Our Lady of Sorrows

 My latest short story is out now on Fictionable World …

 https://www.fictionable.world/stories/our-lady-of-sorrows-p-r-woods/

 (Paywall, but you can read the opening pars for free or subscribe to read for just £20/year)

Bats, bad guys and a Bronte: my year in books 2024

'You're upside down. No, YOU'RE upside down'
Image by tomatomicek from Pixabay  

No doubt both many of you who read this blog don't visit for the annual list of books, but for the pearls of wisdom that precede them. So you'll be disappointed to hear that, this year, I don't have any! No deaths in the family, I'm pleased to report, and so I'll content myself and your good selves with three, not so much pearls but rather-nice-pebbles-you've-found-on-the-beach of wisdom. But we'll get on to the books, and return to the wisdom at the end.

Fewer big ones this year, because I now "enjoy" German lessons once a week, which doesn't make my German much better but does send me into a Saturday night panic about homework that I'd not experienced for more than two decades! So I slowly and laboriously read German books on my ereader every night, leaving less time for reading in English …

 I buy books from Hive, Bookshop.org or The All Good Bookshop. And so should you.

1. The Queen's Man by Rory Clements: for fans of CJ Sansom's Shardlake series, or SJ Parris's Giordano Bruno series. Same era, same sort of set-up. But, and this annoys me more than it should, I cannot find a definitive answer to the order the Clements books should be read in! The Queen's Man is "the first in chronological order" but "Book 6 of 7 in the John Shakespeare series". Clements basically went back and wrote some prequels. If anyone can find the definitive order in which the books should be read, let me know.
2. The Talented Mr. Ripley by Patricia Highsmith: delicious. Not since Raskolnikov has it been such fun rooting for the bad guy.
3. Lady Audley's Secret by Mary Elizabeth Braddon: not sure where this recommendation came from but I'm so glad it did. An 1862-sensationalist crime thriller with a modern heroine. Too much sweetness is clearly bad for you.
   
4. The Song of Achilles by Madeline Miller: the best I've read (so far) of the Greek tragedy reworkings that are now all the rage. As heartbreaking and sexy as a Patrick Swayze.
   
5. The Meditations of Marcus Aurelius: mixes the profane and the profound, and also the not-really-very-interesting-any-more-if-you're-not-a-second-century-Roman-emperor.
6. All Quiet on the Western Front by Erich Maria Remarque: shorter than the film would have you believe. I haven't read enough war books to judge whether this really is the "greatest war novel of all time". In my opinion, AQOTWF is less epic than Musa Dagh; less scythe-like than Farewell to Arms; not quite as clever as A Very Long Engagement, but it cuts deeply, nonetheless.
   
7. CS Lewis: the Story Teller by Derick Bingham: a children's introduction to the life of the great writer and theologian but a bit crap. Next!
   
8. The Armour of Light by Ken Follett: it's possible that I have now read too many Follett books, and also possible that he's written too many, but he's just so damned readable! This one is set in the 1790s and covers the rise of Methodism (woop!), the nascent industrial revolution, and the march of Napoleon. Follett creates some wonderful characters as usual, but life falls in place at the end just a little too neatly.
   
9. The Rosie Project by Graeme Simsion: I really enjoyed this book about an odd academic whose life decisions are made according to statistics rather than instinct or simple preferences. So perhaps it's churlish of me to mention that it also annoyed me that the unrealistic expectations that many men have of a wife and women in general is presumed to be the reserve of a socially challenged professor. It's a tinsy bit more common than that.
   
10. Ripley Under Ground by Patricia Highsmith: yes, it's a series! A book series and not just a TV series! Ooh Ripley is so wicked! So clever! I ought not to like him so much …
    
11. A Spell of Good Things by Ayobámi Adébáyo (apologies for missing off the other diacritics): set in contemporary Nigeria, this is a tale of how two families, one rich and one poor, become intertwined through political corruption.
    
12. The Salt Path by Raynor Winn: I've read these in the wrong order but, leaping over that hurdle in some worn-out walking boots, I loved this book. Powerful writing about nature and recovery. Makes me want to sleep under the stars.
    
13. Sacrilege by SJ Parris: an accidental reread, and I got gently told off for reading this at the work Christmas party (sometimes you just can't squeeze any more into your Communal Fun Quota) but hey, why not reread what you enjoy? It's about a renegade monk turned detective philosopher, set in the 16th century. Gotta love them Tudors.
    
14. A Spool of Blue Thread by Anne Tyler: lots of people tell me I should read more Tyler. So I'm trying! A multi-generational sweep of family lives and loves set in mid-20th century Baltimore. I couldn't point to Baltimore on a map and I think I miss a lot of the subtleties of American writing because I am so switched off by their politics. Ah well. It's a good book.
    
15. The Marriage Portrait by Maggie O’Farrell: brilliant. loved it. Is it as good as Hamnet? Not quite. Bit nastier. Great heroine. Murder and intrigue in late Renaissance Italy and a very satisfying ending. I like the new trend for succinct writing, not that I follow it myself of course.
    
16. A Dream of Sadlers Wells/Veronica at the Wells/No Castanets at the Wells/Masquerade at the Wells by Lorna Hill: whenever I'm feeling nostalgic, and thinking of my childhood, I return to this 1950s series of books with their mildewed covers and thick leaves of paper, to dream of being a ballerina again. Or rather, to dream again of being a ballerina.
    
17. The Red Prince: John of Gaunt, Duke of Lancaster by Helen Carr: Gaunt was one of the most well-connected men of 14th century England (if you're struggling with your centuries, think of wars with Scotland, the Hundred Years War with France, the Peasants Revolt, and uncomfortable dresses) and Carr has written him a generous biography, showing his artistic and sensitive side (Gaunt was Chaucer's patron), and deciding he probably wasn't a traitor. 
    
18. For Thy Great Pain Have Mercy On My Little Pain by Victoria MacKenzie: definitely winning the prize for best title of the year, this is an intriguing, short novel, written in the first person from the perspective of two great medieval women – in their own words, you might say – Julian of Norwich and Margery Kempe. Manages to convey the strangeness and wonder of choosing to go into a single room and staying there until you die.
    
19. King Lear by some Shakespeare fella: I'm gradually catching up with all the Shakespeares I haven't yet read (I'll save watching them all until I retire – although it's surprising how seldom some of them are performed). There was an article in the FT in which four actors described playing Lear, in a wonderfully luvvy way, and I kept the article to inspire me to read the play. And then accidentally threw away the article and made Seán rummage through the recycling to find it. I don't think I can add much to the canon of thought on Lear, except to say, what great female characters! And Cordelia's not even the best role. And is it really about Lear at all? It's about all the fools in the world at the end of their lives, and we can all relate to that eventually.
    
20. Chocolat by Joanne Harris: I read this because we studied the film for House Group (mini church for Methodist folk). The book is more magical than the film, and the love affairs are a lot more mixed up. It's part of a series, but it may be bad for me to overindulge.
    
21. Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow by Gabrielle Zevin: two young adults meet in curious circumstances, and discover a shared love of gaming. They go on to make it their career, but love and death get in the way. You don't at all need to know or care about gaming to really enjoy this book. The greatness of it lies in the way it depicts another kind of love. But what's with the commas?!
    
22. Shirley by Charlotte Brontë: I didn't know the Brontës had an umlaut! [update: Seán, the king of diacritics, tells me it's not an umlaut]. You can see why Jane Eyre is more studied. I spent a long time wondering when Shirley was going to arrive, and why the book wasn't called Caroline. And when Shirley did arrive, I didn't like her. Bit of a show-off. All that cash and hair. You could write a good comparative essay on Shirley and Felix Holt, but I was a little dissatisfied with Brontë's toe-dipping into political issues. It was all a bit, "OK there's a revolution going on, but can we sort out who's going to marry whom first?" 
23. Are Murmurations Worth It? by Luke Wright: a poetry collection about birds and childhood and rejection. Wonderful. 
24. Bismarck and the Unification of Germany by RR Sellman: a short schoolbook dealing with one of the trickier periods in European history, when all the empires started breaking apart and reforming, and the nationalists were the good guys. And there was a place called Prussia. This was the age of petty territorial wars, less impactful or devastating because they only really involved professional soldiers. Europe was utterly unprepared for the horrors of the first world war. Why do we consider in many cases arbitrary borders to be so important, to unite us in ways that interests, religion, work and even language don't? Obviously Marx would say capitalism does this; makes nation more important than solidarity with your fellow workers. I looked up this book on Goodreads and it said "No one has read or reviewed this book yet", which perhaps tells you all you need to know. Rather than reading it, instead watch Die Kaiserin – a Netflix series about Empress Elizabeth of Austria (known as Sissi – she and Bismarck died in the same year, fact fans).
    
