I have a great giveaway for you. Just leave a comment and be entered to win this new book. I just started reading it myself and am enjoying it quite at bit.
Description:
Hay-on-Wye, 1995. Peter Byerly isn’t sure what drew him into this particular bookshop. Nine months earlier, the death of his beloved wife, Amanda, had left him shattered. The young antiquarian bookseller relocated from North Carolina to the English countryside, hoping to rediscover the joy he once took in collecting and restoring rare books. But upon opening an eighteenth-century study of Shakespeare forgeries, Peter is shocked when a portrait of Amanda tumbles out of its pages. Of course, it isn’t really her. The watercolor is clearly Victorian. Yet the resemblance is uncanny, and Peter becomes obsessed with learning the picture’s origins.
As he follows the trail back first to the Victorian era and then to Shakespeare’s time, Peter communes with Amanda’s spirit, learns the truth about his own past, and discovers a book that might definitively prove Shakespeare was, indeed, the author of all his plays.
The kind folks at Viking/Penguin will send one copy of this brand new book to one lucky winner to an address in the Continental US. Here’s what you need to say in the comments:
1) Leave your first name
2) Include your email address in the following format — name (at) email (dot) com — to prevent spam.
3) Tell us your favorite work by Shakespeare.
I will contact the winner to get mailing address information. Entries open until Wednesday, May 15 at 6 p.m. PST. So get thee to the comment section!
It has all the makings of a Georgian era Agatha Christie novel — a house full of suspects, bizarre alibis, unsubstantiated timelines, inheritances, jealousy, and a bottle or two of poison.
When young soon-to-be baronet Theodosius Boughton dies unexpectedly one morning, a scandal erupts in the quiet countryside county of Warwickshire. Although not in tip-top shape, Theodosius was certainly not ailing in such a way as to portend death. What about the prescription that he complained “smelled of bitter almonds”? Was he poisoned? Or an accident? Or something else entirely?
Between a domineering Lady of the house, a bitter chambermaid, and a troubled son-in-law, did someone poison the young heir? Did the poor forensics after the fact obscure the true cause of death?
Exterior of All Saints’ Church, Chadshunt, Warwickshire. Photo by Martin Beek (2006).
Cooke is thorough. She lines up court testimony, timelines, newspaper accounts, letters, and even John Donellan’s own treatise for his innocence. Cooke painstakingly compares these notes and finds discrepancies in the outcome of the trial.
The Mail On Sunday compared it to Kate Summerscale’s The Suspicions of Mr Whicher. It does have its similarities, but there is no narrator, as it were. Mr Whicher, a respected policeman and detective, serves as a guide through the murder at Road Hill House. With Cooke’s book we have no such character to turn to. As such the reader feels a bit more abandoned among the myriad suppositions and theories.
Mr Whicher and John Donellan do both suffer somewhat from the dryness of the facts. There is always a danger in presenting a case that academics can bog down the narrative. This does happen a bit here. For the most part it is forgivable, but about half way through the book there is one particularly rough patch where Cooke compares depositions with trial testimony and interjects her own suspicions. In this section the narrative is nearly entirely lost and the story gets a bit hard to follow.
The case has been cited numerous times as an example of the failings of the judicial system, or of poor defense representation. In effect, it has taken on a life of its own, especially in English courtroom history. But by the time it reached the judge and jury, much of the case had already been decided. Cooke adds the background with each ‘character’s’ history, heritage and personality. She does her best to give the case context and perhaps shed new light on a scandalous trial.
Erin Kelly’s third novel puts a modern twist on a classic archetype: The English country house mystery. This is a chilling psychological tale, told from a number increasingly unreliable narrators.
The MacBride family is well-to-do and respectable. The patriarch is a lauded schoolmaster in a prim and proper English town. When the mother of the family dies with little warning, the family decides to continue their Guy Fawkes family tradition. They agree to meet at Far Barn, the homestead, for Bonfire Night, despite their mother’s absence. Tensions are high and everyone is walking on eggshells. Characters feel their resolve unravel — and then the real problems start.
Kelly deftly links together the various narrators. Each has a distinct voice, sometimes frighteningly so. They get into the reader’s head and even when they are clearly morally demented, we go along with their line of thinking – at least while they are talking. It makes it so much more than just storytelling. And as the reader becomes more and more engaged, the book begins to take on a snowball effect. Situations are more dire, and we read faster and faster, trying to stay ahead of the train that is barreling down upon us.
A Bonfire in Yorkshire
She is also adept at moody atmospheric. Here, the narrator approaches the main location of the book:
The road thinned to a one-track lane as they began the descent into the valley and dipped so steeply the children’s ears popped. As they came within a mile of the barn, the hedgerows themselves seemed to squeeze their oversized car along the road like a clot through a vein. Branches jabbed witchy fingers through windows, making the boys scream with something between terror and laughter, and Edie echo their sounds. The signpost for Far Barn, white paint on a black wooden plaque, had faded into illegibility but new visitors were rare. Will made the right turn into the rutted track that connected their land to the rest of the world.
The barn was a black mass on a cloud-blind night, the only sign of light or life the reflection of their own headlights in the blank windows and against the gloss of the ebony slats.
The book is fast-paced and suspenseful. It is a fine example of how powerful perceptions can affect not only one’s own life, but the domino effect on everyone else. It is chilling and a fantastic read.
Many thanks to Meghan with Viking/Penguin for the review copy.
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ISBN 9780670026722
336 pages
21 Feb 2013
Pamela Dorman Books
9.25 x 6.25in
18 – AND UP
Frustratingly little is known about Jane Austen. We don’t know what she looked like. There is only one drawing of her, as a youth, that is considered to be a portrait, but even some scholars don’t accept that.
In time for Jane Austen’s bicentennial year, Paula Byrne has put together a compilation of her life. Byrne chooses to inspect the famed writer’s past by sifting through objects in her life. It is almost like a scrapbook of the Austen family.
Each “thing” is an aspect of Jane’s life, and launches the chapter’s topic. ”The Card Of Lace” outlines a somewhat famous incident involving her aunt, Mrs. Leigh-Parrot’s shoplifting trial. But the chapter is really about Jane’s days in Bath and about the relationship with these wealthy-if-erratic relatives.
One of my favorite chapters is based on “The Theatrical Scenes”. When Rev. Austen determined to move his family from the Steventon parsonage, nearly all of its contents were placed up for auction. Though undoubtedly distressing for the Austen family, there is a great deal of information embedded in the ad in the local paper. Among the usual furnishings are listed a “set of theatrical scenes etc. etc.” With this tidbit, Byrne expands on the probable family dynamic as regards plays and recitals. From there, she further explores the idea of theatre in England at the time.
Another chapter begins with Jane’s brother’s military cap, and goes on to explore the siblings’ relationship as well as how military lives affected families of the era. Yet another focuses on a shawl and its representation of trade with the East. Throughout all of these examples, Byrne ties in passages and characters in Austen’s novels, showing how the author would have been inspired by what was around her.
Byrne’ research is impeccable. If there was anything to be found on Austen, she found it. And she was smart to structure the biography as she did — rather than a chronological effort. But because of the lack of direct information about Austen, the book is unfortunately peppered with holes. Byrne often leaves parenthetical notes such as “All letters from 1806 are gone”. The phrasing of her subject also includes distancing with caveats like “it is probable that” or “we can assume that”. While these are of course the right thing to do from an academic standpoint, it does waterdown the connection the reader has with Austen. With Byrne’s book on Evelyn Waugh, the reader is swept away by Waugh’s personality and fast-paced life. I hardly noticed I was reading a biography. In this, there is still a bit of distance between us and understanding Jane Austen. Byrne does her best to help us bridge that gap.
Thanks to the kind people at Harper for the review copy.
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ISBN: 9780061999093
ISBN10: 0061999091
Imprint: Harper
On Sale: 1/29/2013
Format: Hardcover
Trimsize: 6 x 9
Pages: 400; $29.99
Ages: 18 and Up
This book would have done better as a short story. It has the makings of a good yarn, but it draws things out much too long. If kept clean and simple, it would have been much more effective.
In 1952, a young woman, newly married, takes up a worn, dingy apartment with her husband. He insists their stay will be brief, while they save up enough money to move elsewhere. Young Isabel does her best to be patient and amuse herself while home alone. But her imagination and paranoia start to take over. The landlady, who lives upstairs, paces at all hours of the night, and keeps the house too cold. Isabel is convinced the lady is trying to drive her mad. Isabel’s husband, a doctor, is a rational man of science and does his best to calm her irrational fears, but his late night calls do little to help the situation.
One frigid night, Isabel finds an RAF coat, stuffed in a crevice in the wall of the decrepit flat. She uses it to keep herself warm at night, but she has opened up a portal to a time when Yorkshire was home to an airfield, when the skies were filled with Lancasters going on air raids and flight crews counted down the missions until they could go home. She begins to get visitations (ghostly, or perhaps imagined?), from a pilot. Is she just starved for attention? Or is she really seeing and speaking to this man?
As I said, this would have done much better as a short story. Elements of madness, ghosts, and unhappy characters made for some strong possibilities, but they were diluted by the word count. Any punch they might have packed were drawn down by giving the reader too much time to think about it.
I should mention that this book was published by Hammer, a new wing of the famed Hammer Films. In that regard, this book fits perfectly. There is enough to keep the reader turning the page, but no reason to return to it later.
Thank you to Hammer for sending me the review copy.
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Category: Book
Publication dates:
February 2, 2012 (UK – Hardback)
August 30, 2012 (UK – Paperback)
Language: English
Pages: 196
ISBN: 978-0099564935
Written by: Helen Dunmore
Jones’ overview of the Tower of London’s thousand year history was no doubt a massive undertaking. Imagine it: ten centuries worth of sieges, celebrations, world-altering decisions, wrongful deaths and sovereign decrees all held within these walls, on just a few acres of land.
A chamber inside the Tower of London
Jones visits the (in)famous as well as the less well-known. Henry VIII’s wives are well represented, as is the disreputable reputation of torture of its prisoners. But it also unearths more obscure facts like Issac Newton’s position as the Warden of the Mint. For several hundred years the coins of the realm were stamped on the grounds. And I only knew of the menagerie because of my visit there last year. But I didn’t realize that William Blake visited the tiger in order to observe the “fearful symmetry” of the fierce cat.
My photograph
Jones’ indexed book is well-researched and, while educational, it is far from dry. This is partially due to the Tower’s rich history, but Jones also presents the information in an absorbing manner. It manages to encompass the years 1078 to present day all within an approachable format. His rich descriptions bring the ancient past to life:
Minting money was hot, hard, laborious, noisy and dangerous work. The interior of the mint’s workshops were a hellish inferno full of the clash and splash of metal, both hard and molten. A sweaty, smoky, smelly world where hammers clanged deafeningly and glittering, jagged splinters of precious metal and molten droplets flew through the filthy air, causing painful injuries. Few mint workers escaped their service without losing a finger or an eye to their risky craft. ~Pg. 35
A good deal of my knowledge of British regicidal history comes from Shakespeare’s plays. It was enjoyable to put those pieces together with the documented stories, and learn more about the place I was fortunate enough to visit. Surely there are layers yet to be discovered, and there is no doubt that some things will just never be known.
This is an excellent handbook for those interested in English history in general as well as the past days of the Tower. I cannot wait to visit again, now with this insight.
** I suggest following @ravenmaster1 on Twitter. Chris Skaife is the official Ravenmaster for the Tower of London and posts great pictures from the site.
Thank you to St. Martin’s Press for the review copy.
