Autumn, book review. (Ali Smith)

Being part one of the author's 'Seasons' series, I first read this about five years ago but, having read Spring and Winter last year (see post 04/09/22 & 06/10/22 respectively), I thought a re-read in order.

With the same style of narrative but lacking the cold of Winter and the brightness of Spring, Autumn is my least favourite of the series so far but it's not all bad. (I'm yet to read Summer ).

There is love and hope and sadness: there is art and war and loneliness, there is growing up and growing old, being young and being bold, angst between family and friendships between neighbours, and not a small amount of chatter about a certain antiques show on the television - no, not the Fiona Bruce one!

Elisabeth meets Daniel, who is seventy years her senior, when they become neighbours and, twenty years later, with Daniel on his death bed, Elisabeth is the only person who visits.

Daniel spends his days asleep, dreaming of his past life, how he fell in love when he was young, fell in love with an artist, the only female Pop Artist in fact and how that love was never reciprocated.

The artist in question, Pauline Boty, influenced Elisabeth enough when she was young for her to become an art lecturer, so Daniel's love for Pauline did, in a way, lead Elisabeth to her chosen career.

Aside from art and love and friendship, this novel is about Brexit, but it's about human failure and human achievement too.

Elisabeth's mother's failure to see her daughter and Daniel's relationship as unusual but healthy, as opposed to just, wrong. Daniel's failure to move on from a love he never had. Elisabeth's failure to form strong bonds with people and find love herself but, then you have to ask: are these really failures or are they choices?

Could it not be an achievement that Daniel dedicated his life to his career and later on helped Elizabeth with hers? That Elisabeth isn't looking for love, or is just plane happy in her own company? Could we not argue that Brexit is both a good and a bad thing, depending on how you look at it?

Autumn is written in a way that leaves me confused. It hops around a bit and the style - as I have eluded to before - is somewhat strange, and I've yet to work out exactly what this book is about. I suppose it's about all of the above: love, friendship, fear and hate, being old and being young, art and division but even though I've had plenty of time for all of that to sink in, I'm still not sure what to take from it, even after a re-read.

Three stars.

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Thinner, book review. (Stephen King)

A book with a very distinct message this one, and it's showing its age, too.

Like a lot of King novels (this one was originally released under his pseudonym Richard Bachman by the way), Thinner has a magical realism to it - the world ticks by and all is nice and normal, as it would be for you and I on any given day, but with a twist, a curse, an old Gypsy curse in this case, and it's one of my favourite things about this author's books. Everything is so normal bar that one thing: be it an ancient alien monster that dresses like a clown, a door in time that might help prevent the assassination of John F. Kennedy, or an old man living with a seventy year old mouse, reality is only ever skewed just a little.

Having killed an old Gypsy woman who stepped out in front of his car (he was concentration on his wife's hand down his pant rather than the road), and the police chief and local Judge whitewashing the whole affair, William (Bill) Halleck walks away, scot-free - well, he would have if the old Gypsy, Lemke, hadn't brushed his cheek on the courthouse steps and whispered that one word: Thinner.

The weight starts to drop off immediately, and the first half of this book is all about his cloths getting baggy, seeing his doctor, friends and colleagues, who, along with his wife and daughter, think it's a good thing but then start to worry, all whilst Bill is in denial, pretending to himself that he didn't hear what Lemke said. The second half is Halleck on the road searching for the Gypsy, tracking him down, and it is the better half, more fluid, emotional, but it's also where the age of the book starts to show.

The writing on a whole is okay, some of the latter chapters almost reach excellence, but when Halleck thinks of his teenage daughter as having 'coltish legs' and a random stranger unnecessarily uses the N word amongst the many other racist slurs against Gypsies, you begin to realise how times have changed.

That disappointment aside (it was written in the mid 80s - which is NOT an excuse by the way but a possible reason), the last hundred pages fly by, and as tensions rise and Halleck's weight plummets (he was 255 at the beginning, now down to 115), and the ending nears - which I won't spoil - the message I referred to at the beginning becomes blatantly clear.

Treat people how you would like to be treated.

Whether it's yourself, your loved ones, neighbours and strangers alike, and take responsibility for your actions. Think before you speak but speak anyway, but be honest, with yourself and those around you, because if you don't, something terrible could happen, something terrible like . . .

Three stars for Thinner then but only just, and no surprise that it was first published under his pseudonym.

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The Haunting of Alma Fielding: A True Ghost Story, book review. (Kate Summerscale)

I don't read a lot of non-fiction so this was a break from the normal but having read Kate Summerscale's superb, The Suspicions of Mr Whicher some years ago, I felt it only right to peruse the leaves of this fine volume.

I know, from being a writer myself, that research is a key part to any narrative, be it fiction or non, but the work that has gone into this book must have been very extensive because, as is very apparent from the beginning, the reader is quickly ensconced into the past, in Alma Fielding's life, her very living room, surrounded by her family, and with cups flying, tables thumping, stranger's jewellery appearing on her hands, eggs flying and items being tossed down the stairs, the writing flows so expertly that you soon forget any scepticisms you may have had when turning the first page, and accept what is happening as truth - that there was a haunting in a London suburb in 1938.
Enter, Nandor Fodor - a Jewish-Hungarian refugee and chief ghost hunter for the International Institute for Psychical Research, who, having read about her case and arranged to meet at the Fielding's house, starts to believe that maybe there is something in the story, that a poltergeist may actually be haunting Alma Fielding. To test this theory, Fodor invited Alma to the institute to undergo tests, tests to see if object will materialise in her presence, like the terrapin that seemed to materialise on her lap during a car journey - and to try and get to the bottom of the mystery.
I truly didn't know how this book would conclude, whether proof of the haunting would be put beyond reasonable doubt by the author and therefore convince the reader that what had happened was genuine, or whether there was fraud at play, and if so, for what purpose - after all, the amount of smashed crockery and ruined food described here would have cost a lot to replace and Alma Fielding was only paid a minimal sum to attend the institute and there was no guarantee that that would have been on the cards when the haunting began; so again, what motive other than a bona fide haunting was there?
Well, you'll have to read the book and draw your own conclusions because, as is usual, I'm giving nothing away here, but what I will say is this: Kate Summerscale has an amazing ability. She writes about what could have been a rather lacklustre incident in 1930s London just before World War II and pulls you in in her skilful way and you're halfway through before you've had time to draw breath, to think, to process, and when you do, when you come up for air and start asking those inevitable questions: is this really real? Did these people really witness these events? Did an International Institute for Psychical Research really exist? You dive back in to get the answers, and that sort of writing is rare and should be applauded and so, four stars for, The Haunting of Alma Fielding is fully deserved and as a book, I whole heartedly recommend it.
Enjoy.