25. The Concubine's Children by Denise Chong: given to me by a very dear friend keen to diversify my reading habits. I found it absolutely fascinating: about a family divided between China and Canada, where members of one family go to try to make a living to send back to the other family in China. What incredible changes China has undergone in the past hundred years. How little many of us in the west know of, and respect, its rich history. 
26. Paul: A Novel by Walter Wangerin: basically, a novelisation of the Biblical book of the Acts of the Apostles. Written in short, fragmented chapters, by the key players in the story (Paul, Seneca, Luke, Barnabas, Prisca (a woman mentioned fleetingly by Paul in Acts, but who gets a big role in this novel). It captures the fervour and fear of the decades following Jesus' death and resurrection. Before reading this, I had totally underestimated what a big deal it was for Jews and non-Jews to suddenly be of the same religion, and the interminable discussions in the Early Church about to what extent the new religion should follow the customs and traditions of the old. And how controversial it was to convert and evangelise. We're used to thinking of Christianity as an 'old' religion, safely resting on 2,000 years of belief evidenced in art, music, literature, and the performance of so many rituals of faith that are built on centuries of tradition and acceptance. How strange it must have been to believe in a recently dead (and alive again) saint, cult leader, god, resistance fighter, rebel … and to expect his imminent return. What a peculiar concept the Holy Spirit must have been – how they had to devise the words to describe it/him/they. How different the concept of a Holy Spirit must have been compared to the Jewish God and the Roman Gods. All in all, this book was an eye-opener!
27. The Cronicle History of Henry the fift, With his battell fought at Agin Court in France. Togither with Auntient Pistoll by William Shakespeare: him again, and what a great play this is. Reads like a Tudor version of a Boys Own magazine. We gave those Frenchies what for, with our Welsh wariror king who died too young.  
28. Welcome to Glorious Tuga by Francesca Segal: a woman goes on a long boat trip to the (very) remote island of Tuga to investigate turtles. She ends up becoming a vet to the community and falling in love. Gentle. Sweet. Not quite my cup of tea.
    
29. To Calais in Ordinary Time by James Meek: oh what fun to write about sex in such a slippery and poetic medieval tongue. A brilliant retelling of the adventures of bowmen off to fight in France, whose progress is delayed by the dread spread of plague across England. Very strange times to live in.
    
30. The Golden Mole by Katherine Rundell: Everyone should read this recollection of the incredible animalia slowly dying before our eyes: the wondrous narwhal, the sinister crow, the biologically stupendous seahorse, the eerie bat. I guarantee this book contains facts that will wow you, and stories to make your heart weep, such as the gruesome ways we found out how bats locate other objects through hearing not sight (involving plucking out bats eyes and plugging their ears with paraffin) – ingenious but highly unpleasant for the bats, which are wondrous, mysterious, terrifying creatures that I've had the pleasure of watching at great lengths as they fly in our garden. For all my books, I need to make a decision after reading about whether I keep, lend or donate. I was really torn with this beautiful edition. But I don't want to be one of the few who care enough. If this can make others care, it needs the widest possible readership.
31. The Black Prince by Iris Murdoch: forget Wuthering Heights; this book is the ultimate in unreliable narration. An older man – a frustrated writer – falls in love with his best friend's wife, and then their daughter. A great twist at the end (well it wouldn't be at the start now, would it).
32. Precipice by Robert Harris: got this on Christmas Day; read it by new year. Not the most exciting of Harris' books, but an intriguing true story about Asquith, the PM at the start of the first world war, falling in love with a much younger society girl. In this day of politicians being sacked over WhatsApp messages and lost briefcases, it will ASTONISH you how casual the PM was about sharing highly sensitive matters of state with his lover. 
33. The Mermaid and Mrs. Hancock by Imogen Hermes Gowar: whimsical, longish novel about a Mr Hancock and his mermaid, and how it gets him a Mrs Hancock. Lots of sex, some slightly odd stream-of-consciousness-from-the-perspective-of-a-mermaid moments, and a happy ending! Yes an actual happy ending! Happy endings are much underrated in literary fiction.
    
34. Foster by Claire Keegan: a novella (so in vogue – although actually this was first published in 2010 and re-released after the phenomenal success of Small Things Like These) about a child going to stay with relatives in Ireland to give her mum a bit of a break while she has a new kid. Joy, poignance and wit on every page in writing so crystal clear you want to dive into it, from the 21st century's Hemingway.
35. The English Patient by Michael Ondaatje: I probably watched the film not too long after it came out but it's taken me much longer to read the book (and now I can't watch the film again because I know it's He Who Must Not Be Named beneath all those bandages …). A wonderful book – a little different to the film; less of a love story. Kip the sapper plays a bigger role in the book. But it's brilliant, of course.
    
36. Powers and Thrones: A New History of the Middle Ages by Dan Jones: this isn't really a new history but rather the old history brilliantly rearranged. Not chronologically; not focusing on all those cross, boring kings fighting for fragments of France. This is a rollercoaster ride through history divided up into chunks of people: artists (focusing on the Renaissance), Arabs, Monks, Mongols, Scholars, Survivors (what a strange world it must have been in the mid-14th century, when up to half of Europe's population died of the bubonic plague). It has wonderful stories, and larger than life characters. My favourite is Philip of Burgundy – a playful patron of the arts and a duke who wanted to be a king – who signed off his official letters "farewell turd".

The "wisdom"

First, and foremost, spend more time with friends. They are the perfect audience for all of life's other moans. I live in a small flat in London, so never host, but I do try to be as generous with time and chats as others can offer with their actual houses! Whether you're a texter, a caller, a visitor or even a writer, friends are, as someone once said, the family we would have chosen (no offence to my actual family who may be reading this). So don't let the calendar get clogged up with shite no one cares about, and instead stay in touch with those few people on earth who really get you; who laugh like hyenas when you fall flat on your face but also help you get up again.

And don't worry too much about money. You're now in the bracket of wealth you'll always be in, which in the global context is extremely rich indeed. So be generous with what you have, and spend on what makes you happy.

And finally, I know I'm a massive eco-worrier, and I could bore you all for hours with my opinions on the climate crisis and the role that travel, pets, homes, the royal family, WFH, holidays, clothes and much more play in exacerbating that crisis. But there is no indication that the governments and corporations that could make a difference, and halt or even reverse the flow of crisis, will do anything at all. I believe it's a moral, spiritual and personal necessity for each of us to reduce, massively and urgently, our levels of consumption, which are incompatible with a liveable future. But you won't do enough, and nor will I, and we have to be brave for the future that awaits us. Let's enjoy and protect the nature we live alongside while we can.

For those who like to keep me on my toes about my reading choices, the authors break down like this:

• Ratio of women to men: 21:15 
• Ratio of white to non-white: 34:2 
• Ratio of alive to dead: 25:11

So, recommendations of books NOT by dead women very welcome!

From Angevins to apocalypse: my year in books 2023

Some kid, some where

The night after we brought newborn Séany back from the hospital, no one slept a wink. He wouldn't feed, he wouldn't let us put him down. It was terrifying. When the midwife came the next day, she said he'd lost twenty per cent of his body weight and we needed to take him straight back into hospital. 

We arrived at paediatric A and E and were seen immediately by the most amazing doctor. She was reassuring, but concerned, and immediately arranged fluids for Seány and a nurse to help me start expressing milk. In one of the biggest crises in my life, she was wonderful and competent; an absolute rock.

She was also a dwarf.

A few hours later, she was still on shift discussing with a colleague a rather curious case of a little girl who'd been hiccupping (hiccoughing …) for days. Like all good paediatricians, they opted to give her a dose of Calpol. The doctor had a stepladder, presumably just for her, to reach the right cupboard.

Over the years, I've often thought about that doctor. How in all probability she saved Seány's life. What incredible hurdles she must have overcome to become a doctor; the snide comments, the stares, the doubts, the practicalities of not being able to reach the bloody cupboards. What incredible determination and ability she must have.

I'm not of the opinion that whatever you want, you should go out and get. Many of the things we want – a bigger car, a bigger house, a bigger bank balance – can be harmful to other people. And I can't promise that if there's something you want, whether it's a personal achievement, seeing something in a far off (or nearby …) land, or a secret you haven't shared with anyone, you'll get there. Life isn't like that. But the greatest regrets don't happen when we fail; they happen when we know we haven't tried everything to get there. 

Anyway, enough of the pop psychology! On with the books! You'll notice (OK, you may notice) that the title has changed. I can't really claim the reviews are one line, and they're not just the best; they're everything!

I buy books from Hive and The All Good Bookshop. 

