Ominous
Prepare for tears
Red Dog
by Louis de Bernières
This is the sweetest most wonderful book I have read in some time. I think it’s sort-of aimed at children, at least I hope it is else I will have to have criticisms about some of the slightly condescending explanations and I don’t want to criticise such a lovely lovely book.
The best summary of this book is the one supplied by the author himself:
“In early 1998 I went to Perth in Western Australia in order to attend the literature festival, and part of the arrangement was that I should go to Karratha to do their first ever literary dinner. Karratha is a mining town a long way further north. The landscape is extraordinary, being composed of vast heaps of dark red earth and rock poking out of the never-ending bush. I imagine that Mars must have a similar feel to it. I went exploring and discovered the bronze statue to Red Dog outside the town of Dampier. I felt straight away that I had to find out more about this splendid dog. A few months later I returned to Western Australia and spent two glorious weeks driving around collecting Red Dog stories and visiting the places that he knew, writing up the text as I went along. I hope my cat never finds out that I have written a story to celebrate the life of a dog.”
Red Dog was a Red Cloud kelpie, which is an Australian breed of sheepdog, and lived in the 1970s in and around Dampier, at that time mostly a mining town. De Bernières has lightly fictionalised his account but based it on those stories he collected and it does read like a collected folklore, though there is nothing unbelievable or magical about it. Red Dog was simply a dog who refused to be tied to one owner but somehow became everyone’s dog. As dogs go he had some quirky habits and he wasn’t above stealing his dinner but he was affectionate and loyal to those he befriended and in return most everyone he met considered him a friend. People would take it in turn to de-flea him or take him to the vet for shots and he would sit by their sick children’s bedsides or guide caravan-dwellers to the toilet block at night.
This is such a simple story but de Bernières tells it beautifully, describing the landscape and the weather and using the local dialect just enough to give a real flavour of the time and place. The book is illustrated by Alan Baker with basic but effective line drawings in red and black and they add a fairy-tale quality to the experience.
The only negative, and I really hesitate to say it, is that de Bernières does over-explain some details. It adds to the condescension that at the back of the book there is a “Glossary of Australianisms” which I didn’t find at all necessary, seeing as the few words I didn’t know were made completely clear by context. But as I said above, if this is intended as a children’s book I can forgive all of that.
I really would recommend that everyone read this heartwarming book but doglovers beware, you will need to have tissues handy – it’s the life story of a dog, how do you think it’s going to end?
First published in Great Britain in 2001 by Secker & Warburg.
Flavour of the south
The Romance Readers’ Book Club
by Julie L Cannon
I bought this book on my recent trip to the United States because it looked like both a fun, easy read and an authentic flavour of the southern US. It deals well with some big issues, though it doesn’t come to the conclusions that I would necessarily have hoped for or agreed with.
This book treads a fine line between sweet fluffy teen romance and deeper “issues”-ridden prose with some literary merit. For the most part it is well written and engaging but some of the exposition was clunky, especially at the start. That said, the characters are believable and the story had me interested enough that I read the whole book in one sitting.
The story is that of teenage Tammi, living a secluded life on a farm in Rigby, Georgia, with her strict religious grandparents, or rather step-grandparents, which adds an element of them doing her a favour that is the first clue that all is not actually sweetness and light. Tammi has a lot of chores to do, must dress in the shapeless clothes her grandmother picks out and isn’t allowed to listen to modern music (it’s the 1970s). Which doesn’t exactly make her Miss Popularity at school. Tammi’s only real friends are her Aunt Minna and Uncle Orr, who each live in their own house on the farm and provide an escape. Minna is colourful and eccentric, Orr is severely mentally disabled; both are devoted to young Tammi.
The story proper begins when Tammi gets hold of a stack of steamy romance novels that she knows her grandmother will disapprove of but is eager to read. She persuades a girl at school to join her Romance Readers Book Club and soon a small group is meeting secretly every four weeks to share the illicit thrill. Tammi’s burgeoning sexuality is being stifled by real life and she desperately needs this escape, but she is terrified that it is a huge sin and may be the cause of the endless drought that is threatening her family’s livelihood.
There’s quite a lot going on in Tammi’s world, with peripheral characters having their own dramas that sometimes crash into Tammi’s life. I did find it odd that, aside from sexual matters, Tammi seemed to lack curiosity – maybe she has been too well trained in politeness and not asking questions but she seemed happy to find out what’s going on in dribs and drabs. And even when it came to sex there was a for me heartbreaking scene where she realises she doesn’t actually know what all these metaphors and allusions about passionate encounters are actually getting at. She has no idea what comes after kissing.
