The Ocean at the End of the Lane, book review. (Neil Gaiman)

During a visit to the area where he grew up (for a family funeral), our narrator is drawn back to his old stomping ground where he re-experiences a childhood summer living up the lane from Hempstock Farm, Old Mrs Hempstock, her daughter and her granddaughter, Lettie.
The year he met Lettie, Ursula Monkton, and death for the first time, was full of the weird and wonderful, scary and sad, from the opal miner who had recently taken lodgings in his bedroom (meaning he had to share with his sister), killing himself in his parent's car, to a spirit giving out money (which seemed to be the only thing that made humans happy), to Old Mrs Hempstock and her daughter, cooking the most amazing pies, breads, soups and cakes which were so well described I could almost smell them on the page.
Lettie (who appears to be just a few years older than our narrator but has lived a thousand years many times over, has a pond in her garden that she calls an ocean [which, with the assistance of Old Mrs Hempstock, manages to transfer to a bucket later in the story], as well as curling cat tails protruding from the grass which, if you give them a firm enough tug, pull up kittens), takes our narrator with her when she goes to bind the money giving spirit and send it back to its own realm.
When our narrator gets scared and lets go of Lettie’s hand whilst she’s binding the spirit, a worm lodges itself into his foot and, although he manages to get most of it out (in a superbly written but rather gruesome episode in the bathroom), just enough remains, which forms a connection between realms which allows the spirit (Ursula Monkton) to stay, with dire consequences.
As Ursula gets bolder and more powerful, Old Mrs Hempstock has to summons the hunger birds. As the rain lashes and the winds howl, the hunger birds devour the spirit and you think everything is rebalanced but the birds need the tiny piece of worm (Ursula) that’s still inside our narrator, which has worked its way from his foot to his heart. In spite of Old Mrs Hempstock's attempts to banishes the hunger birds, she only succeeds after Lettie makes the ultimate sacrifice to save her friend and so, with deep sadness, she is laid to rest for a while in the ocean - which is back in its rightful place - with the promise that she may return one day.
The Ocean at the End of the Lane is a mix of fear, loss, loneliness and bitter memories of a time gone by, which Gaiman manages to weave into a tale that can be enjoyed by all. There's fantasy, magic, good and evil, all expertly mixed with a reality that bend the rules, and it’s a rollercoaster of love, wonder and amazement with a cold chill running down your neck, accompanied by the most beautifully threatening illustrations and, like the best books, takes you on a journey that is difficult to forget.
Four Stars for, The Ocean at the End of the Lane, then; the book that has hopefully, got me blogging again.

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Summer, book review. (Ail Smith)

So that's it. The seasons concluded, all read; so do I have a favourite? How does Summer stack up against the others?

Art and Charlotte (the real Charlotte), are back and doing their Art in Nature web posts, although they aren't a couple anymore, just friends. Art's mum has died since, Winter but they keep in touch with his aunt, Iris, the activist sister who marched on Greenham Common.

When Art's mother died she left a stone sculpture to Daniel Gluck who, it turns out, has the other half of the work, and so they journey to see him, inviting, Sasha, her brother, Robert and their mum, Grace Greenlaw to go with them - they only met Sasha at the beech that morning after her brother had played a cruel trick on her but now, having seen her home safely, via the A&E, they're all becoming friends.

Daniel now lives with his old neighbour and friend the art historian/lecturer, Elisabeth. He drifts in and out of reality, spending most of his time dreaming of the past and during those dreamy flashbacks the reader learns all about his life when he and his father were interned in a camp on the Isle of Man during WWII, due to his German heritage - even though he was born in England. We also learn of his sister, Hannah, who he used to write to, only to burn the letters because he didn't know if she was alive or dead - she was dead, killed by the Nazis in the war - but before she died she too would write letters she would never send. And so we learn about her life: how she fell in love, had a daughter, worked for the French resistance and died doing so.

Later, when Art & Charlotte meet Daniel & Elisabeth, Art & Elizabeth connect so, as the book draws to a close we discover Charlotte is living with Iris in the massive house, Chei Bres in Cornwall, whilst Art is living with Elizabeth the other side of the country.

The style of writing is carried across all four seasons as are the characters, Sasha even writes to a detainee in an asylum centre which brings Spring back to mind and it's a worthy conclusion to the tetralogy and merited the time I spent reading them and so, in answer to my initial question, no, I don't have a favourite as they all brought something unique to what is, essentially, a study of humanity (and a very interesting one at that), but the writing is quirky and if you do start with Autumn - the first one published and the weaker of the quartet in my opinion - keep going.