1. Mrs England by Stacey Halls: you know the sort of thing. Women in the past (this time the Edwardian era), with a twist. Hints of The Turn of the Screw, but less creepy.
2. The Vegetarian by Han Kang: brilliant and short. Not really about vegetarians, or meat, but about the body, and the control we have – or don't have – over it. 
3. Arrowood by Mick Finlay: this book gets a bonus point because I Tweeted (Xd?) about why it was Arrowood not Arrowwood, and the author got back to me. Tense, great sidekick, didn't rely on women being chopped up. Everything a detective story should be! My only minor complaint was it's set in 1895, but at times felt like it was 1995.
4. Starling by Sarah Jane Butler: this is a debut (for novels) writer who's a friend of a friend, and this is an unusual book about a young woman living on and off the grid; in and outside society; as she looks for her mother, who has disappeared. Good, but tailed off slightly.
5. Pompeii by Robert Harris: you know what you get with Harris but this was one of his more poignant reads. No happy ending here. 
6. Invitation to the Waltz by Rosamund Lehmann: or is it an invitation to WOMANHOOD? Hmm … I read this because it's the prequel to a book I'd been given, The Weather in the Streets, about a woman who has an affair with a married man. Or maybe she's married. I don't know, because I haven't read it yet. ANYWAY, there's only so excited I can get about girls who get excited about frocks. 
7. Frenchman's Creek by Daphne du Maurier: Du Maurier doesn't get anything like enough credit for the witty, independent female characters she wrote. In Creek, she inverts the traditional, swashbuckling smuggler novel yet still provides a thriller of poignancy and drama. As one review on goodreads says, "It has passion. It has Frenchmen. What more do you need?"
8. The Things That We Lost by Jyoti Patel: a tender debut novel of tragedy spilling down the generations. A book of bereavement and joy.
9. Snow by John Banville: this is part of the St. John Strafford detective series, which I didn't know before reading, and I think the book stands up perfectly well on its own. A Catholic priest is murdered in 1950s Ireland and the detective has to find out why. Although, with Banville, you tend to suspect why (he often deals – sensitively – with child abuse, especially in relation to the Catholic Church), it's still a tense and at times beautiful read. Interesting that Banville cites Henry James as one of his biggest influences as they are both concerned with morally complex characters and, essentially, how humans hurt humans.
10. Eleanor Oliphant is Completely Fine by Gail Honeyman: this book divides opinion but I loved it. Funny and clever, just like me ;)
11. On Chesil Beach by Ian McEwan: almost a brilliant novel of regret and missed opportunities, but at times I was screaming JUST GET ON WITH IT. People worry a bit too much about sex, I think.
12. As A Man Grows Older by Italo Svevo: a failed writer is consumed by jealousy and obsessive love. An introspective novel about people with a bit too much time on their hands, really – perhaps everyone had more spare time in 1898 – that swerves between unreadable and unputdownable. 
13. Not Just Another Missing Person by Gillian McAllister: well, actually, yes just another missing person, with a bit of police corruption thrown in. A thriller, and a good one. 
14. Godmersham Park by Gill Hornby: not quite the Georgian love story it purports to be, this book is really of interest because it's about the governess who taught Jane Austen's niece. It's a wonderful depiction of Jane's frivolity and perception, but actually without that connection it might be a tinsy bit dull.
15. Derailed: How to Fix Britain's Broken Railways by Tom Haines-Doran: I have bored many people about this book already, so apologies if you're one of them, but this is a brilliant, scholarly but readable book about why the trains in Britain are so shit. Full of interesting titbits, I hope it's not just interesting to people, like me, who use trains alot. As a nation, and with a world in a climate crisis, we should all be appalled by this book's revelations.
16. Small Things Like These by Claire Keegan: nothing I can add really as this long-short story/novella has been widely reviewed and praised, but it's a brilliant tale of a father working hard on Christmas Eve and how the little gestures of our lives can make or break others. 
17. Dreamland by Rosa Rankin-Gee: one of the new flurry of climate apocalypse novels, this is life on the edges of society in Margate, with the sea level rising. It's quite good, but I found it a bit irritating: it's fine to not tie up every loose end, but to tie up none of them seems a little unfair on the reader.
18. The White Ship by Charles Spencer: yes that Charles Spencer. A fellow Magdalen alum, this is about the king of England who never was. On a freezing night in November 1120, William, son of King Henry I, got really pissed with his mates and tried to cross the channel from France. They didn't make it. The White Ship sank and, weighed down by gold and daft clothing, hardly anyone survived the tragedy. King Henry instead nominated Matilda, his daughter, as heir. England (especially that dastardly usurper Stephen) didn't follow Henry's wishes, and a dreadful civil war that no one these days knows much about broke out. This is a very readable book by someone who has more than a passing interest in tragedies befalling heirs to the throne.
19. Still Life by Sarah Winman: so good! so very good. One of the best books I've ever read. A sweeping tale of life during and after the second world war, in England and Italy. Luxuriant, with so many fantastic characters, expertly drawn. I felt I knew them all. Giant dollops of art and love on every page.
20. Little Fires Everywhere by Celeste Ng: those who know me know I'm often a little sniffy about American, especially contemporary American, novels, but this is largely a failing of myself, and not of the novels! An interesting tale of race and growing up in a well-to-do American town.
21. The Big Book of the UK by Imogen Russell Williams: this is quite a cheeky inclusion as this is a (large, hardback) children's picture book. But I wanted to include it as it's so full of fascinating facts and stories about the places, people, languages, nature, legends, music, sport and nonsense of this island. 
22. Small Pleasures by Clare Chambers: 1950s, again, and Jean is a feature writer on a local newspaper. She starts investigating a story no one else will touch about a woman who claims to have had a virgin birth. Loved it, and was so outraged by the ending I considered writing to the author and getting her to change it. I didn't in the end, but it did make me cry. 
23. March Violets by Philip Kerr: the first of the Bernie Gunther crime novels, set in Berlin in the 1930s. Good, but a bit too violent for me and I didn't like how Nazism was a bit of an annoyance in the background, rather than dealt with (admittedly it would be anachronistic to do so). I don't think I'll bother with the rest of the series. 
24. New York 2140 by Kim Stanley Robinson: another of those climate apocalypse stories, this time set in New York, 2140, where people live communally in massive high-rises and take boats through the city. Lots of characters, which made it a bit of a struggle to know (or care …) what was going on. And wow, this book feels long. More than 600 pages of, not waffle exactly but chatter, background, noise. I found it too episodic. The last chapter could easily be the first or any in-between, although there are some interesting strands of thought about if profit was used for public good.
25. The Iron Hotel by Sam Llewellyn: really didn't like this one. Was sort of forced to read it as it was the only book I had on a long train journey back from France, but it contains racial slurs, alot of James Bond-esque nonsense, and too much violence. It was also just a bit dull, not the gripping read it thought it was.
26. The House on the Hill by Cesare Pavase: back to Italy, and the 1940s, for a tightly written, Hemingway-esque novel and people in hiding. A reminder that not everyone is a hero in wartime, and not all heroes wear capes. 
27. Blackberry and Wild Rose by Sonia Velton: I'm not actually sure when this book is set, but its about the wife of a Hugenot weaver living in Spitalfields, who takes it upon herself to rescue a prostitute. It rolls in some history, some religion, some economics and some girl power to make a curious but enjoyable read. 
28. The Luminaries by Eleanor Catton: possibly the reason I read fewer books this year! An epic novel, set in the 1860s, about the New Zealand gold rush. To be honest, I don't think I fully got this one. For me, the most interesting character appears near the end, and I didn't notice the ghosts at all. 
29. A Farewell to Arms by Ernest Hemingway: should be on, not just every A-level reading list, but EVERYBODY'S reading list (and it's certainly recommended reading for sub-editors …). The greatest example of how to write short yet leave nothing out (I bet Hemingway could do one-line book reviews. He could certainly write one-line stories.) Clipped as neatly as a military man's moustache, his lack of sentiment leaves you aching inside. It reminded me of Richard Yates' Revolutionary Road (and not just in the obvious way). When I was growing up, we had this on the bookcase at home, and I spent many years thinking, why would anyone want to say goodbye to their arms?
30. Ultra-Processed People: Why Do We All Eat Stuff That Isn't Good And Why Can't We Stop? by Chris van Tulleken: be a little bit scared, but not too scared, by what you're probably eating right now. Longer review of this one here.
31. No Good Deed by Clár Ní Chonghaile: another brilliant book by this journalist turned novelist (who is also a friend). Dealing with issues of white saviours and hero tourism, this tells the story of Elodie, who arrives in Central African Republic after her relationship falls apart. But in wanting to save the world, will she end up doing more harm than good? Clár has also written a blog (more like an essay) on why she wrote the book. 
32. A Christmas Wish for the Land Girls by Jenny Holmes: Séamus' Christmas present to me! And a lovely read it was too. War and snogging in the hills. 
33. Winchelsea by Alex Preston: we stayed in Winchelsea for our first post-lockdown, too stressful-to-go-abroad holiday, and it's a quiet town/village in Kent. Probably Kent. Maybe Sussex. This book casts it in a very different light: smugglers and wrong 'uns aplenty, against the backdrop of Jacobite rebellion, with an intriguing hero. I'm not sure it ends as well as it begins, but still very much worth reading. 
34. A King’s Ransom by Sharon Penman: the sequel to Lionheart, about that curious good King Richard, whose wife was the only English queen never to set foot on English soil. It's also about the tragedy of Eleanor of Aquitaine, living to the age of 80 but burying almost all of her children. I spent 1,600 pages in the company of these squabblesome, arrogant, fascinating Angevins and it was a wonderful place to be. 

So read Still Life if you want an epic, and A Farewell To Arms if you want a shorter epic. And please do send me your recommendations of books to enjoy (or avoid …) 

And finally …

As some of you know, Séamus and I are doing the Big Green Hike in April to raise money for the People's Trust for Endangered Species. They're a great charity, doing the dirty work of field research to protect the wild spaces, and the wildlife within them, that we know and love. 

I truly believe that we are in a crisis of nature and climate, and we are giving a massive hospital pass to the next generation if we don't act urgently and expansively. If everyone who reads this blog donates just £3, we'll have … around £6 to donate to the PTES. Thanks. 

> You can donate here. Or just look at the cute pictures of dormice.

One-line book reviews: my best reads in 2022

 

Image by Pexels from Pixabay
 

And so another year passes and the weight of memories begins to balance out the weight of the living. 

In the lead-up to Christmas, I was told by various newspapers to read less, read more, read better, read slower … I think perhaps you should all read however you like.

I've read fewer books this year than previously (and yes, I do count: partly to help me keep off Twitter and partly so I can remember what I've read and enjoyed – I HATE not being able to recall the titles of books). The main reason for less reading is that my Dad died, and in the months after his death books failed to provide solace, failed to fill the emptiness, failed to part the clouds. But Dad loved books, especially Dostoyevsky and, to a lesser extent, Turgenev and Tolstoy, but also many non-Russians, classics, modern authors – one of his favourite living authors was Clár Ni Chonghaile, who now writes for The New European. And I've gradually found a way through grief and back to reading.

