get down to cases. What have you got for the money?"

Did people ever actually talk like this? I almost hope so.

What bugged me about this novel, however, was Chandler's treatment both of homosexuals and women. I'm sure this is not an original complaint to make, because it's so pronounced a quality of this book. It kind of reminded me of Ian Fleming's treatment of women.

You can have a hangover from other things than alcohol. I had one from women. Women made me sick.

Well, excuse me, Mr Chandler, none of the men in your novel are glittering testimonies to mankind either. And don't even get me started on your repulsive characterisation of the homosexual kid.

It doesn't really have a strong plot, either, and was a little confusing to follow. Especially as it's difficult to understand what the heck the characters are talking about.

I can't deny this, though: the book is fun. I'm not sorry to have read it. There was something deliciously sordid about it. It deserves at least three stars.

the flower to the painter

September is here, and with it a new edition of Halfway Down the Stairs!

See my Surviving History blog post for all my favourites and recommendations.

My contribution to Halfway Down the Stairs this time was a review of Gary Inbinder's new novel, The Flower to the Painter.

Gary is one of our previous authors. His story 'Her Reflection' was published in 'Time', our June issue of HDtS, and he kindly sent me a copy of his novel to enjoy and review.

It's the story of a young American woman in the late 1870s, who is left destitute in Italy after she is fired by the family which employed her as governess. Armed with nothing but her wits, she agrees to impersonate a man in order to apply for a job as an assistant to another American, an author called Arthur Wolcott.

As a woman, her artistic skills were never allowed to be more than "quite pretty", but when Wolcott discovers her talent, it becomes clear that her skills are much more valuable when she is disguised as a man. Wolcott leads her around Italy, France and England, introducing her to influential artists and wealthy patrons, and for a time it seems like she will become the "next big thing".

You can read my full review here.

I give the book three stars.

a little coffee shop in Kabul

[Australia/New Zealand cover]

I have just finished reading The Little Coffee Shop of Kabul, by Deborah Rodriguez - otherwise known as A Cup of Friendship in the US of A. (An aside: why do books get published with different titles for different locations? I have been trying to understand, and no good reason occurs to me!)

Set in a city which sits constantly in the shadow of the threat of violence, this is a novel based on experience. Deborah Rodriguez first went to Afghanistan in 2001, and stayed on, eventually starting the Kabul Beauty School, as well as her very own coffee house. She married an Afghan man, finding out later that she was his second wife. After she wrote a memoir about her experiences in Kabul, rumours spread that she had, proverbially, Made It, and as plots and threats began to abound, she was forced to leave the country, returning to her native USA.

This book is fiction, but it could only have been written by someone who really knew what it was to live in Kabul as an expat, but had also gained some insight into the life of Afghan women. It is about five women who gather at the coffee house, who become family to each other in an environment normally so stark and unforgiving to women.

Sunny, the proprietor, who worries about keeping her customers safe and about the choice she needs to make between two men in her life. Yazmina, a young pregnant widow who was kidnapped from her northern home and abandoned in the streets of Kabul. Candace, an outgoing American who left her diplomat husband to raise funds for Wakil, a wealthy Afghan philanthropist. Halajan, the sixty-year-old owner of the building, whose secret love affair seems destined to failure. And Isabel, the British journalist, who is beginning to discover her passion for helping Afghan women.

I thought this was a good read. It's very interesting. I feel introduced to a place and to people whom I could never have imagined before, in a way that news stories or imagination alone cannot, and isn't that one of the fundamental purposes of literature? Rodriguez is very sympathetic to the people she writes about - every individual Afghan character is developed and complex and positive in some way - and to the country and the city she is describing. It has moments of beauty and goodness unimaginable in a Western context. And yet, at the same time, the reader is constantly aware of the feeling of restrictedness that life in this city presents, for women, for someone who has done something culturally unacceptable, for Western expats.

It's also a good read in the sense that it promises a rollicking plot, attractive characters and juicy sub-plots. It doesn't fall into the trap of politicising everything. I have to admit, it's no great contribution to the canon of modern literature. The characters sometimes seemed a bit vague, too. So, it has faults. All the same, it's a solid effort, a good novel, an enjoyable and eye-opening read. I would recommend it to anyone who likes chick lit with serious currents. Three stars from me.