Four stars for this one then and do check out Autumn, (posted 08/11/23), Winter, (posted 06/10/22) and Spring, (posted 04/09/22) for my thoughts on all the Seasons by, Ali Smith.

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Mad Mike's Writing blog, book of the year 2023

Welcome friends, book bloggers and avid readers alike, to my annual book of the year post. As usual, this post is not necessarily about books written or published this year, it’s about books that I have read this year, and with dozens to choose from it hasn’t been easy. I won’t bore you with a big long list, for that you can look me up on Goodreads so, without further ado –

In at number five is: Things We Lost in the Fire by Mariana Enriquez.
This collection of short stories is exactly as advertised on the cover and, as with all collections of stories I guess - the ones I've read anyway - there are ones that stand out but none were lacklustre; none failed, in my opinion. All the stories here have a little something about them and Enriquez’s style is very much no holds barred, which unifies them, be they spooky, bloody, fierce, scary, sad or obscene, they're written with passion and well worth the time it takes to read them. If pushed, my favourites were: Adela’s House, Under the Black Water and, Things We Lost in the Fire.
Creepy, and excellent for it.

In fourth place this year: The Shining by Stephen King.

You know the writing's good when five hundred pages pass in the blink of an eye. With a dead women in a bath, a lift that works on its own, topiary that attacks and kills, a ballroom full of people when its actually empty, all mixed up with the claustrophobia of being holed up (albeit in a massive hotel), in such an isolated and snowbound location, with a man who is slowly losing his mind, a woman whose fear virtually drips from the page and a little boy who sees more with his mind than with his eyes, you end up with a truly fabulous book. If, like me, you choose to read this book during a dark dank November, then you might just be looking over your shoulder at the slightest thing. Shivers down the spine. One of his best (that I've read).

In bronze medal position, then: Operation Pedestal by Max Hastings
I know books like this aren't for everyone; they are horrific beyond measure, garner images of brutality few would actually enjoy reading about but, amidst all the carnage, books like this are full of hope, love and joy and above all, books like Operation Pedestal are so ruthlessly researched, so expertly written and so gripping that you feel like you can taste the salt of the sea air, feel the warmth of the Mediterranean sun and hear the drone of incoming dive-bombers as you learn about this most dramatic of historical events. I for one, am very glad that books like this exist and whole heartily recommend them to all but the youngest of readers.
Need I say it; Five Stars.
 

So, the runners up spot goes to: Good Omens (0r, The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter, Witch), which is the correct and full title of this hilarious novel, by Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman.
Never before (and never again I suspect), have I read a book like it. It is immaculately written, funny - very funny - serious and is full of characters you can either relate to or would want to be friends with. Maybe not the four horsemen of the Apocalypse though, don't befriend them! They ride motorbikes by the way and although DEATH, War & Famine have survived, Pestilence had to retire in 1936 due to advances in medicine but fear not, they're joined by, rather fittingly, Pollution. Also, the world’s ending. Next Saturday in fact, just around teatime!
I’ll definitely do a full blog post on this one as it’s one of the best books I've read in a long time and certainly the funniest, and so I see nothing else for it but to recommend it to the big wide world, kick myself for not reading it sooner and award Good Omens: The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter, Witch, five stars.
 

And the winner, my book of the year 2023 is: Imajica by Clive Barker.
The world building in this book is second to none and juxtaposes its extreme wonders with a London as mundane as it would be on a rain-soaked Tuesday commute in January, which grounds the reader whilst letting their imagination fly, which I found very clever.
Fantasy isn't a genre I necessarily gravitate towards but when a book is this well written I would argue that genre is irrelevant and so, on that basis, let us disregard that and focus on the facts. This book, in spite of its magic, its world building, its fantastical dominions and all those that live and die there, is about love. The deepest love a person can feel. The love that sometimes drives people to do silly, dangerous and illegal things but, above all, LOVE. (Okay, it's about sex too, quite a lot of sex in fact but we'll gloss over that for this mini review). And because we all love, be it a partner, a parent, friends, the cat, art, music or someone we shouldn't, this book will definitely have something within its pages for each and every one of you.

