Lovely Treez Reads

I seem to have hit on a recurrent reading theme of late – that of the England of a bygone era, The Legacy, Mr Rosenblum’s List and now Alan Bradley’s “cozy” crime mystery set in the 1950s.  It would be an understatement to say that the characters are shy and retiring – quite the opposite!  Our narrator is the almost eleven year old, Flavia de Luce, who lives at Buckshaw (crumbling country pile) with her widowed father (morose and reclusive) and her two older sisters Daphne (Daffy) and Ophelia (Feely). 

There appears to be little or no parental discipline and the children are left to their own devices, in Flavia’s case, to hone her investigative skills in a fully equipped Victorian chemical laboratory which is handily located in their house.  Such an avid interest in chemistry proves very useful when Flavia discovers a body in the cucumber patch and her father is accused of murder.  Can Flavia save the day?  Will her father’s interest in philately be his downfall?

Okay, I know it sounds a bit like Enid Blyton on acid but it’s slightly more complicated than that.  At the risk of overusing an adjective, this is another “charming” tale.  If you’re not fond of child narrators, avoid like the plague! Flavia is one of those marmite literary characters, you’ll either love her or loathe her – she’s extremely precocious, ridiculously bright and bursting with enthusiasm…lashing of ginger beer anyone?   I have been beguiled by her to the extent that I’m now engrossed in the next instalment of her adventures – “The Weed that Strings the Hangman’s Bag” (marvellous titles!).  May we have many more “ripping yarns” from the pen of Mr Bradley.

This debut novel has already been translated into 9 languages and is being made into a movie so what has made it such a resounding success?

Firstly, it’s a very readable, well written novel with no convoluted language, it does what it says on the tin.  Jack and Sadie Rosenblum, Jewish immigrants trying to find their feet in Britain, are characters you can empathise with – most of us have at one time or another experienced what it’s like to be an outsider.  However, they have conflicting aspirations as Jack strives for complete assimilation into the  English way of life whilst Sadie is desperately clinging onto what remains of their Jewish roots.

Despite the serious underlying issues of immigration, there is humour.  Jack is a human dynamo, relentless in his efforts to be the archetypal Englishman, including the elusive butterfly of membership of a golf club.  Despite countless knockbacks, Jack decides to build his own golf course come hell or high water and after a shaky start he endears himself to the Dorset locals and embraces their folklore and customs (including the strong cider!)

You’d have to be a dedicated curmudgeon not to have a smile on your face as you witness Jack’s escapades and also the occasional tear – this will make a fabulous film.  Those who only like fast paced, all action narratives need not apply.

I really enjoy dual narrative novels although some can be more challenging than others losing the reader by flitting too much from one story to the next.  I am pleased to report that this didn’t happen to me during my reading of The Legacy and it was a very enjoyable, light read.

In the contemporary story, two sisters, Beth and Erica inherit a rambling country pile from their grandmother Meredith but the legacy has conditions, the sisters have to decide to live in the house or they lose their inheritance.  Such a twist seems typical of Meredith who has never been the most affectionate of souls and her legacy seems to provoke more grief than happiness as Beth is emotionally disturbed and Erica is convinced that the key to their happiness lies in discovering secrets long since buried in the past.  Of course things do not go to plan and raking up the past does no good at all!

The other storyline is set in the United States in the 1900s,  following the life of the girls’ great-grandmother Caroline from her debutant days in New York to her sudden marriage to Corin, a rancher in the Wild West,  a life changing marriage which does not bode well as the aristocratic Caroline fails to adapt to the life of a rancher’s wife.  None of her descendants are aware of this past as she had reinvented herself and moved to England – even more family secrets…

This is a very readable novel and for once I equally enjoyed the contemporary and the historical narratives (I usually have a penchant for the historical).  Each chapter deals with a different time period and leaves the reader on a cliff hanger but moves seamlessly to the next story – I really admire any author who manages to gel two narratives together without irritating or losing the reader along the way.   At times The Legacy is reminiscent of Kate Morton’s The House at Riverton but in style rather than plot – a great summer read, not too taxing.