I have a stack of books by my bed. There's no bedside table so they're on the floor, dusty, covered with clothes, shunted around the room like a sleeping cat. And while I don't really approve of new year resolutions (if you want to do something, do it; don't wait for an arbitrary date), I do plan to read differently this year. I've previously had a book in German, a book or two of short stories, a long or classic novel, a more modern or lighter novel, a book of theology, history or biography, a book of poetry, a Bible and something on my Kindle (other e-book readers are available) to fall asleep to. So when I crawl into bed, my mind disturbed by to-do lists and tomorrows, I'm daunted by the tottering tower of the books to read. And I think I'm doing books a disservice by reading them in such a staccato fashion. I've been left a bit cold by some of the books I've read this year – apart from the ones I read on holiday, when I read lots and didn't flit. So I'm attempting to limit myself to one novel at a time … we'll see how that goes.

Anyway, the list!

1. Thursday Murder Club by Richard Osman: I really didn't like this book! Sorry, as I suspect many of you will have read and enjoyed it. But I found it all too convenient, unconvincing and dealt flippantly with suicide and euthanasia.
   
2. Crudo by Olivia Laing: a raw and intriguing study in self-obsession, this is a depiction of a post-Brexit world; not post the legal and constitutional changes but post the referendum, and all the anger, confusion and discontentment the vote released. I'm sure it's anti-structuralist narrative is a literary manifestation of the divisions within society but it also makes it quite hard to read. It conveys the disorientation and fragmentation of life; the multimedia flick flick flick we're all guilty of. Reading it was like suffering from permanent post-coital tristesse with a hangover. 
3. His Only Wife by Peace Adzo Medie: a woman goes off to meet her new husband and his family, only the new husband isn't there. I didn't feel transported to Ghana while reading this, but it's certainly well written with a strong female protagonist.    
4. Daughter of Fortune by Isabel Allende: a Chilean woman follows her lover (and thousands of others) on the Gold Rush to San Francisco, but can't find him there. Instead she meets a Chinese doctor, Tao Chien, and they go on many adventures in a dangerous land that doesn't value them. I love Allende; highly recommended.
   
5. Can You Forgive Her? by Anthony Trollope: vicious politics, misguided Victorian morals, strong female characters. I think I almost prefer Trollope to Dickens. Trollope said that if one of his characters walked into the room, he would recognise them immediately. I feel the same way. This novel is the first of the six-book Palliser series.
   
6. Assembly by Natasha Brown: a highly successful black lawyer prepares to spend the weekend with her rich, white boyfriend's family, while harbouring a terrifying secret. A novella, and a very good one.
   
7. Porterhouse Blue by Tom Sharpe: a very silly book set in a fictional Cambridge college, with shenanigans a plenty with the porters, students and dons. Not very politically correct, but two episodes in this book made me actually fall off the bed laughing.
   
8. Piranesi by Susanna Clarke: so, so good. How to explain it? Is it a novel about joy or sadness, madness or reality, loneliness or companionship? A man (probably a man – or perhaps a boy) is trapped (or perhaps just lives?) in a sinister underground (or is it?) cave, with towering statues, dead bodies and flocks of menacing birds. He is alone, almost, and records everything that happens to him with dedication as he tries to understand his existence. All is not what it seems. Unlike anything else I've read.
   
9. The Enchanted April by Elizabeth Von Armin: a group of women, some richer and more successful in their love affairs than others, spend a month in a beautiful Italian house by the sea. The sisterhood prevails over all those annoying menfolk.
   
10. Cromwell by Diarmaid McCullough: McCullough achieves the impossible with his biography of one of the most enigmatic historical figures of the last millennium. That irascible idiot, Henry VIII, does not come out of it well.   
11. Saint Maybe by Anne Tyler: I like Tyler. She writes with softness and makes you feel genuine concern and interest in her characters. Ian Bedloe is a carefree American teenager whose life is turned upside down by tragedy. To assuage his guilt, he takes on the role of caring for the whole family, with the support of a local church. But is it a cult, and can he really trust any of those he loves? Perhaps this book will resonate more with people who have seen America's fervent religiosity first-hand. 
    
12. The Architect's Apprentice by Elif Shafak: in 1540, a young boy arrives at the Ottoman court at the height of the empire to look after the sultan's elephant. Glittering, luxuriant, vibrant and sad.
    
13. House of Echoes by Barbara Erskine: a couple with a young family inherit an abandoned manor house. But someone is already living there. A ghost! Or perhaps, lots of ghosts! I read this book for my book club as it was supposed to be really scary. It wasn't very scary at all but I still enjoyed it.
    
14. Power of Geography by Tim Marshall: following on from the bestselling Prisoners of Geography comes another stunner on geopolitics. There's even a chapter on the moon. Doom-laden, but worth reading. 
15. American History in 50 Events by Hourly History: OK, so not a proper book but this Kindle (other e-book readers are available) series is good fun. Perhaps you're reading a book set in a certain period, or that mentions a real person. This series covers all sorts from the Greeks to the Revolutions, with biographies too. Great for me as I only have two-thirds of a history degree, and didn't really study anything later than 1649, but like to come across as much more knowledgeable than I really am.
    
16. The Bedlam Stacks by Natasha Pulley: a weird one! It's 1859 and an injured smuggler heads into deepest Peru to try to find cinchona trees that will protect the British navy from malaria. But then he meets a young priest called Raphael, and time is inverted. I read quite a lot of books with historical and religious themes, don't I!
    
17. Now We Shall Be Entirely Free by Andrew Miller: good title, isn't it? An injured British soldier has fled from the Napoleonic wars, and is being pursued by a wrong 'un. Not tremendously exciting, but tender and well written. Reminded me of A Gentleman in Moscow.
18. King John by Marc Morris: how many English kings have we deemed bad in a judgement on their masculinity rather than their royalty? I picked this book up at Dover Castle (I think …) and couldn't put it down again. Seán Dá is now reading The Anglo-Saxons by Morris, and seems equally impressed by that one. In short, King John (skilled at annoying barons and losing land to France) was RUBBISH. But the book is great.
    
19. The Island of Missing Trees by Elif Shafak: another great novel by Shafak. This is set in present times, about the long and painful ramifications of the partition of Cyprus. Short, sad and beautiful. 
20. The Maidens by Alex Michaelides: I had to Google this one to remind me what happens in it, which is perhaps all you need to know. A murder mystery set in Cambridge, with a few nice twists but mainly it's devilishly handsome men who misbehave, and determined women trying to avenge wrongs. 
    
21. Flying to Nowhere by John Fuller: Fuller is a poet who taught me at Oxford, so when I saw this curious novella in a tiny bookshop in [insert name of seaside town Penny has recently visited here] I had to pick it up. Like a much shorter, wittier The Name of the Rose. Some of the lines are pure poetry and I think this is from the book (forgive me if not; I made a note of the line on my phone but not where it was from …) "The evening sun hung on the shoulder of the mountain and lit up the whole garment of the sea. The island seemed to float in darkness that sought the disappearing light. It was like a still voyage towards the shining edge of the world."
    
22. Inkblack Heart by Robert Galbraith: hmmmm. The latest in the Strike series, and way too long. All about online harassment and authorial integrity. Where does s/he get her ideas from?
    
23. Man and Wife by Wilkie Collins: I'm fascinated by the Victorian middle age, a time largely without external conflict (well, after Napoleon and before the Boers) but defined by the emergence of tensions that are still present in society today: science and religion, individual and society, rights and freedoms, rich and poor, leisure and work. Possibly this all stems from an early encounter with The French Lieutenant's Woman. In Man and Wife, a man seduces, then rejects, a woman leaving her in a perilous position. It's an oddly tricky subject, and it might be hard for the modern reader to appreciate the perilous predicament of women who gave birth outside marriage, and their vulnerability to the whims of the men who impregnated them. Yet through strangely unlikeable characters, Collins has produced a deeply readable novel, despite the curious rant in this one about the corruptive effects of physical exercise (men were supposed to sit around reading improving books instead) and quite a lot about the intricacies of Scottish marriage law. Collins is now less well-loved than his fellow Victorians – not as humorous as Dickens (although equally observant), as dramatic as Conan Doyle or as political as Trollope and Eliot. But I like him. 
24. The Century of Calamity: England in the Long Eleventh Century by TD Asch: written by my mate Tom, so I have to be nice about it. It's great fun, with lots of misbehaving monks and scathing assessments of England's early kings.
    
25. Great Circle by Maggie Shipstead: I wanted to like this book, as it was recommended to me by two people whose opinions I very much respect. And I did really like the ending! But the main themes of this book are aviation and Hollywood, and I'm just not interested in either of them. 
26. A Good Neighbourhood by Therese Anne Fowler: a rich white family move in next door to a poorer mixed race family. Romeo and Juliet for the modern era, with a backdrop of property disputes and the impact of people on climate. Very readable.
    
27. Act of Oblivion by Robert Harris: a vengeful Royalist government lackey pursues the men who signed the death warrant of Charles I. Good but not as good as other Harris thrillers.
    
28. Burnt Sugar by Avni Doshi: a discontented woman copes with the mental decline of her mother, and all the uncomfortable memories that surface. Not an easy read, but interesting and stylish. Quite a lot of sex but not good sex.
    
29. Go Tell It on the Mountain by James Baldwin: religion, sexual discovery and identity, and existential despair in 1930s Harlem. This book conveys both the elation and the terror of faith. It's a hard read – partly for structural reasons because of its non-linear chronology, shifting perspective, and stream of consciousness visionary speech interspersed with Biblical quotations, and also because of the wide range of complex themes: love and lust, religion and faith, race and injustice.
    
