The announcement during a family celebration that their parents are to divorce after decades of marriage is not in itself the event that drives the stThe announcement during a family celebration that their parents are to divorce after decades of marriage is not in itself the event that drives the story so much as their grown-up children's varying reactions to this unexpected change. Described in the blurb as an 'earthquake', it does indeed cast light on fractures and stress points in other relationships - between the siblings and between them and their respective partners. An equally apt analogy is Liv's observation that their decision 'has seen consequences great and small rippling across the landscape between them like waves'.
Told from the point of view of the three children - Liv, Ellen and latterly Hakon - their responses are shaped by their different experiences, whether that's their current domestic situation, their 'position' in the family hierarchy or their perception of the level of attention they received from their parents growing up. Their reactions run the full gamut of emotions: surprise, disappointment, a sense of rejection, disbelief. What one sibling sees as an unwelcome (and possibly selfish) disturbance in their life another sees as confirmation of a pre-existing belief in the nature of relationships.
The author's spare, precise prose shines through in Rosie Hedger's translation. Although the book includes aspects of Norwegian culture - a passion for outdoor activities, holidays spent in summer cabins - there's nothing that would stop any reader, whatever their heritage, from identifying with the situations in which the characters find themselves.
The author skilfully explores family dynamics, including the customs, rituals and traditions that become embedded over time. For example, that each person takes their accustomed place at the table during family gatherings or that birthdays always mean pancakes for breakfast.
I also liked the structure of the book with the different viewpoints (sometimes of the same event) and that the ending had echoes of the beginning. However, I did find the characters rather self-absorbed - although I guess we all are if we're honest. Having said that, I admired the skilful writing and the insightful exploration of family dynamics and what sustains (or doesn't sustain) relationships....more
I don’t read a lot of crime thrillers, especially those involving serial killers and gruesome murders (unless they’re set in a historical time period)I don’t read a lot of crime thrillers, especially those involving serial killers and gruesome murders (unless they’re set in a historical time period). However, you don’t need to be an expert in the genre to recognise an author who’s a master in the art of creating a gripping and skilfully plotted story. Such is the case with Motive X by Stefan Ahnhem, translated by Agnes Broome.
Motive X is the fourth in the series (if you count the prequel, The Ninth Grave) featuring Swedish police detective, Fabian Risk. I haven’t read any of the previous books in the series and, while Motive X can be read as a standalone, it appears to pick up almost seamlessly from the end of the previous book, Eighteen Below. (More on that subject later.) In addition, there are frequent references to events in that book and its predecessor, Victim Without A Face, so for those inclined to read the whole series, I’d say it’s essential to start from the beginning otherwise you’re likely to feel as if you’ve come into the cinema part way through a movie.
In Motive X, private and professional lives overlap and collide as the investigations being conducted by Risk and his colleagues tip over into personal missions to expose wrongdoing. Of course, with that comes danger, possibly from unexpected directions. After all, investigating crime is a risky business. (Sorry, couldn’t resist that pun.)
The book weaves together multiple story lines and the short chapters create a feeling of pace throughout. The author is also adept at crafting a compelling last sentence of a chapter before switching the focus to a different story line, leaving the reader in a state of suspense. Throw in a serial killer whose next move may literally depend on nothing more than chance and you have a book that kept this reader turning the pages right to the end. Ah, the end. Well, you know what I said earlier about the book picking up seamlessly from its predecessor? So don’t expect everything to be neatly wrapped up at the end of this one.
Motive X sheds a light on an unexpectedly dark side of Swedish society: racism, anti-immigrant sentiment, far right extremism, Islamophobia and paedophilia. At just under 560 pages, Motive X is a book to get your teeth into but which will more than repay the time investment. It’s a dark, enjoyably complex and gripping read....more
The author is clearly fond of similes; in fact, so fond that waiting for them at the end of a sentence became somewhat distracting at times. DependingThe author is clearly fond of similes; in fact, so fond that waiting for them at the end of a sentence became somewhat distracting at times. Depending on your point of view, the examples that follow are imaginative, laboured or simply perplexing.
‘She shrank like a caterpillar on its back’ ‘Nofar’s guilt, like a Persian cat, rubbed her legs fleetingly, sat for a brief moment on her lap, then moved onward.’ ‘Smiles have a way of catching a person’s eye, like a red balloon gliding in the sky and drawing the glances of people below.’ ‘Her thoughts, like pizza-delivery boys on their motorcycles, reached the most remote streets.’ ‘Love is a very delicate thing, the truth can trample it like a hippopotamus running wild.’ ‘The words were like a can of petrol thrown on the small ball of fire in her stomach.’ ‘Her face was red and swollen, but to Lavi she looked like a wonderful grapefruit.’