Imajica. Probably the best book you’ve never read and I can’t recommend it highly enough. Five Gold Stars.
                                       

To finish, I would just like to wish you all a very happy New Year and hope you find happiness in 2024, in whatever form that might take. 

A Cat's Christmas Eve! by yours truly - Merry Christmas.

There was a deep, deep silence all about the house,

Bar the crunching of the bones of a poor dead mouse.

The cat, she’d had fun, the chase had been long,

But the mouse was now eaten, even the tail was gone.

 

During her pursuit, baubles had been smashed,

The tree-topper dislodged, came down with a crash,

She’d torn all the crackers until they were shredded,

A large vase of flowers was now all deadheaded.

 

In spite of this destruction, she’d woken up no kids,

So settled down to sleep, was about to close her lids,

But then there was a noise, a grunt and a groan,

From the chimney it did come, this dulcet tone.

 

And just a minute later, two boots did appear,

Followed rather promptly by a sizable rear.

But with the room in ruins and full of detritus,

The cat thought, ‘HIDE! Better not let him find us’

 

But quick was dear old Santa, for he needed to be,

And seeing such destruction, and the fallen tree.

Cursed to himself and stared at the cat,

Before he drew a wand, from his big red hat.

 

He whispered very quietly and the tree was uprighted,

The baubles lights and crackers, were all reunited,

And happy with his work, he placed his gifts around,

The cat it seemed had scarpered, nowhere to be found.

 

So, Santa having finished fancied mince pies and cream,

But found the cat sat sitting and looking quite supreme.

She licked her lips all delicate, appearing very happy,

And said to Santa in ‘Meow’, that he had better hurry.

 

Santa saw the clock and gave the cat a wink,

Was up and out the chimney before she’d even blinked.

And with a Ho, Ho, Ho, he shouted his goodbye,

As the reindeers and his sleigh, zoomed off into the sky.

 

So, everything was silent, all about the house,

But . . . WAIT, WHAT . . .!

Was that the squeak of another mouse?

Slaughterhouse 5, book review. (Kurt Voonegut)

Hmm!
If you're looking for a war novel where a time traveling optometrist is abducted by aliens for their zoo, then I might have found just the book for you!
Set in the 1940s, 50s, 60s . . . you get the idea, the story of Billy Pilgrim going from 1940s war torn Europe - Dresden to be precise - where he is a complete idiot and totally out of his depth (he doesn't even have shoes or a gun), to being a successful optometrist and fairly wealthy - assisted by his father-in-law along the way - interspliced with a trip to Tralfamadore as a zoo specimen, could be considered interesting but in reality it's just plain weird.
Billy Pilgrim has had his share of good luck in life like, when he was in the thick of the allied firebombing of Dresden during World War II and survived (the estimates on how many died there varies but at least 25ooo perished, which puts some perspective on things), and he's had some bad luck, too; he actually knows exactly when and where he is going to die and can't do anything about it so, happily (maybe reluctantly would be a better word), he plods on.
I found very little 'anti-war' about this book (I say that because I've seen it referred to as an anti-war novel several times), but appreciate that when it was written it could well have come across that way.

This is a short book so there's not a lot of depth to any of it but with the author actually having been in the war, in Dresden, that part, along with when he visits an old war buddy, feels realistic but, when he's kidnapped and taken to Tralfamadore along with Montana Wildhack - so they can procreate in a Zoo there - I couldn't help but wonder if the author had run out of things to say, didn't want to go into the war in any more detail (for personal reasons maybe), or just couldn't be bothered, so made up the Tralfamadore bits.

If he'd left out the Sci-fi part and concentrated more on Billy Pilgrim's life, before, during and after the war, the novel would have been better in my opinion, even if his pre and post war life was mundane.

Parts of this book are narrated, too, which is confusing and might catch you out at first, and added to the fact that Billy Pilgrim's life isn't interesting, the alien abduction childish and weird, the timeline hopping around, which baffled me to the point where I had to go back and retrace my steps a few times, I started wondering whether to just give up and read something else.

Maybe it's because I go in cold on books, doing little to no research before I dive in, so don't know what to expect or maybe it's because this book is boring but, to summarise, if you like your books quirky and slightly baffling then this will certainly please but for me it just didn't work.

Two stars for, Slaughterhouse Five then and another American classic I'll have to add to my, 'Why don't I get on with American Literature,' pile! 😔

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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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To Have and Have Not, book review. (Ernest Hemingway)

What a strange book.