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Winter, book review. (Ali Smith)

Everything is dead!
You name it and it’s dead: God is dead, chivalry is dead, Jazz, politics, thought, love, TV, Christmas, Earth, the internet, in fact the only thing that isn’t dead are ghosts.
Sophie wakes one morning in her fifteen bedroom house – Chei Bres – and sees a large floating head, just a head, which gradually transforms into the head of a small child before becoming a lifeless floating stone so, maybe ghosts too are dead?
Art (Arthur), Sophie’s son, is traveling to his mother’s for Christmas but has an issue. Charlotte, his girlfriend – possibly – and he, have fallen out and she’s trashing his Twitter feed, his ‘Art in Nature’ posts, which he just makes up anyway to sound earthy and environmentally conscious, so he needs a plan. His mother is expecting a Charlotte!
Talking of environmentally conscious, Sophie’s estranged sister, Iris, who, decades earlier used to squat in Chei Bres with a group of ecologically minded souls, now lives close-by because, in spite of their dislike for each other she worried when her sister moved to such a remote house – sisterly love in the face of adversity. Maybe not everything is dead!
Although it is supposed to be winter, it is also February when Iris takes Sophie to watch an Elvis movie when they were kids, April when a loved one passes, July when Sophie meets a man she first met at Chei Bres in ‘78 and abscond to Paris to look at art make love and drink coffee – he is Arthur’s father – and it is September, Greenham Common airbase and there’s a protest, and the few become thousands and they encircle the entire perimeter, hand in hand, one of them being Iris and then it’s Christmas eve and Art has arrived, called his aunt as his mother has no food and has to ask his fake girlfriend (Lux) to pretend to be Charlotte!
The crux of this story is love, family ties and how sometimes things get stretched to a point where you’d never believe it possible to pull them back but then, somehow they are, and I suppose, on that basis this book is about, above all else, hope.
Ali Smith’s writing bucks convention (see blogpost 04/09/22 for Spring) but is fluid, and her setting of a scene, her ability to create tension between the sisters, make Art feel unloved but loved, the reader to feel sorrow, anger, fear and joy and wonderment are a testament to her skill as a writer, a skill I feel all should enjoy and so, as bizarre as the above might sound, I’m recommending this to all.
Three and a half stars

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Spring, book review. (Ali Smith)

Well, this is a strange one because, let’s face it, I have bemoaned many an author before for being lazy with the time honoured tradition of using the comma, speech-marks and the full stop where appropriate and, when lacking I become somewhat distracted which, for me, spoils the experience but here, Ali Smith's writing style has such a sense of freedom to it, unshackled by those conventions and structures that it just works. Strange!
So, in honour of this damned right annoyance having been nothing more than a slight irritation, I shall fill you in on all things Spring.
Spring does not start it germinates. It germinates from Winter but the only connection between the books is the author's name on the cover, so you can read the seasons in any order you wish.
Spring is about loss, the loss of a friend; a best friend and onetime lover, for Paddy is dead, gone, and for Richard, who has known her, loved her, worked with her for decades, there seems little reason to carry on. With his ex-wife and daughter estranged he might as well just crawl under the train that’s arrived in the remote Scottish station and wait for it to roll.
Spring is about Florence, a schoolgirl with amazing powers, powers of persuasion. A schoolgirl who walks into a brothel and out again without hurt or trauma, whilst emancipating the ‘workers’. A girl who rescues her mother from a high security detention centre for illegal immigrants saves Richard and travel the country with impunity without payment or service.
Spring is about detention, immigration, power and our inability as a nation to truly comprehend the trauma, fear, pain, anguish and steadfast resolve those who have fled their countries have really gone through to get here, but when Brittany meets Florence and they travel to Scotland and save Richard and met Alda – not her real name as she too is illegal – and Florence and Alda disappear, it focuses the mind, Richard’s in particular.
Spring is a time for regeneration, life to bloom, death to be celebrated, be it the death of winter or Paddy’s death, and Richard is rejuvenated, he has a new project: Immigration, and he’s filming again, working, he’s found meaning.
This book is a charming, scary, slightly surreal experience that has an almost poetic flow to the narrative that has you not only flicking forward to see how things materialise but back to check you've made sense of it all and Spring, be it the book or the season, are so full of delights I can recommend them both. Be out, get out, come rain - which we have a lot of in England - or shine, and enjoy it, them, life, the memories of those who have passed, and read; read this, Spring, but read that too, the one you’ve been putting off the one you loved as a child, the one you didn’t read but should have and revel in beginnings.
Three and a half stars.

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The Kite Runner, book review. (Khaled Hosseini)