I wasn’t entirely convinced by the introduction of a secondary storyline and a new character, Raymonde, in part two of the book. Although consistent with the theme of the book – that lies take on a life of their own and are difficult to take back – I struggled with the nature and context of her deception. It was more deliberate and studied than Nofar’s spur-of-the-moment outburst. I suppose it could be argued that, in sharing the stories of her dead friend, Raymonde was at least ensuring they would be heard.
I also found it hard to identify with the characters in the book or become engaged in the central relationship between Nofar and Lavi, which seemed a little on the creepy side to me. Although never stated, the book is set in Tel Aviv but I didn’t get a particularly strong sense of place; much of the action is confined to Nofar’s family’s apartment or the dingy alley beside the ice cream parlour where she works. The exception was a night time scene in which Nofar looks out over the city from the roof of the family’s apartment.
I felt the novel worked best as an exploration of lies and their consequences. Pretty much all the characters in the book lie in one way or another. Some are motivated by a desire for attention or sympathy, others to show off or to make believe they’re living a different, more exciting life. Their lies range from the ‘white lie’ to out-and-out deceit or, as in Nofar’s case, to false accusation. The book also demonstrates the way lies can take on a life of their own, make the teller vulnerable to manipulation and unwittingly compromise the integrity of others....more
To this day there is a fascination about child murders that makes them compelling (albeit possibly uncomfortably so) as subject matter for a crime novTo this day there is a fascination about child murders that makes them compelling (albeit possibly uncomfortably so) as subject matter for a crime novel. Switching back and forth in time from the present day to 1980 (always clearly signposted), the reader is soon immersed in the uncanny connections between people, places and events. The connections are especially personal for Stella because of her links to those involved in investigating the original murder at a pivotal moment in her childhood.
Cleaner, Stella, and underground train driver, Jack, make an interesting partnership both as detectives engaged in solving cold cases and in their out of office hours activities. Stella has the eye for detail of a cleaner and the strong stomach needed at a crime scene. Jack is blessed with a photographic memory and a ‘sixth sense’ when it comes to spotting murderers and psychopaths (whom he refers to as ‘True Hosts’ and to whom he ascribes particular psychological traits and powers). As Stella admits, ‘Jack saw what others missed, what she missed.’ I’ll confess this ‘paranormal’ element took me slightly by surprise in what is otherwise a conventional crime mystery.
Coming new to the series, I did miss having witnessed the development of Jack’s and Stella’s relationship over previous books. In fact, The Playground Murders sees them at a particularly fractious point in their relationship with past liaisons resulting in mistrust, misunderstandings and big decisions about their future. I was soon rooting for them to work things out however. There are references to events in earlier books but not so much that it would deter me from reading previous books in the series. Equally, The Playground Murders works perfectly well as a standalone novel.
As Stella’s and Jack’s investigation progresses, things get very close to home for both of them. There are multiple suspects, possible scenarios and motives. Because of the number of characters, some of whom are known by different names at various points in the book, some concentration is required from the reader. Well, at least it was from this one. I did have suspicions about one particular character early on although I certainly didn’t predict how events would unfold as the tension builds to a dramatic climax.
Having read The Playground Murders, I can appreciate why ‘The Detective’s Daughter’ series has attracted so many fans amongst crime fiction lovers. They may be reassured by the fact that there still seem to be some unopened case files belonging to her father in Stella’s attic....more
The author certainly knows how to create believable characters both by giving readers access to their thoughts and feelings and through detailed sceneThe author certainly knows how to create believable characters both by giving readers access to their thoughts and feelings and through detailed scene setting. I found I could really picture Birdie in her colourful kitchen going through her morning routine or sitting on her porch. I liked the way the author explored the weaknesses, contradictions, foibles, and changes of mood that reside in all of us. For example, in the case of Birdie, the fact that she describes herself as a ‘spur-of-the-moment’ person yet clings in the main to a set routine, trying to persuade herself that it’s for the sake of Ollie, her dog. Or that she indulges in comments about a neighbour she’s known for years (that she herself admits are ‘shallow and mean, but so funny’ ) whilst on the other hand offering generous hospitality to Jude, a seemingly complete stranger.
The story is set in Galveston which I’d not known before reading this book is an island. The idea of a place that is set apart came to seem significant in a way, particularly from the point of view of Birdie’s instinct to be something of a loner. I also wondered if the storm that batters the community soon after Birdie and Jude meet was intended to be a metaphor for the emotional turmoil within both of them. The story unfolds through the alternating points of view of the two women, sometimes incorporating recollections of past events and people from their respective childhoods and young adult years.
It seemed to me I discovered a little more about Birdie – her thought processes, emotional baggage and internal conflicts – than I did about Jude, and that Birdie’s story had more interest, even though Jude’s story has a greater sense of mystery. However, that may be because, as an older woman, Birdie had more life experiences for the reader to learn about. Birdie’s convictions about the role of fate in our lives and the possibility of messages from beyond the grave are not ones I share. This element of the book wasn’t needed for me to believe in the genuine nature of the deep and mutually beneficial relationship that forms between Birdie and Jude.