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October 2012
Hardcover
ISBN: 9780312622961
ISBN10: 0312622961
6 1/8 x 9 1/4 inches, 464 pages
Plus one 16-page b&w photo insert and map endpapers
Yes, the novel is as gorgeous as the cover. Ethereal, impactful*, vintage and evocative. The heroine, Maribel, is the vivacious wife of parliamentary representative Edward Campbell Lowe. Himself a boisterous, outspoken politician, the two make an unforgettable pair, if an unlikely one.
Maribel employs her energies in photography, working to capture true images — something all too elusive in Victorian London. She attempts to find some truth among the Native Americans that are in London with Buffalo Bill’s Wild West show. Ever the gracious host, William Cody is welcomes her into his massive encampment.
The American Exhibition in London, 1887.
Maribel also make subjects of her dear friend, Charlotte, and unfortunate ruffians of London’s less affluent neighborhoods. One of these photographs is smudged in such a way that spiritualist believe it to be an example of supernatural intervention. Ever the realist, Maribel staunchly denies such a claim and refuses to allow its publication.
A Victorian era “spirit photograph.” Images were double-exposed for this effect, but because the medium was so new, most sitters were unaware of the trickery.
This is but one of Maribel’s struggles to uphold truth in a world so reliant upon appearances. But Maribel hides a secret of her own. As she tries to help her own husband succeed in Parliament, she risks peeling back the layers of her own beautiful lies. In the midst of all of this, tabloid journalism is on the rise in London and a ruthless bloodhound of a newspaper man is on her scent.
The prose is honest and modern, despite the vintage setting. Sentences roll and swirl and drip off the tongue.
The tea party was breaking up when the two women took their leave. It was a warm evening, one of the first of the season and the moon floated like a pale wafer in the darkening sky. Along the river the trees were ghostly with blossom. ~Pg. 37
For years Ida had kept a picture of the saint [Joan of Arc] tucked inside her Bible so that she could look at it during the sermon on Sundays. She said it was so that she would remember that being clever and fighting people was sometimes what God wanted you to do, even if you were a girl. On the say that Ida did not want to be an elephant keeper when she grew up, she wanted to be a soldier-saint like Joan of Arc. Sometimes they slipped out late at night, when the others were all asleep, creeping across the garden and into the woods beyond. The woods were full of strange loud noises, foxes screaming and owls hooting and trees moving restlessly in the earth. Maribel held Ida’s hand and told her it was essential for an actress to understand fear, but Ida was not afraid. She turned cartwheels on the lawn, her nightgown a pale ghost in the darkness, and said that in the night the world was more exciting because you could not see where it ended. ~Pg. 82
Maribel hoped that he was right. More than that she hoped that there would be someone at Mr. Linnell’s graveside who knew what he had likes to do on a Sunday afternoon, that he had felt the cold and liked marmalade and knew how to whistle, that he had a way with dogs and had once ridden a bicycle without holding onto the handlebars. ~Pg. 344
This novel is exceedingly well-written and very engrossing. It clocks in at an even 500 pages, and easily could have devoured 500 more.
*I’ve just had a very intriguing conversation with @cliche_mist about my use of the word “impactful.” I admit that I was doubtful when I wrote it and so I looked it up. I did find it listed in Merriam-Webster’s dictionary. Still, my learned friend contends that standard usage dictionaries often allow for slang and non-words to gain a foothold in the English language. What are your thoughts?
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ISBN-13/ EAN: 9780151014675
ISBN-10: 0151014671
Price: $26
Format: Hardcover, 512 pages
Publication Date: 2012-09-18
Trim Size: 6 x 9
If you are as anxious for the series premiere of Downton Abbey as I am, then you know what it is to be captivated by good writing.
Fill those dreary hours, waiting for the return of the Grantham household and the Dowager Countess’s quips by joining the Passing Bells trilogy read-along, hosted by bookclubgirl.
And thank you to HarperCollins for the review copy so I can read along too!
I’m ashamed to say this was the first Sayers novel I have read. I can’t imagine why, other than I assumed them to be like Agatha Christie and there were already so many of hers to read. And I don’t remember my childhood library having any of her books, (they may have) but there was a endless row of black-bound, gold-embossed Christie titles. So with these rereleases I decided to turn a new leaf as well and include her mysteries.
Strong Poison is a Lord Peter Wimsey mystery, featuring Harriet Vane. Based on her character it appears that there were more later. Wimsey (as suggested by his name) is the kind of person who goes where the wind takes him. As a friend of barristers and with a particular penchant for sitting in on trials, Wimsey takes it upon himself to solve a confusing case. Harriet Vane, a crime novelist, has been accused of poisoning her fiancé, but Wimsey is unconvinced. While the trial is on hold, he investigates his hunches.
The author, Dorothy L. Sayers
Wimsey and the tale are a blend of Nero Wolfe and Jeeves and Wooster. In the heady of days of the Bright Young Things, where it seems nothing can touch the sparkling upper echelons of society, Lord Peter amuses himself among the working class. His character at first seems selfish and flighty, but although he wants to occupy his time, he truly does believe in her innocence and wants to see her acquitted.
The prose is light and playful, and glides along over the marbled halls of justice and entryways of grand houses. The dialogue, too, reflects this whimsical time.
“You don’t mean to say you admired her, Frank?”
“Oh, well, I dunno. But she didn’t look to me like a murderess.”
“And how do you know what a murderess looks like? Have you ever met one?”
“Well, I’ve seen them at Madame Tussaud’s.”
“Oh, wax-works. Everybody looks like a murderer in a wax-works.” ~Pg. 33
And no good detective is anywhere without his sidekick. Lord Peter Wimsey has his invaluable valet, Mr. Bunter.
By what ingratiating means Mr. Bunter had contrived to turn the delivery of a note into the acceptance of an invitation to tea was best known only to himself. At half-past four on the day which ended to cheerfully for Lord Peter, he was seated in the kitchen of Mr. Urquart’s house, toasting crumpets. He had been trained to a great pitch of dexterity in the preparation of crumpets and if he was somewhat lavish is the matter of butter, that hurt nobody except Mr. Urquart. ~Pg. 101
The book is jaunty and fast-paced. Readers who enjoy quick, fluid cozies, should snuggle up with a cup of tea and give it a read.
Despite my penchant for British literature, I must admit that this was my first foray into Amis. A complicated person in his own life, he seems to have attempted to shed some of his anxieties on his characters. Indeed, the title character James Dixon is dissatisfied professor of medievalism. He was surely drawing on some of his own teachers while at Oxford, no doubt sometimes unhappy in their own situation.
Despite this, the reader finds James Dixon trying to meet the requirements to survive his trial year and achieve tenure at the regional and unacclaimed university. He must navigate the elite company he finds himself among, including a vapid boss and an emotionally irresponsible squeeze, all the while searching out the nearest place to get a few pints.
Amis’ writing has been compared to Wodehouse and Waugh, but that doesn’t quite describe it. Lucky Jim is denser and less accessible than Wodehouse. Amis’ characters are darker and disturbed. And Waugh had a eviscerating tone that accompanied his angsty young people. Here Amis finds humor in middle aged pretension. And it often is uncomfortably funny.
Dixon ran his eye along the lines of black dots, which seemed to go up and down a good deal, and was able to assure himself that everyone was going to have to sing all the time. He’d had a bad setback twenty minutes ago in some Brahms rubbish which began ten seconds or so of unsupported tenor — more accurately, of unsupported Goldsmith, who’d twice dried up in face of a tricky interval and left him opening and shutting his mouth in silence. He now cautiously reproduced the note Goldsmith was humming and found the the effect pleasing rather than the reverse. ~Pg. 36
There is a certain defeatism, a begrudging acceptance, that life doesn’t always turn out as one planned. And even if it had, it’s not at all what your youth had imagined it.
‘What work do you do?’ Dixon asked flatly.
‘I am a painter. Not, alas, a painter of houses, or I should have been able to make my pile and retire by now. No no; I paint pictures. Not, alas again, pictures of trade unionists or town halls or naked women, or I should now be squatting on an even larger pile. No no; just pictures, mere pictures, pictures tout court, or, as our American cousins would say, pictures period. And what work do you do? always provided, of course, that I have permission to ask.’ ~Pg. 38
Lucky Jim is amusing for those who enjoy dark humor with a healthy dose of absurd realism.
Many thanks to the folks at New York Review of Books for the review copy.
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FORMAT: Paperback
PUBLICATION DATE: October 2, 2012
PAGES: 296
ISBN: 9781590175750
SERIES: NYRB Classics
CATEGORIES: Literature in English
This book is almost like a work of fan fiction. What if this cast of characters were suddenly let loose in an unlikely scenario. Queen Elizabeth II, despondent and full of wanderlust, embarks on an unusual trip. Constantly surrounded by assistants, servants, schedules, and protocol, she is looking to reconnect with simpler days. After her annus horriblus, (the breakup of Fergie and Andrew, Diana and Charles and the fire at Windsor Castle), it seems nothing is the same.
One afternoon, while visiting her beloved horses, she accepts the loan of a hoodie against the sudden rain. Slogging back to the palace, she notices that she isn’t recognized by her own guards. Surprised and amused, she takes advantage of the situation. What begins as a walkabout to the local cheesemonger becomes an escape from England altogether. She jumps aboard a train headed for Waverley Station in Edinburgh. Edinburgh, where her beloved Britannia is now docked, open as a museum.
…Then they could all retire to the Britannia for a few days, having justified the expense of sailing her out by holding some official dinners on board. How lovely she looked, white and buff and blue, rising up out of the haze on a hot afternoon. And when she became too old, to expensive to run, well the Government absolutely refused to build another yacht. It was that word “yacht” wasn’t it? The Queen couldn’t appear to waste public money on personal pleasure. She understood that, but she wondered if the newspapers actually knew how many boring Commonwealth suppers she’d had to sit through. If anybody had earned a bit of a treat, she had, what with the endless small talk she’d engaged in on national business. ~Pg. 127
The book paints a picture of a tired but thankful Queen who could use with a bit of human interaction that isn’t based in ritual. But more than that, it focuses on those who orbit the Queen. Butlers, assistants, ladies-in-waiting, equerries and proud citizens all intertwine to “save” the Queen from her impromptu holiday.
A photo of the actual Queen Elizabeth II wearing a hoodie while on vacation near Balmoral.
The book is a bit staid; respectable but not anything outstanding. It wanders, too much in fact, away from the tender themes that it does have. The Queen herself is barely in it. Instead Kuhn chooses to explore the backstories of his other characters, what brought them to work in the Household. For fans of narratives that mosey along, with plenty of tangents, perhaps this is the book for you. For Anglophiles or fans of snappy stories, I suggest they look elsewhere.
May thanks to Harper for the advanced review copy.
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ISBN: 9780062208286; ISBN10: 0062208284; Imprint: Harper ; On Sale: 10/16/2012; Format: Hardcover; Trimsize: 5 1/2 x 8 1/4; Pages: 384; $25.99; Ages: 18 and Up
In the last couple of years I’ve become a fan of Sophie Hannah’s writing. She writes fast-paced, gritty police procedurals with dark psychological undertones. In some ways, she reminds me of a British Kathy Reichs. This installment of Zailer and Waterhouse’s casebook takes them to Cambridge.
The book’s main heroine, Connie, is suffering from a bout of insomnia. She logs onto a real estate website and browses for “dream” homes in nearby Cambridge. While looking at property photos, she sees one with a dead body splayed on the living room floor. Shocked and discombobulated, she reloads the site, but the image is gone. Thus begins a series of confusing events that causes Connie to question her sanity and identity.
Connie attempts to solve the unnerving incident, with help from a honeymooning Zailer and Waterhouse and a stateside officer Sam Kombothekra. But even a close following of the clues does not give away the ultimate suspenseful ending.
