Well, July was a bit full. We went on holiday to South Wales with my whole family. We had a record-breaking heatwave that’s an ominous sign of things to come. Beckett nearly had to have surgery but then didn’t. I took myself on lots of solo bike rides for the fun of cycling.

I’ve been taking advantage of the (non-extreme) good weather by taking myself into the garden after work most days with a blanket, a book and the dog. Sometimes there is also wine.

Just over a week ago I went to theatre for the first time since 2019, to see Les Miserables with my Mum. I loved it, just as I did the first time I watched it on stage when I was 18. And Mum loved it just as much as when she last saw it at least a decade before that even. As I expected, it made me cry, but not just because it’s such a moving storyline with music and lyrics designed to give the tear ducts a workout. The first couple of big rousing numbers made me cry from the sheer weight of the experience of being in a theatre filled with a couple of thousand people listening to incredible singers. I suspect I’d have a similar reaction if I went to a gig right now.

Mum reminded me that after she first saw Les Mis, Dad bought her the book – in two volumes because it’s so long – and she ploughed her way through it increasingly slowly. I can’t say her lukewarm reaction to it is very enticing, but on the other hand she did stick with it, so maybe I should give it a go sometime?

What I did read this month was six novels, a couple of which were not what I expected. The Glass Hotel is by Emily St John Mandel, who previously wrote the excellent sci-fi Station Eleven. Even though I knew when I bought it that The Glass Hotel isn’t sci-fi, part of me kept expecting a sci-fi twist and I think that stopped me from appreciating it for what it was. Little Fires Everywhere by Celeste Ng, on the other hand, I expected to be more biting on the matter of racism in small-town America. That was part of it, but it was much more about different approaches to motherhood, and how our circumstances are so much of who we are.

My favourite read this month was La Belle Sauvage by Philip Pullman, which has set me off on a re-read of the His Dark Materials trilogy, plus his short books about Lyra, before I move on to the second Book of Dust. It’s a longer-term project than most of my reading has been for a few years now, and I think it will be rewarding to completely submerge myself in Lyra’s world.

But I will be interspersing that project with other books, not least because August is Women in Translation Month. I have several translated women on my TBR already, but I am always open to suggestions of more that I might enjoy, so hit me up with your recommendations.

Happy August!

Books read

In a Dark, Dark Wood by Ruth Ware
This is a thriller set in a remote house in the woods over a hen weekend. The hook is that our narrator is recalling events from a hospital bed with a police guard on her door – and her memory is fuzzy but she thinks the police presence might be justified. It’s a fun, fast-paced read with some smart observations of human nature and a conclusion that I didn’t see coming but was justified, on reflection.

The Glass Hotel by Emily St John Mandel
This is a reflective novel, though not too slow-paced. Through multiple storylines we gradually learn about Jonathan Alkaitis, a wealthy investor who owns the hotel of the title. But his story emerges obliquely at first, playing a small role in other people’s lives. The main characters are brother and sister Paul and Vincent, raised separately by their different mothers, their paths intersecting at times and then moving apart. It’s a puzzle box of a novel, taking its time to reveal what it’s about. I liked it but I was impatient to get to the point, and then frustrated at myself for rushing past “clues”.

Little Fires Everywhere by Celeste Ng
Another novel that was more reflective than I expected it to be. This is the story of a well-heeled suburb in Ohio and particularly two families there in the 1990s. The Richardsons have a pleasant, middle-class existence. They’re educated, thoughtful people. But a combination of circumstances tests their smug liberal attitudes. Their new maid Mia and her teenage daughter Pearl expose them to a more chaotic, arty life – a world where authority and status quo can be challenged. And their (white) friends are adopting a baby whose mother is a struggling Chinese immigrant, triggering a row in the local press about race, money and other factors in “suitability” for parenthood.

The Book of Dust 1: La Belle Sauvage by Philip Pullman
In this prequel to His Dark Materials, 11-year-old Malcolm works in his parents’ pub near Oxford. He accidentally sees a spy being abducted by the Magisterium, discovers that the local convent has secretly taken in a six-month-old baby, and tries not to raise the suspicions of the League of St Alexander, the new youth organization founded by Marisa Coulter, which encourages children to report anybody who contradicts the Magisterium’s religious views. It’s a romp of an adventure, set against the dark backdrop of creeping totalitarianism.

The President’s Last Love by Andrey Kurkov
This is the story of fictional Ukrainian president Bunin, from his youth in the 1970s and 1980s to his 2013 struggle to keep hold of the presidency after having a heart transplant. The book was written in 2004, so some of the 2013 satire is weirdly prescient (or perhaps to Ukrainians the last 18 years of their relationship with Russia was abundantly clear to see coming). It’s a strange book, with much of the same dark humour as Kurkov’s more famous Death and the Penguin. Bunin has certainly known some hardship in his life, but he’s also a womanizer who hasn’t treated his wives or girlfriends especially well. Between that and his actual political beliefs being opaque at best, it was hard at times to root for him. But perhaps that was the joke – this is who gets to the top of the political heap in 21st-century Europe.

His Dark Materials 1: Northern Lights by Philip Pullman
I first read this book shortly after it came out in the 1990s. I re-read it before watching the His Dark Materials play at the National Theatre in 2003. It’s still a very entertaining read and Lyra is still a brilliant heroine. The revelations at the end still made me about-turn in my feelings about the whole story, even though I knew exactly what was coming. I’m excited to move on to The Subtle Knife.