This is a first time read for me and I am well aware of how much has been said and written about this book over the years (over eighty-two and a half thousand reviews on Goodreads alone when I last looked), so I will do my utmost not to replicate and bore you with the same, and so . . . shocking as it might sound, I liked this book but preferred both, A Thousand Splendid Suns (blog post 22/09/19) and, And the Mountains Echoed, which in a way is a good thing.
Too many times have debut novels defined an author, outshining what followed, an extreme example of this being Harper Lee and her own belief that she could, or would, never be able to better her sublime, To Kill a Mocking Bird and so, wrote nothing else until very late in life, which I think was a real shame.
So, the huge hit that was The Kite Runner, has not, in my opinion defined the author, but it is a most excellent beginning to his trilogy of books based in and around Afghanistan and the troubles it and its people have gone through over the last fifty years or so. It is a book about fierce loyalty and friendship, jealousy, envy, fear, hope, death and possible redemption, and is a book about people.
There isn't a single character in this book that steals the limelight, in my opinion, all it seems are equal, be it our main character Amir and his best friend and fellow kite runner, Hassan, Amir's father, Baba or his best friend, Rahim Khan, Amir's wife, Soraya, Hassan's father Ali, even Hassan's mother seems to have influence over the narrative beyond the few pages on which she is mentioned which I liked, and the ability of the author to create a cast that occupy the same time and space but with such opposing storylines but all on equal footing, I thought was clever, whether intended or not.
This book is also about hypocrisy; secrets and lies.
Some big, some small, but, as usual I suppose, it is the big ones that shape the story and those in it, following them to the next village, town, country or halfway around the world, and those secrets have consequences, consequences that again, shape the people they impact, giving peace to some, death, family, hope and a future unimaginable to others.
Hosseini's writing is brilliant throughout and has a way about it that elicits multiple emotions, sometimes even on a single page, and I praise him highly for that - the chapters that deal with the 'changing of the guard' shall we say, when Baba's influence and power is no more and he and Amir have to make for Pakistan, had my heart in my mouth, whereas the chapter where Hassan takes a beating and more, and Amir is too scared, to cowardly to intervene, (which comes back to haunt him, of course), made me both angry and sad and then there's the euphoria that Hassan and Amir feel when flying their kite and running it down, which I wish could be bottled.

Well, I'm glad that I've now read all this author's books, albeit out of sequence and can highly recommend them - as long as you are aware that they are gritty and don't pull any punches - and eagerly await whatever he comes up with next.
Four stars then and well worth investing your time.

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Cujo, book review. (Stephen King)

An early one this and all part of last year's, year of the reread. It's been so long since I first read Cujo that only a few bits came back to me as I sped through its pages, but speed through I did.

Like a lot of King's books the premise is simple but the how and why are complicated, which is one of the reasons he's such a successful and well revered writer, I guess.

Set in Castle Rock (yes, that Castle Rock, the one that's recently been exposed to all the non-bibliophiles in the world by Amazon/Starzplay), one of many fictitious towns the author has created in Maine over the years, Cujo is not just about the fear of a rabid two hundred pound St Bernard trying to eat your child but the fear of separation, loneliness; losing your house because something's screwed up a work, losing your wife because she's so, so lonely and scared shitless that it will only get worse when her son starts school.

It's about being satisfied with your lot in life too, and if not, doing something about it, like Charity, who takes her ten year old son, Brett (Cujo's owner), to see her sister, something she had to bargain for in spite of the ever present threat of violence from her husband, in order to show her son that a better life was possible, even if she later decided that just having money to buy stuff wasn't necessarily better. It's about the bond between friends, like when Vic and Roger are in Boston trying to save their business and Vic his marriage (his wife has been having an affair) but Vic can't get his wife or kid on the phone and his partner shows the compassion we would all wish for in such circumstances and sends him home because, let's face it, family is more important.

Cujo is about all of those things but it is also about a two hundred pound rabid dog that gradually loses its mind and just can't stand the light, the heat and people anymore; people who might have done this to him, hurt him, been nasty to him and so, he must kill, kill, kill. The build-up, the way the book is more about the lives of the people in Castle Rock, working, drinking, raising their kids and more, is the real crux of the novel, but it just so happens that they're all connected in the end by death and a rabid St Bernard.

King's writing here is a bit archaic compared to his more recent novels but then that's borne out in a lot of his 70s & 80s books - a sign of the times one might say but not all books of this vintage are so inflicted, so! - and you might even wince at a few bits, but overall it doesn't detract too much from what is actually a clever and, especially towards the end, tense thriller.

Three and a half stars for Cujo then and on to the next one - I'm trying to read all of Stephen King's books within ten years, so I'll keep them coming.

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The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo, book review. (Stieg Larsson)

This is a reread for me, as per my blog post on the 1st January, so having read this several years ago and never moving on and completing the trilogy, I thought it better to refresh my tired old brain before books two and three, and I'm glad I did.

The book opens with Mikael Blomkvist having just lost his highly publicised libel case against the very wealthy and corrupt Wennestrom and what could be the end of his journalistic career and the magazine he co-owns with his part time lover, Erika Berger (Millennium). But there's hope on the horizon. The industrialist billionaire Vanger.

Vanger lost his niece, Cecilia forty year ago, disappearing off of the island (Hedeby), the family own and live on, never to be seen again, and her disappearance, which he strongly believes was murder - has become an obsession; but time is running out, Vanger hasn't long, he's old and, thinking that one of his own family is responsible he needs to try one more time to get to the truth.

Then there's Lisbeth Salander, the girl with the dragon tattoo; a computer hacker, sorry, 'investigative researcher' and before employing Blomkvist, Vanger has had her look into his background, which leads to her and Blomkvist working together later in the book.

With Blomkvist going through the archives on Hedeby island, speaking to family, piecing things together, Salander begins investigating further afield, all whilst dealing with her new legal guardian (her previous guardian having died), who rapes her repeatedly before she exacts a very explicit revenge, and it is here, in the thick of the book where the writing becomes exceptional.

Chapters fly by as clues are unearthed, twists follow turns, secrets are revealed, lives are threatened and lost and as the book bounces between characters, it unearths the darkest secrets of a family Nazi and his legacy and, when Blomkvist is captures and tortured - by the serial killer Vanger suspected was in his family all along - and when Salander taps Cecilia's sister's phone in England, the truth of what happened to Cecilia all those years ago is unearthed.

This is not a short book but it's a page turner, feeding you just enough to keep you guessing. I liked the characters, too - although there did seem to be a rather high proportion of weirdo's to non mentally challenged people in this book - and when it gets violent it gets seriously X rated violent, so it's definitely not a book for the faint hearted/easily offended - you have been warned.

Four and a half stars for the first book in the Millennium trilogy then and highly recommended to all who like books with grit, mystery, multiple characters and with a good dose of back-story.