New construction in Cambridge
Sophie Hannah switches between narrators and tenses. Connie “speaks” in present tense and often goes into stream of consciousness.
While Kit takes him upstairs, I pace up and down, picturing 11 Bentley Grove’s lounge, trying to uncover the missing detail. The woman disappeared. The blood disappeared. And something else…
I’m so wrapped up in my thoughts that I don’t notice Kit had returned, and I jump when he says, ‘I know everyone hates estate agents, but you’ve taken it to a whole new level. What you haven’t done is considered the why. Why would some evil genius estate agent, sitting in his office in Cambridge, want to include an elusive dead woman complete with own pool of blood on the virtual tour of a house he’s trying to sell? Is it, what a daring new marketing technique? maybe you should see which agent the house is on with, ring up and ask them.’ ~Pg. 47
This sort of wandering inner thought that the reader is privy to adds suspense and allows the reader to quickly and strongly sympathize with the characters. It also limits the readers understanding of what’s going on, which allows us to discover it as the characters do. It’s an effective device and one that Hannah uses well. This book in particular harkens back to elements Gaslight, which a film nerd like myself can’t help but giggle at with delight. The plot is full of red herrings and, like much of Hannah’s work, is not a whodunit for the reader to figure out but rather a twisting tale to watch unfold.
Many thank to the folks at Penguin for the review copy.
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ISBN 9780143121510
Paperback
5.31 x 8.03in
464 pages
26 Jun 2012
Penguin | 18 – AND UP
The Bellwether Revivals is part Evelyn Waugh, part Patricia Highsmith, and part… something else. Twilight Zone, perhaps. The protagonist, Oscar Lowe, is a townie with few prospects in the storied university town of Cambridge. While wandering past the King’s College chapel, he is entranced by the organ music he hears. He sits in on the service and become enamored by one of the angelic voices in the choir. Oscar waits on the chapel steps, hoping to meet her. She is Iris Bellwether, and her brother Eden, it turns out, is the organist. He falls in with the Bellwether siblings, pulled into their otherworldly existence.
In a kind of Talented Mr. Ripley, in reverse, Oscar begins to fear the unhinged genius of Eden Bellwether. A musical prodigy, he is convinced that certain compositions and ceremonies can heal. Vibrations realign and agitate cells to reconfigure, almost like string theory on a larger scale. But Eden’s hobby begins to take on a life of its own — and threatens to destroy others’.
Wood presents a setting that only Old World, storied intellectuals live in. Here, the minds of Cambridge meet the unfettered wealth and youthful arrogance. Like Nick Carraway in the Great Gatsby, the reader needs the guidance of Oscar in this strange yet simultaneous world. Wood describes an evening with the Bellwether family:
They all retired to the drawing room after dessert. It had the conscious extravagance of a hotel lobby: leather sofas, candleabras, a grand piano, and a marble fireplace. Theo stood behind a rosewood cabinet, stacked with cut-glass decanters, and began removing stoppers and sniffing the contents of each bottle, as if about to commence some explosive chemistry experiment. Eventually, he chose one and lifted it. ’ Alright. Who’ll share some Delamain with me? Oscar, I know your’e game.’ Theo raised one eyebrow.
‘Thanks, Mr. Bellwether,’ he said, ignoring Iris’s suggestive cough.
‘Some of the best cognac you’ll ever drink, this,’ Theo went on. ‘Three grand for seventy piddling centilitres.’ ~Pg. 96.
This is a conversation Oscar could never even begin to have. It’s doubtful someone in his position would ever even have £3000 together. His world consists of 12-hour shifts at an elderly nursing home. Still, he manages to find pleasure in it, befriending an old man who lends him books and life advice. But after meeting the Bellwethers, Oscar finds himself constantly feeling out place no matter where he is of who he is with. As Eden slowly takes over their lives, things become even more surreal.
Wood’s writing is clear and straightforward, which makes the oddity of the story all the more powerful. The characters, particularly Eden Bellwether and Herbert Paulsen, are richly drawn. The story does take a couple of chapters to get going, but once it does, it is highly addictive. It a few flakes become a snowball, then an avalanche. It’s a forceful, unnerving and brilliant book.
Many thanks to the folks at Viking Adult for the review copy. Visit author Benjamin Wood’s official site.
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ISBN 9780670023592 | 432 pages | 14 Jun 2012
Viking Adult | 5.98 x 9.01in | 18 – AND UP
Kate Summerscale has once again uncovered a fascinating story from the ever contradictory Victorian era. Not so very long ago, divorce was nearly impossible (unless you were King Henry VIII, of course). Until 1858, “marriage could only be dissolved by an individual Act of Parliament, at a cost prohibitive to almost all of the population. The new Court of Divorce and matrimonial Causes was able to sever the marital bond far more cheaply and quickly.” The case brought forth by Mr. Henry Robinson is one of the first the court hears.
Isabella was already a widow (her husband “went mad”), with a significant dowry and inherited property, at age 31 when she wed Henry Robinson. Henry was a civil engineer — respectable, if not overly impressive. They had two children together and Henry built a sizable home, called Balmore House, for the family.
It appears the structure still stands today, in Caversham near Reading. http://www.geograph.org.uk/photo/1934709
Yet Isabella was not content. Far from it. She was smart, inquisitive and tenacious. She wanted to be surrounded by thinkers and artists. And she wanted to be loved, not tolerated or used. What sounds perfectly reasonable today was radical 150 years ago. Intelligent women were tolerated, within certain limits, and only when it didn’t interfere with duty.
Like many 19th century people, Isabella Robinson kept a diary. Summerscale writes:
By 1850 the Letts company was selling several thousand diaries a year, in dozens of different formats. These were the books in which Isabella wrote; they came bound in cloth or in red Russian calf hide, which gave off a faint scent of birch bark, and couple be fitted with protective covers and spring locks. ’Use you diary with the utmost familiarity and confidence,’ Letts counselled the novice diarist, ‘conceal nothing from its pages nor suffer any other eye than your own to scan them.’ …
Women, in particular, took to diarising with a passion. … The act of diary-keeping honoured many of the values of Victorian society — self-reliance, autonomy, the capacity to keep secrets. But if taken too far, these same virtues could turn to vices. Self-reliance could become radical disconnection from society, its codes and rules and restraints; secrecy could curdle into deceit; self-monitoring into solipsism; and introspection into monomania. Pages 152-4
In this case, her diary did more damage than she could have imagined. As her marriage became increasing unhappy, Isabella wrote of secret and exciting interactions with other male figures in her life. She admitted to being miserable, to wishing she could leave her despicable husband. While in the throes of a life-threatening fever, Henry finds her diary, reads it and decides to use it against her in court.
Not only was Isabella Robinson subjected to the humiliation of begin taken to divorce court, her innermost thoughts were read in court, transcribed by the newspapers. In her letters during the time she seems to be almost in denial that anyone could use private thoughts and ideas as evidence. She sounds frustrated but confident that common sense will win out. Yet a conundrum seems to be all that Isabella faces. She is encouraged by friends to claim madness, that he writings were nothing but hallucinatory. No answer is satisfactory. If she claims they are imaginings, then she is mad. If she claims the entries to be true, then she must be mad to have written them down.
Even while Isabella Robinson had involved conversations with Charles Darwin, was good friends with phrenologist George Combe, and was related by marriage to William Wordsworth. Yet she was also considered a poor example of womanhood. Despite her efforts to find some sort of peace within her unhappy life, she was left to be embarrassed by a society that would rather not accept her.
Summerscale’s research is impeccable. Several pages are devoted to notes with extra tidbits of information. She completely encapsulates the strange grey area that was the Victorian era. She has combed through thousands of letters, newspaper articles, and yes, diaries, to paint as complete a picture as possible. And despite the title of the book, does not use Isabella’s diary as a source for salacious tidbits, like tabloids would have. It is just one reference point for a greater portrait.
Many thanks to Bloomsbury for the review copy.
__________________________________________
June 2012
$26.00
384 pp
5.5 x 8.25 in
Hardcover
ISBN-13: 9781608199136
ISBN-10: 1608199134
I have always loved this story – a story within a story, really. It speaks so much of the times and the psychology of an era. I was a teenager, though, before I learned about the Cottingley Fairies. I do wish I’d had a book like this to read when I was young.
The book gives an overview of how Elsie and Frances managed to find themselves involved in a national obsession. Losure sketches their individual personalities, setting the stage for an incredible story. Two young girls, restless and creative — and tired of being ignored — snapped photographs of themselves with dainty creatures of the woods near their home. The girls insisted they communicated with these fairies. And in a time when photography was a new technology, it was assumed that a photo equaled reality. When the pictures made it to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and the Strand Magazine, their quiet country existence became chaotic. And, as is human nature, numerous people found in it precisely what they were looking for.
Sir Arthur wrote a book about Elsie and Frances’s pictures. He called it “The Coming of the Fairies.”
Science, Sir Arthur now believed, was like a harsh light that left the world hard and bare, ‘like a landscape in the moon’. And surely, there was more to life than that! Just knowing fairies were out there, even if you never got to see one, added charm and romance to the world.
Sir Arthur didn’t say this in his book, but a part of him had longed for fairies ever since he was a boy. … In the asylum, Sir Arthur’s father drew pictures of tiny people holding leaves as big as umbrellas or lurking in flowerpots or riding on the back of birds.
Sir Arthur didn’t mention any of that in “The Coming of the Fairies.” But if fairies were REAL, Sir Arthur’s father wasn’t crazy after all. ~ Pages 141-3
Elsie and Frances down the beck
Losure tells the tale in a plain way, but it is not condescending. She notes that the girls behaved badly for not being honest, but they are not vilified. She highlights the narrow window between innocence and experience, between belief and reality. Perhaps most importantly, she notes the importance of being true to yourself, and not needed validation from anyone else.
suggested retail price (U.S./CAN): $16.99 / $19.00
isbn-10/isbn-13: 0763656704 / 9780763656706
on sale date: 03/2012
type/format: Nonfiction / Hard Cover
age range: 10 yrs and up
# of pages/size: 192 / 5 1/2 x 7 1/4″
grade range: Grade 5 and up
__________________________________
I invited a young lady, by the name of Sage, to also read and review this book. She is 14 and I welcomed her views on The Fairy Ring. Here are her thoughts.
The Fairy Ring or Elsie and Frances Fool the World is written by Mary Losure. It was published March 27, 2012 by Candlewick Press. The age level for this book is 10 year old and up, so says the book. I think that the book publishing company is wrong in this aspect. A 10 year old living in today’s world would have trouble reading this book because of the use of outdated words and the older camera used in the turn of the century is so different than the camera than we know today that some children might not grasp the concept. Instead I think that this is a wonderful read-aloud book for a child of any age or an independent book for anyone over the age of 13. In either case, it is probably a good idea to keep a dictionary near by. All in all, this book is a very quick read and quite lovely at that.