Harry Morgan is a fisherman who just got duped out of over eight hundred dollars by an American tourist (it's the 1930s by the way and the man who chartered Harry's boat, used his bate and lost his rods and reels for three weeks, has scarpered without paying), so he can no longer make a living out of fishing so, instead, he uses his boat illegally to transport both booze and people from Florida to Cuba, or Cuba to Florida.

After the tourist disappears, Harry's first 'job' is to take a dozen Chinamen from Cuba to America for the princely sum of twelve hundred dollars, but surmising a double cross, Harry makes sure he gets the drop on the ring leader and then dumps the twelve men on a local beach.

Then it's booze, which ends up with his boat being seized and him being shot at - which costs him his arm - and so, with no boat, only one arm and a family to feed, he steals a boat and ferries four Cubans from Florida back to Cuba so they can join the revolution.

There is some good writing here: the gunfight at the very beginning, his double-cross of the chief Chinaman, the night at the Veteran's bar and the ambushing of the Cubans before they get to close to home and shot him first, are all standout moments but the rest of the book just jumps around, with some of it being completely pointless.

There's seemingly random chapters about characters that have little or nothing to do with the overall story randomly interjected through the narrative, which is really weird - I can only guess that the author needed a few more 'haves' to balance against Harry and the rest of the 'have nots'.

One example is when Harry walks into Freddy's bar and calls one of the customers a whore, for the book to then shot of on a tangent and follow the loves, lives and affairs of these strangers until Harry comes back a few chapters later and the main story thread continues.

This happens again at the very end of the book when we're randomly taken from cabin to cabin of all the luxury yachts in the marina - in great detail I might add - from a man in his sixties worrying about his outstanding tax bill in America, through a family who are good and wholesome and treat everyone well and so sleep soundly, to a woman who is contemplating whether to take a sleeping draft of not, and again, I thought this was really strange. (Ironically this was one of the better written parts of the book, even though it had nothing to do with the story arc.)

So, To Have and Have Not, is good in parts but those parts are few and far between, so I can't really recommend it. Two stars.

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The Diary of a Young Girl, book review. (Anne Frank)

Okay, this might get a bit controversial but here goes.

Have you ever read a book where the subject matter is so boring but for some reason, be it the overarching premise, a genre you like, a character you gel with - maybe it's a favourite author so you feel obliged to read it - or a myriad other reasons, you still continue? Well, this book is like that, just not for any of the above things I've mentioned.

Let me explain.

Reading three hundred plus pages of anyone's diary when you don't know them, have little to nothing in common with them, grew-up fifty years apart in different countries, would be boring in itself but add to that that the author of the diary was a young girl, that the diary spans over two years of confinement in just one house/apartment, and that she lived with only her parents, her sister and four others, and you might be forgiven for thinking she'd have nothing to say, and to some extent she didn't.

There are many days where Anne Frank documents the mundane: what she ate for lunch and dinner, how she argued with her mother, got frustrated with the selfishness of others, particularly over food, cooking and chores but over time she writes about her love for her father, her total indifferent to her mother and sister, her feelings for the boy they are living with, her periods and how proud she feels at becoming a young woman - she even questions her sexuality at one point - but in most part the book is repetitious in nature. Under the circumstances I wonder what anyone else would have had to say, day in day out, if nothing ever changed, and so the monotony is to be expected.

This diary however is more than that. If you read between the lines, pick up on the subtext it underlines the author's loneliness, her frustrations, her inability to vocalise her feelings - she is the youngest and therefore often chastised for being silly, selfish, ignorant and too young to be told or to know things - so she painstakingly wrote everything down and it is this that takes the diary out of the boring category and adds an element of intrigue.

She writes about her longings for the future, how they spent hours on edge each day making no sound: unable to use the loo, have windows open, even walk around whilst the workers were in the shop below. She writes about her fears when the allied planes fly over, when the anti-aircraft guns fire, when she hears both good and bad news over the radio and dares to dream of an end. How she had the energy, the will power to continue writing through those dark days and nights, is testament to what a strong willed and determined young women she was.

Knowing how this book ends before you've even picked it up, adds a deep sadness to all those hopes when you read them, for as a reader you already know that they have been dashed and that she, Anne Frank and her family - with the exception of her father - will all die before the war's end.