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Pine, book review. (Francine Toon)

Cold, dark, lonely and foreboding with a dash of the spirit world, pretty much sums up, Pine by Francine Toon; a debut novel that garnered much press on its release last year but, what are you really in for?
Lauren (Oren) lives alone with her father, Niall - who drinks too much – in a rundown house on the edge of a pine forest. Being only ten, she relies on her father to not only feed and clothe her but get her to school, love her and keep her safe, which he falls short on some of the time.
It's Halloween and she and her father are driving through the snow to go trick or treating, when a woman runs fleetingly in front of them, or so she thinks, but it isn't until they return and it happens again that Niall pulls over and offers assistance - taking the frail looking woman home with them.
By morning the woman is gone and Niall has forgotten the incident but Lauren has not, and so she starts asking questions, questions her father doesn't like, so Lauren turns to her tarot cards.
Her mother, Christine walked out when she was tiny, never to be seen again, and we learn about her bohemian nature, how she lived (or tried to), free of the burdens and constraints of materialistic life, spiritually, and start to question what might have happened to her. Did she just up and leave, or was there something more sinister going on?
There are those in town that know more than they're letting on, those that suspect Niall of killing her, after all, there's no shortage of places to hide a body in the forest, and then there's the strange goings on: Lauren’s bedroom is completely tidied one day, people see a woman in white but hours later have no recollection of the event – Lauren’s father, her friend from school and a local in the pub all experience that illusion. Then, Ann-Marie, a girl from the village, disappears; a girl who babysat Lauren and was last seen in her father's truck!
Toon’s writing is very descriptive and equally convincing and leaves you cold, lonely, suspicious and on edge; it is also smooth - a strange word ‘smooth’ but accurate all the same, because ninety percent of the book has just the one tempo; which is not a bad thing.

Whether it's Lauren getting lost in the woods, Niall inebriated, the woman in white appearing or the police arriving after Ann-Marie’s disappearance, the tempo remains much the same, and as much as I like the fast, furious action packed spikes and slow plateaus of some books, I think here - whether intentional or not - smooth suited the quiet, empty, haunting-ness of the story, reminding me of Gabriel Tallent's, My Absolute Darling in its descriptive nature (although that one’s far too repetitive), and Eowyn Ivey's, The Snow Child, for its sense of isolation.
Will Ann-Marie and Lauren’s mum be found? Will Niall stop drinking? Who or what is the woman in white? are all questions you’ll have to read the book to find out, but Pine is a good first novel, one I can recommend, so grab a copy and enjoy, especially as it's only getting colder here in England with snow already falling.

Three stars.

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The Haunting of Hill House, book review. (Shirley Jackson)

Another reread and another 'Glad I did' moment when I finished.
On first acquaintance I felt this book rather lacklustre - I cut my teeth on James Herbert and progressed to Susan Hill remember - but something niggled.

I saw reviews on Goodreads championing the book, Bookstagramers on Instagram rating it highly and then, a Netflix series, which got me thinking: what had I missed?
So, as 2021 is the year of the reread, I added it to my list.
The story begins with a Dr Montague having written to numerous individuals across the country who either think they have, or have actually witnessed 'something special', for assistance in an experiment he wishes to conduct, and so he invites them to Hill House, which he has agreed to lease for the summer in order to gain as much evidence as he can that paranormal activity exists - Hill House is widely regarded as one of the most haunted houses ever.

One of the terms of said lease is that Luke Sanderson, the heir to the house, is present, so when Eleanor (who has recently lost the mother she cared for, for most of her life) and Theodora (who is rather bohemian), arrive, being the only two who responded to the doctor, most of the cast is assembled.
The story builds slowly but not too slowly, introducing the characters gradually - and they're all different enough to have a depth and personality of their own and develop little by little throughout the narrative, revealing, right up to the very last pages their strengths and weaknesses. Later, Dr Montague's rather overpowering wife and her side kick, Arthur Parker arrive at the house and add an element of flair to proceedings. Add to that, Mrs Dudley - who doesn't stay at Hill House after dark and sets breakfast at 9, lunch at 1 and dinner at 6, but flitters almost ghostlike in and out of rooms, the house and the narrative, and an element of intrigue is created and one can't help but speculate as to what is real and what is not.

Much of the tension in the book is implied and, rightly or wrongly, I decided that the rattling of doors and thumping of walls was all in Eleanor's head, or she somehow manifested them, as others only seemed to witness it when they were with her, which got me thinking: maybe she was the conduit for the spirits, the reason there was something to witness at all, and had she not been there, whether the others would have spent a rather serene but (from a paranormal activity perspective), rather disappointing summer in an old remote house?

With the book ending the way it did (no spoilers as usual), with Eleanor being ostracised, forced to leave, separated from the others and Hill House - or was she? - I felt I might have got to the crux of this novel, but of course, many of you may disagree or, like me when I first read it, not have analysed it so deeply.

All the same, three and a half stars for this slightly creepy haunted house novel and a better experience than my first read.

Enjoy, and happy Hallowe'en.

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Who & what do you read? Questions I get asked as a book blogger (Pt II) Michael J Richardson

Well we've covered the classics, horror and apocalyptic (see 03/10 post), so what's left?

I don't really read crime or thrillers as the few I have read over the years seemed rather formulaic, and I don't read much Sci-fi (although what I have read has mostly been entertaining) but I do read Literary Fiction, authors like Ishiguro, McEwan (Enduring Love being a firm favourite) Cormac McCarthy's sublime No Country for Old Men, Ali & Zadie Smith and Jesmyn Ward to name but a few and although short in length, most have left lasting impressions.
Y/A (Young Adult), books like, Since You've been Gone, Thirteen Reasons Why, We Were Liars, Emma Cline's, The Girls, All The Bright Places, The Hate U Give, After the Fire and of course, John Green's back catalogue (Looking For Alaska being my favourite), have also entertained beyond maybe what I thought they would and are well worth checking out - most of what I write is in the Y/A genre so maybe I'm being slightly biased there - but I often find books in that category have far more substance than their initial subject matter might imply.
Book series then, like Justin Cronin's The Passage, Tolkien's Lord of the Rings (I'll blog about that one soon, after another reread), Ben Aaronovitch with his witty magical Rivers of London novels, Stephen King's Dark Tower, the aforementioned Harry Potters series and Carlos Ruiz Zafon's (yes him again), stunning Cemetery of Forgotten Books collective are some of my all-time favourites, so much so that I have read most of them more than once and some of them too many times to actually remember, and will no doubt do them all again one day.
I also love history and so, Robert Harris and his superb back catalogue is one I can whole heartedly recommend, The Office and the Spy probably being my all-time favourite of his but it's not all fiction. James Holland's Fortress Malta and The Battle of Britain, rate alongside Antony Beevor's Stalingrad and Max Hastings' All Hell Let Lose, as some of the most horrific five star books I have ever had the pleasure (if you can call it that), of reading and are books I'll never hesitate to recommend.
So where does that leave us?
Anywhere I suppose. Which is where I recommend you let your mind wander the next time you're in a bookshop (physical of virtual). Bypass the shelf you think you want, mix it up a bit, pick the book next to the one you thought you wanted, the one in the plain brown wrapping that some shops now sell, and see where it takes you, and if you've got a birthday coming up and someone asks you what they can get you, ask them to surprise you because, if it's any of the above and you've not read them yet, you're in for one hell of a ride.