More of a novella than a novel at 174 pages with 10 short, punchy chapters, complemented by nightmarish line illustrations, Jew is certainly a challenging and unusual read.  Jew is not actually intended to be about the Holocaust despite the title and storyline.  It opens with a nameless man finding himself naked in a mass grave.  After this “resurrection” he dons a discarded uniform and finds himself welcomed by soldiers in a nearby town as their commander.  He has no recollection of who he is but realises that in order to survive he must behave like the occupying soldiers and adopt their brutal methods.

This is certainly not a story for the squeamish and it is related in stark, enigmatic prose reminiscent of Kafka.  All the characters remain anonymous and if we were initially led down the Holocaust route with mass graves and an occupying force this illusion is soon dispelled by the inclusion of Arabic phrases. 

“Now, I almost feel sorry for you. You filthy Mu’min.”

 We are suddenly reminded of the fact that persecution is rife in all parts of the world and the dangers of rampant nationalism are always lurking, ready to pounce when we least expect it.

There are questions of identity, guilt, the worst side of human nature which will disturb the reader and raise difficult issues but all presented in an anonymous way which criticises not one particular nation or race but rather the human race as a whole.  Apparently the author, D O Dodd, is also a bit of enigma, preferring to let the text do the talking as he/she has stated 

 Far too often, ruminations on the author’s damage, youth, blondeness, blackness, oldness, snideness, beauty, darkness, eloquence govern the slant of critical reception and, oftentimes, overshadow the book.

So, we are left with the written word, raw and unadorned – a book which will certainly make you think.

Considering this is a book which you could easily devour in one sitting, written in quite simplistic language, narrated by a five year old boy it would seem quite easy to dismiss it as a throwaway read but Emma Donoghue manages to burrow into the reader’s skin and leaves you with an unforgettable, enduring experience.  At first glance the “Fritzl” tag could deter a lot of readers from picking up the novel – when I was enthusing about Room to friends and relatives, I could detect a distinct shudder of disgust when I mentioned how the author was “inspired” by the Fritzl case and indeed it is hard to explain how far removed the story of Jack and Ma is from sensationalism.  Here the focus is most definitely upon the captive rather than the captor which is as it should be in an “ideal” world.

The novel opens with Jack’s fifth birthday which he celebrates with Ma, his mother and the only human contact he has ever had bar the frequent visits of “Old Nick” who keeps them imprisoned in “Room”, a 11′ by 11′ space which has been their world since Old Nick kidnapped Ma.  Within this confined environment, inanimate objects are personified to become Jack’s social framework – therefore Bed, Rug, Skylight and Wardrobe become intrinsic parts of his enclosed world.  For Jack, the only “reality” is what exists within the room and anything viewed on the television is not real and comes from different planets e.g the Couch planet (chat shows) and Dora the Explorer who speaks a non-existent language, Spanish.

Ma is extremely resourceful in creating some sort of structure to their days - Phys Ed which involves Trampoline on Bed, Track which only takes Jack sixteen steps there and back, Simon Says and Corpse.   Jack is never out of Ma’s sight except when Old Nick visits to bring food and creak the bed when Jack is put in Wardrobe.  There are no lurid details, no grotesque imagery – this is a story about the love between mother and son and how that bond keeps them afloat through an unimaginable experience.

I don’t want to spoil the plot for anyone but suffice to say that Ma has to go through a period of “unlying” with Jack where she reveals to him that there actually is a world beyond Room.  It is unthinkable how difficult it will be for Jack to adjust to this new information,

Emma Donoghue had produced an astounding novel here, perfectly capturing the voice of a child held in captivity whose emotional and physical growth are evidently stunted yet Jack emerges as one of the more memorable characters in literature and you will be totally engaged by his particular take on the world as he knows it.  Likewise we are reminded of the fallibilites of human nature and how we are inexorably drawn to the scandalous and melodramatic when trust and loving relationships offer so much more.  I don’t know if this novel will be considered “literary” enough to win the Booker Prize but it will certainly be one of my top reads this year – perhaps that means more to the author?