The Fairy Ring or Elsie and Frances Fool the Worldis a true story about a 9 year-old girl named Frances who sees little fairies near the small brook in her aunt and uncle’s backyard. After the start of World War I, Frances and her mother move in with her Aunt Polly, Uncle Arthur and her cousin, Elise in a little town by the name of Cottingley in Yorkshire, England while her father is fighting in France. When Frances is made fun of for believing in fairies, Elsie says she saw the fairies too. To prove that fairies exist, Elsie makes paper pixies and borrows her father’s camera to take pictures of the fairies with her and with Frances. These pictures are soon forgotten and stashed in a drawer, until Polly visits a lecture about nature spirits presented by an organization of people by the name of Theosophists. Elsie’s mother tells the lecturer about the photographs her daughter and her niece had taken of fairies. Mr. Gardener soon writes a letter to Mrs. Wright telling her how astounding the pictures were and if Elsie would take some more. He sends Elsie six-dozen plates to take pictures with. (At this time, cameras were very different than cameras today. Instead of film, glass plates were used. Each glass plate had to be inserted in a dark room. ) The fairy pictures were shown in lectures given by the Theosophical Society in London. A writer for the Strand was doing research for an article about first-hand accounts of fairy sightings. This writer was none another than Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, the author of Sherlock Holmes. Soon, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and Mr. Gardener team up to uncover the truth on the fairy pictures; to find a scam. This leads to the harassment of both girls to take more pictures. One day, they take three more. Time passes, and Elsie and Frances are no longer able to see the fairies. Neither of them took another fairy picture.
I thoroughly enjoyed this book. Losure uses wondrous imagery to describe the beck in Elsie’s backyard. The description of the ‘little men’ that Frances sees is just wonderful. It makes me want to visit a little waterfall or a glen.
You can buy this book on Amazon for as low as $6.97 (That price includes shipping. Regular price: $16.99.)
Those who are suffering from a bit of Downton Abbeywithdrawal and enjoy a cozy mystery should read this book. Battlefield nurse Bess Crawford is alerted to an unaccounted for corpse in the shed turned makeshift morgue. Interest piqued and always dutiful, she intends to report the findings to the Matron. Before she can, she is struck with the rampant Spanish Influenza that took down so many in the waning days of WWI. Despite her delirium, and a close call with the illness, she remembers what happened the night she fell ill and sets out to solve the mystery. But when her compatriots begin dying under strange circumstances, she knows that she will be next.
Jessica Brown Findlay as Lady Sybil / Nurse Crawley
Bess is the head-strong daughter of a retired colonel, who now has a high-level job in his Majesty’s government. She grew up on post in India, though now her parents have a place in Somerset. When war broke out she insisted on being useful (much like Lady Sybil Crawley) and volunteered to be a battle field nurse. Her parents, certainly respectful of the idea of duty to King and Country, supported her efforts, while keeping a watchful eye on her as best as possible.
Charles Todd (actually a mother and son team of authors) is very well versed in the details of the times. The novel follows Bess as she travels back and forth between England and France, from rehab facilities to field hospitals, from ambulance tracks to channel steamers.
And so I waited. Last night the sun had set in a blaze of gold and red, sliding behind a bank of deep purple clouds. Now it was pitch dark without the flickering light of the shelling, and the only way we could be certain we were on what passed as a road were the wide swaths of deep ruts left behind by the lorries. Our blacked-out headlamps were woefully inadequate, casting shadows that only made it harder to judge anything in time to avoid another bone-wrenching jolt. About two miles out we spotted the single chimney and broken wall of a farmhouse. It had become a marker of sorts, and we all knew to watch for it. The rest of the village was little more than rubble, with no way of judging where the streets had been, much less the houses or shops that once had lined them. How this single chimney and wall had survived God knew alone. ~ Pg. 105
There is almost constant travel, traversing borders in an attempt to both serve as a nurse and discover all of the threads in the web of the man in the shed. And though she is anything but nonchalant, she is almost unflappable.
The novel moves very quickly and is full of action. It is suspenseful and another great summer read.
Thanks to the folks of William Morrow for the review copy.
____________________________________
ISBN: 9780062015723
ISBN10: 0062015729
Imprint: William Morrow
On Sale: 6/5/2012
Format: Hardcover
Trimsize: 6 x 9
Pages: 272; $24.99; Ages: 18 and Up
This is the first novel I have read by Ms. Webb but when she started with an epigraph page with quotes from William Wordsworth, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and Rudolph Steiner, I knew I was in for a well-wrought story. She certainly knows her literary stuff.
The novel straddles the span of a century — 1911 & 2011. A young journalist is asked to find information about a WWI soldier whose body has just been found. With just a couple of letters found with the soldier, she begins her search. In the alternate world, Cat Morley is just starting her new job as a maid at Cold Ash Rectory. The Reverend Albert Canning and his wife Hester hire the unfortunate girl as a sort of mission or kindness. Their relationship is awkward, at best, and made even more strained when a Mr. Robin Durrant enters the picture. A theosophist of great repute, the Reverend seeks to impress him with his own stories of fairies and elementals. The two feed off one another’s arrogance and delusion.
A home in present day Cold Ash, Berkshire, England
The book is written in present tense, a style I usually don’t find readable. However, Webb manages it well. Descriptions are still rich and not the usual clipped, terse style of present tense writing. Additionally, because it is contemporaneous, we the reader do not know that the narrator will “be alright”. It adds dramatic tension and brings the reader closer to the action.
It is nowhere near lunch time when a smart knock at the door jolts Cat from her reverie. She has been distracted all morning, her gaze wandering far and away through the hall window that she’s supposed to be polishing with ball of old newspaper. Thoughts of George Hobson tease her mind away from work. She saw him again last night, drank enough beer with him to make her head spin and her insides glow. Now her head is spinning still, and her stomach feels weak, and a slow throb of pain has taken to beating behind her eyes. Fatigue makes hr limbs heavy and her thoughts slow. Even this early in the day the air is warm, and a mist of sweat salts her top lip. When the door knocker forces her to move she turns, catching sight of herself in a heavy-framed mirror on the wall. ~Pg. 113
Cat is a complicated heroine. She is both mature for her age and forced to deal with things far too young. She is a free spirit trapped in a less than forgiving world. She is likable but far from perfect. Still, the reader is happy to root for her as she attempts to navigate the complicated household.
Webb also gives due to Charlotte Bronte’s Jane Eyre and her madwoman in the attic. Jane’s terror when she is locked in the Red Room at Mrs Reed’s is as palpable. One of Cat’s worst fears is realized when she is locked in her room.
She hurls herself at the door, scrabbling at the wood, heedless of the splinters that drive themselves beneath her fingernails. She points her fists against it, feels the shock of each blow rattle her bones. But the door does not yield.
Hester, on the floor below, lies sleepless and alone in her bed. … Hester shuts her eyes and puts the pillow over her head, but she can’t block out the girl’s distress completely. She has no choice but to hear it, and finds in it, as the night progresses, an echo of feelings deep inside her own heart. ~ Pg. 326
The reader can’t help but recall Jane’s own sleepless nights as Bertha Rochester haunted Thornfield.
One final, though rather picky, note. The cover of this book does not match the book itself. I know we’re not supposed to judge a book by its cover, but one does. This cover looks like a YA romance, rather than an Edwardian-set mystery. I just found it confusing.
All in all, The Unseen is a well-written, enjoyable book. It would be a perfect summer read, especially on a thunderstorming afternoon.
Many thanks to William Morrow for the review copy.
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ISBN: 9780062077882
ISBN10: 0062077880
Imprint: William Morrow Paperbacks
On Sale: 5/22/2012
Format: Trade PB
Trimsize: 5 5/16 x 8
Pages: 464; $14.99; Ages: 18 and Up
Director Cary Fukunaga has given a new generation a gorgeous version of this classic tale. Since its publishing in 1847, under the pseudonym Currer Bell, Jane Eyre has fascinated both readers and storytellers. This adaptation is beautifully shot, very well-acted, and enhanced by a stunning score from Dario Marianelli (Atonement, I Capture the Castle). The set of Thornfield is perfect. It’s devastating and romantic and even funny at times.
And until the last third of the movie, I thought someone had finally made a perfect adaptation. But, like Jane, my dreams were dashed, made all the more painful because I had dared to hope at all.
Yes, everyone has a favorite scene that they can’t wait to see on the big screen. Or a line that doesn’t match quite with their imagination. But this goes beyond minuscule details. Even more frustrating, many of these key scenes were shot, but edited out (Luckily you can see them in the extra features).
* Spoilers beyond this point *
There are no scenes that hint at or show Bertha until the failed wedding. Although Bertha does try to set Mr. Rochester’s bed on fire, there are no cackles from the hallway, no unholy screams that keep Jane awake. There is no Grace Poole as a red herring. There isn’t a hint of the supernatural or any idea that something is amiss. Most frustrating, is the lack of the veil shredding scene. It jumps from Adele playing with the veil to Jane and Rochester heading to the church. I think the lack of these scenes undermines Jane’s character and detracts from the richness of the story. The uncertainty, the unsettled atmosphere is key to Jane Eyre. Without it, it becomes little more than a “will they or won’t they” story.
There are also some important elements of Mr. Rochester’s character that are left out. Though shot, but cut, there is a scene in which he describes his connection to Adele’s mother. I found Wasikowska and Fassbender’s chemistry most evident during this scene, but it was inexplicably cut. And Rochester’s speech at the altar? Nowhere to be found. He merely takes the wedding party to his attic, for our first glimpse of a woman who looks methed out.
* End of spoilers *
In short, what IS there on screen, is beautiful and well done. The problem is it leaves what I consider essential scenes out. Do see it; it was very enjoyable. Just know that somethings are missing. I suppose I am only all the more disappointed knowing how very close to perfection they came.
This is the best movie of the year (at least, so far). It’s charming but not saccharine, sweeping but not grandiose. As it is based upon a book, story is paramount. It is from Lasse Halstrom, the director of Chocolat, after all.
Emily Blunt plays Harriet Chetwode-Talbot, a smart, sleek and organized asset manager. Her portfolio of clients includes one very wealthy Sheikh Muhammed (Amr Waked) from Yemen. He has a manor in Scotland where he loves to fish for salmon and wants to bring his passion to the desert. Chetwode-Talbot seeks out the preeminent expert on such things, Dr. Alfred Jones (Ewan MacGregor). The two spar over the ideas that a cold water fish could live in a a place with no water.
Meanwhile, Her Majesty’s government is desperate for a positive news story out of the Middle East. Patricia Maxwell (Kristin Scott Thomas) is determined to spin gold out of straw with this one and insists the project move forward. And so this unlikely trio sets out to do the impossible.
Research takes the team to the Sheik’s estate (also know as Glenbogle from Monarch of the Glen), vast expanses of arid desert, canyons and boring office cubicles. Each location is well-drawn, evoking a very real sense of place. This variation somehow makes the project seem all the more daunting, and more adventurous. Hallestrom uses each of these locations beautifully, including a couple of gorgeous scenes with low lighting.
The score too is very well done. By veteran composer Dario Marianelli (I Capture the Castle, Atonement), it seamlessly blends the music and sounds of all of these locations.
These three main characters are quite well done. Dr. Jones is a brilliant but socially awkward man. He’s very kind-hearted but doesn’t really interact the way most people do. Ms. Chetwode-Talbot seems to cherish British propriety, although she sees her own self fall short. She expects a great deal from herself. Sheik Muhammed is a philosopher who has the means to act upon his ideas. He is not just a rich man with a crazy idea. He wants to bring life and prosperity to his country. Mrs. Maxwell connotes the a turning point of Kristin Scott Thomas’ career, I think. No longer the soft, willowy heroine (English Patient, Horse Whisperer) she bursts onto the screen a la Kay Thompson in Funny Face and fills it in each of her scenes.
Salmon Fishing In The Yemen is funny, wise, sobering and inspiring. It’s not going to make the kind of money that a summer blockbuster will (though it should). But if you see it showing at a theatre near to you, DO see it on the big screen. It’s beautiful and immensely enjoyable.
Writing once again from Virtual Booth #221b… This will be my second Armchair BEA.
◊ Please tell us a little bit about yourself: Who are you? How long have you been blogging? Why did you get into blogging?
I am a director of a nonprofit performing arts venue in the South. I hold a Bachelor’s in English from St. Anselm College and I just earned my Masters of Arts in Cinema Studies from Savannah College of Art and Design.