30. Youth by Joseph Conrad: this longish short story was largely wasted on me as I haven't read Heart of Darkness or Lucky Jim, and I fell asleep during the film. You know, that film with that actor. Anyway, in Youth, an old sailor reminisces about a doomed trip to the East and the lost effervescence of youth. Pass the bottle!
    
31. The Forty Days of Musa Dagh by Franz Werfel: an unforgettable novel about the extermination of Armenians in 1915. The passionate, dutiful Gabriel Bagradian leads his people up the Musa Dagh to escape the encroaching Turkish army. There are love affairs, parties and joy, heroism, tragedy (quite a lot of tragedy actually) and ending to rival Anna Karenina and A Tale of Two Cities. A cautionary epic about the pervasive idea that some groups of people are simply better than others – and the incumbent horrors of that ideology
32. The Flight from the Enchanter by Iris Murdoch: interesting in a post-Brexit context as one of the many threads of this novel hangs on the Right to Remain of two Polish men who are both lovers of the heroine Rosa. Women faint and men stutter in the presence of the elusive Mischa Fox, who, for an enchanter, doesn't actually seem very alluring. One of Murdoch's earlier novels, and it shows a bit, as there's too much going on; lots of drama but not much action. And as I often feel with Murdoch's novels, wouldn't everyone be happier if they philosophised a little less and worked a little more? I'm such a Protestant… 

For those who like to keep me on my toes about my reading choices, the authors break down like this: 

• Ratio of women to men: 16:15
• Ratio of white to non-white: 27:4
• Ratio of alive to dead: 24:7

If you only want one recommendation, read Piranesi for its complex beauty, and The Island of Missing Trees for its sad joy.

One-line book reviews: my best reads in 2021

Image by Mariusz Matuszewski from Pixabay 

Another year of reading passes … and writing these blogs really does help cement the books in my mind, and allows me to enjoy them all over again.

I was gently nudged on Facebook when posting last year's blog to read fewer books by dead, white men. I tried – feel free to send recommendations my way. 

Alongside the books listed below, this has been, again, a year for the short story (I aim for one a day): in magazines, ezines, books, and compilations by one author and many (not sure where to start with short stories? Try The Best British Short Stories by Salt Publishing, Ambit, Brittle Star, Carve, Confingo, The Dublin Review, Fictive Dream, Frogmore, Into The Void, Litro, Mslexia, Neon, The Paris Review, The Pomegranate …) I've also had a couple of short stories published; you can find links to them at the end of this post.

A reminder of why I keep a record of the books I read: 

1) I've got a poor memory and find it really frustrating not to be able to remember the titles of books I've enjoyed, especially when discussing books with other people. 

2) In 2019, Dan challenged me (well, he challenged himself, and I took up the challenge) to read 30 books a year. Having an aim of reading 30 books each year is very good for keeping me off Twitter. Not that my tweets aren't brilliant and insightful, mind, and should be read by everyone from that dishy Canadian PM to Jürgen Klopp …

Like last year, I won't bother to link to books. JFGI. As ever, I would encourage you to use a local bookshop or Hive if any of them appeal to you, sanctimonious Leftie that I am. 

1. The Errant Hours by Kate Innes: the first of a trilogy set in the 13th century, based on real-life events, apparently. Gentle criminality, bread, beer and a maiden saved by a rich nobleman. Readable, but not quite engaging enough to make me want to read the rest of the trilogy.
   
2. The Underground Railroad by Colson Whitehead: a shocking and inspiring novel about a woman escaping her slave owners using a network of secret routes (including a fictional underground railway) and brave strangers to reach a safer part of America. I don't think I've ever rooted for a heroine so much before. Inevitably, it's heartbreaking.
   
3. My Sister, the Serial Killer by Oyinkan Braithwaite: I suppose it's quite a sassy read but I just didn't believe at all in the two main characters. More of a novella.
   
4. A Man Called Ove by Fredrik Backman: given to me by a great friend, this book ticks the "heartwarming" box with a thick permanent marker. It tells the story of a grumpy old Swedish man (who has a legitimate reason to be grumpy) and how life is made complete by one lovely woman. And how, later, it became complete once more.
   
5. The Lake House by Kate Morton: not to be confused with the film of the same name, this is an enjoyable book that follows a familiar structure of a person in the present working through their gremlins by unravelling a mystery from the path. Excellent in places, it is RUINED by the oh so convenient ending.
   
6. The Evening and the Morning by Ken Follett: a prequel to the Kingsbridge Trilogy, but sadly nowhere near as good. I don't feel Follett gets under the skin of the 10th century as successfully as he did for the 12th. Plus his Beautiful AND Determined!!!  female characters are beginning to annoy me. 
7. Heresy by SJ Parris: the first in the series set in the 16th century about an Italian philosopher Giordano Bruno. Great fun. Not as good as Shardlake but better than most historical fiction.
   
8. Prophesy by SJ Parris: the second in the series set in the … you get the drift.
   
9. Dombey and Son by Charles Dickens: The subtitle of the novel in its original guise, "Wholesale, Retail and for Exportation" hints that this is not the most dramatic Dickens novel, concerned as it is with the murky world of Victorian business. It lacks any of the truly great characters that Dickens created but it has lines of surprising poetry – "The waves are hoarse with repetition of their mystery". And the common themes of poverty, broken families and social justice are explored in a more subtle way than in his other novels. Plus it has the line: "Never, for any wrong, inflict a punishment that cannot be recalled." Worth remembering that one.
10. Troubled Blood by Robert Galbraith: a rollicking good read and a deserved bestseller. I was aware of the accusation of, but did not observe while reading, the "pernicious anti-trans tropes".
11. Zikora by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie: an inspirational short (but longer than most in magazines) story about motherhood.
    
12. Quichotte by Salman Rushdie: so many subplots it felt like I was holding two or three books at a time. It's lyrical, fantastic, imaginative, unruly, insightful, playful, dramatic, ridiculous, odd and much more. A literary map of a familiar yet unknown land. Relationships, families, exile, race, celebrity, modern culture or lack of it, loneliness. It's a brave roadtrip of a novel, with strangely unlovable characters. An epic without a hero. I liked the start, got a bit bogged down in the middle, wondered how on earth Rushdie was going to tie it all together, and felt satisfied at the end.
13. The Iron Chariot by Stein Riverton: I've never seen or read any other Scandi Noir so I haven't got much to compare this to. But I loved it! Thrilling, dark, bleak, with a little bit of suavity thrown in. Just don't read the intro beforehand because it'll ruin it.
    
14. Summerwater by Sarah Moss: a collection of short stories unified by the thread of the location – all the characters are on holiday at the same caravan park in Scotland, largely having a miserable time. Characters appear fleetingly, and then become the principals in their own story. The "overthinking during sex" story is downright hilarious and, although there are dark moments, overall it's an invigorating, contemporary read. I just didn't like the ending. Too tidy. Sorry.
    
15. On Beauty by Zadie Smith: you don't have to read Howard's End first. I'm not sure I've ever read Howard's End. In fact, it's pretty pretentious to write an homage to Howard's End isn't it? In fact the whole book is pretentious, dripping with artistic adventures and hyper-realism as it narrates the adventures and misadventures of academics annoying and shagging each other across the globe, and it's wonderful for it, even if it is written with an eye on the Booker panel.
    
16. Fire in the Thatch: a Devonshire mystery by ECR Lorac: no tittering please. I picked up this beautiful edition with its picturesque tea-towel cover from the British Library bookshop as a little treat to myself, and it really was a treat; a neat little crime story set in the English countryside at the end of WW2. The only downer was my favourite character was killed off after only a few chapters. Ah well.
    
17. To Sir, with Love by ER Braithwaite: those who have known me a while will allow themselves a wry smile at this choice. It's a first-person account of Braithwaite's struggles and triumphs as he establishes himself as a teacher in the East End of London. Strangely, the racism he encounters seems less vicious than what we see today, perhaps because it was less insidious, less anonymous, and more based on stupidity and lack of experience, than on cultivated hate. I'm cannot pretend to know what it's like to experience racism, nor can I understand the mindset of people who believe one colour of skin to be superior to another, but this book is a wonderful, if nostalgic, read and reminds us to celebrate inspiring teachers, always.
    
18. The Penguin Lessons by Tom Michell: if you don't like anthropomorphism, look away now. If you do like heartwarming, animals, schoolboys, ruminations and motorbikes in South America, this is a book for you. Very readable.
    
19. The Man Who Disappeared by Clare Morrall: I was womanning a school book stall in a small space, and didn't have many customers. After tidying up the donated Beanos one too many times, I decided to live the message and just stand there reading a book. And I chose this one, about a woman and her children whose comfortable, middle class, suburban lives are torn apart when the father goes missing. Strong characters, weaker setting (I think veryrichtoverypoor might jar a little more than this book suggests), but a book I do not regret reading.
    
20. Hamnet by Maggie O'Farrell: before this came out, O'Farrell probably didn't get the recognition she deserves as a writer of – I believe – similar quality to Edna O'Brien, Anne Tyler  and even Iris Murdoch, possibly because her novels are more 'samey' and narrower, (although possibly also just because she's not old or dead). This book changes all that. It's shorter than you expect, and follows a well-trodden path of Tudor fiction, but in a pair of beautifully sewn new silk slippers. The opening section of the second half of the book, describing how the plague reached England, is some of the best writing this century. Warning: it's inevitably a sad read.
    
