Tag Archives: lyrical

EXIT WEST by Mohsin Hamid

“We are all migrants through time.”

This is the story of Nadia and Saeed – a young couple trying to make their relationship work. It’s also the story of a world on the move. Of people’s fears about war, leaving family behind,  change and difference – all told in Hamid’s extraordinary prose that makes poetry of bombs raining down from the skies.

It starts when Nadia and Saeed meet in a city that might be in Syria, Afghanistan or somewhere similar. She rides a motorbike, lives alone, wears full black robes. He’s the son of a university professor, lives at home, works for an insurance company. He prays, she doesn’t. They get together and when their home becomes unsafe, they flee together, through a magical door, one of many springing up across the world, which takes them to Mykonos. Similar doors later take them to London and San Francisco.

The horrors of public and private executions, relatives and friends blown to bits, the punishment they might expect as unmarried lovers are all powerfully evoked with a simplicity and truthfulness that’s incredibly moving to read. So too, the shock of emerging into a new place, the adjustments they must make and survival techniques they must learn. And then when they discover that the solace they used to seek in one another’s company is no longer a comfort and having journeyed together is no longer enough.

A deeply political book that confronts many of the moral questions in today’a world, EXIT WEST  is at times brutal and heartbreaking,  at others beautiful and magical.  At times, it reads like philosophy, at others it captures details like the enjoyment of a tin of herrings. Every word Hamid writes though held me spellbound, with it’s wisdom and insight. I loved this book, what it had to teach me and how it made me feel. It’s for the joy of finding a book like this that I read so much and the rarity of such a find makes it all the more special.

Advertisements

Leave a comment

Filed under fantasy, love story

BIRDCAGE WALK by Helen Dunmore

John Diner Tredevant  is a brooding and ambitious property developer, who claims his first wife died whilst visiting her native France. He’s now married to Lizzie Fawkes and together they live in Bristol, in the home Diner has built, overlooking the abyss that is Clifton gorge. Lizzie, who was brought up moving from one rather less grand set of rented rooms to another with her mother, Julia, a political writer, feels most at home when in the kitchen of her marital home, with the servant girl, Philo.  She remains close to her mother, both geographically and emotionally,  even if she finds her step father, Augustus, rather pompous and silly at times, and loves visiting the household, which revolves around Julia’s creative impulses, ably facilitated by Hannah, who has served Julia ever since Lizzie was a child, and the couple’s advocacy of women’s rights and republicanism. The bold idealism August and Julia represent is utterly at odds with Diner’s capitalism and Lizzie struggles at times to accommodate the two, torn between strong ties to her past and the ever more controlling, distrustful behaviour of the husband to whom she is passionately and jealously drawn.

The backdrop to these relationships is the French Revolution, unfolding in gory detail through letters sent to Julia and Augustus by political friends caught up in events on the street, and whose economic consequences are soon felt keenly by Diner, desperate to sell the other houses he is building and into which he has ploughed so much. Less significant but equally keenly felt by our protagonists are the revolutions unleashed by the news that Julia has fallen pregnant at the age of 40 and by the arrival of an unannounced visitor from France, asking questions about Diner’s first wife. As Lizzie’s life gets more and more entwined with that of her mother’s household, she feels ever more distant from Diner, whilst his unpredictability and anger grow with every passing day that brings new reports of bloodshed and turmoil over the Channel.

Menace and mystery pulse from the pages of BIRDCAGE WALK and Dunmore’s story telling skills are in fine form. In Diner and Julia in particular, she has created complex characters that are equal to the drama, desolation and danger of the plot they inhabit – one which is full of drama, desolation and danger. I tend to avoid overtly historical fiction though I always enjoy how Dunmore’s novels are committed to revealing the role played by usually forgotten people – and usually women – in defining the past. As she writes in her Afterword, “The question of what is left behind by a life, haunts the novel”. That’s certainly true and, whilst not as brilliant as A SPELL OF WINTER, for example, BIRDCAGE WALK is, nonetheless, a fantastic read and highly recommended.

Leave a comment

Filed under drama, historical

AUTUMN by Ali Smith

I generally like Smith’s books, especially the way she plays with structure and language. At times that can make them slightly less accessible but in my experience persistence usually pays off (though I do have a copy of HOW TO BE BOTH on my kindle that I have not read yet because it feels a bit daunting). With AUTUMN she has written something apparently much more straightforward and in which I found myself easily absorbed. However, the relative simplicity belies some complex ideas and themes.

