This would have been a 4 star read if it hadn't been for the stupid chopped-off ending. Bricks under hats seems to be Edmondson's thing, given her choThis would have been a 4 star read if it hadn't been for the stupid chopped-off ending. Bricks under hats seems to be Edmondson's thing, given her choppy writing. Granted, this was an "accursed book" (serial interruptions) at the worst possible time: the beginning, when the author presents far too many characters far too close together with little description of who they are and what they do, like the reader "just knows." It took me a couple of chapters to realise that Lionel was a photographer because Edmondson assumes that "studio" will automatically indicate "photographer" instead of say artist or sculptor or even small apartment. Set in 1953 but feels more 1930s. Of course the murder took place in the late 40s, which might (might) account for it. Edmondson couldn't seem to decide whether this was a cosy mystery, international espionage or a psychothriller. Pick a genre and stay with it! I stayed up late to finish it just to avoid more interruptions, and then about midnight I got slapped in the face with that ridiculous ending....more
Funny how for the "woman of pleasure" there's darn little in the way of pleasure, in any country or culture throughout history. They were considered lFunny how for the "woman of pleasure" there's darn little in the way of pleasure, in any country or culture throughout history. They were considered less than human and classed as "livestock" in Meiji era Japan. Why not? They were bought and sold like cattle, and served as collateral for loans. The main character, Ichi, could have made a good living as a diver along with her mother and sister, but her father decided that cash in hand now was better than waiting for her to learn her craft as an ama. She had no idea what she was getting into, but after all she was only an illiterate, adolescent island girl; no one cared how she felt about it. She is aware that she must obey her parents, and if that means never seeing them again and being trafficked as as sex slave, well...what can she do about it. If she runs away from the brothel and goes back home, her father will just sell her again to a different brothel. At first the author gives the impression that Ichi is destined to be an oiran, but that thread is summarily cut early on.
The novel doesn't focus on any steamy sex scenes (thank goodness) nor does it really emphasise the beatings and other punishments recalcitrant new girls suffer. Sex is mentioned, of course, but almost in passing. It's more about the limited daily life of the women who by day do the cleaning in the house first and then go off to literacy and numeracy classes (and only because that's the law) if there's time left before they have to bathe, rush home and prepare for the night's work. Their world is limited to the house, the baths down the street, and the schoolroom. They pay for the food they eat, their clothing and even the coal and tobacco they use out of what's left of their wages after the "master" takes his huge cut. And of course he charges them the same inflated prices miners paid in the "company towns" of the US, and sees nothing wrong with that. I guess you could say they were getting screwed on and off the clock.
What I found odd was the recap of the entire story at the end of the book, as if the reader hadn't just taken in all that. What was the point of it, I wonder. I was glad to read this, as during lockdown I had tried to watch several Youtube videos (by Western people, mostly men) giving their idea of the differences between geisha, oiran, and prostitutes. I am grateful to have access to translations of real Japanese authors instead of just Westerners who have lived in Japan for a few months or years and set themselves up as ten minute experts....more
Classic Streatfeild wish fulfilment fiction for girls. In this book the kids don't call their parents by their first names thank goodness, but as alwaClassic Streatfeild wish fulfilment fiction for girls. In this book the kids don't call their parents by their first names thank goodness, but as always it's a financially strapped family for whom it all comes out right in the end. There's the obnoxious boy who wants to be a film star based solely on his good looks and high opinion of himself, but he never goes to the theatre or shows any desire to learn the craft. (Fortunately he is a background scribble.) There's the practical sibling who in this case wants to be a farmer, a sister who's another background scribble (can't remember a thing about her, not even her name), and Polly--the sister who doesn't really have any hobbies or special interests until, of course, she discovers dancing. I did notice that except for one boy who's friends with the obnoxious brother, the four kids don't seem to have any outside friends to speak of. It's all very coincidental and serendipitous, from Polly discovering dancing to Dad finding a good job, but I lay in bed and devoured it in an hour with great pleasure on a lazy day after a tiring month. The "crisis" of the novel isn't very big, and for that reason I found the ending rather abrupt, but I enjoyed it mightily. ...more
There are people in this world who always go to the same place every summer. They want the same hotel, and if possible the same room. They want to do There are people in this world who always go to the same place every summer. They want the same hotel, and if possible the same room. They want to do the same things, eat the same food, and if possible see the same people. They book their hotel room for next year shortly after this year's vacation. My husband worked in a travel agency all his adult life, and we knew a lot of people whose vacation would have been absolutely ruined if anything changed. Where we live, July and August are the great months for vacations, though it's not like in the 80s and early 90s when whole neighbourhoods were practically deserted during the heat. We ourselves got our vacation time in September, and it really was fun to be going off on our break just as everyone else was going back into harness. Everything was open, nothing was "closed for vacation" and you could do just as you liked, travel or stay home or a little of both.