I definitely felt a strong sense of place in this novel. Not that I’m familiar with Georgia, but it somehow persuaded me of its authenticity of accent, terminology and people. I also felt that Orr was depicted well; his friendship with Tammi was touching and his inability to cope with having steamy romance novels read aloud to him was surprisingly sad because it marked the first division between Tammi and her favourite companion.
It’s worth pointing out that this book comes from a part of the world where going to church is all-important. Cannon uses some clever misdirection on this topic but actually faith itself is never questioned, only how to interpret the word of God. Tammi’s revolt against the strictness of her grandmother is never very extreme and she repents every tiny thing. In a way, this is actually very clever, because if Tammi had broken away from everything dramatically this would be a story about how romance novels are a corrupting influence, whereas the point of course is that these novels are a natural and badly needed escape and the only harm done is the temporary confusion that Tammi would probably have gone through anyway.
There are a lot of short “excerpts” from the romance novels in question and they really did take me back to being a teenager myself, devouring these books before I had ever even kissed a boy, daydreaming obsessively of being a character in one of those exotic locales with the clichéd dark handsome man. By the time I got my first boyfriend I’d realised those books were trash and moved on but they played their part in my “coming of age” and I suspect I’m not alone in that.
One final point on this novel – the blurb on the back was particularly poor. I know a lot of people say to always ignore it anyway and if I’m buying a book because I like the author or read about it in a review I do ignore the cover as much as I can. But when I’m just browsing unknown books, that blurb is providing useful information. Theoretically. But in this case whoever wrote the blurb got the wrong end of the stick and almost certainly hadn’t read the manuscript. There are several factual errors and it misses out some of the more interesting, serious themes. That said, I’m still glad I picked it up.
First published 2008 by Plume, an imprint of the Penguin Group.
Noodled
Tim asked me to drop by the Asian supermarket for some noodles. I may have gone a little overboard. So much choice!
The shock of growing up
Claudine in Paris
by Colette
translated from French by Antonia White
After thoroughly enjoying the first book in the Claudine series, I was glad to already have the second book waiting in my TBR. It was another wonderful, rollicking read and I’m now going to have to search out the other two.
These were the first novels written by Sidonie Gabrielle Colette, who was an absolutely fascinating literary figure. I visited her grave in Paris a few years ago and was moved in a way I hadn’t expected to be (especially considering that previous to this series her novels have failed to move me).
In this volume, Claudine and her father have moved to Paris, so that he can further his studies of slugs. She discovers to her surprise that she suffers greatly from homesickness for her beloved countryside village. She also discovers, on exposure to a new male friend who is gay and an old female friend who has become a rich man’s mistress, that she is far more easily shocked than she would have expected of herself:
“Disgust, yes definitely! There I was, making myself completely sophisticated and disillusioned and shouting from the rooftops ‘Ha, ha! You can’t teach me anything. Ha, ha! I read everything! And I understand everything even though I am only seventeen!’ Precisely. And when it comes to a gentleman pinching my behind in the street or a little friend living what I’m in the habit of reading about, I’m knocked sideways…In your heart of hearts, Claudine, you’re nothing but a common everyday decent girl.”
Well, Claudine may have discovered that the big wide world isn’t as easily bluffed as her old schoolmates were, but she is still far from common or everyday. Claudine is hypersensitive enough to catch a fever when she gets anxious but she is also tomboyish enough to do exercises every morning and speak her mind almost thoughtlessly. She is still vain enough to admire herself in every window or mirror and look coquettishly at every man she sees, but is self-aware enough to know that she is silly and vain and inexperienced to boot. She catches herself feeling jealous of an old friend who is marrying a sensible, dull sort of man and presses her friend the kept woman for information about sex while all the while feeling scared and sickened by the whole business.
Most of all, Claudine is still a witty, entertaining narrator who lets you into her world with disarming honesty, beside the occasionally withheld nugget of interest. The main switch in this book is that Claudine appears to have left behind the lesbian intrigues of school, only revisiting them for the entertainment of her cousin Marcel, who is left hot under the collar by her accounts and begs for more detail. Claudine’s romantic interest now seems to be firmly aimed toward men and marriage.
For all its shocking content and its youthful, not as sophisticated as she’d like to be narrator, this book is extremely well written with a wonderful, colourful cast of characters and a clever humour that must have been a challenge to translate this deftly.