Happy reading.

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Who & what do you read? Questions I get asked as a book blogger (Pt I) Michael J Richardson

For those of you who don't know me, I've been reading and writing since I was a teenager (properly reading that is, not force fed books I had no interest in at school, which excludes Stig of the Dump of course, which was my first serial reading experience), so that's a good thirty years under my belt, but what floats my boat, gets me going back for more?

Well, why don't we start with the classics. But wait, what is a classic? A book written over a hundred years ago? Over fifty? Harry Potter will be defined as a classic in the future if not already, so do I include them? Maybe it's Austin, Bronte or Dickens (of which I've liked but not loved - except A Christmas Carol, that will always be a 5 star book in my opinion), or Du Maurier, whose My Cousin Rachel is one of my all-time favourites. Looking further afield we have Jules Verne, not bad, Platonov, weird and Kafka - seriously, I think something got lost in translation like: plot and anything that actually makes sense - and I've never really enjoyed American classics either with Moby Dick, The Scarlet Letter, The Catcher in the Rye and One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest all being a bit lacklustre - although I did like, The Great Gatsby and I am Legend is a masterpiece.

How about horror then? But again, what is horror? I recently read Roxane Gay's superb, An Untamed State, one of the most horrific books I've read recently but you'll only find it in the fiction section, as with Khaled Hosseini, who writes about the horrors of war torn Afghanistan in a way that pulls at your heart. I've also read The Girl with all the Gifts and its prequel (zombie apocalypse for those who don't know), but they're no more horrific than Stephen King epics' like The Stand and It, which are simply undefinable in genre. Then there are horror classics like Dracula (superb) Frankenstein (okay) and The Exorcist (seriously creepy) to consider, all having such great characters and depth that to simply call them 'Horror' would do them a great injustice.

I have always loved apocalyptic stories, too, from the short and punchy like, The War of the Worlds, I am Legend and The Day or the Triffids, to huge tomes like The Passage series and of course, the best of the best, The Stand - all fourteen hundred plus pages of it, and how the whole experience of reading books like these leaves you feeling lonely and apprehensive but with a fierce determination that if it were ever to happen to you, you'd be the good guy/girl, be on the right side and survive.

So where does that leave us? Well, this subject is far too long for one post so I'll blog part II in a few days' time and talk it through a bit more with you then. See you soon.

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Mrs de Winter, book review. (Susan Hill)

Having just reread Daphne du Maurier's Rebecca (see 27/6/21 post), loving it just as much

as I did the first time, and being thoroughly in awe of the author once again - My Cousin Rachel and Frenchman's Creek having cemented my love for her books even more - I thought I would reread this, Susan Hill's sequel, straight after.

With Susan Hill also in my top ten authors, I had high hopes, and coming off of the back of Rebecca, with all that went on at Manderley fresh in my mind, it was the right thing to do.

So, over a decade has passed since our unnamed narrator and her husband (and murderer) Max de Winter fled to Europe. The authorities do not pursue them, for the death of his first wife Rebecca was deemed an accident, but the memories of her death, the burning of Manderley, the bribery attempt by Rebecca's cousin, Jack Favell and the cold icy fear that Mrs Danvers installed in the first book, still do, so they stay away, far, far away, until . . .
They are summonsed back to England for a funeral.
Max's sister has died.

They arrive back in the nick of time, planning to stay only a shot while - only long enough to settle some affairs, put the estate in order et cetera, but Frank Crawley, Max's right-hand man from Manderley is there, and he is well and enjoying life in the highlands of Scotland, so they must visit him before they depart - take flight! - surely?

As with Rebecca, the tension in this book is subtle at first: our narrator being concerned for Max's health if they return, what people might say and think; that everyone will remember the outcome of the inquest into Rebecca's death but possibly have had their heads turned in their absence, but when those fears do not materialise and they find an idyllic but somewhat neglected Manor House in the Cotswolds, all seems well with the world.
Then, Jack Favell! Rebecca's cousin and lover.
The chance encounter with Favell in London brings to the fore our narrator's fears, and the lies she tells as to why she's there, along with the demands for money that begin to arrive a few weeks later, create more tension, and her and Max's relationship becomes tense, and then . . .
Mrs Danvers, and the De Winter's relationship hardens further, the garden party that Mrs de Winter was so looking forward too ceases to hold interest - painful memories of the Manderley ball come flooding back - trust is lost and secrets are revealed and . . . and . . .

Susan Hill's writing is as always, exemplary, but I did find some elements of the story a little drawn out, not quite as punchy as they could have been and I wondered whether a shorter book might have been better, but with passages like, 'It was not the the flowers at which I started, in horror, not the printed words that chilled me, splintered the sky and fractured the song of the blackbird, darkened the sun. It was the single handwritten letter, black and strong, tall and sloping. R,' you can see why I hold the author in such high esteem.

Three and a half stars for Mrs de Winter then. A thoroughly good read.

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Rebecca, book review (Daphne du Maurier)

Opening with one of the most famous lines in the history of literature, Daphne du Maurier's Rebecca will be no stranger to many of you, as it wasn't for me, but with my memory for all things past being somewhat vague, and the passage of time since I first picked up this masterpiece being rather long, I thought it only right to add it to my 'year of the reread' list.

Beginning with a short dream - the one of Manderley - before being whisked off to Monte Carlo where our unnamed narrator is the bored and rather put-upon companion to a Mrs Van Hopper (a rich but rather crude woman, who quickly falls ill), she soon finds herself lunching, riding around in a motor car, and falling in love with the recently widowed Mr de Winter.