This book is about a family of five who take their two week vacation at the beginning of September. Each grown family member has a chapter to themselves, though the 10 year old boy is a mere background scribble with his kite and his "yacht" (toy boat) and his demands for second helpings. Things aren't perfect this year, but they all make a determined effort to have a good time and not spoil things for the others, and end up really enjoying the rest and change.
I see a few reviews yowling about "Oh there's no plot! This is boring! What silly people!" And yet I've known people just like the Stevenses all my life. Of course there's no plot--it's a gentle slice of life told by a veteran of WW1 who probably longed for just that kind of "boredom" throughout the war. But hey, no one's forcing you to read it, go find something more to your taste. I found it well written and was happy to immerse myself in this "story story" with a sigh of content. ...more
Just what I needed: what as a child I called "a story story," meaning no big life-lessons, no terrible crises, no downers, just a nice, readable storyJust what I needed: what as a child I called "a story story," meaning no big life-lessons, no terrible crises, no downers, just a nice, readable story about a kid doing something pleasant. I cross-referenced this from Rumer Godden's Thursday's Children written 40 years after this, but ending with a very odd little note apologising for "an episode or a saying used almost identically" to one in this book (though she doesn't specify which). Having just read both of them back-to-back I can't say I could put my finger on the episode or the saying, but apparently Godden felt guilty about something. Twenty years later she could have called her book a "reworking" or a "reboot" and thought no more about it. The only similarity I can see is Karen finding her talent through many very fortuitous coincidences, the kind that have never come my way.
How it is that Karen has such a good ear when the rest of her family totally ignore music (her mom doesn't even want a radio in the house, saying there's noise enough!) is never explained. Nor is the total absence of a father explained, not even that he died a long time ago or whatever. However the book was published during WW2--there's even a note in the front saying it was printed with due regard to the legislation on paper rationing--so I suppose the public at the time just assumed he was either fighting or a casualty of the war.
Thanks to the Internet Archive for teaching me that reading for hours on the bright screen of my tablet will give me a raging headache! I don't care--I enjoyed it anyway. ...more
Those aren't five literary fiction stars, just five good-fun stars. This was one of the first Harlequin Romance novels I ever bought. In those days thThose aren't five literary fiction stars, just five good-fun stars. This was one of the first Harlequin Romance novels I ever bought. In those days they had a monthly book club; members received six brand-new books every month, and at first a magazine that quickly died after I joined. I soon learned the parameters of Essie Summers' novels (and she was a real person, not a pseudonym ghosted by various people): The heroine is red-haired and usually a Presbyterian minister's daughter OR the daughter of some wealthy woman (not often). She is either a shop assistant, an antique seller, secretary, or a nurse/teacher. She goes to the outback in search of peace and quiet, or a job that can lead to her being loved for herself, not her money. At some point there is a snowstorm or a flood (sometimes both, as in this book), cutting the mountain sheep station off from civilization for weeks, during which she proves her worth, earns her salt, and sometimes patches up an old lovers' quarrel. Often, though not always, she does some deed of derring-do to save something or someone she values. And it made me want to emigrate to New Zealand, which never happened. Probably just as well, as this romanticised version of the Land of the Long White Cloud probably never existed anywhere.
