Well I've not done very well with this lately. It's been seven or so weeks since my last post and, what's perhaps worse, I've been reading the whole time but- as is fitting with the premise of this blog- I'm already starting to forget what I've read (cue major setback to entire exercise). I've just logged in to my library history to remind myself of exactly what I've read and the rest I'll just have to hope I can remember. I've got an absolute cracker of a book to blog about next but for now here are my one paragraph reviews of the books I've read since mid-September:
Sense and Sensibility by Jane Austen- Newsflash: it turns out that I love the Emma Thompson film version of the novel so much I'd kidded myself into thinking I'd actually read the book. I had not. I liked it- it goes slow in the middle and, actually, the Elinor/Edward story-line is just weird (they basically meet and then never see each other, and, hello, his previous choice of fiancee is not up to much. Marianne and Col Brandon on the other hand, I totally get). But basically this book is less fluffy and fun than you might imagine. Like novelty slippers the week after Christmas.
How To Be A Woman by Caitlin Moran- I loved this book so much that I was planning on basing an entire blog post about how loudly it was acceptable to gigglesnort (and I'm crediting Isha with that little beaut of a word) on public transport when reading. Alas so high was my regard for this book that I lent it to not one but two literary lasses which tragically meant that I couldn't refer back to it when writing. And that's my excuse. Read it and gigglesnort away is my advice. She is a very naughty girl.
I Remember Nothing by Nora Ephron- I really needed the advice from some clever wise and funny women a few weeks ago, hence the authors listed above. Nora is the epitome of all three glorious traits and I cried when she died earlier this year- I credit her with some of my finest lines and opinions about relationships. This book is a gorgeous chocolate box of lovely insights about life and the madness of human interactions, fluffy as a teacake and as full of heart as a card shop on February 13th which makes it sounds nauseating but there's a delicious biting wit that runs throughout (Christ I've actually turned into Nigella- pass me a whisk).
Wide Sargasso Sea by Jean Rhys- so still on my feminine insight bent I decided to push into a modern classic. I read Rhys' Goodmorning Midnight at uni- a dark portrait of the cusp of a mental breakdown in a world that seems, for women at least, barbed and treacherous. Wide Sargasso Sea runs along similar lines but here Rhys' use of Bertha Mason (later Rochester) the 'mad woman in the attic' from Jane Eyre hammers home with ferocity the unfairness of the female place and, particularly, desire in a patriarchal society. It's beautifully, hauntingly written- a book that when I'm in the right mood- it's really very dark- I'll go back to.
The City and The City by China Miéville- back now onto very modern ground and Mieville's rendering of a trippy dystopian double-world where two cities, Beszel and Ul Qoma, occupy the same physical space in kind of holographic antithesis to each other. The book raises all kinds of real world parallels, particularly echoing a cold-war dynamic and the protagonist is a Besz detective on a murder hunt across the forbidden divide. I loved the concept of this book and it is well written but the detective story didn't quite hold my attention as I hoped it would. However, I've been told that Mieville is one of literature's great chameleons so I'd be interested in reading another of his books.
To Kill A Mockingbird by Harper Lee- another in my series of 'you've got two literature degrees and you have read that' embarrassments. Well thankfully, now I have and I don't know what I was thinking putting it off so long. Quite rightly lauded as one of the greatest books ever written it is unflinching in its portrayal of childhood idealism giving way to the departure of innocence. This book broke my heart in the best possible way by being so powerfully true. And, just to bring it back down to earth, I think it would be a real struggle to find a sexier lawyer than Atticus Finch in literature. Just saying.
The New York City Trilogy by Paul Auster- so from Austen to Auster and back to trippy cityscape. I've in fact only read two of the three of this trilogy but found Auster's more famous story 'City of Glass' to be more compelling than 'Ghosts'. Not for the faint hearted in the meta-fiction stakes these postmodern detective tales force the reader to deconstruct the nature of the author/narrator/protagonist relationships creating layers of 'what's going on? and whodunnit?' questions (I frequently asked both- I'm still not sure of either answer). As the detective aspect of the stories become less important there is a surprising honesty to Auster's portrayal of a never-quite-graspable New York city. In a way it reminded me of a less ephemeral Murakami tale. Such a pretentious closing statement might allow you to make up your own mind about whether you want to give the trilogy a go or not.
So there we have it- my recent life in books. Next time, one book only. But what a book it is...