21. The Binding by Bridget Collins: a fascinating exploration of what the world might be like if we bound up our painful memories in a book, and filed them away from our souls in a place where they could not harm us. There's a long love affair in the middle, in which memory takes a back seat, and this book is probably longer than it needed to be. Interesting and readable though. 
    
22. A Very Long Engagement by Sébastien Japrisot: a crime novel, a WW1 novel, a love story … and yet in some ways a subversion of all those genres. Definitely read it.
    
23. Sacrilege by SJ Parris: The third in the series … you get the drift.
24. Arthur and George by Julian Barnes: In 1903, 27-year-old George Edalji was accused of maiming a pony near the village where he lived with his family, including his father, who was a local vicar. This novel, leaning lightly on the historical evidence, explores the racism and police incompetence that accompanied the trial, and the subsequent involvement of the famous author Sir Arthur Conan Doyle in support of Edalji. It also explores "Arthur's" love affairs and fascination with spiritualism. It's well-written and enjoyable, although the absence of women grew tiresome.
    
25. Station Eleven by Emily St. John Mandel: Brilliant. Scary. Not great for reading during a pandemic as it narrates the apocalyptic consequences of a virus spreading across the world. LOLS.
    
26. The End of Loneliness by Benedict Wells: this won the EU prize for literature, and it is a European novel, written by a German-Swiss author, and full of wonderful and now seemingly more distant European settings, with wine and mountains. It's about not marrying your first love, and how you may live to regret it. Another sad one I'm afraid. 
    
27. Brooklyn by Colm Tóibín: I expected passion; instead I got sensible characters and perfectly manicured writing. Love affairs that don't quite bubble over, transatlantic adventures that somehow fail to shock. I enjoyed this book, but it left me a little cold.
    
28. Quartet in Autumn by Barbara Pym: in a way, this novel is like an eccentric 1970s precursor to the mega-best-seller The Thursday Murder Club, dealing as it does with retirement life. Yet oh what a dark and empty life of tinned food and long library days awaits some of us in our old age. It's poignant and elegant but the humour didn't really ring through for me. Read through the prism of the decline of office working, it's easy to forget how the structure and companionship of office life can offer much to people who live alone. Are we as a society ready to generate the social warmth that will replace office life? So many of the structures that kept people company have retreated: unions, churches and pubs. But the human interactions of 30 years ago are also starting to disappear: chatting to people at the checkout, in the ticket office, on the bus. There has been a retreat into the family unit and loyalty to the family far outweighs any other claim on our time and hearts. And if you don't have a family, or if the family unit is a place of fear, the world can be a desperately lonely place.
    
29. Down and Out in Paris and London by George Orwell: the old criticism that you can't really know poverty if you've got the safety net of being a public school-educated intellectual can be levelled at this book – although this was Orwell's first publication. Written in 1933, it contains no spectre of war and instead is a really quite jolly account of the horrors of working in restaurant kitchens and smoking loads of roll-ups. "The more one pays for food, the more sweat and spittle one is obliged to eat with it," Orwell warns. Only Burmese Days to go!  
    
30. From the Heart by Susan Hill: obviously once you're a grandee of the literary world, editors no longer actually edit your work as this short novel about an earnest woman pursuing a career as a teacher could have done with a lot of red pen.   
    
31. An Ice-Cream War by William Boyd: Catch-22 transported to WW1 and the East African front. OK so it's not quite that, but that's the bell it rang. Gruesome in places. Another book, and one of the better ones, about the stupidity of war.
    
32. Treachery by SJ Parris: The fourth in … you get the drift.
33. The Paying Guests by Sarah Waters: not her best, mainly because the first section is too long. If it's a Waters novel, and there are two female characters, you know they're going to cop off before long. And the sense of time (just after WW1) is much less evocative than in her Victorian and 1940s novels. It gets much more interesting when it transforms into a crime novel – not a whodunit; rather a willtheygetawaywithit? 
    
34. The Liar's Gospel by Naomi Alderman: as distasteful as crunching on a clementine seed, as raw as a slaughtered lamb, this is a telling of the Easter story (and a good chunk either side) from the perspective of Mary, Judas Iscariot, Caiaphas and Barabbas. I didn't exactly enjoy it, and I probably wouldn't donate it to the little library at church, but it is an excellent novel.
    
35. Tarka the Otter: His Joyful Water-Life and Death in the Country of the Two Rivers by Henry Williamson: nature writing is all the vogue these days, and can be a bit too full of nostalgia and whimsy, with a tendency to anthropomorphise. This book truly evokes the sights and sounds of England's wildernesses, from forest to river to sea. It's from the perspective of the animals but not in a Farthing Wood sort of way. It's much less sentimental and raises interesting questions about how animals feel fear and pain, and whether they grieve. Death (not a spoiler as Williamson put it in the title …) in this animal world is not violent but inevitable, and brief. There is a lot humans could learn from the way these animals die.
    
36. The Tin Drum by Günter Grass: I can't quite believe they managed to make a film out of this book! In an audacious interchange between first and third person narration this is a stunning masterpiece about identity, fractured families, madness, war, glass, love, jealousy …  It takes an idea and expands it like a balloon maker, stretching and contorting it, exploring it far further than would seem possible, always returning to a central thread of ridiculing what should be valued and valuing items of ridicule. It's fantastically imaginative yet all the ideas are rooted in and routed around reality. This is a world turned upside down, inside out, reflected in a mirror, darkly, where the objects of life drive the narrative as much as the characters and their emotions, where a voluminous skirt, or a carpet runner, an onion or, of course, a tin drum receive weighty chunks of dedicated prose, entire pages of one paragraph and sub-clause heaped upon sub-clause like pancakes in an American diner. I bet it was an absolute bitch to translate.
    
37. The Idiot by Fyodor Dostoyevsky: if Crime and Punishment is a novel about protecting the self, at all costs, The Idiot is a novel about self-sacrifice – how far will you go to show love for others? What damage will you do in your attempts to do good? From the nihilism of Raskolnikov to the failed utilitarianism of Prince Lev Nikolayevich Myshkin (yes I have copied and pasted that) who seeks to save everyone and in the end makes everyone unhappy. I only read Dostoyevsky because my Dad loves his novels, and now I've left it too late to have a proper conversation with him about them.  
38. The Italian Girl by Iris Murdoch: every page seeps with Pre-Raphaelite drama: fires, suicidal maidens, doomed love affairs with poor Russian emigres. A whirlwind of a novel in which everyone is unhappily in love with everyone else, and – exciting as it all is – you can't help thinking, as you do when you watch Downton or A Very British Scandal, does no one around here have to work for a living?
    

So better late than never eh? If you only want one recommendation, read The Tin Drum if you want to read a classic, and The End of Loneliness if you want to pretend you have. 

And my stories:

• In Praise of Fire (The Manchester Review)
• Legacy (East of the Web)
• Leaf identification (Litro)
• Mammals (Mslexia – you need to pay for this one)
• The Unbidden Guest (self-published on Wattpad)
• The Tunnel (self-published on Wattpad)
  

One-line book reviews: my best reads in 2020

Image by egowkand from Pixabay

Escapism, a conversation with someone other than those I live with, fantasy, humour, a dose of the old realism... there were many reasons to find solace in books this year. I was fortunate to be given wonderful books for my 40th birthday, and I've read a bit more slowly and indulgently than the voracious drinking reading of my 20s. 

I should point out to anyone who didn't read last year's blog that I don't keep a record of the books I read to show-off, or impress or prove how well read I am. I keep a record for two reasons: 

1) I've got a poor memory and find it really frustrating not to be able to remember the titles of books I've enjoyed, especially when discussing books with other people. 

2) In 2019, Dan challenged me (well, he challenged himself, and I took up the challenge) to read 30 books a year. Having an aim of reading 30 books each year is very good for keeping me off Twitter. 

In addition to the list below (and HP1-4, which are not included below), I've read a lot of short stories this year, and discovered what a pleasure many of them are. Good collections can be found in the Best British Short Stories annual publication from Salt Publishing. And there are many excellent magazines out there. I've enjoyed Open Pen, The London Magazine, Confingo, The Moth, and Lighthouse, plus (online) The Fiction Desk.

Like last year, I won't bother to link to books. JFGI. As ever, I would encourage you to use a local bookshop or Hive if any of them appeal to you, sanctimonious Leftie that I am.

1. The Truths and Triumphs of Grace Atherton by Anstey Harris: in a genre (higher-brow chick lit) that's pretty full, this is one of the better ones. A European adventure about a musician reeling from a deep betrayal, who finds solace in extraordinary friends.
   