This particular novel was read aloud on a long car drive. Mother, sister and self were trapped in the car with one of those drama queens that wants to tell you allll their troubles, real or imagined, with herself starring as the misunderstood, injured, put-upon martyr--and everyone who knows her can see her for the selfish little fool she is. I stuck my nose firmly in this book and was soon giggling in all the wrong places. Mom asked me what was so funny so I read a passage. She insisted on my starting over and reading it aloud, which shut the drama queen up nicely and occupied a big chunk of the car trip. After that I read it several times (I was 14 in 1976 when it came out), and just rediscovered my old copy when clearing out a bookshelf. Sure, I skimmed over the rapturous descriptions of nature, but I giggled again over the silliness. The dialogue sounded even more stilted today than it did to my 14 year old ears back then (lines like,"Cling to those fuschias" instead of "Grab on to that bush!"), but hey. It saved me from the slippery slope into a reading slump. And I don't even have a fuschia bush to cling to....more
This is not a book to read when you're feeling hungry, or dissatisfied with your last meal! It is most definitely a book for foodies, a song of praiseThis is not a book to read when you're feeling hungry, or dissatisfied with your last meal! It is most definitely a book for foodies, a song of praise for good, simple Japanese home cooking. The only "mysteries" involved are the half-remembered dishes themselves and the effect they have on the people who loved and missed them. Simple vignettes, simple yearnings create a special magic in Jesse Kirkwood's translation. I suppose many readers would find the setting too basic, the stories too repetitive...but for foodies like me it was the ultimate comfort meal. ...more
After a summer of lacklustre reads, this was a welcome and unexpected change. I realised I've seen a couple of films of this book but never actually After a summer of lacklustre reads, this was a welcome and unexpected change. I realised I've seen a couple of films of this book but never actually read it, so it was fun to sit down and read a "missed Christie." I notice it's the Ariadne Oliver books that tend to have more woo-woo elements. Ariadne Oliver is actually a background character whose constant self-absorbed wittering about other matters gives Our Hero some valuable clues. I haven't been grabbed by a book in this way for quite some time! It's very atmospheric, to the place that I knew if I read it at night lying in bed I'd end up staying awake till I finished it. The plot twist was an excellent touch, and there's no "library scene." I did find the denouement less than believable, but it was well handled. ...more
Thanks to the Internet Archive for this gem from a time long gone. Was life ever that simple? I doubt it. But that's why people write books and make mThanks to the Internet Archive for this gem from a time long gone. Was life ever that simple? I doubt it. But that's why people write books and make movies, so they can make it come out the way the want it to. A nice gentle eveningtime read about a couple who just can't say no to caring for everyone within reach, whether it's a relation with no place to stay or next door's spoiled little boy. Their lives and hearts just keep expanding to let everyone in. I like how the kids are expected to do for themselves when possible, with a little boost over the hard parts from Mom or Dad. Nice to have a positive family story with no crises or trauma involved. I tore through it in an hour. ...more
An interesting look back at a one-room school in the Australian backblocks in 1960-62. Published when the author was 80 years old, which may explain tAn interesting look back at a one-room school in the Australian backblocks in 1960-62. Published when the author was 80 years old, which may explain the rose-tinted idealised memories of his students, who (according to O'Brien) never quarrelled among themselves or took sides against one another. To hear him tell it, they were invariably friendly, polite and kind to each other and respectful to adults. Well, maybe. But for a group of 18 kids from age 5 to 15, it must have been a first. Apparently they never had one of those bad days where everything goes pear-shaped and everyone's got the grumps--or maybe the difficult class days simply slipped the old fella's mind. He was also rather impressed with his own accomplishments, as any starry eyed 20 year old would be, though one would expect that by age 80 he might have acquired a bit more perspective.
O'Brien often mentions being a Catholic but in two years he only attended mass once, in spite of his oft-declared desire for a wider social circle. The parish may have been tiny, but it would have been a place to start. However he preferred joining a rugby team, which of course had most of its matches on Sunday.