There is a distinct difference in their ages, upbringing (read: breeding) and social standing, but a connection has been formed, and so, when Mrs Van Hopper discovers that she has to leave post-haste for New York, a decision has to be made and Mr de Winter proposes.

They honeymoon for several weeks before returning home but with the bride having no family to return home to, they head for Cornwall, to Manderley.

There are four main characters in this novel: Rebecca, Mr de Winter, our narrator and Manderley - sorry Mrs Danvers - with its imposing mile long drive, its vast grounds, mazes of passageways and unseen doors, and of course, let us not forget, The West Wing - where Rebecca used to reside before her unfortunate accident at sea. However, where the house oozes a charm and warmth but with a sense of foreboding, Mrs Danvers dispenses with the former as she robotically runs the house, and she is very much the 'other woman', sometimes spooking the new Mrs de Winter by turning up when least expected, and her presence, her constant niggling, her suggestion on what dress her new mistress might wear to the upcoming fancy dress ball, the fact that she keeps the West Wing as a homage to Rebecca - her old possessions, even down to her hair brushes, remain as they were the night she died - all adds to the sense that Rebecca has never left; that she's still there, alive in the walls, the furnishings, in the flowers that grow outside or are cut and placed in vases around the house.

There's also Frank Crawley, the estate manager, Bee and Giles, Maxim de Winter's sister and brother-in-law and Jack Favell, Rebecca's cousin and all round bad egg, but the really clever thing about this book is how the characters with no real voice - Rebecca is dead remember and a house can't talk - monopolise the narrative. Of course, Mrs Danvers plays a key roll in unsettling the new Mrs de Winter by reminding her how beautiful Rebecca was, how organised and successful her running of the house was, how much everyone loved her, flocked to her, held her in the highest esteem, which speeds you through the book in no time.

Du Maurier writes with such skill and passion throughout this book that even when we encounter the mundane, those elements of daily life like: walking the dog, eating breakfast, reading the paper, you are still enveloped in the scene, to the extent that you can almost hear the ticking of the carriage-clock, the creek of a floorboard, the rustle of a folding newspaper, and it is this skill, along with her amazing ability to create tension out of nothing, like the change in the weather, a thunderstorm with no rain, Maxim de Winter confessing his crime two thirds of the way through but leaving Rebecca's secret, the fate of Maxim and Manderley to the end, that elevates the author and this novel to one of the best I have read.

Five stars then for Rebecca and a commitment to continue working my way through the author's extensive back catalogue.

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Weaveworld, book review. (Clive Barker)

Another throwback to my youth this one. Hellraiser had just been released - the film, not the book - A Nightmare on Elm Street was on its third of fourth sequel, Jason was still murdering at will and we teens' were lost in a whirlwind of blood drenched horror, and then - Weaveworld.

Wow!

It was in the horror section so it had to be horror, right? Right? 

Wrong.

This book is an epic (in both depth and length) and begins in a little Victorian house in the heart of Liverpool, backing onto a railway with the soft cooing of racing pigeons in their loft and takes you on one hell of a journey to the secluded vales of the Scottish highlands, through African deserts, the rolling hills of the West Country via the fantastic and magical depths of the Fugue - a land of such wonders and delights, such beauty, that it has been hidden in the weave of a carpet these last hundred years for safekeeping.

When Cal accidently chances upon the carpet as it is being removed from its dead guardian's (Mimi) house and gazes briefly into its depth, he is hooked, addicted, and so it begins.

Shadwell, the charming salesman who's been searching for the Weave, along with the incantatrix Immacolata, for quite some time, soon arrive on the scene - Immacolata is from the Fugue and can sense its presence but has never quite been able to find it whilst Mimi was alive - and with his jacket of wonders (the shimmering inner-lining mesmerises all who gaze upon it when they see their hearts desires) Shadwell and the incantatrix have the advantage.

Mimi had little family and no friends, so when she felt the end was nigh, she summonsed her grand-daughter, Suzanna, but she's too late. Mimi is too far gone and the secret of the carpet and what it houses is lost, or so we think.

With Cal on its trail, he and Suzanna soon cross paths but there is a confrontation and Immacolata and Shadwell take the carpet. During the tussle a small piece is torn off and some of the Seerkind - people who live in the Fugue/Weave - are freed.

With so much magic flying around and general destruction - Cal is lucky to escape his own garden when Immacolata attacks - it's Hobart, a dodgy cop (who likes nothing more than to beat a confession from people) who is assigned to the case, and with Cal on the run and Susanna arrested, there seems little hope; but what's this? What's happening? What can she feel, how can she . . .?

With Susanna escaping custody - in rather spectacular fashion I might add - she and Cal track the Weave to an auction in a stately home, and from there, where Susanna cuts the Weave at its heart and it begins to unravel, to the vales of Scotland, where we experience the Fugue in all its amazing depth, meet the Seerkind and the myriad creatures that live in its folds, through the cold dark nights and searing days of the African desert - where Shadwell has gone in search of the Scourge (an Angel he hopes will destroy the Seerkind, once and for all) to the knee deep snow of the frozen West Country, this book never ceases to amaze, thrill and entertain.

Barker's writing throughout is a triumph, from character believability to the world he creates in the fabric of the Weave, and although slightly dated in some aspects, the book is simply superb. There is horror and destruction, death and pain but there is love and hope, too and in the cold snow blanketed hills and vales at the end, when good faces evil, you get the feeling that only a truly excellent book can give . . . the feeling that you just don't want it to end. 

It's been near on thirty years since I first read this book (which I always remembered liking) but now, having reread it, I love it. Four and half stars. Pure escapism and highly recommended.

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A Tale of Two Cities, book review. (Charles Dickens)

I am not a big reader of the classics, in fact this is only my forth Dickens: Oliver Twist, Great Expectations and A Christmas Carol (which I adore) being the others, and at first I found this hard going but, stubborn as I am when it comes to finishing books, I took a break and reread the first fifty pages or so and was, on second acquaintance, hooked.