This book is full of emotion: fear, happiness, loneliness, love, and the emotions you as a reader bring to it, but most of all it is filled with hope but, due to the nature of the author's death and that of her family, it left me with a profound feeling of sadness when turning the final page and reading Anne Frank's last diary entry.

I shan't put a star rating on this book and never will, but I have added it to my Goodreads bookshelves as a 'Must Read', which should tell you all you need to know.

Happy Easter to all those who celebrate.

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Gerald's Game, book review. (Stephen King)

Much like Dolores Claiborne - whose twin this novel is - Gerald's Game has a small cast, and on picking up this book I had to wonder, yet again, how the author was going to keep me entertained over three hundred plus pages with just two characters. Well, he did of course and there are more than two characters, one of them is even a feral dog, and along with Jessie's dead husband and her childhood self, there is more than enough narrative to speed you through yet another Stephen King novel.

The basis of this book is no big secret - the cover gives that away - so to say that one of the main characters is a dead man and therefore isn't actually there, other than in his wife's head, could make things confusing but when you add all the other things in Jessie's head like: her childhood self, memories of her father from when she was a girl, a strange man who she sees in the shadows at sunset (who might actually be there), memories of her mother when growing up, a school friend and her sister, you end up with what feels like one character living multiple personalities, which is kind of weird but also compelling.

So Gerald's game is a sexual one, which Jessie reluctantly agreed to months before, but is no longer keen on. Gerald needs the game - handcuffing his wife to the bed - to get aroused, his wife no longer being enough, and it is here, very early on in the book that you realise this is going to be a battle of wills - Jessie's will against Jessie's will in fact - because within a few pages her husband, who isn't taking no for an answer, is dead.

That battle of wills is very much in her head, from summoning the will to get a drink - bizarrely one of the best parts of the book - through coming to terms with the abuse she received on the day of the eclipse as a child; to seeing her dead husband being eaten by the feral dog and having to flay her own hand. The gory horror is infrequent but the emotional horror is constant and certainly speeds you through what is a really rather superb book.

It never gets boring, bogged down, there is always something new to explore, with the author revealing just enough to keep you guessing. Whether it's the question of the dog eating her husband, which I thought was a given, to whether she ever escapes, which I had my doubts about, to whether the psychological damage she experiences will be her downfall. And the way this book is written really does get your heart racing and has you asking questions like: Is her husband really dead? Does she really have to go back to the day of the eclipse and remember what happened? Did her dad really do that to her? Turn her into the woman she is, the woman who lets men do as they please? Is the strange looking man in the shadows with his portmantua full of bones real or also in her head? Will the nightmare ever end? Will Jessie survive? Mentally and or physically?

Well, to answer those questions you'll have to grab yourself a copy and read it and I recommend that you do too because the writing here is right up there with some of the authors best work and, to add to that, all might not be quite what it seems!

Four stars.

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Spitfire: A Very British Love Story, book review. (John Nichol)

Reading non-fiction tends to fall into two categories for me, historic and military and well, this book happened to fall into both, so I had high hopes.

Knowing a fare bit about the Supermarine Spitfire from past exploits into factual books and visits to museums around the country, I was hoping that this would be more than a history lesson and I wasn’t disappointed.

This book is very much about the war in which the Spitfire is so famously known and the constant improvements the aircraft gained through its many different variants, but it’s also about the people who lived, worked, flew and died in and around the influential sphere that this most famous of aircraft created, many of whom the author interviewed for the book and whose tails of valour and heroism – although they never saw it that way - brings tears to the eyes.

Being written chronologically the reading is quickly immersed in the fiercely fought Battle of Britain before the narrative takes you to the heat of Malta and Africa and on through Italy, Europe and Asia all whilst new marks of Spitfire are developed and delivered to those theatres of war, and it is with great interest that we find out from those who flew and fought in them, how those improvements changed, not only the outcome of battle but buoyed the pilot’s confidence in the air.

One particular stand out incident is recalled by Alan Peart, an Australian pilot flying a Mk VIII over Burma and is told in such a way that you really are there, in the cockpit, twisting, turning, sweating, fearing that this is your last, and having seen his wingman and commanding officer downed and surrounded by no less than twenty Japanese pilots baying for his blood, the action is relentless. In contrast and with no enemy but mother nature, what at first appeared to be a simple ferry flight for Mary Ellis, quickly turned into a life threatening situation when the weather closed in - female pilots were never taught to fly on instruments so were only ever supposed to fly in good visibility -  but with luck and skill she managed a safe landing and was back in the air almost immediately, Along with so many others, Alan Peart and Mary Ellis are the backbone of this book and are why this aeroplane, the Supermarine Spitfire, has become so synonymous with allied victory in World War II.