At one point Jude muses, ‘Whatever shapes a person may never be known by anyone else.’ In Birdie & Jude, the author uses all her literary skill to give the reader just such an insight…as well as delivering a few surprises along the way....more
Meg Keneally’s debut solo novel is described as ‘an epic historical adventure based on the extraordinary life of convict Mary Bryant’. In her historiMeg Keneally’s debut solo novel is described as ‘an epic historical adventure based on the extraordinary life of convict Mary Bryant’. In her historical note, the author explains where the story departs from known facts – relatively few occasions, as it happens – and where fictional characters replace their real life counterparts.
The prologue, set in 1791, provides a taste of the remarkable events that will unfold but first of all the reader is transported back in time to Cornwall in 1783. When Jenny Trelawney’s fisherman father is killed at sea, she chances upon highway robbery as a way to keep her family from poverty. This is despite her fear of ending up as one of the grisly corpses displayed at the crossroads, Four Turnings. (Perhaps a little nod there to the opening lines of Daphne du Maurier’s novel My Cousin Rachel: ‘They used to hang men at Four Turnings in the old days’.) Her encounter with the mysterious highwayman, Mr. Black, draws Jenny further into a life of crime that ultimately sees her convicted of robbery and sentenced to death.
The commutation of her sentence to transportation seems like a lucky escape until the horrors of the voyage to Australia are revealed. Once there, and now with the protection of a husband, Dan Gwyn, things are little better. The newly established convict colony struggle to support themselves. Starvation and disease are always close at hand. Contrary to the actions of the Governor and his staff, Jenny welcomes contact from the indigenous people who provide valuable information that enables the colonists to survive, but only barely. Jenny also benefits from help from a rather unexpected source. (I initially thought it was a bit too convenient and rather unlikely but learned from the author’s historical note that it is based on fact.)
Jenny realises there is no future for her and those she loves in Australia and sets out to convince Dan and others that escape is the only option, notwithstanding the perils that await them at sea. As she says, their most valuable asset is that they possess “The skill to leave, and the courage to do it’. Those perils are thrillingly brought to life in the part of the book I found most compelling. After what can only be described as an epic adventure on the high seas, Jenny and her companions seem to have reached safety but will it prove short-lived or is there a possibility of a more hopeful future?
Jenny (or rather her real life counterpart, Mary Bryant) is a remarkable character brought convincingly to life by the author. Jenny’s determination to take control of her own destiny is admirable and not easily resisted by those around her. When she remarks to husband, Dan, “You are a brave man” he replies, “Not brave enough to defy you.” Fled is a compelling and skilfully told story of courage, resolve and fortitude that I thoroughly enjoyed....more
Told from multiple points of view, initially I found it hard to distinguish between the different narrators, especially Lucia and her friend Claire, aTold from multiple points of view, initially I found it hard to distinguish between the different narrators, especially Lucia and her friend Claire, although it helped that Claire’s sections are written in the first person, whilst the others are in the third person. The story also skips forwards and backwards in time meaning, although billed as a crime novel, it’s not long before it becomes less of a ‘whodunnit’ but more a ‘will they get away with it?’
The House of Beauty of the book’s title not only provides a connection between many of the characters but is also a place of work for beauticians like Karen and a place of indulgence. ‘House of Beauty takes me in, I’m submerged in the silence and the expensive perfumes, the rosewater, oils and shampoo.’ In the case of Claire, the intimate services performed there are a kind of substitute for the affection that is lacking in her private life. It’s also an almost exclusively female environment, causing one of the male characters to refer to it as ‘that place, off limits to men, where there was room for all kinds of conspiracies and secrets’.
If it’s secrets and conspiracies you’re after, there’s no shortage of them amongst the male characters and there’s certainly little beauty. Take your pick from a rapist, a drug addict, a corrupt politician, a dodgy taxi driver, and any number of unfaithful husbands. The only male characters who display any integrity are Cojack, the private investigator hired by Consuelo, the mother of the dead girl, and Jorge, Consuelo’s ex-husband. They find themselves pitted against corruption in high places and a bureaucratic legal system that moves at a snail’s pace.
As the book progresses, Karen becomes the dominant character in the story, finding herself in situations that force her to make increasingly more desperate and risky choices and casting her in the role of victim. But is Karen’s story true or is her life a fiction constructed by herself or others?
At one point, Lucia observes, ‘Life is a fabrication, don’t you think? Something we make up from start to finish.’ Whilst ostensibly about the search for the truth about a young girl’s death, House of Beauty exposes the corruption at the heart of Colombian society but also explores the notion of artifice, whether that’s the double lives led by many of the characters, the cosmetically enhanced faces and bodies presented to the world, or the external beauty that hides ugliness within....more
I'll confess The Dinner List is not the sort of book I'd usually be drawn to; it's a bit lighter than my favourite historical crime mysteries. Also, tI'll confess The Dinner List is not the sort of book I'd usually be drawn to; it's a bit lighter than my favourite historical crime mysteries. Also, the mention of magical realism in a book description usually sends me running in the opposite direction. However, when I read the first few chapters of The Dinner List on the Readers First website, I found myself intrigued by the clever concept and, of course, the presence of Audrey Hepburn in the story helped.