I began writing book reviews about two and a half years ago, but I’d been writing film reviews ever since I can remember. I was always excited by films and the way they tell stories.
◊ Tell us one non-book-related thing that everyone reading your blog may not know about you.
Well, here’s a couple of things anyway… I’m also a photographer and have been since I was a child. I’m obsessed with showing other people what it is I see.
I’m fairly certain I was born in the wrong decade. I should have been a flapper and I love to wear cloche hats. I’m also a jazz fiend.
I love to garden and wish I lived in a field stone house in the English countryside so I could have a proper garden and write a novel using an antique typewriter.
◊ Which is your favorite post that you have written that you want everyone to read?
◊ If you could eat dinner with any author or character, who would it be and why?
Well, let me say that no, it would not be Hannibal Lecter.
There are a few but I can say at the top of my list would be Agatha Christie. Her life was so fascinating and full of adventure. I read her autobiography and it was like listening to your completely awesome grandmother tell wonderful stories about growing up. I know we’d still be sitting at the table long after dessert.
◊ What literary location would you most like to visit? Why?
I’ve finally been to England and I loved it as much as I’d hoped I would. There are still so many places there that I need to visit (made it to Sherlock’s house though!).
Given the chance, I’d like to go to the Lakes District where Wordsworth wrote Tintern Abbey and see the peaks in Dartmoor.
I hope you will enjoy my site. You can also follow me on Twitter and Pinterest.
The home which Conan Doyle built in Surrey has been saved from development! Thanks to the banding together of fans and preservationists around the world.
But there is still plenty to do. Please visit the Undershaw Preservation Trust’s site to find out how you can help – from the UK or abroad.
This is certainly London’s time to shine. A fabulous royal wedding last year, a Summer Olympics in just a few weeks plus Queen Elizabeth II’s Diamond Jubilee! She is only the second monarch to have reigned over Britain and its commonwealths for 60 years (Queen Victoria being the first).
This small book is but an overview of Queen Elizabeth’s extraordinary life up to now. Its short length makes it incredibly accessible and allows a reader to find aspects they’d like to read more on. It’s also full of funny anecdotes and surprising moments.
Some of my favorite stories are from her youth. In childhood, there was no indication that she would eventually take the Crown, as she was the niece of the sitting monarch. Her parents attempted to give her a childhood filled with as much play as school, as much comfort as duty.
Her educational priorities, according to her official biographer, were ‘plenty of fresh air, exercise, fun — and light reading.’ So the Royal LIbrarian, Owen Morshead, was appalled to discover one July that the eighteen books that the Queen had ordered for her elder daughter’s summer reading list were all novels — and every one of them by PG Wodehouse. ~Pg 13.
King George VI, Queen Mother, Princess Elizabeth & Princess Margaret in 1942
Elizabeth and Margaret became important figures during the Depression and the War.
…With her nineteenth birthday approaching, she finally escaped to join the Auxiliary Territorial Service, or the ‘Women’s Army’ as the ATS was generally known — ‘No. 230873, Second Subaltern Elizabeth Alexandra Mary Windsor. Age: 18. Eyes: blue. Hair: brown. Height: 5 ft. 3 ins.’ For a month she travelled to Aldershot every morning for a vehicle cylinder heads, then returned to Windsor for dinner every evening to lecture her sister and parents on the joys of the internal combustion engine. ~ Pg 22.
For me, the weaker portion of the book is during the later years. The focus is less on Elizabeth and more on Charles and Diana. True, much of the world’s attention was similarly distracted at the time but I would have preferred to read more of the Queen’s thoughts and actions in the 1980s and 90s.
More importantly, I learned tidbits I didn’t know and it piqued my interest to find out more about this impressive Queen.
It is an unusual book to be sure. I can’t think of when I’ve read something that reminds me of numerous other books or stories and at the same time is entirely unlike anything else. It’s a slippery eel of a novel.
My attempt at a summary will be inept at best and confusing at worst, but I’ll try to sketch it out a bit. The Torrington-Swift family consists of Mother (Charlotte), second husband and step-father (Edward), and children (Emerald, Clovis and Smudge). The book opens as Edward is leaving for Manchester in attempt to secure a loan that will allow the family to remain on their beloved (though not inherited or entailed) estate, Sterne. It seems the family fortunes, like many of the upper-middle class and landed gentry’s during the interwar years, are fading if not crashing. Shortly after Edward’s departure cousins arrive for Emerald’s birthday (though not in the combination she had hoped for). Then they receive word that a train has derailed near them and would they be so kind as to house the poor souls until the Railway can send for them? Thus begins a strange and unpredictable night at Sterne.
An English Country House in Hawes Upper Wensleydale
Emerald’s birthday party plans quickly unravel as the house becomes overrun with bedraggled, hungry travelers. But much like the English society of the time, a somewhat absurd attempt is made to maintain protocol — no doubt part of Jones’ complicated allegory. Indeed the “old” is often at odds with the “new”, or at the very least continually juxtaposed.
The yews had been meant for a hedge and cultivated as one for perhaps two hundred years but had run sluggishly away with themselves and, neglected, they formed a misshapen lumbering procession. They were wrinkles of dense growth. They were resinous twisted towers with pockets like witches’ huts hidden within their vastness for playing or hiding. Pg. 6.
Yet inside the house, a much more modern scene is unfolding…
Emerald, passing the morning room on her way to Mrs. Trieves, came upon Clovis, lying crumpled before the fire and listlessly plucking at the edges of a newspaper. The spaniels Nell and Lucy reclined on the battered velvet chaise near to him, lifting snuffy noses in her direction as she stopped in the door. Pg. 14
Generational gaps, class differences and the sacrifices one makes to bridge them are continually touched upon. In this way, I was at turns reminded of Downton Abbey, PG Wodehouse, and I Capture the Castle. It can be wickedly funny and distinctly sharp at the same time. There is also an undertone (and sometimes overlay) of the supernatural. It is reflective of The Twilight Zone, Shirley Jackson and Emlyn Williams. The guests vacillate between wandering zombie-like and acting as subtle oracles.
And when the slick Mr. Traversham-Beechers emerges from the pack things really get unsettling. He is like Mephistopheles or Old Scratch, come to suggest and infiltrate.
He darted to the sideboard, took a clean glass. Then, choosing with care, he opened a new decanter, one of port and poured the dark liquid until it quivered, swollen, at the top of the glass. The party were mesmerized. The sounds of singing seeped under the door, curling like smoke about them as they watched. Pg. 163
The book’s uncanniness is quickly addictive. Just when it seems to find a tack, it changes direction again. Various scenes come in and out of focus and the author manages to demonstrate contemporaneous events very well. A very enjoyably out-of-body experience.
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Many thanks to the folks at HarperCollins for the review copy.
ISBN: 9780062116505
ISBN10: 0062116509
Imprint: Harper
On Sale: 5/1/2012
Format: Hardcover
Trimsize: 6 x 9
Pages: 272
$24.99
Ages: 18 and Up
My frequent readers will no doubt sigh and shake their heads at me for reading another English Victorian – set novel to do with murder and madness. I know what I like – what can I do? But this book was different. While it used the framework of a Victorian sensational novel (although it’s technically set in the Edwardian), it brought with it a modern sensibility and told a good yarn.
The main character, Sebastian Becker, has landed a post as the Lord Chancellor’s Visitor in Lunacy. In short, his job is to investigate the sanity of the landed gentry, those with wealth and power bestowed by the Crown. Should they be found wanting in rationality, their title may be stripped and given to the next in line. A strange job, to be sure, and no less adventurous than his previous occupation as a Pinkerton detective in America (a story I hope Gallagher explores in other books). Much like Jonathan Harker, Esq. in Dracula, Becker arrives in an unfamiliar rural town and is met with locals who refuse to talk of their troubled past. They are suspicious of this outsider and assume his unexpected visit can portend nothing good. Indeed, shortly after his arrival, two young girls disappear, only to be found dead hours later. And their unfortunate end is not the first horror experienced by this beachside community. But do they have anything to do with a madman? Is he mad at all?
Becker’s quarry is one Sir Owain Lancaster, lord of Arnside Hall. He’d always been a bit of reckless adventurer, but his latest stories were simply too wild to be believed. I minor inventor, he’d set out in the Amazon to develop a special device for navigating by the stars. But his travel party, including his wife and young son, is decimated in the dense forest. Sir Owain returns with just one survivor — and an unbelievable story of horrid monsters. Insistent, he presents his findings to the public, but some call his sanity into question, the the Crown calls upon Becker.
A drawing of Bedlam Hospital
This lone survivor from the failed mission, Dr. Sibley, is Renfield, Igor and Smithers all in one. He pretends to be Sir Owain’s caregiver, but arouses suspicion. Gallagher introduces him as, “Not so much a man more a slimy shadow. Hanging around in the corner like an undertaker’s mute.” Like everyone else in this town, he is hiding something.
Gallagher artfully brings the past to life by inserting certain details. Film and photography were still in their infancy and the images that were produced had strange effects on their observers. Since little about how it worked was understood by the general populous, just about anything captured on film has to be “real” (i.e. The Cottingley Fairies). Found at the scene of the crime was a small film camera, with film in it. Becker knows it may contain evidence and brings it to local photographer for developing. The studio is described as
at the top of the house, containing attic space and a large skylight. It was reached by a gloomy staircase through the photographer’s living quarters. His private rooms were screened off by a red velvet curtain with braid and tassels, like the dressing on a Punch and Judy booth. Sebastian ascended through the chemical odors of the photographer’s trade, musty and unnatural, and the boiled-cabbage fragrance of his midday meal, even less appetizing.
But even more enjoyable is his inclusion of the traveling fair. Needing a place to view the film once developed, Becker approaches a Bioscope movie tent projectionist.
In this cramped room, dominated by the projection apparatus and smelling of ozone and naptha and nitrates, a young man was cranking the handle to rewind a film spool for the next show. … There was a bench down one side of the wagon. Strips of moving picture film hung from clotheslines above it, all of differing lengths, stirring in the draft from the door like the tails of so many kites. Mental film cans were stacked high on every surface, and on the wall a large hand-painted notice warned of the dangers of sparks and naked flames.
But where does imagination end and discovery begin? The Bedlam Detective tries to define where Victorian idealism meets prehistoric savagery, in the name of science and colonialism. In Becker’s case, he is charged with treating madness as something in need of domestic protection. But Gallagher seems to be noting that herding lunatics is just another form of colonialism — another’s idea of normalcy impressed upon a disparate population. That, and a gentle reminder that monsters can come in many disguises.
Many thanks to Mary at Crown Publishing for the review copy.
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Hardcover: 320 pages
Publisher: Crown (February 7, 2012)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 0307406644
ISBN-13: 978-0307406644
Dimensions: 6.6 x 1.2 x 9.6 inches
This novel is a balanced mixture of psychological thriller and police procedural, primarily told from the point of view of Leo Curtice, a defense lawyer. He is assigned the case of Daniel Blake, a twelve-year-old accused of killing his eleven-year-old classmate. Curtice seems clear that his job is to protect the boy as his fate is decided by those who are distant, older and caught up in the emotions of the situation. But when threatening letters begin arriving, Curtice must decide if he can defend the child and keep his own family safe.
Lelic manages to walk a fine line in telling this story. The horrors of the crime are clear but not gory. The accused is sympathetic but not excused. Where to place blame is not clear. Curtice himself is a parent who struggles with his duty to his job with his duty to protect his wife and daughter. In many ways, it reads like a novelized version of an episode of Law & Order: UK. Lelic attempts to tell the story with all aspects in mind.