This book is about so much more than just an aeroplane - albeit one of the most recognisable and well-regarded aeroplanes ever to have been built - it is about people. These who flew them, serviced them, designed and maintain them to this day but above all, it is about those who lost their lives whilst defending freedom, and for that, this book is a truly excellent read and comes highly recommended.

Four and a Half Stars.

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Animal Farm, book review. (George Orwell)

It’s been a while since I read this book but I needed something short and punchy to get me back reading again and so it was an obvious choice really.

Many of you will know the story of the uprising at Manor Farm and how the animals’ revolt usurps the farm’s owner, Mr Jones and that there is much rejoicing by those who have taken control but what I had forgotten was just how accurate the author’s prediction of the future was, that all those years ago – written in the mid-1940s remember – he could have guessed that the situation the world finds itself in now is so accurately depicted in this book.

I am of course referring to those regimes that suppress the masses with fear and punish those who choose to oppose with draconian measures but let us not forget ourselves, and this goes for wherever you live, for we are all to some extent, taught to fear – why else would the wealthy and selfish have cleared the supermarkets out at the beginning of the pandemic, if not for fear, queued at petrol stations for hours when they already had half a tank of petrol, gone diligently to their Covid vaccinations (I include myself in that one by the way, for the record), if not for fear - and it is fear and the subsequent suppression of the rights and freedoms of the animals that is the crux of this novel.

It starts in jubilation, the animals having liberated Manor Farm and for a while, a short while, there is harmony but not for long. Before long there are rules, rules that the animals all agree on but then, the pigs begin to take charge, which again is fine because most of the animals can’t read or write, can’t come up with fancy ideas about how to feed themselves through the winter, and so the pigs set the narrative.

The writing here is simple but effective, not a word is wasted or unnecessary and so it is a short book, more novella than novel, so you’ll speed through it, but the power each of those words holds, the images they depict, the subtleties they portray, are superb. You envisage the farm with ease, the windmill as it is built and then destroyed, the animals and their traits: the cat sloping off when work is mentioned, as any cat would, Boxer the Shire horse and Benjamin the donkey, who, due to his vast age has seen it all before, work hard and do virtually nothing in equal measure; the hens, who lay ever more eggs for them only to be sold for money - something all the animals at the beginning had agreed they would never deal with as it is a human vice and creates greed, and Napoleon, their self-appointed leader, surrounding himself with dogs and sowing fear through misinformation; everything that goes wrong apparently is down to the disgruntled and then banished pig, Snowball.

Napoleon and his clan continue to do less but take more, much, much more, and they gradually implement tighter controls on the others for ever greater reward, until Benjamin's doctrine of having seen it all before becomes reality again as Animal Farm becomes Manor Farm once more.

George Orwell was a genius (or he had a time machine) because, after everything I have discussed above and the war in Europe still raging, Animal Farm is as relevant today as the day it was first published, which is kind of scary.

Four and a half 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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Ei8ght Cranleigh Gardens, by Michael J Richardson (Aka, me). Self promotion Sunday.

More self-promotion for today’s post then and with Hallowe’en last week I thought, what better than a haunted house to chill one’s bones.
Don't worry, I'll still be posting reviews on the many books that I read and I'll do my best to keep them as eclectic as possible so you don't get bored, but in the meantime, I thought it only right to share some of my writing with you - this is Mad Mike's Writing Blog after all!
Most of my writing has a similar theme - be they short stories, poems or novels - and that theme being: reality interspliced with a little something out of the ordinary. This could be a haunting (as is the case here), a vampire, magic or werewolves, but I like the unreality just touched upon, hinted at, rather than dominating the narrative so, over the next few months you'll see a few more posts like this; posts about what I write and what might be coming.
I hope you enjoy these and I look forward to any feedback too, so without further ado, Ei8ht Cranleigh Gardens, the subject of this post, which is one of my longest short stories (oxymoron alert) and has been inspired by all the times I've ‘felt’ something, in the many empty houses I’ve visited over the last thirty years.
Amidst the death and infidelity here, you’ll find passion and infatuation, so have fun and next time I'll introduce you to a vampire, or some good old-fashioned magic.
Ei8ht Cranleigh Gardens can be downloaded for free from:

https://www.amazon.in/Ei8ht-Cranleigh-Gardens-infatuation-haunting-ebook/dp/B00FL56IYG