The emotional heart of the novel is the relationship between Daniel Gluck, 101 years old and who spends  most of his time in his nursing home sleeping and dreaming, with Elisabeth Demand, 32 years old, on the verge of losing her job as an art historian, and adapting to the post-Brexit world. Daniel and Elisabeth were neighbours when she was a child and he inspired in her a love of beauty, colour, stories and much else. It jumps between the present day and some very funny interactions eg between Elisabeth and the man at the Post Office as she tries to make a passport application, Daniel’s vivid dreams, and the time when the pair first met, 1993.

These threads are held together not just by our characters but also by their different and contrasting commentaries on the nature of time. From Daniel’s slow breaths, and the observation that each one might be his last, to his dreamscapes, which are full of longing and speeded up action. From Elisabeth’s forays into the life of Daniel’s one time love, the largely forgotten only woman Brit pop artist Pauline Boty, to the changes taking place after the Brexit vote and the literal and metaphorical fences she encounters. Time is portrayed as fluent, the present as fleeting, our existence as fragile.

Smith has written a sobering book, in which the smallness of everyday life, where one’s head on a passport photo is measured with a ruler and rejected, contrasts temporarily with the largeness of what we leave behind through our interactions which others, but which in turn becomes small then disappears thanks to our fading memories and transience in this world. Despite all this, there’s an energy and colour to the novel, which I really loved. It’s flies by, much like time. It’s a reminder that nothing lasts for ever, including the things we fear and dread.  And above all, it’s a call to make the most of every moment, because the seasons will keep passing and we are powerless to stop them.

Leave a comment

Filed under drama

ALL THE LIGHT WE CANNOT SEE by Anthony Doerr

This came highly recommended by a friend and also courtesy of various literary award panels. Two stories run in parallel throughout – that of Marie-Laure, a young blind French girl, enthralled by the lives of snails and molluscs, growing up under Nazi occupation and that of Werner, a young German orphan and radio obsessive who can fix pretty much anything and is desperate to escape the mines and the same inevitable death underground that befell his father. The stories weave between their early childhoods and the novel’s present day, where St Malo, home to Marie-Laure and her great uncle Etienne, is being subjected to relentless aerial bombardment by the US Airforce. Etienne is part of the resistance and his radio transmissions have attracted the attention of Werner’s superiors, so the German teenager has been sent to track down their source. Also in town is Reinhold Von Rumpel, in hot pursuit of a legendary and cursed diamond called the Sea of Flame, with which Marie-Laure’s father was entrusted when the war broke out, by the head of the natural history museum where he worked as a locksmith.

Doerr is a great story teller and there’s much I loved about this book. He has created two captivating main characters and a support cast that’s equally interesting. He convincingly brings to life the weight of sadness, the simultaneous futility and opportunity of war, the persistent nature of goodness and of greed. The entwined themes of light, seeing and vision seem to emerge very naturally and, thanks to Doerr’s elegant prose, are readily sustained. And, very important this, there’s a deliberate and very satisfying tying up of loose ends as the book draws to an end.

Yet for some reason I found myself bored reading it. Bored by the pace and the time it took for Werner and Marie-Laure’s paths to cross (an event which in itself was fleeting), by the bloated descriptions of her encounters with nature and his with science, and in particular by the Sea of Flame narrative and Von Rumpel’s emotional landscape.  I was reading it on my kindle so I have no idea how big a book it is but it felt too long – and that’s from someone who loves being immersed in very big books.

There’s no doubt about Doerr’s ambition and talent, and who am I to say he’s not deserving of the many prizes ALL THE LIGHT WE CANNOT SEE has won. But ultimately, I didn’t manage to really connect with it and nor did I find the light others have come across in its pages. Perhaps it simply just wasn’t right for me at the time of reading. Or perhaps the darkness leaves me needing books where the light is more blinding than subtle.

 

Leave a comment

Filed under drama, historical

THE BRICKS THAT BUILT THE HOUSES by Kate Tempest

Harry is a high end drug dealer, in partnership with her lifelong friend and back-watcher Leon. One night she meets and falls for Becky, a dancer, who also waits tables in the family cafe and gives massages to strangers in hotel rooms. She notices Pete in the family cafe because he’s reading a book written by Becky’s estranged father. The two get talking then get together. Pete is Harry’s half brother but none of them realise the connection until Harry throws a surprise party for Pete. A surprise party at which Harry also discovers she knows Becky’s drug dealing uncles – and not in a good way.