The book alternates between conversation around the table at Sabrina's birthday dinner and chapters recounting the story of the relationship between Sabrina and a very important person in her life. The guests (whose identities I'm going to leave the reader to find out) all offer their different perspectives on the ups and downs, the highs and lows of this relationship. As one of them says, "Sometimes it's impossible to move forward without understanding what happened."
Clever readers may not be surprised by the piece of information disclosed half way through the book but I certainly was and it changed how I felt about what I read from that point on (but definitely not in a bad way). If anything, it made me feel more invested in the characters.
Rebecca Serle has a deft touch with prose and I particularly liked the lively banter and occasional mild flirtation around the dinner table. The presence of Audrey Hepburn certainly brought a sparkle to proceedings but the author also imbued her character with real warmth and insight. Just how you'd like to imagine Audrey Hepburn would be if she was a guest at your birthday dinner.
The Dinner List is a romantic, heart-warming story about love, loss, friendship, the possibility of second chances and the gift of forgiveness. Amongst others, it poses the questions: Are some things meant to be? Are there some things you can't fix?
I received a review copy courtesy of Allen & Unwin and Readers First. The Dinner List is book 7 of my 20 Books of Summer....more
Improvement unfolds in a series of interconnected stories focusing on different characters, starting with Reyna whose boyfriend, Boyd, is a prisoner iImprovement unfolds in a series of interconnected stories focusing on different characters, starting with Reyna whose boyfriend, Boyd, is a prisoner in Rikers Island. When Reyna takes what might be considered a morally correct decision it sets off a chain of unintended consequences whose impact on other people will gradually be revealed.
In some cases, the connections between characters are tangential; the result of a chance moment in time. In others they are more direct – friends, lovers, business contacts. Moving backwards and forwards in time, I found it especially poignant when the reader possesses foreknowledge a character does not. We know why a call is not returned, nor ever likely to be.
Thanks to the skill of the author, all the characters seem totally real. They have flaws, they make poor decisions but they also try to do the correct thing, to right wrongs and make amends. Although, as one character remarks, “How much could ever be fixed?”
My favourite character was Reyna’s aunt, Kiki. Her colourful experiences when younger – “her old and fabled past” – take the reader on an enjoyable detour to Istanbul and the Turkish countryside.
In the book it seems to me ‘improvement’ takes many forms. For some it’s a better economic position or the rekindling of affection within a marriage. For others it’s finding a goal to work toward. As one character puts it, “The point was to ask for strength. Improvement wasn’t coming any other way.” Conversely, as Reyna notes sadly, for Boyd it is “the promise of criminal glory that was giving him his style back”.
Improvement invites us to consider the interconnectedness of the world we inhabit and the consequences of our actions on others. It also demonstrates the acute observational skills and deft touch that has made Joan Silber’s writing so admired....more
The Narrow Land comes garlanded with praise: by book bloggers whose opinion I respect; from literary critics; and, not least, by the judges of The WalThe Narrow Land comes garlanded with praise: by book bloggers whose opinion I respect; from literary critics; and, not least, by the judges of The Walter Scott Prize for Historical Fiction who awarded it the 2020 prize.
Commenting on their decision, the judges observed, “It’s a risky business, portraying the marriage of two artists, particularly when both the marriage and the art have already been picked over by biographers and art historians”. For my part, although I knew Edward Hopper’s name and had a vague idea of the kind of art he made, I knew nothing about his wife or their life together. Therefore I came to the book without any preconceptions – except, naturally, that I should expect a high quality of writing. I was certainly not disappointed in that respect.
The book is divided into a number of sections, the first five of which are named after the movements of The Planets by Holst. For example, the opening chapter, in which young Michael travels to Cape Cod (the ‘narrow land’ of the title) to join the Kaplan family for the summer, is called ‘The Bringer of War’ (Mars). Michael (the Americanised version of his true name) has been rescued from post-war Germany and brought to America to be adopted by the Novaks. He is urged to leave the war behind as if he somehow carries it with him about his person. The title could equally reference the turbulent relationship of the Hoppers or the enmity that quickly develops between Michael and Ritchie.
With subtle irony, the chapter detailing the Labor Day garden party thrown by Mrs Kaplan is ‘The Bringer of Jollity’ (Jupiter), although for some of the guests, including Josephine Hopper, the party is the scene of anything but jollity. Never one for small talk, Josephine feels out of place and abandoned by her husband who, as usual, is the centre of attention.