2. Conversations with Friends by Sally Rooney: I'm sure I would have loved this if I'd read it 20 years ago. To be honest, I found it a bit too concerned with teenage angst. Been there, done that.
3. Love on the Dole by Walter Greenwood: published in 1933, but feels a lot older. The main power of this book lies in how you're rooting for the protagonists, you're really rooting for them, but you just know that the weight of poverty will be too heavy for them to escape from. Being poor or not is far less to do with tenacity and hard work, and far more to do with how much money your parents have. That's still very true 90 years on. 
4. A Long Petal of the Sea by Isabel Allende: when I was 18, I went on a family holiday to a cottage on Guernsey. One morning, I woke up before everyone else and saw the sun stream in through the lace curtains and an idyllic day dawned. But I was sobbing, great heaving guttural weeping that shook the bed and made my face as engorged as a frightened puffer fish. I had just finished Captain Corelli's Mandolin and was moved, completely. I expected to be almost as moved by Allende's novel, an episodic family saga emerging from the Spanish civil war, but it did not have such an impact on me. I'm older and more cynical perhaps. There's certainly bathos, a critical distance in A Long Petal of the Sea - it's not a sweeping Mediterranean epic. Allende often warns the reader about the bad stuff that's about to happen - so you can concentrate on the politics rather than the narrative? Perhaps; it's certainly a very political book. I enjoyed it a lot all the same. As an aside, ever since studying Brecht in the sixth form (yes I know, Brecht always gets a mention) I've been interested in how time is created in novels, and particularly when the sense of time is not interdependent with the novel's structure. How much do we lose in a novel if we know the ending before we start? It's easy to forget that the protagonists of Wuthering Heights are all dead or dying when the novel starts. Perhaps the tricks of time inspire me to choose more consciously historical novels, ones that are aware of the creation of history within their pages over novels that are simply set in the past. Anyway, enough musings.
   
5. England in Transition: Life and Work in the 18th Century by Dorothy George: one of those tempting little Pelican history books about less well known, or tidily divided up, eras. This is about the change from domestic work (not chores but work done in the home: weaving, sewing, washing, woodwork etc) to factory work, plus a little about changes in agriculture. A curious lull before the drama of the industrial revolution.
6. Sharpe's Eagle by Bernard Cornwell: I love a bit of Sharpe. Next!
7. The Nice and the Good by Iris Murdoch: a novelist couldn't get away with having the word 'nice' in a title these days, and this book is rather nasty in places. It's more fast-paced than many of her novels, with a detective thread waiting to be unravelled, but it's essentially, like all her fiction, about how we treat the people we love and hate. Murdoch is one of the most artistic novelists I've read, but all her artistry is deployed within the conventional structure of a novel. She's not a fantasist or a magic realist or a (proper) modernist. Rather, like Titian, she builds characters with layer upon layer of paint, some strokes a subtle hue, others thick splodges of oil to create a tangibly conscious and complete individual. I adore her novels; no other writer is so chocolatey.
8. Breathing Lessons by Anne Tyler: people are always recommending that I read Tyler, and I enjoyed this novel about the strains on a middle-aged couple's marriage. It's surprising that a story so domestic won the Pulitzer, but then, don't life's greatest dramas take place in the living room?
9. Snow by Orhan Pamuk: ostensibly this novel is about a journalist who returns to a remote part of Turkey to investigate a spate of suicides among women being forced to remove their veils. But it's not really about that at all. It's about poetry and porn, creativity and barrenness, the absence and presence of religion and, slightly less interesting for me, the lot of a single man in love.
10. The Girls of Slender Means by Muriel Spark: a gem of a novella. Fun and sad.
11. Crime and Punishment by Fyodor Dostoyevsky: I read this over two years - it's too rich, and there are too many complicated Russian names, to read it quickly. I felt more satisfied with the novel after I'd listened to the In our Time episode on it. Here's a spoiler: there's no crime and very little punishment. That is of course, Raskolnikov's initial assessment: some people are above the law and can commit crimes if it is necessary on their path to greatness. No crime. The victim was undeserving and pointless. Society is enhanced not damaged by the death of such a person. No crime. Raskolnikov's actions are no worse, morally, than the oppressions experienced by other characters, specifically poor women, attributable to 'society', and which go unpunished. No crime. As I read this grimy, unhappy, uncomfortable novel, I wondered what would happen if Raskolnikov walked into a Tolstoy novel. Tolstoy's novels have a moral balance; individual acts have value even if they are narcissistic; individual is not in conflict with societal morality, and even acts of war have a heroism and a grandeur. Perhaps, more than crime and punishment, Dostoyevsky's masterpiece is a novel about forgiveness, and the greater the sin, the greater the forgiveness on offer.
12. Fair Stood the Wind for France by HE Bates: a contemporaneous second world war novel about an injured pilot escaping through Vichy France. A novel to remind us that cooperation, conciliation and shared values enhance nations, rather than diminish them. 
13. The House by the Loch by Kirsty Wark: yes, that Kirsty Wark, her off the telly with the lovely lilt. A very readable family saga about how grief is a burden that can never be put down, but sometimes loved ones can help us carry it.  
14. Invisible Women by Caroline Criado Perez: read it and be angry about how cars are crash-tested for men's bodies but not for women (well, they're tested for women in the passenger seat, not in the driver's seat); about how medicines are tested on men, not women, resulting in incorrect dosages and a lack of data about how medicines affect women at different points in their menstrual and life cycles; about how urban living spaces are designed for men travelling in and out of a centre not for women performing caring roles all around the area (and often also travelling to a workplace). Seriously, it made me so cross!
15. The Collector by John Fowles: I've been waiting to read this book since I studied the French Lieutenant's Woman in the sixth form. The Collector is a good book, but not quite worth the wait.
16. Napoleon's Wars by Charles Esdaile: I spent many happy hours choosing this book from all the books on Napoleon in a central London Waterstones. You know, back in the day when visiting the bookshop was a more pleasurable experience. This book really is about the wars, not the man. Well, a bit about the man because that influenced the wars. Really good. But only if you're into the Napoleonic era.
17. The Legend of the Holy Drinker by Joseph Roth: poignant that this was written in 1939 (well, I think it was written then; it was published posthumously that year) when you can imagine people might well have been wanting to drink away their troubles and find solace in the protection of a saint. Best read in one sitting, with a carafe of Riesling. 
18. Green and Pleasant Land by ??? I adore old-fashioned hardbacks from the first 60 years of the 20th century with their soft, green covers, torn dust jackets and powdery pages. I should have known not to judge a book by its cover; rather by its title, and beware the word pleasant. Anything with pleasant in the title will be concerned with contentment; placid, peaceful, 2.4 children, one up one down, Sunday roast, booze, football, religion: the manifold opiums of the people. Someone had kindly marked up all the typos in this one, and it was a quite interesting story about the conflict between nostalgic rural values and modernity. Yet it dealt too much in cliche. Onwards! (Btw, I failed to make a note of the author before I sent this on its voyage to the charity shop! It was published in the late 1950s I think.... If anyone can shed light, appreciated!)
19. Mrs Craddock by W Somerset Maugham: it's always a pleasure to find someone as witty as myself, and this fabulous little book has lines so cutting they should be written on shredded paper: "There is nothing so difficult as to persuade men that they are ignorant" ... "She was conscious of a successful frock; it was quite pretty, and would have looked charming on a woman half her age". An absolutely delicious novel with just enough poignancy to verge on brilliance.
20. The Purple Swamp Hen by Penelope Lively: a favourite author of my childhood with an intriguing collection of short stories. The story of the title is the best.
21. All the Light We Cannot See by Anthony Doerr: an unusual, and gentle, approach to a well-trod subject matter: the second world war. It follows the intertwined stories of a reluctant German soldier and a blind French girl. Long book but short chapters; good for busy people!
22. Sharpe's Rifles by Bernard Cornwell: it's that dishy fellow fighting Napoelon again.
23. The Scapegoat by Daphne du Maurier: Du Maurier is a far more inventive and unnerving author than she's given credit for. This isn't her best book (that's The House on the Strand) because I never quite believed in the central premise of mistaken identity. It's quite a thriller though.
24. The Diary of a Nobody by George and Weedon Grossmith: I can't believe this was written in 1888! A funny series of diary entries from a clerk trying to get on in the world, and being thwarted by the wrong cutlery and familial discourtesy. Although the authors are obviously massively taking the piss out of the small-time ambitions of the central character, there's a recognition that the world is made up of much-loved nobodies. Plus Weedon Grossmith is the best name ever. 
25. Lionheart by Sharon Penman: the first instalment of a two-parter on the intriguing Plantagenet Richard I, who despite legend has only a bit-part in English history as he was absent from the country for almost all his reign fighting in the crusades, and an Aquitaine at heart.
26. A Clergyman's Daughter by George Orwell: although he wasn't poor himself Orwell conveys the shame and desperation of poverty better than any other writer I've read. Part polemic, part drama, part elegy to the happy poor, this book rattles around with some interesting ideas, but it's not a gripping story. But then Orwell's importance as a writer doesn't stem from hs greatness as a novelist. Orwell understood how, for the people living in it, poverty is like a chronic disease - it cannot be ignored or hoped away or overcome with the right spirit.  It's an ever present malady, with the bitterness of why me (or why not me) that comes from looking in every shop window filled with things you can't have, food you can't eat, holidays you won't go on, clothes you won't wear. "For Orwell social injustice was a physical pain," wrote Arthur Koestler. Significant that it's called A Clergyman's Daughter rather than The; as Orwell keeps reminding us, Dorothy's fate is shared by many other unmarried poor women. One of the most interesting aspects of this book for me, as a clergyman's daughter, is the sense of bereavement that accompanies a loss of faith.
27. Flowers for Algernon by Daniel Keyes: I knew the premise before I read it (which didn't spoil it for me although I won't share it here in case it would for you) - suffice to say it's about the capability (and to a lesser extent the desirability) of science to improve human intelligence. I didn't expect to believe in the story so wholeheartedly - I was utterly convinced by the narrator, which of course made it a very sad and humbling read. Don't be put off by the sci-fi label if you're not normally a big fan. It's just a wonderful novella.
    