O'Brien's Australia is a far cry from the romance novels my sister used to read when I was a kid. Instead of wealthy graziers and lavish entertaining in beautiful homes, this is hardscrabble reality without electricity or running water. Not that O'Brien saw much of the difficulties, though his first lodgings were with a family who existed primarily on squash and rabbit (and it took him quite some time to realise that was all the family had). Soon he is whisked away to much better lodgings, rescued by one of his rugby-club mates. It was a good read, though he lost me a couple of times when he got into rugby-club politics and memories of his pre-teaching days military service, using them as a springboard to air his own political and philosophical views. He claims to be unaware of class and yet it's all over his writing. I had to do a bit of judicious skimming to get back to the main thread. ...more
Oh, how I enjoyed this book! All my life, the title of this book has been true. Libraries have always been my refuge. I miss the public library in my hOh, how I enjoyed this book! All my life, the title of this book has been true. Libraries have always been my refuge. I miss the public library in my home town. I was a lucky child because my elementary school was the only one in that small rural town with its own library, and it was well-stocked. Sadly, the city where I have spent most of my life doesn't seem to take libraries seriously. There are several "district libraries" but they seem to have been filled by people who don't read much. Therefore my libraries now are mostly online. Aoyama's book is brim full of love for books, for reading--and for people. I enjoyed it much more than I expected to at first. This is not a collection of "short stories" but of intertwined lives, with the ward library as centre point. It's really a smallish place, but apparently stocked with well-chosen books on many subjects. I love the fact that the books the librarian recommends all actually exist! The characters in the book are all "outsiders" in one way or another, people on the edge of their own lives; through encounters with books and new ideas they transform their own lives and connect with those around them. I know I'll want to read it again and again, and that is the highest compliment I can bestow. ...more
I learned a huge amount from this highly enjoyable book. I've always been fascinated by "consumption narratives", from Therese de Lisieux to Camille aI learned a huge amount from this highly enjoyable book. I've always been fascinated by "consumption narratives", from Therese de Lisieux to Camille and all between. Unlike Betty MacDonald's The Plague and I, this is not a prose memoir whose basic intent is to amuse. It's a collection of real-life correspondence (mostly small post cards) from Marylin Barnes who spent three years in a TB sanatorium, most of that time flat on her back in bed, to her parents and brother. She doesn't criticise everyone and everything about the state sanatorium that treated, housed and healed her; she tries to keep her chin up and a smile on her face (or at least on her postcards) in order not to worry the folks back home, but reading between the lines she was indeed deathly ill when she arrived at Ag-wah-ching at the age of 15. I didn't even know Ag-wah-ching existed, hyphens and all, let alone that there were TB sanatoriums that close to home. She speaks of entire days and nights of being "so sleepy", "slept all day" etc for weeks on end. The bacillus was exhausting her system. She loses the occasional friend, remarking simply on when they died, and how much their family will miss them. I also learned the origin and purpose of Christmas Seals and Easter Seals. We had them when I was a child in the 60s but either they stopped selling them or my family stopped buying them. It was ironic that when she finally got better, the doctor suggested she was best fitted for "beauty school or secretarial work." Ah yes, because in those days "nice" girls either got married or became "beauty operators", teachers, secretaries or nurses. She was afraid she'd be dreadfully behind when she returned to highschool, and though she was "left back" a year ended up passing top of the class. Fortunately after she was back home she was offered the opportunity attend college, and she did become a teacher in the end, like the nice girl she was. Marylin dreamed of being transferred to the sleeping porches of Building B where all the young crowd was, but the fact that it never happened didn't stop her from being as kind and warm as possible to her roommates in C, often married women with children much older than she. The notes included between postcards offer much-needed background information in just the right amounts, neither skimpy nor dry infodumping. The editor had the great fortune to meet Marylin in her old age; she had led a healthy, active life for decades after "the cure" and I'm sure her positive mental attitude had a great deal to do with that, as well as her strong religious faith. She doesn't put it to the fore, but it's