In her speech at the garden party, Mrs Kaplan quotes President Truman’s words from his directive on displaced persons: “This is the opportunity for America to set an example for the rest of the world in cooperation towards alleviating human misery”. However, her singling out of Michael for attention, although no doubt well-intentioned, sets in motion other events.
Throughout the book the reader is given glimpses of the traumatic events Michael witnessed in Berlin before he arrived in America . There is a particularly moving chapter in the section entitled ‘Die Trummerfrauen‘ – a phrase I had to look up but which I then recognised from another book I read recently, Then We Take Berlin by John Lawton. Die Trummerfrauen (or “rubble women”) is the name given to the women who, in the aftermath of WW2, cleared away the rubble of the bombed cities of Germany, including Berlin. Trying to salvage something from the rubble is perhaps a metaphor for what many of the characters in The Narrow Land are trying to do.
It seems to me that what unites the characters is they are all searching for something. Michael is searching for security and a way to erase the memories of the traumatic events he has witnessed. It’s why he creates a place where he can feel safe and it drives other actions that will prove significant later in the book. As well as physical ailments, Edward Hopper is suffering from the artist’s equivalent of writer’s block. He’s desperately searching for inspiration, fixated on finding the woman who inspired a previous painting or the right kind of sky. ‘And he sees nothing he hasn’t seen before and feels nothing much either.‘
Josephine Hopper is searching for recognition of her own creativity and for a way to come out of the shadow of her husband, quite literally in one respect. Being shorter than her husband, she describes him at one point as ‘looming like a skyscraper right behind her‘. Having supported her husband in expressing his artistic talents for many years, she has come to resent her position as ‘the torch bearer leading the way’ or ‘the stone they use to step across the water’.
I’m aware some readers have found Josephine a difficult character to like. (As it happens, she is never referred to by her first name, not even by her husband, but mostly just as ‘she’, ‘her’ or ‘Mrs Aitch’ .) It’s true that she can be spiteful, argumentative and difficult. As she says, ‘Words are the deadliest weapons: merciless, vicious, diseased. Cut them and pus would ooze out.’ Josephine is definitely a master when it comes to using words as a weapon but, thanks to the author’s skill, I found I could understand her frustration, if not always the way she acts.
We see her softer side in her relationship with Michael. In Mrs Aitch, as he refers to her, Michael finds a kindred spirit; someone who doesn’t insist on the social niceties like addressing women as ‘Ma’am’ and who retains a sense of fun. They understand each other and form a touching bond. For her part, Josephine finds in Michael someone who wants her for a change, not just as a route to her husband. She reflects on one of the outings she and Michael go on together: ‘And she knows then: what has been removed is loneliness and what has been added is love’. I really felt for her when she cries, “What I care about is my wasted life. My life. I had something once, I had spark and potential and creativity.”
The Walter Scott Prize judges especially praised Christine Dwyer Hickey for reaching “into the guts of the marriage of Jo and Edward Hopper and into the heart of the creative impulse itself”. I have to agree because The Narrow Land is a painstaking, forensic dissection of a troubled marriage: the small acts of kindness, the petty acts of spite, the angry silences, the arguments, the routines and habits that have become all too familiar, the mutual disappointments, the rare agreements. But, as in so many relationships, a shared history and treasured memories keep them together. The final chapter depicts a poignant scene which the author imagines to be the inspiration for Hopper’s painting, Cape Cod Morning.
The Narrow Land is a moving exploration of regret, loneliness, frustration and disappointment, and the poignant story of two people who find it hard to be together but even harder to be apart....more
It was a real pleasure to be reunited with Nicholas and Bianca whom readers were introduced to in the first book in the series, The Angel's Mark (whicIt was a real pleasure to be reunited with Nicholas and Bianca whom readers were introduced to in the first book in the series, The Angel's Mark (which I absolutely loved). Although there are references to events in the earlier book, The Serpent's Mark works perfectly as a standalone although I would personally recommend reading the series from the beginning.
Like the first book, The Serpent's Mark features both imagined and real characters from the Elizabethan period. Amongst the latter is a famous playwright. And, as before, it's set in that febrile period towards the end of the reign of Elizabeth I when plots abounded amid concerns over the succession and the risk of invasion, as well as fervent disputes over religious dogma.
The author conjures up the London of the period in lively and colourful passages, such as this description of those plying their trade to citizens of Southwark celebrating the end of Lent. 'Waiting for them are the fakers, the dancers, the tumblers, the swordsman, the dice-kings, the card-sharps, the whole purse-diving, eye-for-an-opportunity crew. Fire-jugglers light their way. Street musicians serenaded them with sackbut and tambour.'