28. The Mirror and the Light by Hilary Mantel: nothing I've read in the past 20 years has disabused me of the opinion that the greatest novels were all written before 1900. Nothing, that is, until the Wolf Hall trilogy. So much has been written about these books that I don't need to add much more. The Mirror and the Light has the breadth of Tolstoy and the depth of Dostoyevsky, and it contemplates the human condition - the effort of existence for those born into poverty and those born to wear a crown - with an incision that is almost painful to read. Best of all it's a great story and you can't help plugging for the big guy, even though you know it'll be a sorry end. Mantel is so wonderful at creating a sense of time and place that I would look up from reading and be surprised to be in my bedroom, not a Tudor court. This is a novel to swim along to. You won't always know where you're going, and the faces you're swimming alongside in this great ocean will seem sometimes familiar, sometimes strange, but it's a wonderful luxury to be in the water.
    
29. The Second Sleep by Robert Harris: brilliant opening chapter, crap final chapter, and pretty good in between.
    
30. A Ladder to the Sky by John Boyne: I'm becoming quite a fan of Boyne's very readable literary fiction. The theme of this book is the art of creation (what's more important in a novel: the plot or how it's written?) and artistic integrity, which was dealt with so well in the film The Wife.
31. Protestants: The Faith That Made the Modern World by Alec Ryrie: ever since Trotsky v Lenin, many people on the Left have despaired of the divisions in the Left. If we all just agreed on everything we'd have conquered the world long ago! It's a similar story with Protestants, who have fought more vociferously among themselves over the visible manifestation of holiness, predestination, what churches and the people in them should look like, the Mass/Communion/Lord's Supper, vicars/priests/ministers/preachers and the relationship of church and state, than against unbelief (or people of other faiths). And there does seem to be something integral to Protestantism that you're convinced you're right. Doubt often isn't welcomed. This book deals with revival movements in South Africa, China and Korea, and puts the Church of England firmly in its place in the context of global Protestantism. As a Methodist brought up in the Church of England and married into a Catholic family, I really enjoyed it.
    
32. The King's Evil by Andrew Taylor: I love the playfulness of the title, but unfortunately I didn't realise this is the third book in a series set in 17th century London, and I should probably have read the others first. Good, but not a patch on Shardlake.
    
33. A Change of Climate by Hilary Mantel: a family saga set in Norfolk and South Africa, dealing with faith, family lies, growing up and growing old. Mantel is such an observant writer, with a wonderful turn of phrase. A sad, satisfying novel.
    
34. So Much Life Left Over by Louis de Bernieres: I didn't realise this was a sequel to The Dust that Falls from Dreams, and I've read the Dust that Falls from Dreams! Readable, but Ken Follett does historical family sagas better. I do read a lot of historical family sagas don't I?  
    
35. Treasure Island by Robert Louis Stevenson: as swashbuckling as you'd expect. Camaraderie, cunning and crabs, and not a woman in sight.
    
36. Wilding: The Return to Nature of a British Farm by Isabella Tree: The story of how a farming couple stopped trying to make money from dairy farming and instead gave the land back to nature. The book discusses many ecological problems of today including reforestation, climate change, biodiversity, conflict between people and nature. It discovers the wonders of soil (soil is a very interesting topic and will be come increasingly important over the next 50 years), whether we should eat horse meat, the habitat of the purple emperor and why Scotland has too many deer. Its pages sing with the sound of species in desperate trouble getting a tiny glimmer of help from a small farm in Sussex that does largely nothing. I thought of the countryside as fields of barley or grazing sheep. Actually that's human agriculture. Nature is far more wild, more exciting, more diverse if we would only let it be.
    
37. The Infernal Desire Machines of Doctor Hoffman by Angela Carter: only one person could have given me this book! A magical adventure story that explores identity and desire, and has more linguistic somersaults than a dictionary on a trampoline. Carter explores what it is to exist, and know you exist, and to not exist and know that you do not exist. It's the age-old philosophical questions dealt with in a lyrical and explosively fascinating way. Carter does more with the infinite possibilities of language than any other book I've read. It's crunchily awkward and exhilarating. I found I had to be in the right mood to read, and appreciate, this episodic rollercoaster.
    
38.  Hangman's Holiday by Dorothy L Sayers: eminently readable adventures of Lord Peter Wimsey and Montague Egg. Perfect bedtime reading for the very tired.
39. V2 by Robert Harris: a Christmas present. More understated than some of his novels. Really good read.  
    

So there you have it. A few more on the list than last year; let's just say I had a bit more time on my hands. If you only want one recommendation, read The House by the Loch if you want to weep, and Mrs Craddock if you want to smile.

Green fatigue: is there a cure?

Image by Ieva Karklina from Pixabay

Shopping for raspberries in January: that’s when it all went wrong. There were none in the local supermarket, nor in the corner shops. Apples aplenty alongside oranges, kaki, avocados, tomatoes, lemons, pears ... a rainbow of fruit and veg, some shrouded in plastic, some gleaming freely. But no raspberries. And when it comes to fruit, my son will only eat raspberries. In the end, I caved in and bought a six-pack of Capri-Sun. Which is kind of fruit, isn’t it?

I was already exhausted from reading all the labels in the supermarket, trying to balance health concerns against environmental considerations. Perhaps some croissants as a treat? Simple, flaky and created using just eggs, flour and water, plus the artisanal skills of a pastry chef across the channel. Except, when I looked at the ingredients, they also contained emulsifiers, stabilisers, acidity regulators, flavourings, preservatives ... and they were in a plastic tray (“recyclable where facilities exist”) and plastic film (“not currently recyclable”).

Life aint a picnic

It didn’t end there. For sandwich fillings, the ubiquitous options, for both my family and packed lunches and canteens up and down the country, are cheese and/or ham: meat and dairy, two things that are causing serious, lasting and widespread environmental damage.

Crisps? Shrouded in plastic and full of Disodium 5'-ribonucleotides. Nuts are a healthy option, but also packaged in plastic and flown in from Turkey where, similar to the almond-growing regions of the US, mass production is putting an unsustainable strain on the environment through its high water consumption. All this stress for a picnic. In January. Whose idea was this, exactly?

Sitting at home with a strong cup of coffee (Fairtrade and organic, but served with milk) I realised I was suffering from ‘eco exhaustion’: that feeling we get after trying to do the right thing - reduce our reliance on single-use plastics, curb our consumption, eat local, consider the carbon footprint of everything, reduce and reuse before recycling - and then just give up. It’s oh so tiring having to consider all these factors all the time. Sometimes, it’s not even possible to know what the most environmentally friendly option is; how to balance competing considerations, such as carbon footprint versus single-use plastic? Yes, I could have gone to a zero-waste store, but that would have meant driving, as well as packing a rucksack full of Tupperware to bring everything home, which would have taken at least an hour longer.

And here’s the rub: would it have made a blind bit of difference?

Hero to zero

Last year, I joined a zero-waste group on Facebook. I was amazed by the enthusiastic eco-worrying of so many people, the lengths they go to so that they minimise their impact on the planet. Many had genuinely changed their lifestyles (admittedly their still high-consuming Western lifestyles) by sharing everything from lawnmowers to advice on how to upcycle or reuse rucksacks and car seats, and which herbs grow best on small window ledges.

But these actions are the tiniest drop in a very polluted ocean. Millions more people, even if they are aware of how our environment is being ruined, opt for convenience and price. The environmentally friendly option is often the more expensive one, and remains unrealistic (if not impossible) for many people.

I’ve done my bit. I’ve recycled for many, many years, and owned a reusable water bottle long before Blue Planet led to ‘plastic panic’. The mantra scribbled on a scrap of paper for over twenty years - “Be the change you want to see in the world” - has kept me going. I realised long ago it’s hard to change my own behaviour - let alone other people’s - and that fake news and environmental misinformation are more widespread than scientific evidence. That doesn't always mean I redouble my efforts; if anything, it makes it easier to give in.

Green fatigue means being so overwhelmed by environmental problems, and so baffled by eco choices, that you go for an option you know to be bad for the environment, which in turn creates a feeling of guilt. I know I shouldn’t even try to buy raspberries in January, and certainly not a soft drink in a pouch, but what can you do?

Well, there are a few things.

1. Plan. It’s easier to be green when you’re organised. You might not have time to bake your own bread using organic flour gently ground from happy wheatsheaves, but take the time to research which ‘normal’ bread is the best option (organic, palm-oil free and packaged sustainably). In fact, I’ve done that bit for you. 
2. Take your reusable coffee cup/water bottle/shopping bag with you. They’re not decorations, and there’s nothing worse (apart from war, maybe) than having good intentions and then leaving them on the draining board. Pack your bag each night, so you don’t forget these things in the mad dash to get to school/work/ the organic zero-waste shop down the road. 
3. Eat more chocolate. It’s hard being alive right now, but chocolate makes things a LOT better, and there are lots of palm-oil free, fair-trade options with compostable packaging. Indulge. 
4. Be honest. When people make claims that are contrary to what you know is correct - “all recycling ends up in landfill”, “if it wasn’t palm oil they’d just cut down the rainforest for something else”, “everybody flies so there’s no point in me not flying”, tell them you think differently. The world doesn’t make it easy to be green, but never feel bad for trying. 
5. Reconnect with nature. Being stuck in an office in a smelly old city adds to the sense of fatigue, but nature is never that far away. Plant some herbs, scatter some seeds, walk in the woods, hunt for mushrooms, look at flowers, wear your wellies and a grubby hoodie, get the train to the coast, compost some paper. OK, composting paper probably isn’t that much fun. But there are lots of wild ideas out there.