there, a firm foundation. I had never realised that "pneumothorax" actually means that the lung, once collapsed, remains useless for the rest of the patient's life; they have to get along with one after that. One of the most poignant scenes in the book for me is when she tells her mother to have her beloved flute sterilised and to sell it, to help pay for her treatment. With only one lung she realises that her days of playing the flute are over for good. As kids we used to sing a rather grotesque version of "My Bonny" that referred to the fact that "my bonny has only one lung." Now I understand why my mother went into orbit every time she heard it. I remember getting the Mantoux test in kindergarten (though they just called it a TB test). I didn't know what "TB" meant then; I was a small child who was taken places and told to do things and I did them. I now understand it meant their had been an outbreak of TB in my nice little Midwestern town in 1966....more
Insomnia is not the scourge of my life as it used to be, thank God, but once in a while I do have a white night. I picked this up at 3 AM one morning Insomnia is not the scourge of my life as it used to be, thank God, but once in a while I do have a white night. I picked this up at 3 AM one morning and had read a bit when I realised I had read it before, seen the ITV film and knew whodunit, but I carried on anyway. What struck me at this reading was how well plotted and written it is, unlike some of Christie's rabbits-out-of-hats, ace-up-the-sleeve novels. Christie gets around her need to write 1930s house parties by contrasting how the older characters (servants and the older generation of heirs) see life vs the younger set's reactions to events and life in general. The big house is a passé and mouldering white elephant that none of them really wants since servants are impossible to get or pay now, but they all still gather there for days or weeks at a time. Poirot/Christie gives himself away by telling Mr Enderby that he will gather the heirs in the library "and make my little speech" and watch what happens. Even she was aware that she had created a trope. Poirot is much more normal and approachable now, less of a music hall caricature, though he is annoyed that the young adults have no idea who he is. Enderby and Abernathy (here spelled "Abernethie") are recurring names in Christie's fiction. Curiously enough Enderby is usually a vicar, solicitor or doctor--not quite PLU but certainly one of the pillars of society....more
After a summer of lacklustre reads this was like a long drink of cold spring water. I was torn; I wanted to devour it whole, and yet I wanted it to laAfter a summer of lacklustre reads this was like a long drink of cold spring water. I was torn; I wanted to devour it whole, and yet I wanted it to last. I do love oral histories, the memories of people who, as Izaak Walton says somewhere: "The reader would think that such things could not be, but I was there, and I saw it." I love "I was there." The Delany sisters were there. While it is true they were very much of the black elite of their time (their father was a bishop, their brother a judge, one of the sisters herself a dentist, and members of the Harlem Renaissance were first-name, come-to-Sunday-dinner friends) they show how it was education, drive and good strong family that helped them through. The Delany sisters were college educated at a time and in a place where even the run of white people finished high school (if that), but they were not helped by scholarships or parental contributions. They were expected to work their way through, and they did. Of course in the 1920s American university tuition had not reached the ridiculously high cost of a century later, but the quality of teaching was probably better within the parameters of the time. It is also true that they gloss over much of their experiences with racism; on the other hand, that's not the focus of the book. They were too busy getting ahead to let things stand in their way. ...more
I found this book after 45 years and tore through it on a blessedly rainy day and really enjoyed revisiting it. When it came out I was in high school I found this book after 45 years and tore through it on a blessedly rainy day and really enjoyed revisiting it. When it came out I was in high school and had no idea that "Madeleine Brent" was actually Peter O'Donnell, whom I would later know as the author of the Modesty Blaise comics and novels. In fact, gentle reader, when I first read the MB novels I was convinced that O'Donnell must actually be a woman, given the detailed descriptions of clothing, meals, furnishings, houses etc. which are standard in romance novels. I think I read this book back then because my closest friend in high school fed exclusively on chicklit of this type. I remembered the first part which deals with the MC as trapeze artist, but none of the rest of it. O'Donnell had been writing MB for about 10 years when this book came out, and you can see the influence in the "battle scene" and MC's detailed observation of the castle.