The narrative moves quickly from investigation to legal procedure, interspersed with internal thoughts. Lelic does so with deep descriptions.
The kitchen is dark and she leaves it dark until she gathers the will to boil an egg. The shell is fiddly, though, and she scalds her fingers and in the end she cannot be bothered with it. She slides the plate away, toast and egg cup and all, and pull her mug of tea and cigarettes nearer. Her phone, too. She checks the screen, just in case she has missed a call, even though the house is silent and the phone has barely left her grip. Page 2.
The track curved and the train tipped and the ground beneath them seemed to fall away. Out of one window reared a ragged cliff face; in the other, the bucking seas. A wave lunged and clawed the track, then slid back into the writhing mass. the water, in the winter sun, sparkled like a lunatic’s grin. It seemed joyous, heedless, unconstrained in its dementia. It launched itself again and this time lashed the carriage but the train seemed to barely judder. It sped on – lungs full, head down – and dived for the approaching tunnel. Page 151.
This novel brings to the fore questions about identity, nature vs nurture, and responsibility, all while telling a fast-paced story.
Many thanks to Elaine at Penguin for the review copy.
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ISBN 9780143120919 | 320 pages | 28 Feb 2012 | Penguin | 8.26 x 5.23in | 18 – AND UP
I am quite aware that this is a series, and a popular one at that, but this is the first Maisie Dobbs novel I have read. Spunky and precocious, Dobbs defies convention by owning her own business and having skipped a few rungs on the social class ladder. Maisie grew up on the “other” side of the river but is now the proprietress of a detective agency. With smart, capable people in her employ, she takes on cases for hire. Set in early 1930s London, England is dealing with post-war fatigue and an overwhelming, industrialized future coming too fast.
This particular case involves a young man named Eddie who turns up dead. Maisie is approached by people from her past to find out what happened to him. In her investigation she meets strict factory men, low-class drunkards, gentle widows, thugs and coppers. Maisie’s peculiar situation allows her to float between the upper crust and downtrodden and gives the reader a sense of the vast divide between them. And the reader gets a sense that she doesn’t quite fit in either place.
This is a pleasurable book, something to read for amusement. Winspear’s description and characterization is strong, but the plot felt contrived. In that way, it is like a less mature Agatha Christie. One thing Winspear does exceedingly well is give context. The victim is a horse whisperer in an age when carriages are being replaced by cars. The city is moving from the organic to the mechanized and the transition is anything but smooth. This theme is very well-explored throughout the novel.
The Bookhams paper factory was located close to the Albert Embankment in Lambeth, between Salamanca Street and Glasshouse Lane. Not for the first time in recent weeks, the MG had failed to start, which meant that Maisie risked being late. Pg. 45
Number 1 Shelley Street, the address given for Evelyn Butterworth, proved to be a narrow, modest, end-of-terrace house divided into flats, not far from King’s Cross station. Though not in a particularly good area, someone had tried to make a garden, but soot from the trains rendered the district grey and tired and even the sunshine failed to cheer the street. Looking up at the house, Maisie noticed that the curtains on the third floor were quite bright. Pg. 154-5.
Dobbs, follows various leads across London, while trying to maintain relationships further complicated by her independent spirit. The case itself is not one the reader will try to solve, really. Instead, the reader is just along for the ride – be it by horse drawn buggy or motorized convertible.
Many thanks to the folks at HarperCollins for the review copy.
The fine folks at HarperCollins are hosting Twitter chats each week all month to celebrate the series. The hashtag is #Maisie and the next one will be on Friday, 3/23 at 4 pm est and then again on Friday, 3/30 at 3 pm. You can find more info on Jackie’s Facebook page http://www.facebook.com/#!/jacquelinewinspear?sk=app_190322544333196
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ISBN: 9780062049575
ISBN10: 0062049577
Imprint: Harper
On Sale: 3/27/2012
Format: Hardcover
Trimsize: 6 x 9
Pages: 352
$25.99
Ages: 18 and Up
As much as I love biographies, I’m often hesitant about autobiographies. Everyone has an interesting story — that doesn’t meant they know how to tell it. There is no doubt Dame Agatha Christie knew how to tell a story. Hundreds of them. But her best may be her own.
She begins at the beginning (sort of) and tells a roughly chronological series of events. In fact, her fanciful meanderings are part of what makes the book so endearing. Her descriptions of late Victorian / early Edwardian society are not only priceless anthropologically, but an absolute joy to read. The tone is light and joyful, as a small child might tell her grandmother about the fairies at the bottom of the garden. Indeed, her young life was rather ethereal. One of those English upbringings that one wonders if it actually ever existed. Imagination was encouraged to run rampant and adventure was to be met head-on.
Her observations on life itself, too, are absolute gems. One could extract an entire philosophy from her thoughts. While recalling her studies in Paris, she muses, “It seems to me that teaching can only be satisfactory if it awakens some response in you. Mere information is no good, it gives you nothing more than you had before.” Or her recollections of Christmas as a child. ”After the pleasurable inertia of Christmas afternoon – pleasurable, that is, for the elders: the younger ones read books, looked at their presents, ate more chocolates and so on — there was a terrific tea with a great idea Christmas cake as well as everything else, and finally a supper of cold turkey and hot mince pies. About nine o’clock there was the Christmas tree, with more presents hanging on it. A splendid day, and one to be remembered till next year, when Christmas came again.” These and other memories of dances, parties, traveling to Egypt with her husband archaeologist and trips with grandchildren are an entirely enjoyable read. In fact, one doesn’t need to be a fan of Agatha Christie or even mysteries to enjoy it.
My review copy does not include the audio disc of Agatha’s actual voice dictating her memoir. I can only imagine it, too, is nostalgic and lovely.
In honor of this reissue from HarperCollins, we have teamed up to host a giveaway in honor of Dame Christie.
I’ve got a great little prize pack: A copy of Cards on the Table, a delightful little Hercule Poirot murder mystery surrounding a game of bridge in a strange scenario; a pack of Agatha Christie bookmarks; and a black and red Agatha Christie totebag. (This image is not to scale — obviously.)
So, do you want to win? Leave a comment below with your NAME, EMAIL (at) DOT COM, and why you think you would be a good detective. This giveaway is open to anyone with a US mailing address. Have your comment posted before Friday, November 18, 2011 at 10:00 p.m. EST to be entered. Winning entry will be chosen by Random.org.
A huge thanks to Danielle at HarperCollins for the great gifts and the review copy of An Autobiography.
I’m a sucker for these sorts of books. In fact, when I received the review copy, my husband joked, “Well, someone said, ‘Let’s write a book for you!’” It has so many themes I love: mystery, the Victorian era, trains, and a murder trial. AND it’s British.
Drawn from the annals of the Old Bailey and newspaper accounts, it traces the murder of one Mr. Thomas Briggs, an older but successful business man who was traveling home via the rail. Among many of the mysterious circumstances are the seeming lack of motive, the sort timespan in which the crime could have been committed and the loss of a hat (In fact, in Britain, this book was titled Mr. Briggs’ Hat). Even more intriguing is the setting. The British Victorians had a love/hate relationship with crime even then. As a society, they were obsessed to the last, bloody detail of the darkest side of human nature — while at the same time obsessed with repressing and destroyed every shred of it within.
Favored suspect Franz Muller
The book is very well researched and chock full of quotes from eyewitnesses and reports. Yet all of this studiousness makes it feel at times a bit more academic than a mystery to be solved. Between an inquest, an extradition and two trials, some of the information begins to feel redundant, if complete. The author also chooses to italicize the quotes she uses, rather than surround them with quotation marks. Rather than getting used to it, I found it increasingly distracting. Still I read happily to the end, devouring the gripping tale of the crime and investigation itself.
Murder in a First-Class Carriage explores a completely fascinating chapter of Victorian crime that has been lost to time somehow. I am admittedly obsessed with this idea and often read from The Old Bailey Online for a voyeuristic peek into the past. This book brings one of those many, dusty stories back to life.
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Many thanks to Kate at Overlook Press for the review copy.
Murder in the First-Class Carriage By Kate Colquhoun 352 pages ISBN 13: 978-1-59020-675-1 Trim Size: 6 x 9 Release Date: October 27, 2011
And we have a winner! Terry’s comment was chosen on random.org.
Of Sherlock, Terry said: “As to why I love Mr. Holmes, he’s the original, brilliant misanthrope. Before there was Gregory House, almost before there was even Allan Quatermain, there was Sherlock Holmes.”
Thanks to everyone who entered and to the folks at Penguin Classics for providing the prize!
Hannah’s tireless cops are on the case again in her newest procedural novel. Strangely enough, its publication rather coincides with the real life of Casey Anthony. Never one to shy away from difficult subject matter, Hannah, through her characters, explores the emotional and societal impacts of such an unthinkable crime.
The main action surrounds the making of an investigative journalism documentary about mothers who had been convicted of killing their children – only to be acquitted with later evidence. Its executive producer and mastermind quits his job at the BBC rather abruptly, leaving heroine Fliss Benson with the reins. As she begins to sift through the files and interviews, she uncovers questionable statements, missing evidence and doubtful witnesses. All the while, MPS is on the case, tracking down the murderer of one of these acquitted women. The two narratives run like the two hypothetical trains at 60 and 70 mph, destined to collide in St. Louis. Or in this case Notting Hill.
The original BBC building, Regents Street, London.
Author Sophie Hannah’s strength, as always, lies in her dialogue. It truly informs her entire story. Her characters all have different voices and thought patterns. Their vocabulary and speech patterns are unique. I couldn’t tell you what Fliss Benson looks like, or even if Hannah gives a physical description, but I could tell you what she would say, think, or do in any situation. Each of the police officers varies. They range from lovesick to crass to solitary. It is these characters that engross the reader. The “whodunit” aspect becomes secondary. It is hardly a surprise then that Hannah’s stories has been adapted into a mini-series called “Case Sensitive” on Britain’s ITV1. I can only hope it will run in America as well.
This storyline is nowhere near as graphic as The Truth-Teller’s Lie, but the subject matter is quite unsettling. Its immediacy is part of what makes it so gripping, but readers should be warned that it pulls no punches. Readers should also know that Hannah does her utmost to explore every possible point-of-view. She tries to shed light on the grey areas of guilt and innocence, public scrutiny and private grief. Only the murderer is a villain (and even that character is somewhat sympathetic). Everyone else is portrayed as conflicted, confused and struggling — imperfect. It reminds the reader that a trial can prove only a sliver of truth, while the rest is unseen.
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Many thanks to the folks at Penguin for the review copy.
ISBN 9781101543733 | 480 pages | 30 Aug 2011 | Penguin | 18 – AND UP
Kensington Palace is open, believe it or not, to visitors. None of the royals currently reside there (though Will and Kate are rumored to be moving in after his posting at Anglesea) but plenty of famous princesses have called the brick mansion home. The exhibit created a labyrinthine quest for guests to discover the history of seven princesses. It was utterly enchanting and artfully done.
Guests are even encouraged to open drawers, play with toys, sit on a throne and wander. It was incredible. And lovely. I can’t recommend it enough.
{While photography was allowed, flash wasn’t, and the lighting was dim, so please forgive the graininess.}
Princess Margaret’s wedding tiara
Dress worn by Princess Diana at the Bolshoi
Some of the garden areas were undergoing construction, presumably for the upcoming Olympics. But the Sunken Gardens were still open and they were collecting secrets to be strung from the arbor. Yes, we wrote one up and no, I’m not telling.
“I have a secret crush on Prof. Snape!”
“I want to steal the crown jewels and wear all of them.”
“I sometimes wish I was an Arsenal fan.”
The Orangery in the background.