Ooh, I almost forgot to mention one of the cool features of this novel. It comes with tips for a Little Coffee Shop themed book-club event, including recipes, which is a great idea, I think. Some of the delicacies on offer are Afghan dishes such as baklava with saffron rosewater syrup, delicate butter cookies, and sweet bread, with drinks idea such as chococino coffee and cardamom tea. They sound exceedingly attractive!

[US cover]

the woman in white

I have recently finished Wilkie Collins' The Woman in White, which was published in 1860. It's been my summer-days-lying-in-a-hammock-while-celebrating-Christmas novel. I would definitely recommend it for this type of reading - it's gripping, and rather fun, and definitely not a difficult read at all. I expected it to be about ghosts and was pleased it was a novel of detection instead.

Having said that, there were moments in which I could not contain my frustration with the author. Marian Halcombe could have been a fantastic heroine if we weren't constantly reminded how "unwomanly" she is. The section narrated by her is wonderful, but we hear no more directly from her after that, even when she is still taking an active role - a huge pity. Laura Fairlie could have been much more interesting if she wasn't so utterly helpless, although of course she needed to be insipidly fragile in order to inspire love and devotion (about which I think my last blog post complained). I feel that this tale could have been much more subversive than it actually was. The situation in which Laura finds herself is so entirely wrong. She is a casualty of a world that is run by men for men, but the author hardly questions the society that allows this to happen. Of course, he was a man himself, but that shouldn't have to mean he props up societal conventions even as he shows their flaws.

The big unexpected twist in the middle of the novel (I don't want to spoil it so I can't expand) is a relief, but after that I expected many more unlikely things which did not happen. The number of coincidences applied to the story (such as the importance of Professor Pesca at the end) also seem a little too much. The villains did not ring quite true to me. Then, the plot, which had promised so much at the beginning, began to lose momentum.

All the same, I did enjoy this novel. It has a spark of something. It made me want to keep reading, even when I could see all its flaws. It's a fun book! It slides between the different narrators reasonably fluidly, it pulls out the absurdities of characters and laughs at them, it doesn't take itself too seriously. It does manage to create a very appealing character in Marian Halcombe - I only wish she could speak for herself a little more. Maybe someone should write some fanfiction!!

I give it three stars. It is a good book, it is a fun book, but it is flawed.

surprise and Audrey Niffenegger

I have to give Audrey Niffenegger credit - she's pretty prolific at producing ... prose. (I am an alliterative machine.) The Time Traveler's Wife, Her Fearful Symmetry, The Three Incestuous Sisters, and now, The Night Bookmobile.

I hated The Time Traveler's Wife, finding it manipulative in its efforts to make the reader bawl - they worked on me but I did not enjoy the migraine that followed! I had high hopes for Her Fearful Symmetry but ended disappointed with it and angry at its characters.

And so I did not expect much from her new graphic novel, The Night Bookmobile. It had the advantage, of course, of being short. Other than that, I did not anticipate enjoying it.

Except that, somehow, I did!

The Night Bookmobile is about a woman who comes across a mobile library as she wanders the streets of her town in the small hours. She enters at the invitation of the librarian, and discovers all the books of her life - everything she has ever read. It is a safe place for her, a place for rediscovery, and she leaves wishing she could stay forever on the night bookmobile. This leads her to make some drastic decisions which I can say no more about for fear of spoiling this whimsical little story.

So yes - I loved it. The artwork is alluring, the story restrained, minimalist, and the words well-chosen and simple. They bring out the pathos of the story much more eloquently than words like "pathos" and "eloquently" might.

I loved the twists and turns of the story. Niffenegger does do twists well, a hallmark of the novels I hated, but perhaps being forced to expend less words on the twists suits her better. It's bittersweet and I'm not quite sure how to feel at the end, but I like feeling this!

Niffenegger's graphics are deceptively simple. I love the way each page is composed. I love the way the light shines off the bald head of the librarian, and the way the lines of the bookshelves swallow you up. I like the way the story is not illustrated obviously, but with little hints at what is happening.

I hereby grant The Night Bookmobile three stars. As many as three because I really did enjoy it. As little as three because part of my pleasure in it was the surprise. I do recommend this book, however, and I expect that I will pick it up fairly often again and enjoy a peaceful fifteen-minute read.

Thanks to Random House New Zealand for the review copy.