The premise is a simple one of love, but as with so many love stories there are twists and turns. France is in the grip of revolution, blood is being spilt and the mere whisper in the ear of an official can find you in the stocks or worse, visiting the guillotine; so if you're an aristocrat, you're better off out of it and, as it happens, Charles Darnay is one such chap, who has just beaten a spying charge in a London court when he takes a fancy to the beautiful Lucie Manette.

Her love however, is bequeathed to another, reserved wholly for her father, Alexandre Manette, who was lost to her for many years. Only when she and the local bank manager, Jarvis Lorry (who become firm friends) got wind of his whereabouts from Manette's former servant and now bar owner, Ernest Defarge and his wife, did they manage to rescue him from his madness and shoe making in a Paris loft.

So lost was he - he'd lost all his faculties from being imprisoned in the bastille for years - that it took all of Lucie and Jarvis's strength and fortitude to nurse him back to health and as the months pass and Alexandre begins to embrace his new calm and peaceful life in London, comforted and looked after by friends and family - his daughter being the most dedicated - life takes a turn for the better; his daughter is to be married.

The writing here is as you would expect it to be: old school, which I both like and don't.

I like the use of old words, words that we no longer hear, and when people speak they do so with such delicacy and courtesy, even when they're being mean or threatening, and it all helps transport you back over two hundred years, to when the book is set. What I'm not so keen on is how the use of the archaic English language interrupts the flow of the narrative and had me flicking back and forth to see what I had missed.

As with a lot of Dickens' books, when first published, A Tale of Two Cities was serialised over many weeks, and I wondered if this was why I found it a bit disjointed.

The first few chapters are very atmospheric, and as I've said above, once understood, carry you on and into the rest of the story with pace but it is the ending, the last quarter of the book if you will, that I think seals its place in the annals of time; for it is here, having been lured back to France, that Charles Darnay is arrested and imprisoned for being an aristocrat. Along with Lucie, her father and Miss Pross (Lucie's governess) they attempt to win his case, but on release, he is rearrested on a trumped up charge. The Defarges - the bar owners who so kindly looked after Lucie's father when he was lost making shoes - have turned, put the word out about Darnay's roots, and shown their true tricolours.

The, 'will they, won't they,' tug of war over whether the jury will find him innocent a second time or have him condemned to Madam Guillotine, the behind the scene scheming by the tricoteuses, (a group of women who knit the names of those who should be executed into shrouds, Madam Defarge being their self-appointed leader) and the bloodlust of a baying crowds, is all in contrast to the peaceful and mellow existence the family had enjoyed in London, and it turns the pages quicker than you know.

So to sum up: Once I got my mind around the language - yes I know, it's written in English but that's like saying, Train Spotting is written in Scottish - this book thoroughly entertained. There is love, reunion and life, opposing hatred, destruction and death and there is atmosphere (and we all know how much I love atmosphere) along with a few more tranquil moments, and then there's the ultimate sacrifice, the giving of one's life for another, but that would be giving the game away so you'll have to check this one out for yourselves.

Three and a half stars.

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The Second Sleep, book review. (Robert Harris)

Well I do love a Robert Harris book and this one was no exception.

Having read the blurb - this was a present but I would have purchased it anyway - I was a little unsure: medieval settings aren't really my thing (I've read a few books set this far in the past, Ishiguro's The Buried Giant and E. L. Johnson's Wolf's Blood, being the most memorable) but I normally prefer my books more modern - 1900s onwards is fine - so what a shock when I got three or four chapters in.

I won't spoil the surprise (like normal, you'll have to read it to find out what I'm talking about) but there's a very clever twist to this book that I knew nothing about when I starting reading, and it had me speeding through the narrative far quicker than I first thought the subject matter would.

The writing here is, as usual, very good and the characters believable, although I did feel Father Fairfax fell out of love with his church and turned heretic a bit too quickly, but maybe that's just me.

There's been a death in the small Wessex village of Addicott St George, where their priest, Father Lacy has taken a tumble; or was he pushed? And so, send by the local and rather fanatical Bishop from Exeter, Christopher Fairfax arrives in order to wrap up his predecessors affairs but, on arrival he discovers that not all is as it should be.

There has been a theft, what appears to be a woman cohabiting with the deceased - whose vow of chastity now looks in doubt - there are strange artefacts littering the dead man's home, the church is in disarray, as if unused, and there's the stranger who turned up at Father Lacy's funeral, the very same stranger who was seen talking to the priest just before his untimely death.

In a world where God's word is sacrosanct, the church holds power, sows fear and is attended by all, Father Lacy's life, if exposed, could cause shockwaves for the church, so Fairfax must do all he can to smooth things over and find out what the devil's been going on.

The stranger is soon tracked down and saved from incarceration, but his health is poor, so time is of the essence. Along with Fairfax, two local landowner, and a group of labourers, they head for the local landmark, The Devil's Chair, where Father Lacy fell to his death and they soon discover human remains.

The Second Sleep is first and foremost a mystery, but with a good supporting cast Fairfax soon finds himself torn between what might be the discovery of the century, and the truth about the world hidden by his faith and there's intrigue, fear, passion skulduggery and a good dose of humour here too - has anyone ever looked at the Apple symbol and thought of Adam and Eve and original sin? I hadn't, but now, having read The Second Sleep I see it everywhere I look and it makes me chuckle.

Well written, fast paced, intriguing and with a good plot twist (if you're going in blind like I did) this book earns itself a solid four stars and comes recommended.

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The Boy on the Bridge, book review. (M.R.Carey)

So we're back, back where we left off at the end of, The Girl with all the Gifts . . .
Well, no actually, we're not.
The Boy On The Bridge is a prequel. It is set ten years after the virus hit and ten years before the first book and although there's no film and therefore will be lesser known, it is in my humble opinion just as good.

The virus has hit and it's hit hard, huge swathes of the population are essentially dead - walking dead (Hungries). All around the country, whether town village, hamlet of city, they wait, silently, patiently, as if in limp mode, and when an unsuspecting animal or human happens upon them, they pounce, chasing down their victims until they've gorged on their flesh.

London (Beacon) has become a fortress, with towering walls to keep out the Hungries, but order can't be maintained forever, there has to be hope; and there in, is the crux of the book.