After a lovely stroll in the gardens, we took tea at the Orangery. It was built in 1704-5 by Queen Anne as a greenhouse for citrus trees (mainly oranges, hence the name). I had chocolate tea. Yes, you read that right. CHOCOLATE TEA.
Since we were in the neighborhood, and were already pretending to be royalty, we stopped by Harrod’s. Just to say hi.
After that, a stop at Wellington’s Arch, the Tate Britain and the Chelsea Physic Garden… stay tuned!
I simply adored Bath. The size of the town was just big enough without being overwhelming. It was very picturesque and immaculate.
A Jane Austen museum. Jane lived in Bath for about 5 years.
A very cool shop called “Found”.
At William Herschel’s home. His telescope lens-grinder. He discovered Uranus, the infrared light spectrum and numerous comets. His sister Caroline discovered many celestial bodies as well.
The Bath Postal Museum is fantastic! So much fun here.
Old Pultney Bridge. Shops line either side of the bridge (the only other one in the world is the Ponte Vecchio in Florence).
Parade grounds, at the Avon River’s edge.
Bath is known for the 2000-year old healing baths built by the Romans. A great deal of the structure remains and the baths themselves were used up into the early 20th century. A natural hot spring feeds the baths and the water was thought to have restorative properties.
We met up with some dear friends who live in England, not too far from Bath. We enjoyed a lovely dinner together, catching up and then they picked us up the morning of the 26th to take us around Somerset. Not only was it fantastic spending time with them, we saw more of the countryside than we ever could have since we had no car of our own.
First stop, Wells. It is the smallest city in England (to be considered a city, one must have a cathedral, which it does). It was also where the very funny film Hot Fuzz was shot. It is simply beautiful there, particularly Bishop’s Palace and Gardens.
Fresh spring water bubbles up into a pond, which is then directed to a fountain in the main square, for all the people to use. The unused water then flows down the hill, on the sides of the streets, keeping everything clean.
We also checked out Vicar’s Close, the oldest continually lived-in buildings in the UK. So charming, it is easy to see why!
After a pint and a snack, we headed off to Glastonbury. The town itself, though attractive, was completely overrun by those convinced that King Arthur was real, shall we say. Leaving the town center behind, we climbed the famous Tor. It afforded a view of the glorious countryside.
And since we spent little time in Glastonbury, we hit the road for Salisbury Plain and saw Stonehenge. We were fairly close and it seemed silly to miss it.
Behold the magic bunny in the center…
Then back to Bath for some delicious Indian food at the Eastern Eye and a pint at The Raven (which became a favorite hang-out of ours).
Glorious indeed. This is a wholly original, impeccable new film from writer/director Stephen Poliakoff. A stunning cast illuminates a finite moment in English history — the summer of 1939, on the eve of the unthinkable.
The story centers on the Keyes family, and is told from the point of view of the eldest daughter, Anne (played by the incomparable Romola Garai). The Keyes patriarch is a well-respected Minister of Parliament and of minor aristocracy. Anne and her brother and sister throw their beloved father (Bill Nighy) a birthday party, which devolves into a political debate that rankles the family.
Northam speaks his unpopular opinion.
Intelligent, strong and curious, Anne begins to question England position of Appeasement and the wisdom of Neville Chamberlain. A busy, popular film actress, she has to return to set, but cannot shake the suspicious things she begins to notice. Then, when friends begin dying under mysterious circumstances, she starts to fear the worst. Glorious 39 explores perception versus reality and how it affects day to day life.
I desperately do not want to give away too much. I knew very little when I saw it and its deliberate unfolding is intense. While it features historical figures and issues, it is at its heart an incredibly suspenseful movie. The viewer learns things as our heroine does, and thus we are just as much in the dark. And just as wonderfully, Anne’s character is anything but useless. She is smart, spunky, and vigorous. Garai absolutely nails this character and her performance should be lauded. This is the second time that Nighy has played her father and their pairing is so special. I’d be hard-pressed at this point to believe anyone claiming to be Garai’s actual father.
Nighy and Garai – a father daughter moment.
Suspense, intrigue, mystery, fantastic writing, beautiful photography and lovely performances all converge here. Look also for supporting roles with Julie Christie and Christopher Lee, both legends of the screen as well. It may not be your typical period piece, but it is an amazing piece of filmmaking. Add it to your list.
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As far as I know, it never enjoyed a theatrical release in the US. It has only just been released on DVD and is available on Netflix.
I can’t be sure how I became entirely sucked into this story. Perhaps it was the easy, seductive charm of the setting; or the way the era was not obvious at the outset; maybe how it took on the genres of ghost story, coming-of-age tale and historical fiction all at once.
It is set in the exclusive Harrow on the Hill boarding school, just outside of London. Alma mater for Byron as well as other fabled graduates, it becomes a torturous last chance for a young American studying abroad. Escaping his own troubled past, our narrator seeks some sort of firm footing and perhaps a bit of acceptance. Instead he finds himself the victim of an angry spirit’s torments.
It seems the ghost of Lord Byron’s jilted lover has turned his sights on the main character and those that surround him. With a few faithful friends and professors, they seek to sooth the phantom and release themselves, and the school, from his scornful mischief.
It is enjoyable to explore Byron’s past through the eyes of this author and his characters. His imaginative story is based on numerable biographical facts. Byron did attend this school, there is a play called The White Devil, Byron did have a close friend, who did die of tuberculosis and Byron did leave England suddenly in 1809. (Read more from author Justin Evans here.) The weaving of all of these unusual circumstances into a ghost story would have been too much for any author to resist. Luckily they were picked up by Justin Evans who clearly enjoyed letting his imagination wander the underground chasms disguised by time.
All in all, the book is great fun. The point-of-view changes fairly seamlessly. The narrative style of inner thoughts that break in is particularly well-used. What is not perfect in every aspect (sometimes the villainy of the Snape-like headmaster gets a little overdone), it more that makes up for in chills and creativity.
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Thanks to the folks at Harper for the review copy.
A light biography of W. Reginald Bray, the undisputed Autograph King. In Edwardian England, Bray decided to have a little fun with the postal service. He mailed unusual objects (a turnip, coin, piece of seaweed, himself) to test the regulations of the Post. Then he started testing the postman’s ingenuity by writing the address is code, riddle or rhyme.
Sometimes he just tried to see how many postmarks he could get on one card before it was returned. Eventually he began asking for autographs through the mail – first from various generals in the Boer War (often with just their photo and a vague regional place name). With the rising popularity of films, he turned to collecting autographs from the stars on the screen. His collection was massive and included Lawrence Olivier, Dorothy Lamour and hundreds of others.
This book brings together family photos, remembrances, images and clippings of the day.
While it seems, based on Bray’s own meticulous records, that he sent out some 32,000 items, most of his collection was sold after his death. With “mail art” now a much more popular and recognized form, some efforts have been made to locate and archive his works.
This gripping mystery from the UK is not for the faint of heart. Naomi, the main protagonist, has endured the most unspeakable of personal horrors yet found a way to carry on. So unspeakable that three years later her closest friends are still unaware of it. That is until she becomes obsessed with finding her missing lover. Further complicating her story is the fact that her lover is an unhappily-married man. Knowing the police will be unlikely to look for him if she reveals herself to be the “other woman”, she lies about her relationship with him. And thus begins a tenuous string of truth among lies, leading to the underlying reality.
The novel alternates perspectives between Naomi and Detective Sargaent Charlie Zailer, the tomboy, hard boiled officer assigned to the case. Their voices are the ones we hear as the bizarre tale unravels. Author Hannah has a natural, believable way of writing the female psyche — one that is refreshing in a book list burgeoning with immature narratives. The characters are complicated and display questionable judgement, perhaps, but are not two-dimensional or predictable. It stretches the psychological boundaries of first-person narrative, especially from a doubtful narrator.
Author Sophie Hannah lives in Yorkshire, England.
Also refreshing is the fact that the publisher/editor for the US did not alter the local flavor. Characters use words that are only British, and they haven’t been watered down for the American reader. It makes a true difference in the mood and style of the novel. (For example, a holding cell is a “nick”.)
As I mentioned, it is not for the faint of heart. It is not gory, but it is disturbing and unsettling. But it is so well-written that you want to keep reading. Expect to be up late at night. This is a great book to start on a winter afternoon with a cup of hot chocolate, a warm fireplace and a cat for your lap. I look forward to reading more from Sophie Hannah.
“Thorough” is the first word I would use to describe this biography. Intense, assured, incisive. America had Hemingway and Fitzgerald, while England had Waugh and Wodehouse.
Wodehouse found the whole scene rather silly and made hysterical fun of it. Waugh, on the other hand, had a more complicated view.
The Great War had left aristocratic families in tattered remnants. Elder sons were dead, or maimed. A heavy tax was levied against the very wealthy, forcing many to close up or sell manor homes. A few found themselves forced to take jobs. The younger siblings of these wayward families felt they had their own marks to make and became known as the Bright Young People. Waugh, for his part, was a member of the club, but not to the manor born. His inclusion was based solely on his friendships with various hosts of the ongoing party. He felt distinct self-loathing both for participating in their debauchery, and in desiring to be a part of it.
It seems his cynicism ebbed and flowed, depending on his mood (or more likely, his standing within an important family). But his wit remained intact and was employed in varying thicknesses upon all of his writing.
This biography chooses the writing of Waugh’s most famous work, Brideshead Revisited, as its ultimate target, but as I mentioned before, it is nothing if not thorough. At times, it can see a little too tangental. For instance, the chapter exploring the secret scandal of the Lygon family is a bit to muddled, although it makes for good gossip.
All in all, the author has approached her subject with supreme respect, and bravely included even the unsavory bits for her readers.
Many thanks the folks at Harper Collins for the review copy. The paperback will be available March 8, 2011. Hardcover available now.
I’ve been a bit slow in the review area lately. I’m still reading, have no fear, but I am on vacation with limited internet access… and limited time! It’s lovely to unplug but I had to share a few words about this unlikely find.
I finished the book I brought with me entirely too quickly and was on the lookout for something to amuse myself. I visited my aunt & uncle’s hardware store in the small town of Hidalgo. I saw a stack of books, gathering dust and possibly holding up the cables for the computer. I asked if I could borrow the Agatha Christie title, one I had not heard. She gave me the whole stack.
The book opens with a retired couple moving into a nice country home in need of a bit of TLC. Her nosey nature leads her to a room full of books, some of which have been made into a cipher. She translates it – Mary Jordan did not die a natural death. It was one of us. She is convinced it was written by the young owner of the book, Alexander Parkinson, whose family owned the house generations ago.
Greenway, Christie’s country home in Devon.
What begins out of innocent curiosity, becomes an intrigue of increasing dangerousness. The list of clues grows as Tuppence and her husband Tommy try to casually gather information from neighbors. Yet when accidents seem to be more than accidents, and a beloved old gardener dies in a suspicious manner, the couple slowly begins to realize someone doesn’t want them to uncover the past of the house.
It’s is a great little read. Most of it is told in dialogue, which Christie uses to extend the narrative, drawing out the tension. The main characters can be maddening because of their nattering on, but it’s of course effective. They are assisted by their Manchester terrier, Hannibal – rather like an older Nick and Nora with their Asta. And the settings often remind one of a Daphne du Maurier novel. Yet it smacks thoroughly of the dame of murder mysteries.
I always look forward to starting new books — ones to review or otherwise. When I knew this one was on its way, I watched the mail everyday. It is by a British author. It’s about an asylum … and poets … and madness … and takes place in Victorian England. What more could I want?
The novel is a fictional imagining about real people and places. Dr. Matthew Allen was a psychiatrist, phrenologist and steampunk inventor who owned and ran the High Beach Private Asylum, situated on the edge of Epping Forest, east of London.