Claudine à Paris first published in 1901 by Paul Ollendorff, attributed to Willy (Colette’s first husband)
This translation first published 1958 by Secker and Warburg
How sweet it is
My sister came over for a marriage blessing and another party. There was cake. It was fun.
That’s actually my Dad slicing the cake there, not the groom. My Dad made the cake with his own fair hands and decorated it too. And yes that is a river of blue sparkles and two Lego canoeists. My sister and her husband do a lot of canoeing, you see. It’s a whole family thing.
The drama of revolution
The Glass-Blowers
by Daphne du Maurier
I love du Maurier but she was pretty prolific and sadly I think that her lesser known titles are, well, lesser works than the famous ones. At least, that’s been my experience so far. I enjoyed this book and its still better prose than some writers will manage at their peak, but like I’ll Never Be Young Again this wasn’t the captivating read I had hoped for.
An 18th century family saga of the Bussons and some du Mauriers, with an acknowledgement to people who helped the author do family history research, I am divining that this is loosely based on what du Maurier discovered about her ancestors, though how much of reality was used and how much made up I cannot tell. It is set in France just before and during the French Revolution and covers the politics and social upheaval of the time in some detail for a relatively slim volume. Du Maurier has her family of master glass-blowers thoroughly embroiled in the changing times, with family disputes over politics that at first seem minor becoming life-changing, even deadly, as the revolution progresses.
The story is told by the elderly Madame Sophie Duval née Busson to a long-lost nephew, so there are certain facts we learn early on out of order, such as when she last saw the brother whose son has now resurfaced. But for the most part it’s a linear narrative, starting with her parents’ marriage in 1747. In the early chapters it’s all about the hardworking industriousness of the Busson couple and to be honest I found it a little tedious being told what great people they were. Mme Busson, Sophie’s mother, is modern enough to want to learn alongside her husband how to run a glass-house but not so modern that she ever takes any interest in politics (unlike her children, later on). I found her very idealised as a character, but then I suppose the story is told from the perspective of a daughter who always idolised her so that does fit.
It all gets more interesting when the Bussons’ children start growing up and developing characters that are less perfect than their parents. There’s Robert the eldest son, with his love of frivolity, rich people and grand schemes. There’s Pierre, admirer of the philosophy of Rousseau, who wants to help those less fortunate than himself. There’s Michel who suffers from a terrible stammer and is an ardent republican. There’s Edmé the youngest daughter, tomboyish in her wish to put her country and socialist ideals before all else. And there’s Sophie, who for the most part simply wants to emulate her mother by running a glass-house with her husband and keeping out of politics. Except she doesn’t really keep out of it; for much of the book she comments on the political situation with a tone of “I know better” and I don’t just mean hindsight.
I don’t know a great deal about the French Revolution but I do think du Maurier has done an excellent job of combining facts, dates, names, etc with prose that evokes unease or suspicion or terror or heartbreak at the appropriate moments. I could completely believe in the riots borne out of a whisper campaign based on nothing at all. I could believe in the switches of allegiance based on the mood of the country and the limited evidence available.
However, the revolution is a big subject, as is a family saga, and this isn’t a big book. I enjoyed it but I think the content was squeezed in at the expense of any real description or insight. Some of the human drama is skipped past, such as the many couples in the book falling in love. But there are some moments when du Maurier uses brevity beautifully, such as the deaths of young children, which are handled with few words, but aching sadness.
Du Maurier was such an able writer that I will continue to read all her work that I can lay my hands on in the hope that I will find something that lives up to the promise of Rebecca. To which end I am hoping that nothing will come up to prevent me from taking part in the Discovering Daphne readalong hosted by Savidge Reads this October.
First published 1963 by Victor Gallancz.
Coming soon: Literary Giveaway Blog Hop (25–29 June)
This blog hop with a literary flavour is being run by Judith of Leeswammes and I thought it looked like the perfect opportunity for my first ever giveaway.
I will be giving away at least one book, as well as some book-related bits and pieces so be sure to come back on 25 June and enter!
If you’re a fellow book blogger and you fancy joining in the fun, or you just want to find out more, you can click on the button above or follow this link: http://leeswammes.wordpress.com/2011/05/13/announcement-literary-giveaway-blog-hop-june-25-29/.
The truth is buried in there somewhere
A Vindication of the Rights of Woman
by Mary Wollstonecraft
I originally got this book for the Year of Feminist Classics project, but when they actually discussed it back in January I was only about 20 pages in. And then I put it aside for four months. The thing is, while being a hugely important and interesting work, this one is pretty tough to read. Or at least, I thought so.