THE BRICKS THAT BUILT THE HOUSES explodes into being as Leon, Harry and Becky are fleeing London with a suitcase full of money. The opening prose is pure poetry  and it only gets better and better. This book is gritty, funny, sexy and like nothing you’ve ever read before. Tempest has created characters that are so real it hurts sometimes. They are linked not just by the story she’s woven but by being variously abandoned and ambitious, and the bricks of their lives, from childhood upwards, are carefully laid and cemented together, generation on generation.

Tempest has captured London too, “cocksure, alert to danger, charming”, in particular parts of my south east corner where “The road is strewn with picked clean rib bones, and the faint smell of boozy piss mixes with the sweet rot of skunk smoke.” But she’s been clever enough not to let the city take centre stage, with a story and a pace that’s irrepressible.

A book about the bass line, THE BRICKS THAT BUILT THE HOUSES thrums with truth, from lines like “People are killing for Gods again. Money is killing us all.” to the way Tempest steadily unpicks the relationship women have with their bodies and their sexuality. It’s a book with purpose but never feels worthy. A book that’s incredibly daring but never tries too hard.

Tempest is a poet, a rapper and spoken word performer. She gives us phrases like “Harry’s voice is a broken window, letting the rain in.” and “She swallowed her doubt, but the hook stuck in the flesh of her mouth, pulling her upwards, away from him.” At times the words on the page feel like song lyrics, so I wasn’t surprised to learn after reading it that THE BRICKS THAT BUILT THE HOUSES is a companion piece to her Mercury Music Prize shortlisted debut album EVERYBODY DOWN.  It certainly made me sing. It made me want to fling open windows too and read passages to passers by, at the same time as wanting to hunker down and greedily savour every word in the peace of my own company.  Extraordinary.

Leave a comment

Filed under drama, love story

THE LANTERN by Deborah Lawrenson

the lantern by deborah lawrenson

There’s something very captivating about this sensual, mysterious novel. It evokes its Provencal setting through some gorgeous (if at times over wrought) language that appealed to all my senses, and the way it moves between past and present is seamless and bewitching. Yet overall I felt a bit irritated reading THE LANTERN and in large part I suspect that was because it crossed over every so often into the supernatural. Now I love a bit of supernatural or magic or fantasy in a book. I love a lot of it too, as evidenced by my reading the Harry Potter series about once a year. But these things have their place and, although I have no hard and fast rules, I don’t much like it when ghosts, spells, visitors from other planets or whatever arrive unannounced in a book that I am expecting to be the kind of book where such things do not occur. As it turns out, there are rational explanations for all the supernatural events that take place but none of that is revealed until very close to the end and, by that time,  I am afraid the damage had been done.

At the heart of THE LANTERN is a house called Les Genevriers that has been home to immense happiness and terrible heartbreak. When Eve and Dom, in the midst of a whirlwind romance, buy the house and start the long process of rescuing it from neglect they stir up all sorts of secrets about the previous inhabitants. The random objects Dom and Eve find in the overgrown garden and wonder over are precious memories to Benedicte Lincel, who grew up at Les Genevriers at the time of the Second World War and who is struggling to let go of the past. The house and the events that take place there link Eve and Dom’s story with Benedicte’s, until eventually the two collide with the shocking discovery of a body in the grounds of Les Genevriers.

The slightly oppressive nature of Les Genevriers once the summer has passed, feeds suspicions that Eve has been harbouring about Dom, and these feelings are heightened by his repeated disappearances, news reports of missing local teenage girls, and her lover’s brooding, uncommunicative nature. As she tries to find out the story behind Dom’s break up with his wife, Eve becomes more and more unsure about the man she has followed to the South of France. A friendship with a local French woman who knew Dom’s wife prompts even more questions and when Eve discovers that his ex had been researching the history of former owners of Le Genevriers, the house starts to feel more like a prison that a retreat.

Benedicte’s older sister, Marthe, lost her sight as a young girl and as an adult was a world renowned parfumier. Like many of his generation, their brother Pierre decided that his future lay in getting rich as a factory worker rather than the back breaking work of rural life. Benedicte is the one who stayed at home, caring for her ageing mother and trying to keep Le Genevrier in one piece. When handsome Andre turns up one evening looking for board in return for work, Benedicte starts to feel she may have a future ahead of her and the two soon fall in love. But like everyone in this story, Andre has dark secrets and Benedicte’s heart gets broken – first by him, then by her sister, and finally by her prodigal, bitter and violent brother.