Dublin 1907, a young Irish actress embarks on a doomed affair with John Millington Synge, the Irish playwright.  In the 1950s an old, impoverished woman makes her way across London, reminscing about her glory days as an acclaimed actress and her relationship with the enigmatic Synge. 

This is a demanding read, more like poetry than prose, requiring the reader to slow down and savour every word, even having to reread sections at times.  The second person narration also requires some effort on the reader’s part but once accustomed to it, you get a real feel for Molly Allgood and the deep passion she felt for Synge.  Molly takes centre-stage in this stream of consciousness narrative which flits between the faded grandeur of her life in the 50s and the vitality and exhuberance of her character in 1907, the year in which she meets Synge and becomes the inspiration for Pegeen, the leading female character in The Playboy of the Western World.

Ireland is in a state of chassis in 1907 as the country moves towards independence and Molly and Synge’s relationship seems equally tumultuous coming as they do from opposing religions, social status and age but this is not a historical novel as such but rather a reimagining of a love story.  Molly is an extremely engaging character, vivacious in her youth, resourceful and witty in her later years holding her head up high despite her straitened circumstances with the odd nip of gin providing a much needed boost.

There are equal amounts of tragedy and comedy in this character driven tale.  Ultimately it is an uplifting tale despite the doom laden nature of the key players’ relationship, the difference in class, the social disapproval and ultimately Synge’s untimely death from Hodgkin’s disease.  Molly shines through the gloom and there’s a mischievous glint in her eye and a vitality which remains with the reader.

If you appreciate beautifully written prose and the stream of consciousness style you will thoroughly enjoy this delicate love story, prior knowledge of Synge’s literary opus is not a prerequisite but I now feel compelled to revisit The Playboy of the Western World, last viewed about 30 years ago for ‘O’ Level English!

I must confess to never having read a novel by a Belgian author before despite being aware of Georges Simenon and almost reading an Amelie Nothomb novel once but I have been very impressed by my first foray into Belgian literary territory with this novel by Flemish writer Stefan Brijs, superbly translated by Hester Velmans.

The cover would have you believe this is a thriller but it is so much more than that – granted there is a gripping plot with many twists and turns but this novel raises so many questions about how we regard disability, both those seen and unseen, cloning, our attitude to religion.

The novel opens with the return of Doctor Victor Hoppe to the small village of Wolfheim accompanied by baby triplets who share both his red hair and hare lip.  At first there is much suspicion amongst this tight knit community but gradually they grow to accept the Doctor and his curious offspring although we readers are made aware of a more sinister backdrop.  Victor has Aspergers, a condition which makes it even more difficult for him to convey the objective of his disturbing experiments as he becomes a modern day Dr Frankenstein aiming to beat God at his own game.   Indeed it is the rigidity of his Aspergian mind which prevents him from seeing the immorality of his actions.  However, it is not just the Doctor who behaves inappropriately as his fellow scientists strive to recreate human life and the villagers become enmeshed in their own gossip laden, superstitious web. 

This is a cracking read and one which will keep you up all night – highly recommended.

I’ ve been a Philippa Gregory fan for quite a while now and have been especially fond of her Tudor series.  Philippa has been responsible for my historical educaction given that English history did not feature much on my History O Level syllabus.

The Red Queen was to be the second of a trilogy, the Cousins’ War aka The War of the Roses but apparently this is now to be a series of at least six novels so my  knowledge of an historical period previously unknown to me is to be much enhanced.  So, I’m not a historian and you won’t find any quibbling about historical accuracy on my part, simply my thoughts as a reader who enjoys a good story well told.

