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. 

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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Coming Up For Air, book review. (George Orwell)

If you like books about absolutely nothing but are so beautifully written that you end up speeding through the narrative as if it's the most exciting literary experience you've ever encountered then read, Coming Up For Air by George Orwell.

Our main protagonist, George Bowling is forty-five years old, weighs too much, doesn't much like is wife, thinks his kids are a nuisance and wishes he were young, so he could spend his days fishing.

As a traveling salesman he's reasonably successful, pulling in five to seven pounds a week - it's 1939 by the way - but he has an undeniable passion for his past and what could have been.

A large chunk of this novel is about Bowling's past and is written in a way that, in spite the fact that I could never truly comprehend what living in England was like over a hundred years ago, felt familiar. The author's ability to wrap you up in George Bowling's childhood, his father's work in the shop selling seeds and animal feed, his mother keeping house and what school was like were all superb and made me wonder if there was an autobiographical element to this book.

When war comes, George Bowling signs up and goes to France but is injured so returns home to convalesce before being sent to a small village in Cornwall where he spends a somewhat idyllic few years looking after a supply depot that doesn't exist. After the war he chances across one of his superior officers from the army whilst in London and lands himself a job which sets him on the road to all that follows: a three-bedroom house in the suburbs, a mortgage, a wife, kids and the monotony that is everyday life.

That monotony however is broken when George Bowling wins a bet and, having a whole seventeen pounds of undisclosed cash to his name, decides to take a holiday - telling his wife he's going on a business trip - he head back to his childhood town.

But, the shop his father ran is now a tearoom, the secret pond so full of fish when he was a young boy is no more, and the fields in which he absently wandered all those years before have been built upon and, due to the flashback nature of this book, how much we've been told about George Bowling's childhood and the skill of the author, you can't help but feel a deep sadness, a longing for what came before, and it emanates from the page.

So, Coming Up For Air is a superbly written book about the absolutely ordinary but a book I can and will heartily recommend. Four Star.

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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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Mad Mike's Writing blog, book of the year 2022

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 whittling them down. I won’t bore you with a big long list of all my reads from 2022, for that you can look me up on Goodreads, so without further ado –

Kicking things off at number five is: A Slow Fire Burning

by PaulaHawkins (20/02/22 post). 'Who cares for labels when a book takes you through so much at such pace with characters you root for (and some you don’t), in such a great setting in the heart of London? I don’t and I suggest neither should you because whether it's Laura, Theo, Carla, little old Irene (remember Miss Marple, who fools everyone time and again into thinking she's a frail old lady sticking her nose in where it wasn’t wanted?), Angela, before she had her ‘fall’ or invisible Miriam on her nice tidy narrowboat, who is the murderer, you are going to love finding out.' I said back in February and it's stuck in my mind ever since.

In fourth place this year, The Kite Runner by Khaled Hosseini (24/04/2022 post). '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.' I said back in April.

 

In bronze position then, Animal Farm by George Orwell. 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, as any cat would, Boxer the Shire horse and Benjamin the donkey, working hard and doing virtually nothing in equal measure, the hens laying ever more eggs to just fatten up the pigs and Napoleon, their self-appointed leader, who surrounds himself with dogs and sows fear through misinformation - which is so close to reality around the world at the moment it’s scary - all feels so real. (21/01/23 post).

So, the runner up spot goes to, Spitfire: A Very British Love Story by John Nichol. 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 maintained them and it’s about tails of valour and heroism – not that those who risked their lives saw it that way - but above all else it's about those who lost their lives whilst defending freedom, and for that, this book is a truly excellent read and comes highly recommended. (18/02/23 post).

And the winner, my book of the year 2022 is: How (Not) To Be Strong by Alex Scott. (05/12/2022 post). 'Enjoying a book when the subject matter is so personal and to a large degree about abuse, is probably the wrong word to use but I did enjoy it. I enjoyed the discovery, both mine and the author's as I got the profound sense that she discovered something about herself whilst writing this memoir and has found her way out of her darkness and is moving towards the light - at least I hope she is. 
So, a very good read in my opinion, very much a, konnichiwa rather than a, konnichi-nah (you had us laughing out loud with that one Alex), and comes highly recommended,' is what I told you all earlier this month, and it came as a big surprise to me that a memoir would ever interest me, let alone move me in the way that this one has. NB: All proceeds from this book are being donated to the domestic abuse charity, Refuge. refuge.org.uk

To finish, I would just like to wish you all a very happy New Year and hope you all find happiness, in whatever form that might take, in 2023. 

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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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 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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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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