Nicholas and Bianca combined are a force to be reckoned with, which is just as well because they soon find themselves by different routes uncovering what looks like a conspiracy with potentially far-reaching consequences. Once more, they find themselves battling the madness and cruelty of zealots who will stop at nothing to achieve their objectives whether out of 'twisted piety', 'monstrous ambition' or unquenchable passion. Bianca and Nicholas also find themselves pondering the future direction of their own relationship. If it has a future, that is, given the ghosts of the past that haunt at least one of them.
From the moment a gruesome discovery is made in the opening chapter I was well and truly hooked and the twists and turns of the plot with its intriguing premise kept me turning the pages right to the dramatic events of the final chapters. If you love historical crime mysteries by the likes of C J Sansom, S J Parris or Rory Clements, then this is a series I can highly recommend....more
The author describes in unflinching detail the impact of alcoholism on all aspects of her life and the harmful and reckless behaviour she engaged in aThe author describes in unflinching detail the impact of alcoholism on all aspects of her life and the harmful and reckless behaviour she engaged in as a result. Having reached the lowest of low points, she shows remarkable courage in embarking on a treatment programme and taking the first difficult steps to sobriety.
Returning to Orkney where she grew up (from where she had originally fled in search of a more exciting life in London) the author slowly starts to rebuild her life. The really interesting and engaging aspect of the book is the connections she makes between her observations of the natural world around her and her recovery process. For example: ‘When I first came back to Orkney I felt like the strandings of jellyfish, laid out on the island rocks for all to see. I was washed-up: no longer buoyant, battered and storm-tossed.’
Testing herself still further, she moves to one of the remote islands off Orkney – Papay – and becomes involved in the life of its small community of hardy souls. She discovers an interest in astronomy, wild swimming, snorkelling, folklore and the birds and other creatures that make the island and the sea that surrounds it their home. Or, as the author puts it, ‘In these two years I have put my energy into searching for elusive corncrakes, Merry Dancers and rare cloud; into swimming in cold seas, running naked around stone circles, sailing to abandoned islands, flying on tiny planes, coming back home’.
The message I took from the book is that, even at one’s lowest point, there is always the possibility of something better. I found that both moving and inspiring. I’ll leave you with a few quotes that will, I hope, give you a sense of this.
‘Since I got sober, I sometimes find myself surprised and made joyful by normal life… Life can be bigger and richer than I knew.’
‘Recovery is making use of something once thought worthless. I might have been washed-up but I can be renewed.’...more
Compelling, assured and atmospheric historical crime mystery set in WW2 Cambridge.
In The Mathematical Bridge, the author once again creates a vivid seCompelling, assured and atmospheric historical crime mystery set in WW2 Cambridge.
In The Mathematical Bridge, the author once again creates a vivid sense of what it must have been like to live in wartime Cambridge with familiar views transformed by the addition of rooftop observation posts and searchlights to detect enemy bombers. Detective Inspector Eden Brooke’s home life reflects the daily experience of families during wartime. He and his wife, Claire, are awaiting news of their son serving with the British Expeditionary Force and his pregnant daughter, Joy, is anxiously awaiting news of her submariner husband. Alongside this uncertainty, there are long night shifts, blackouts, air raid warnings and rationing to contend with, not to mention the threat of attacks by the IRA. One of the many things I enjoyed about the book is this mixture of the personal and the political, the local and the global.
Another theme, as in the first book in the series, is that of darkness and light. Eden Brooke himself is the most obvious manifestation of this. The damage to his vision and the insomnia caused by his traumatic experiences in the desert during the First World War make the night time streets of Cambridge a sanctuary. It’s one he shares with fellow “nighthawks”, such as cafe owner Rose King, expert in circadian rhythms Aldiss, or night porter Doric, ‘condemned to live life out of the light, at home in the shadowy world of the college after dark’. There are also some wonderfully atmospheric night time scenes such as the search of the drained River Cam.
However, although Brooke may welcome the darkness in a physical sense, his moral and professional impulse is to seek just the opposite. ‘Joining the Borough, on his return from the desert, had offered an opportunity to tilt the world towards light, and away from the darkness, even by small fractions of a degree.’
As in The Great Darkness, the author makes the reader feel they are alongside Brooke as he travels the streets of Cambridge in the course of his investigations, crossing the various bridges over the River Cam, including the famous Mathematical Bridge of the book’s title. And I’m sure I’m not the only reader who reacted with joy when they opened the book and found there was a map in the front.
In the enthralling final chapters, there are dramatic events, surprising revelations, split second life and death decisions to be taken and some poignant moments. At one point, Brooke observes, ‘He didn’t like the sense that fate was contriving a circular narrative, a story that was being drawn back to the beginning’. As a reader, I can only disagree (sorry, Eden) because I loved the way the various storylines were skilfully brought together. Oh, and a word of advice for Eden – listen to your wife when it comes to making assumptions about the identity of a murderer in future.