First up, why was it hard to read? Well, it’s rambling and repetitive to such an extent that even my abridged Penguin Great Ideas edition of 132 pages felt too long. The language is as archaic as you might expect of 1792 and the society to which it refers is so long gone that it’s only recognisable from old novels. This also means that a lot of her arguments and the things she wishes to change have already changed, the fight has been won, so you could argue that it’s no longer relevant.
And yet, it is also eye-opening and indeed educational to be reminded how different society was, how unequal the sexes, and therefore how much progress has been made. Mary Wollstonecraft was arguing against the assumption that women are inherently weak, incapable, over-emotional beings with a natural love of dresses and pretty things; that men are inherently superior and women their slaves. This is not the view of one or two lone misogynists but that of most people in the western world at the time.
Wollstonecraft addresses herself to men and keeps all of her arguments abstract. She does not single out great women of history to look up to and indeed her comments about queens not being the equal of kings make me suspect that she did not subscribe to the now widely held view that Elizabeth I was a fine example of a woman proving herself in a man’s world. What Wollstonecraft does do is paint a series of caricatures of women who have been ruined by their upbringing or society or both.
This text does not set out any rules for women to follow to improve themselves, besides a brief attack on reading novels (which she distinguishes from literature). The primary point seems to be a plea to the powers that be – all male, of course – to at least try providing equal education for girls as for boys, so that women can prove by themselves that their silliness is a result of lack of education first and foremost.
Though education is her primary goal, there are also social changes to be made that are harder to resolve, and indeed Wollstonecraft does more describing how the current state of things is bad than suggesting how it can be changed. She appeals to what men might want in a woman – when sexual passion dries up, don’t they want an interesting, educated companion to share their life with? Don’t they want their children to spend their formative years with a strong, sensible, intelligent caregiver? Don’t they want to share some interests and hobbies with their life partner, to make marriage more enjoyable?
One point that Wollstonecraft makes is that while men have various hobbies and pastimes, women have only one – their appearance – which has a derogatory effect in numerous ways. And this really rang true for me because from what I remember, though it’s been a while, magazines for girls are about that one thing and basically nothing else – how to attract boys, what celebrities are wearing, how to pluck your eyebrows… How on earth this stuff can be regurgitated weekly astounds me but it was and probably still is. Yet lads mags, between the topless/bikini-clad ladies, have articles about cars, gadgets, films, sport. They’re still clichéd topics, sure, but at least there’s some variety, some looking outward to the world. It’s depressing how little has changed since 1792 when you look at details like that.
The passage that struck me the most was related to the above but not quite making the same point. Wollstonecraft argues that men who encourage women to be flirts who obsess over their appearance create women who are too physically unfit to be of any use in the bedroom or in childbirth. Now there’s a point I can agree with!
I’m glad I ploughed my way to the end and I can see why it’s considered important, but this was too poorly structured and hard to read for me to call it great.
First published 1792.
See also: reviews by Amy Reads and Emily of Evening All Afternoon. If you’re interested in Mary Wollstonecraft, it’s well worth taking a look at the excellent project A Vindication of the Rights of Mary.
Headlines and other titles
This is probably painfully obvious already, but I am a bit rubbish at writing headlines. What’s especially bad is that I also need this skill for my day job. Ah well. There are lots of guidelines to follow, long lists of hints and tips, but in the end it comes down to imagination and, somehow, my imagination generally fails me on this front.
My favourite solution to this problem is to come up with a system, something TV shows in particular go for. The classic is the much emulated Friends “The one with…”. Other recognisable systems include the Scrubs “My…”, Big Bang Theory‘s made-up science stuff (“The spaghetti catalyst”, “The maternal capacitance”) and Life Unexpected‘s plays on its own title (“Bong intercepted”, “Rent uncollected”).
I think the one-word title is often a strong solution. The Good Wife uses this, as does Skins. But it doesn’t tend to work as well for books or articles.
Also popular with newspapers and TV show episode titles is the play on a famous catchphrase, song, film or book title, for instance Sex and the City‘s “Four women and a funeral”, Family Guy‘s “Dial Meg for murder, Veronica Mars‘ “Weapons of class destruction” and almost every episode of The Simpsons.
Slightly less successful is just using the song, film or book title verbatim (Entourage does this a lot), which displays a certain lack of imagination (not that I’m one to talk).
This is something I think about and worry about but, on a blog like this, does it matter? Particularly on a book review?