Set in about 1905, the time period is never actually expressed, but the author makes one huge mistake when the MC puts on her wristwatch--something that would not become common for women until after WW1. At the turn of the century women wore watches on brooches, pinned to their bodice or waist. This can be considered a "clean romance" as there are only a couple of very chaste kisses and a couple of hugs. ...more
I was such a lucky child, in spite of my chaotic home life. My parents had us transfer schools when I was six, and we ended up attending the only schoI was such a lucky child, in spite of my chaotic home life. My parents had us transfer schools when I was six, and we ended up attending the only school in our small rural town that had its own library. (!) No Bookmobile for us! Only now do I realise what an unusual situation that was. I started reading this book when I was about six or seven, and read it repeatedly over the years. I loved the illustrations, and I loved the Navajo family's deep, silent love for each other, their culture and their land. The only thing I found uncomfortable at this adult reading is how Doli has internalised shame: anything that goes wrong (a rainstorm, the loss of a couple of lambs, a sandstorm) must be because SHE did something wrong, even if just being angry at someone without saying or doing anything. She has learned to examine herself for the cause of anything bad, because she must have caused it. And where did she learn this idea. At one point Doli starts to cry when it all gets to be too much, and her mother scolds her, "Are you a baby? Do you need a cradleboard?" It's odd how the first few chapters made such a deep impression on my six year old self, and yet I didn't remember anything of the dramatic parts of the story. I suppose memory took the parts I most wanted for my own life and preserved them in amber. I remembered this book with longing, as it was long out of print. Thanks to Internet Archive for this lovely trip down memory lane....more
Delicious! After three weeks under great stress and several books I dipped into and abandoned for various reasons, I was on the point of despairing of Delicious! After three weeks under great stress and several books I dipped into and abandoned for various reasons, I was on the point of despairing of ever finding a light, crisp read again. Despite the unappealing title, I decided to try this book--and zipped through it in a few hours. Granted those hours were spread out over three or four days, but it was because I wanted it to last. At first I was surprised that Dear Basil's letters were not included, but then All Was Explained and it made perfect sense. The simple line drawings add a great deal to the text. I recognise the 1930s-40s "commercial artist sketching just for fun" style which reminded me of a wartime artist who contributed to What Did You Do in the War, Mummy?: Women in World War II and for all I know may have been the same person. The Introduction rather spoils the book, as is the way of Introductions, so I bailed on it before it took the shine off the story. The glossary rather made me laugh, but I had to remember I'm an old bat who has read far too many books written in the period, but that doesn't make me a superior being. Highly recommended....more
Well, that's odd. This is No.2 in the Modesty Blaise series of novels. Throughout the rest of the series, there are repeated references to Sabre-ToothWell, that's odd. This is No.2 in the Modesty Blaise series of novels. Throughout the rest of the series, there are repeated references to Sabre-Tooth being the caper in which Willie Garvin acquired the S-shaped scar on the back of his hand. However, not until the final pages of the book does anyone even mention the scar, which in this book is already old. I know I must have read this book at least once in the past, but apart from Modesty and Willie's street child protege, I didn't remember a single thing, so it was a fresh read. It lacked the sexual and violent details of later books (which I did not miss), and there was a lot more technical stuff and description of the buildings and place. I will admit to having skimmed through the technical stuff, but I was amused to read how prevalent asbestos sheeting and fire curtains were in this 1960s terrorist camp. The end of the caper was pure Early James Bond Movie, and made me laugh in the most "exciting" part. But for all that, I enjoyed it as a change of pace. ...more
I've read several Brands now, and I am amused at her inability to write the word "toilet" or "lavatory" or even "bathroom." No, all down the decades sI've read several Brands now, and I am amused at her inability to write the word "toilet" or "lavatory" or even "bathroom." No, all down the decades she was writing, her characters male as well as female always "use the huh-hah." Was it her editor? Or just a touch of the Hyancinth Buckets?
I've known several women like Rosie, who somehow bewitch everyone in their vicinity into dancing attendance on them, paying for holidays or new clothes or whatever they need or want. Jobs are found for them, there's always someone willing to let them stay in the house free gratis for nothing, or feed them meals or take them out for the day. In return, this sort of woman smiles and takes whatever's going, but never expresses gratitude or appreciation. Sometimes I think the Rosie type of woman doesn't even notice; in their world, it's just normality that they should be given all and give nothing in return. The characters are well fleshed out, from the dotty grandmama to the tiny tot, and all between. But was I the only reader who was annoyed by the assumption that because Melissa is a virgin who's never had a boyfriend, she must of necessity be a hysterical, vindictive bitch? This was a good read for the day after I got my flu vaccine. I knew I'd feel lethargic, so a day in bed with the tea things and a good book was just my drop. It did get a bit convoluted, but the author's introduction warns us of that without giving anything away. I also liked her description of the writing process, something many authors either ignore, deny or keep to themselves....more
As others have said, this book changed my life. I didn't think it had at first, but I find myself doing things I never could have done otherwise, thinAs others have said, this book changed my life. I didn't think it had at first, but I find myself doing things I never could have done otherwise, things I thought about doing in an "it would be nice...I should..." way. Now I just do them. ...more
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