At the time, the forest was a netherworld between bustling London and country idyll. The old growth trees were a hiding place for gypsies and become a perfect metaphor for the tricky, surprising line between sanity and madness.
The forest was also an inspiration for nature poet John Clare – inmate at the asylum. He is joined in the sanitarium by Septimus Tennyson, brother to Alfred who takes a home in the village to be nearby his ailing brother (Foulds often references Tennysons as yet unwritten tribute to friend Arthur Hallam, one of my favorite poems).
Fould’s book wound up short-listed for the Man Booker Prize in late 2009 as a work of “intense and atmospheric imagination.” It is a very addicting read, even if it seems deliberately obtuse at times. Foulds manages to create distinct voices for each of his characters, ones that leave the reader sympathetic to each delusion.
The book is written in numerous first-person, inner thoughts from these characters and Allen’s family. As Dr. Allen sinks further into his ill-fated machinations, as Margaret falls victim to her own imaginings and Hannah attempts to navigate courtship, we wonder if anyone will leave High Beach the better for it. Ironically, we never hear the thoughts of Dr. Stockdale, who, seen though the eyes of others, becomes the villain of the tale.
Foulds’ most impressive feat, however, is not the story-telling. He truly has a refreshing way with words. It is not affected or forced. Descriptions simply drip with tangibility. However, a word of warning. This is not a source for historical accuracy. Anyone looking for or expecting the concrete and clear excitement of something like The Devil In the White City will be quite lost and frustrated.
Thanks to Meghan Fallon for the review copy
Book: Paperback | 5.23 x 7.87in | 272 pages | ISBN 9780143117797 | 29 Jun 2010 | Penguin | 18 – AND UP
Remakes, in general, are a bad idea… and this was a remake of a B-film. Perhaps Universal, the owners of the franchise, were looking for a way to extend their copyright on their classic horror film. The shoot itself seemed to be cursed with uncomfortable costumes, short-tempered actors, alternate endings and multiple rewrites. Of course all of this might point to the extreme efforts by many to actually make a good film out of a cheesy if beloved precursor. Regardless, the result is an uneven product.
This version weaves father-son tension, filial jealousy and uxorcide into the often gory scenes. While these themes are clearly there to “explain” a son’s fear and hatred of his father and a penchant for roaming, no one element is ever fully explored. This lack of completeness lands the film on the wrong side of the tracks, I’m afraid. Rather than lend credibility and convince the audience that this film was taken seriously; it merely reveals that it only wanted us to think it was being taken seriously.
Someone in the production team (it’s nearly impossible to divine who) actually has a penchant for Victorian-era philosophy and social constructs. The underlying details are quite thoughtful. Colonialism, Orientalism, Freudian scholarship, gothic literature, Darwinism, and the crumbling aristocracy are touched upon. Sadly, none is ever followed through. The biggest miss is most certainly the story of Singh, the father’s valet from India. Yet, for all this research and attention to detail there a glaring mistake. The film is supposedly set in 1891, as announced in the opening moments. But, a completed Tower Bridge is spanning the Thames in two specific shots (the bridge was opened in 1894).
Thankfully, the “monster” scenes are few. The fur and makeup were not convincing, or even very frightening. They are gory, but in a drive-in movie sort of way. Anthony Hopkins brings just a smidgen of Hannibal back to the screen and plays his shallow role with as much professionalism as an Oscar-winning role. Benecio del Toro is less satisfying. He is more emo than angsty. Emily Blunt is lovely and superb. I look forward to watching her in years to come. But it is Hugo Weaving as the Scotland Yard inspector who steals every scene. He full embodies every Lestrade, Whicher, and Japp ever played.
Lighting captured by Johnson
The strongest part of the film is the cinematography by Shelly Johnson. Every shot is gorgeous and ethereal. Lowlight, candlelight, moonlight, fog, lantern – you name it, he can shoot it. It is clear that he too has read his Sherlock Holmes and studied his Caspar David Friedrich. Without his rich vision, the film would have been entirely unwatchable. In fact, look for a shot the looks just like this painting by Friedrich.
Jane Borodale’s first novel, THE BOOK OF FIRES, is a vivid portrait of 1750s England. The heroine, Agnes Trussel, leads the reader from countryside squalor to a sooty, bustling London. Part of a large family, struggling to even survive, Agnes clearly stands out from her siblings. Her interior thoughts, expertly drawn in present tense, add insight and immediacy to the tale. Finding herself at a crossroads, the teenage Agnes leaves the only place she has ever known via a wagon bound for London. Relying partially on the kindness of strangers, but mostly on her own wits, Agnes arrives wet, bedraggled and desperate on the steps of a gruff man’s home, in answer a “housemaid wanted” sign in his window. But instead of emplying her with household duties, Mr. Blacklock starts to teach her about the basic ingredients of fireworks.
Borodale’s descriptions, through Agnes’ eyes, are almost those of a synesthete. Acrid smells intermingle with hues and textures and bring to life a gritty, difficult reality. The writing is fresh and precise. She strikes a balance between exposition and story that is seemingly rare among historical fiction authors. Borodale uses an economy of language while still evoking the style of the time.
Still, the reader will have to employ some suspension of disbelief to fully enter the world which Agnes inhabits. Her acceptance into apprenticeship at a fireworks shop is fitting to her personality, if not entirely plausible. This is offset by the other details of class distinctions, and the unlikely ways in which they cross over. For example, the evening when Agnes gets to view her first fireworks display at a high society party is especially touching. The reader too has spent hours at the work bench with Agnes and is anxious to see the fruits of her labor.
This book is layered, very readable and will be particularly enjoyable to young teenage women and is an excellent foray into the world of fiction for this new novelist.
Book: Hardcover | 5.98 x 9.01in | 368 pages | ISBN 9780670021062 | 21 Jan 2010 | Viking Adult | 18 – AND UP
More information: http://us.penguingroup.com/nf/Search/QuickSearchProc/1,,Author_1000075257,00.html
The Brits have a love/hate obsession with their royals that is still somewhat a mystery to Americans. We have our celebrities that we love to hate but rarely, if ever, do we follow their story from birth to death. The young princes William and Harry have been speculated about since before they were born. For England, it has been true since the monarchy was installed. And as Americans, we have a limited, cursory view of the woman whose name inspired an era synonymous with propriety and staid relationships.
Seeing Academy Award winning screenwriter Julian Fellowes tender dramatization of Queen Victoria’s early years was refreshing, lovely and often amusing. He interpreted a time in her life before she had become comfortable with power. Having been groomed to be nothing but a figurehead, she defied numerous pressures to take her place as the longest reigning English monarch to date.
Emily Blunt (who looks more than a little like Her Majesty) brings an understated, light honesty to the role. She manages to show Victoria’s humor, stubbornness, strength, compassion and uncertainty. Rupert Friend takes on the awkward but sweet and sincere Prince Albert of Saxon-Coburg. Their onscreen chemistry enhances the flirtatious nature of their courtship.
Most striking about the film’s presentation is how accessible it is. Despite the depictions of excessive wealth, power, inane protocol, the audience is constantly aware that these are just people. It is more than a costume drama. It makes one of history’s most notable love affairs as simple as a college sweetheart romance. They are nervous, excited, and have fights, just like any couple. The audience was actually cheering when the two finally become engaged — even though we all knew the Victoria and Albert were a couple.
Additionally, Jim Broadbent‘s boisterous King William is very funny, and again underscores that everyone has an ungrateful aunt, a difficult uncle or an annoying cousin. Families will be families, no matter how blue their blood.
The Young Victoria bases itself on true events, including Sir John’s vehement wish for a Regency, the attempt on Victoria’s life and Victoria and Albert’s adjoining desks. Of course, much of the dialogue is speculation, but Fellowes embeds so much that we cannot help but fall in love with the royals, just like any Brit.
This little gem will sit and rot out in the multiplex for a week before being swept aside for the next big blockbuster. But if it came to your town, do go see it.
It’s a sweet, nostalgic tale of childhood, imagination and growing up. Set in 1980s Britain (rural, not London) two school boys become unlikely chums. Lee Carter is a clever troublemaker, and Will is quiet and helpful — and forbidden to watch TV, along with other strictures due to his neo-Puritan upbringing. Quite by accident, Will sees Rambo: First Blood and is completely enchanted with it. Lee, who had already decided to enter something into the BBC’s young filmmaker’s contest, pairs up with Will and the two make their our version of the action classic, dubbing it Son of Rambow.
The film follows the ups and downs of friendship between the two unlike companions, but more impressively, it views the world from a child’s perspective without reducing it to naivete. Both of these characters are dealing with very stressful situations in their family life and do so with admirable maturity. The film also weaves subtle details into the plot which surround a child’s imagination. Things mentioned earlier, arrive later, in a more colorful and outrageous form. As it should, it reminds one of their own childhood and the strange things they used to do to amuse themselves.
The only shortfall is about three-quarters of the way into the film when Lee and Will’s friendship is on the rocks. There are three contiguous scenes which deal with one apologizing to the other and vice versa. Theses are strung together with nothing in between where we might understand what was being apologized for, or what had transpired to induce the other to seek forgiveness. It does pick itself up and get back on track, however, for a lovely final scene.
Both young men are very good actors and the supporting cast was also very strong. If only there were more films like this, to remind us of ourselves when we had no idea how to be embarrassed or afraid of being thought silly.
I admit to being wary of this film. I generally find the “toast of the Oscars” films to be less than satisfactory as a complete package. That buzz coupled with the two headline actors – Keira Knightley and James McAvoy – caused yet more trepidation. And as if that wasn’t enough, I was also doubtful of helmer Joe Wright, whose Pride and Prejudice was too fast and held neither of the delightfulness or the gravity of the Austen story.
Wright returns to a period piece, very definitely English, but he chooses the 1930s this time. It evokes the fragile years between the wars as its own character. Those who are to the manor born may have escaped the immediate calamity of shell-shocked, damaged population and the downward spiral of economies across the world but the devil-may-care attitude they still engender does catch up with them. Old houses and sultry summer afternoons in a quiet countryside are not innocent, and neither are their upper crust residents. This slightly Gothic, Daphne du Maurier world is paired with the point of view of a little girl. The opening act seems to use some sort of slip time mechanism that allows the viewer to see these events from alternating angles, and these scenes carry with them the immensity of spirit of each character.
Its main plot point – a precocious but angry Briony at age 13, lies about something of grave magnitude – brings to mind how easily the balance is set off-kilter, how little it takes for the entire direction of life to change.
This fragility, underscored by the delicateness of 1930s England, is expertly conveyed in Atonement.
The performances of all the characters are superb. Knightley‘s spoiled, privileged character is underpinned with a sympathy not easy to accomplish. McAvoy, too is able to affect the audience with more than a little puppy-dog look so often found in romance movies. This film never stoops to that level. Its power is real. Watch for a lovely but short performance by Romola Garai as Briony age 18. Stunned almost silent by her own guilt she resorts to working as a nurse in bomb-raided London, in an attempt to do penance. The last and oldest iteration of Briony is played by the eternal Vanessa Redgrave. Maybe the finest casting of an aging character I’ve ever seen. All three displayed incredible depth – and each carried enormous continuity through. (In this final scene, Briony’s interviewer is the late Anthony Mingella.)
Also of note is the 5:30 single shot on the shores of Dunkirk. Extraordinarily effective. Gorgeous cinematography and set/costume design all around.
130 minutes. Based on the novel by Ian McEwan. Won Academy Award for Best Score. Nominated for Best Picture, Cinematography, Art Direction, Adapted Screenplay, Costume Design and Supporting Actress.