For the benefit of historical amateurs, like myself, the Red Queen, Margaret Beaufort is the mother of Henry VII and grandmother of Henry VIII.  I think it’s fair to say she’s not the most likeable of characters (she’s renowned for being one of the world’s worst mother-in-laws and suspected of being responsible for the death of the Princes in the Tower) but the author highlights some of the background issues which led to her becoming a manipulative, cunning kingmaker – Margaret is convinced she’s on a holy mission to become mother of the future king and will stop at nothing to achieve that end.  She sees herself on a par with Joan of Arc and she tries to emulate the latter’s piety and saintliness.  Whilst Elizabeth Woodville, the White Queen) personified pagan culture and witchcraft, Margaret is most definitely on the onward Christian soldiers’ side.  Misguided, perhaps… but Margaret doesn’t have an easy life, married at 12,

I whisper to my mother. ‘I am afraid,’ and she looks down at me.  My head is only up to her shoulder.  I am twelve years old; but still a little girl, my chest as flat as a board, my body hairless beneath my thick layers of rich clothes.  They had  to pack my bodice with linen  to give the impression of breasts.  I am a child sent out to do a woman’s duty.

Maybe I’m too soft but I tend to forgive Margaret for her subsequent misdemeanours given what happened to her in her childhood, giving birth at 13 -

“Poor little girl.  Poor poor little girl,’ Nan says, and at first I think she is speaking of the baby, perhaps it is a girl after all.  But then I realise she is speaking of me, a girl of thirteen years, whose own mother has said that they can let her die as long as a son and heir is born.

I think the opposing personalities of the Red and White Queens will dictate how the reader responds to each novel.  Margaret’s piety is much less exciting and glamorous than the pagan intrigue which enshrouds Elizabeth Woodville but I personally found the Red Queen intriguing and actually admired her determination.

There are those who turn up their noses at Philippa Gregory’s historical fiction, deeming it historical-lite but perhaps they should stick to non-fiction – here, the author maintains her strengths of storytelling and characterisation and I look forward to the rest of the series.

It has been a while since my taste buds have been tempted by a good foodie story but the starvation diet is officially over with the consumption of this delicious read.

Hassan Haji, the second of a a family of six from Mumbai, knows from an early age that his destiny lies in the realm of food.  In this simultaneously comic and poignant tale, we trace Hasssan’s culinary development from the tiffin  business established by his grandparents, their roadside restaurant for servicemen to the present day prestige of the world of haute cuisine and much sought after Michelin stars.

After a winding trek across Europe in a caravan of 3 old Mercedes cars, the Hajis eventually settle in the isolated French village of Lumiere.  It’s a case of Bollywood versus Cordon Bleu as Hassan’s father competes with Madame Mallory, an acclaimed French chef whose refined restaurant is situated opposite their ever so slightly more lurid establishment.

This is a delightful tale peopled with a medley of vivid characters, from Hassan’s larger than life, outspoken father who contrasts sharply with the polished, elegant Madame Mallory, defender of classic haute cuisine.  You can hear, smell and taste the ambiance of the Indian and French kitchens – it’s probably advisable to eat before reading!  It’s fascinating to read about French cuisine’s own internal rival factions -

“Chef Verdun was a master of that lard-heavy school of French cuisine that was just starting, at that time, to fall from favour, overtaken by the molecular cooking established by the fast-rising Chef Matiffe down in Aix-en-Provence.”

As Hassan scales the echelons of French Haute Cuisine, battling the inherent racism and snobbery en route, he also has to figure out a way to steer his enterprise through the impending recession and tax hikes which are decimating so many successful French restaurants.  Thus, the author manages to creates a story which draws on both olde worlde charm and the harsh reality of modern economics.  I would be surprised if we didn’t soon see this story being adapted for the movie screen (perhaps with “odorama”??) – highly recommended for all foodies who enjoy good storytelling and multi-cultural settings.

…but not anywhere in France… off to sunny (ever the optimist!) Kildare for a week or so

No, not that Kildare but the one near Dublin to sample some of the following -

we’re bringing the bikes so we shall do some of this …

and hopefully not run into some of these…

I won’t be having any of this or my vertigo will be even worse!   Slainte and see you in an Irish week’s time…