I loved The Great Darkness and this follow-up certainly didn’t disappoint. The Mathematical Bridge would be perfect for those mourning the demise of TV’s Foyle’s War or for fans of James Runcie’s ‘Grantchester Mysteries’ series. Readers who enjoyed The Great Darkness and have read, or are looking forward to reading, The Mathematical Bridge will be pleased to learn (as I was) that a third book in the series is due to be published early next year. It already has a place on my wishlist....more
As the reader quickly discovers, music has always been an integral part of Alan Johnson’s life. The book covers the period from 1957 to 1982 (he was bAs the reader quickly discovers, music has always been an integral part of Alan Johnson’s life. The book covers the period from 1957 to 1982 (he was born in 1950) so overlaps with the first two volumes of his memoirs, This Boyand Please Mr. Postman. Those who’ve read either of those books may feel there’s some repetition. I’ve only read the third volume, The Long and Winding Road but reading the early chapters of In My Life with its poignant picture of Alan’s deprived childhood has only increased my interest in reading This Boy.
Each chapter of the book is linked to a song. As Alan explains, they’re not necessarily his favourite pieces of music but are songs that evoke particular memories of his life at that time. For example, listening to Two-Way Family Favourites on the family’s Bakelite wireless, playing 78’s on his sister’s Dansette record player, acquiring his first guitar or hearing about the death of John Lennon. As I said, the early chapters demonstrate how for Alan, and his sister, Linda, music was a distraction from the day to day difficulties of growing up in poverty, with a mother who suffered serious ill-health, domestic violence and eventually abandonment at the hands of their loser of a father.
Starting with ‘True Love’ by Bing Crosby and Grace Kelly, the book charts the evolution of popular music as experienced by Alan and other members of his generation. He observes that before Lonnie Donnegan and Tommy Steele came on the scene there was no real youth music culture in Britain. Their arrival signalled a huge change as singer/songwriters such as Lennon & McCartney replaced artists who sang songs written by other people.
The book charts another huge change, namely in how people listen to music. Previously, it was largely on the radio, more likely than not the Light Programme on the BBC. Gradually there became a ‘materiality’ about how people experienced music. Alan recalls polishing shellac 78s, reading record labels and playing records at the wrong speed on the Dansette. Later in the book, acquiring his first audio cassette, he reflects:
‘There is a connection between the music and the object on which it is stored. Just as those shellac 78s, and the Bachelors’ album bought for Lily [his mother] which she didn’t live to hear, had a significance of their own, so did the humble cassette. The physical shape and feel of it, the ritual of taking it out of its plastic case and snapping it into the cassette-player, peering myopically at the tiny type of the “sleeve notes” …’
The book is also an account of Alan’s own musical career which, it has to be said, seems to have had more than its fair share of setbacks such as having musical gear stolen on multiple occasions, including his treasured Hӧfner Verithin guitar. Alan joined his first band The Vampires in the hope (largely unsuccessful) of impressing girls before being invited to join The In Between, a multi-racial group with a (rare at the time) female lead singer. With his trademark self-deprecating humour, Alan recalls his unrequited passion for Carmen, the lead singer, with whom he duetted on their cover version of The Troggs’ Wild Thing:
‘Carmen and I were born to duet on that song, destined to be together in the centre of that stage. It should have forged the deepest, most volcanic passion since Cathy met Heathcliff. There was only one problem. Carmen was totally and absolutely uninterested in me. She was completely immune to what I was convinced was a magnetic and irresistible charm.’
Although Lonnie Donnegan retains a special place as the musical hero of Alan’s childhood, the Beatles and David Bowie as the heroes of his teen years and twenties respectively, he reserves his ‘lifetime achievement award’ for Elvis Costello. Fittingly therefore, and in another example of that self-deprecating humour, it is Elvis Costello who marks the end of Alan’s ambition to make it as a rock star. Alan decides to send Elvis ‘the creme de la creme’ of his ‘song-writing genius’. As he recalls, ‘I wrote a nice letter to Elvis, listing the song titles along with my name and address, and sent it off by first-class post in November 1982. I’m still waiting to hear back.’
As with Alan Johnson’s other memoirs, In My Life is immensely readable, honest, warm and witty....more
The Music Shop has been on my bookshelf ever since I heard Rachel Joyce talk about the book at Henley Literary Festival in 2017. Now I’ve finally readThe Music Shop has been on my bookshelf ever since I heard Rachel Joyce talk about the book at Henley Literary Festival in 2017. Now I’ve finally read it, I’m kicking myself that it took me so long.
Set mainly in 1988, the book conjures up a vivid picture of that time – lava lamps, Ritz crackers, high street shops such and Dolcis and Tammy, using the Yellow Pages to find a tradesman. I know, I’m showing my age now but I can remember browsing in record shops for the latest vinyl releases. This passage especially, as Frank takes delivery of new stock, evoked such memories.