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Fahrenheit 451, book review. (Ray Bradbury)

A book that many of you are no doubt familiar with, even if you've never read it, but a book worthy of further investigation I feel.
It would be easy to label this as a dystopian novel or Sci-fi but I felt it was more than that. I felt it was more like an awakening, a dawning of a new era kind of novel, as Montag (our main protagonist), who, as a fireman, burns books as opposed to a fireman extinguishing fires, becomes self-aware when a lady whose house they are about to destroy, decides to die in the fire rather than live without her books - books are outlawed by the way.
This awakening has consequences for all (not least Montag, who, we find, has been stealing books from time to time and hiding them in his house), but for his wife, his Captain and more besides and then there's Clarisse. Beautiful, young - Montag might say naive - Clarisse, who sees the world differently. Who enjoys walking and talking, looking at nature as opposed to the majority of people who sit in their homes watching giant televisions on multiple walls totally oblivious to the real world - Montag's wife, Mildred, being one such person.
The writing is quite basic here but speeds you through - it isn't a long book either - which makes sense when you find out that the author wrote it in less than two weeks by pulling together several of his short story ideas and linking them into this single narrative.
I thought Montag was a bit wooden and I was frustrated by Clarisse being such a bit

player, although her influence on Montag and the story as a whole far outweighed her brief appearance, which was poignant. I liked Beatty, Montag's boss and how he seemed to know so much (too much really), for one who professed to uphold the law, and after his demise I wondered if one might find a secret stash of books at his house if one searched!
Mildred, who was always zoned out on what was happening on her televisions, was a bit of a bore, but the last part of this book, after she'd called the firemen to burn Montag's books and Montag goes on the run, having attacked his colleagues, was really rather good, genuinely exciting in fact.

With the fire department's mechanical hound, several helicopters filming and the masses glued to their televisions, all in on the chase, it was hit or miss as to whether Montag would escape, and that last part of the book was gone in a flash.
So, a dystopian novel it may be but one with more to it I think. In fact, the thing I took away from this book were the feelings, the emotions it portrayed: the sadness of Clarisse, the cunning of Beatty, Montag's fear of being exposed, killed, and these feeling overshadowed the characters to which they belonged, diminishing them all to bit players. And the strongest emotion . . .?
Hope.
Three and a half stars.

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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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Lycanthrope, by Michael J Richardson (Aka, me). Self promotion Sunday.

Two long have I written this blog with no self-promotion so, as of today, that's stopping.
Don't worry, I'll still be posting reviews on the many books that I read and I'll do my best to keep them as eclectic as possible so you don't get bored but in the meantime I thought it only right to share some of my writing with you - this is Mad Mike's Writing Blog after all!
Most of my writing has a similar theme - be it the short stories, poems or novels - that theme being, reality interspliced with a little something out of the ordinary. This could be a haunting, a vampire, magic or, as is the case here, a Werewolf, but I like the unreality just touched upon, hinted at, rather than it dominate the narrative so, over the next few months you'll see a few more posts like this; posts about what I write and what might be coming.
I hope you enjoy these and I look forward to any feedback too, so without further ado, Lycanthrope, the subject of this post, which I thought a perfect place to start as it is one of my oldest short stories, one I wrote when I was nineteen - now why would that be of any significance, constant readers? - and I've learnt a lot since then.
Probably one of my less subtle efforts, admittedly but I still feel it has something all these years later as, amidst all the death and violence the main theme here is that of love. So have fun discovering it for yourselves and next time I'll introduce you to a ghost, a vampire, or some good old-fashioned magic.
In addition, as a little bonus, you can also read about an unfortunate runner who trips and has a fall, in the flash fiction, Root.
Lycanthrope can be downloaded for free from:

https://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/product/B00E4X8YY8/ref=dbs_a_def_rwt_bibl_vppi_i3

Don't forget to search my blog for your favourite authors and books and if I haven't read them, message me with your recommendations.

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.

Don't forget to search my blog for your favourite authors and books and if I haven't read them, message me with your recommendations.