Power is shifting, law and order is teetering, people had hope and need it again. There has to be something to cling to, a hint that the last ten years hasn't been for nothing, that life might one day return to what it once was, which is where the mobile tank/laboratory Rosalind Franklin comes in.

Setting off in search of finding a cure, uninfected humans or both, a band of scientists and military personnel leave London in the Rosalind Franklin and head north.

I found the characters and their interactions in such a confined space compelling. The conflict between science and military, between Beacon's secret agenda (there's a traitor in our midst) and the safety of the crew verses the safety of humanity, all handled well and then, when they walk into a small seemingly deserted village in Scotland and are ambushed by a group of organised child Hungries, the quiet, peaceful tone of the book, with it's subtle (up until that point) power struggle, is shattered by gunfire, blood and the screams of the dying.

Bonds are forged and broken as the crew retreat, and although the Rosalind Franklin is impenetrable to the children's attempts to gain entry, there is an unease amongst the crew as they are followed. Day in day out the children attacked. Day in day out the internal battle between military and science continues, and the tension just keeps building. Hungries that are organised, that give and receive orders, attack different parts of the Rosalind Franklin with different methods each time should be studied, captured, not exterminated, surely?

Well, one crew member thinks so; so much so that they smuggle . . . Oh come on! You know I never give the game away, you'll have to read it to find out how it ends/continues/leads into the first book, but it's worth it.

Zombie/apocalyptic fiction not your bag? Well, truth be told it's not really mine either but when it's done well, as it is here, then I'm more than happy.

Three and a half stars for this atmospheric and quietly creepy prequel then and even though you know they don't entirely succeed in their mission, it's fun finding out how.

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The Prisoner of Heaven, book review. (Carlos Ruiz Zafon)

If you've ever read The Shadow of the Wind (and let's face it, many millions have) and thought it was a standalone book, that the story ended there, that the author's subsequent books where independent of each other, then you'd be right and wrong. This book, the third in the Cemetery of Forgotten Books series (and shortest by some margin) is the link between the first two - the afore mentioned Shadow of the Wind and The Angel's Game (which anyone who is familiar with my blog will know, are held by me in high regard) and therefore moves both Daniel Sempere's story and that of David Martin to a point where they converge with the help of the indelible Fermin as the connection.

With its heart in your mouth pace one minute, genuine fear the next, to giggling from the shear absurdity of Fermin's tomfoolery, the pages here turn quickly, and you are under no illusion that even though this is a short book, the author has not dropped the ball and that you are invested in the same brilliance that went before.

We still have Fermin with his jokes, Daniel's beautiful wife Bea, their little boy Julian - named after the unfortunate Julian Carax - who wrote The Shadow of the Wind in book one; Daniel's father, who is aging but well, Bernarda, who is betrothed to Fermin (which is the crux of the book) and the deeply disturbing Valls, who's methods of torture: starvation, solitary confinement, bribery and poisoning to name but a few, are slowly revealed as we learn of Fermin's past and why he believes he will never be able to marry the love of his life.

The tangled web that unthreads through the pages of this book brings joy and sorrow, and with Fermin confessing his darkest secret, the promise he made to Martin when incarcerated together - Martin is the prisoner of heaven by the way - that he would look after and protect the love of Martin's life, Isabella (Daniel's mother) if their escape attempt worked, is all handled with aplomb. Here is a man who has befriended Daniel (who will be his best-man at his wedding), his father, works in their shop, and has found what he hopes is true love, but he holds a secret which, in his eyes, is his worst crime.

That crime being: his failure to fulfil his promise to Senor Martin by allowing Valls to get to Isabella and poison her.

The Prisoner of Heaven is written in the same beautifully menacing but somehow witty prose that lead me to attributing the first two books in this series with top honours and possesses the same, must-keep-reading-whatever-the-time-is-because-I-just-can't-put-it-down, style that will have readers up well into night, early in the morning and late for their Zoom meetings.

A fantastic read then - four and a half stars.

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2021 - The year of the reread. Books I've loved so much I'm having to revisit.

Do you have a favourite book?
Is it long, short? Did you read it at a time that was poignant? Is it a book about love that you read after a breakup? A book about an apocalyptic virus that you read last year?!! Or is it a favourite from childhood that still has you turning the pages and laughing, screaming, crying, in all the same places? Well, whatever it is - and speaking to the readers and writers I know, it seems that most of us do have a favourite, or at least a top five that's forever fluid because we just can't decide in which order to place them - I've decided to reread some of my favourites (Harry Potter excluded).
I'll need a bit of filler though because there's some big old tomes here - that copy of, The Stand in the picture, is one thousand four hundred and twenty pages, so I won't be going for volume (I read forty-one books last year so I'll be lucky to make half that this) but needs must.
Clive Barker is an author from my childhood and his ability to create worlds that seem so fantastical but so real, is both startling and brilliant, so I intend to revisit his superb, Imajica - which, along with his Weaveworld and Two Books of the Art, The Great and Secret Show and Everville are amongst those that have influenced my own writing more than any.
Having supped on the delights of Frenchman's Creek and My Cousin Rachel in recent years it feels like an age since I read Rebecca and its sequel, Mrs de Winter (did you know it had a sequel?) as does my last visit to Hobbiton, to Frodo, Gandalf and Sam, in a book that needs no introduction, that I first read as a teenager and understood a lot more as an adult (but that was near on twenty years ago now) so again, the need to dip one's toes in the waters of the Brandywine river and share that epic adventure again has begun to outweigh the compulsion to read something new.
There's nothing wrong with something new of course. I have never completed Stieg Larssons's Millennium trilogy, so this will be part reread and part first read, as will reading Stephen King's Dark Tower for the first time, having reread the first six books over the last year or two, so I'm not completely mad, I have got some new (to me anyway) books lined up for the coming year.
There's the latest Rivers of London book, False Value to read, before the next one comes out, Malorie, the sequel to Bird Box - which you might know from the film of the same name - the final book in the unbelievably superb Cemetery of Forgotten Books series, The Labyrinth of the Spirits (which I'm probably looking forward to the most) and a whole host of others that I'm sure will steer me from my path, but you can rest assured I'll keep you all posted, whatever happens.
Happy reading folks and stay safe.

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