“Boxes of vinyl began to arrive the next morning. Rare original pressings, bootleg copies, white-label promotional labels, as well as entire box-set collections. Seven- and 12-inch singles in the shape of hearts, birds and hats; limited-edition releases on coloured discs in blue, red, orange, yellow, white and even multicoloured splatter. Soundtrack records, popular favourites. World music, second-hand classics, demos. Rare mono recordings, limited-edition audiophile pressings… Plain sleeves, picture sleeves. Albums with posters, fold-out flaps and signed covers.”
In the residents of Unity Street, Rachel Joyce has created a fabulous community of diverse individuals who nevertheless feel a growing sense of togetherness, especially when outside forces threaten to bring unwanted change. “Here they were, living together on Unity Street, trying to make a difference in the world, knowing they couldn’t, but still doing it anyway.”
The book has a wonderful cast of secondary characters such as Maud, the owner of a tattoo parlour, Father Anthony, the owner of a religious gift shop, “Saturday” Kit who helps out in Frank’s shop, Mrs Roussos and her chihuahua…oh, and not forgetting the matchmaking waitress of The Singing Teapot.
I loved the little stories about the customers whom Frank helps with music choices, such as the man who ‘only listens to Chopin’. Frank’s uncanny ability to prescribe the music others need for their current predicament leads to some unexpected choices. My favourites were his selection of the perfect lullaby for a sleepless child and an album to rekindle a marriage that has lost his spark. In fact, I could have read a whole book of such stories.
Interspersed with events in Unity Street are Frank’s memories of his childhood growing up with his mother, Peg. Sadly for Frank, Peg lacked the conventional instincts of motherhood – “show Peg a boundary, she crashed straight through it” – but she was at least responsible for inspiring his passion for music through her wonderful stories about composers and musicians. As the reader will discover, she’s also the reason Frank cannot bear to listen to a particular piece of music. Unfortunately, Peg’s actions will come to influence Frank’s relationships with others as he grows up. “Frank was so busy loving other people he had no room to accommodate the fact that someone might turn round one day and love him back.”
Will meeting Ilse Brauchmann change things for Frank? Obviously, I’m not going to tell you but all I will say is, that if you’ve read any of Rachel Joyce’s previous books, you’ll know she has a knack for taking readers on an emotional journey. The Music Shop is no exception. I was advised by a fellow blogger who had read the book to have tissues ready at the end; they were right.
The Music Shop is just the sort of warm, uplifting story perfect for the times we’re living through. As Kit says at one point, “I can’t imagine a world without Frank”. Hallelujah to that....more
Despite the fact we know from our history books the agreement reached at the Munich conference did not ultimately prevent the outbreak of war, the autDespite the fact we know from our history books the agreement reached at the Munich conference did not ultimately prevent the outbreak of war, the author still manages to create an atmosphere of tension and expectation. The book gives a fascinating, behind the scenes insight into the backroom going-ons on the British side: the careful drafting and re-drafting of papers and statements, the discussions with advisers, the telegrams to and fro from London. I particularly liked the scenes on the plane as Chamberlain and his team of diplomats fly to the conference. Surely only the British could have an in-flight meal sourced from a Fortnum & Mason hamper!
On the German side, I was transfixed by the scenes on Hitler’s train as the Fuhrer and his entourage travel to Munich. It’s here that both German diplomat Paul Hartmann and the reader have their first face to face encounter with Hitler. For Hartmann, it is a pivotal moment. He also picks up a rather unwelcome fellow passenger who will dog his footsteps in the days to come.
Feted at the time (even in Germany, which annoyed Hitler intensely), Chamberlain was later accused of appeasing Hitler and the Munich agreement was regarded as a failure because it did not prevent the outbreak of war. In the author’s hands, the reader gets a more sympathetic and nuanced appraisal of Chamberlain. There is a touching scene in the garden of 10 Downing Street in which the reader gets a true sense of what lies behind Chamberlain’s steely determination to avoid war. And far from being a failure, the author subtly prompts the reader to consider that, in at least delaying the outbreak of war, the Munich agreement provided valuable time for Britain to rearm.
One of the questions at the back of my mind whilst reading/listening to the book was how much of the story was based on fact and how much the author’s imagination. That question was answered when I listened to an interview with Robert Harris recorded in 2017 (available on YouTube). In short, pretty much all of the events are based on documented fact. The only two fictional characters are Hugh Legat and Paul Hartmann, although even the latter is inspired by a real life figure. Legat and Hartmann allow the author to introduce an element of espionage to the plot, adding further tension as both are risking their careers, possibly their lives.
An autocratic leader with narcissistic tendencies who removes anyone who disagrees with him, surrounds himself only with people willing to do his bidding, acts on whim, has little time for detail and delivers rabble-rousing speeches in which he incites hatred of others. Just as well we no longer have individuals like that in positions of power in the world, isn’t it?
Munich is my favourite kind of historical fiction: based on fact but enhanced by the author’s imagination. I learned a lot from the book and was thoroughly entertained at the same time....more
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