I definitely found Benedicte’s the most moving of the two narratives that make up the book – she’s a far stronger and interesting character than modern day Eve who is a bit too self obsessed and drippy for my liking. But it takes a while before her story really gets going and that also added to my frustration with THE LANTERN, as did the obvious but ultimately undeserved comparisons with Daphne DuMaurier’s REBECCA- a far superior book. There’s no doubt Lawrenson can write and the story is well plotted and richly told. She develops some interesting themes, most notably around blindness and passivity. So it’s a shame that I just didn’t get along with THE LANTERN as well as I might. If you do not have the same prejudices, you may well enjoy it – and at least you are forewarned.

Leave a comment

Filed under drama, historical, love story, Uncategorized

THE OCEAN AT THE END OF THE LANE by Neil Gaiman

the-ocean-at-the-end-of-the-lane-by-neil-gaiman

I was in Brighton last week and unexpectedly given a copy of this book by someone who had come across my blog and was amazed that I’d made it to this point in my life without reading any Neil Gaiman. I didn’t have time to explain that this blog only covers the books I’ve read since turning 40, especially as he was correct – there has been a Neil Gaiman shaped hole in my life until now. He comes highly recommended and not just by my friend. Of THE OCEAN AT THE END OF THE LANE, Joanne Harris declares “Some books you read. Some books you enjoy. But some books just swallow you up, heart and soul” and the novel won Book of the Year at the National Book Awards in 2013. So what’s all the fuss about?

A fairy take of the dark and dangerous kind, rather than the saccharine reinvention of the genre, Gaiman’s book captures the powerlessness, fear, beauty and trust of childhood. At it’s centre is an unhappy, lonely boy (nobody came to his 7th birthday party), whose name we never learn and who lives in the Sussex countryside next door to the remarkable Hempstock family, consisting of 3 generations of women. Lettie Hempstock, a few years older than him, offers to help out when an opal miner, who was lodging with the boy’s family, ends up dead, his kitten disappears and he has nightmare about a coin getting stuck in his throat that turns out to be real. Lettie explains these odd things are happening because a supernatural being has found its way into the world. But when the pair try to find the spirit and bind it, another force sneaks through the tear between two worlds via a worm hole that lodges itself in the narrator’s foot.

Enter Ursula Monkton, who takes up residence in the boy’s home as the new housekeeper. She seduces his father, deceives his mother and indulges his sister. It’s only our narrator who sees Ursula for the evil, destructive being she really is. Alienated from his family and locked in the attic by a vengeful Ursula, the boy flees to his neighbour’s one night, escaping via a window and down a drain pipe, surely what many a child dreams of doing though few wish for the horrors that require it. The Hempstocks come to the rescue and it involves some powerful magic. They remove the fragment of Ursula’s escape route that’s buried in his foot, confront Ursula and, when she refuses to leave voluntarily, call on “hunger birds” to devour her. These scavengers are ruthlessly efficient and once they’ve seen off Ursula, they turn their attention to the tiny bit of her that lives on in the boy’s heart, and will not return to their world unless they can fully complete their task. The Hempstocks try to keep him safe but the birds are angry at being thwarted and  start to destroy the surrounding world instead, devouring trees, sky and, our narrator fears, his own family and everything else besides. Unable to bear the weight of such responsibility, he runs out from the safety of the Hempstock’s farmhouse to offer himself up, but Lettie is on his heels and as the birds swoop in, she tries to protect him. Lettie’s grandmother finally sees the birds off but not before her granddaughter is badly hurt.

Gaiman’s story starts and ends in the present when our narrator is a grown man who occasionally visits his childhood home. When he’s there he recalls what happened to him as a boy, but those memories don’t get carried into his future, and nor does he tend to remember that he’s made previous visits. On each occasion he sees the Hempstock family, who feed him the wonderful meals that nourished him as a child, let him gaze upon the two moons that appear on different sides of their house, and reassure him that Lettie is safe and well, travelling in Australia. They also let him sit by the ocean at the end of the lane, which may only look like a small pond but which contains universe upon universe and whose waters contain knowledge about the nature of everything.

This is a beautifully written book in which the monsters and horrors of magical realism are nothing like as frightening as those the boy encounters in the real world. I was especially struck by how he tackles the idea that damage done to our hearts as children translates into emptiness and loneliness when we reach adulthood; by how big everything is, and how small we are in comparison, doesn’t have to be frightening and can be quite comforting; and by how a childhood where you realise adults are not invincible can feel like the most terrifying place on earth. Mythical, poignant and utterly convincing, Gaiman’s tale did indeed swallow me up.

 

Leave a comment

Filed under fantasy, Uncategorized