Paul Murray – Skippy Dies
Posted on | August 29, 2010 | 6 Comments
Paul Murray’s second book, Skippy Dies, has been long listed for the Man Booker Prize 2010, and to be honest, that’s the main reason why I picked up this book. I had added it to my to-read list when claire (@ kissacloud) mentioned it ages ago, but it just kind of sat on the list, till the Booker long list was announced earlier. Don’t get me wrong – I’m not planning on reading the entire long list. In fact, truth be told, once I read The Slap, I think I’ll be done with the Booker for this year, although there are two caveats:
- If the winner is one of the books I haven’t already read
- If I stumble upon an amazing review of one of the books on the longlist that I haven’t already read
I digress again – back to Skippy Dies:
Daniel “Skippy” Juster is nicknamed so due to his buck-teeth which makes him resemble a kangaroo. He is one of the main characters of this ambitious tragicomedy, which is set in Seabrook, an expensive Catholic school for boys in Dublin. In the prologue itself, Skippy dies during a doughnut eating race at a local hangout, with his best friend, the genius Ruprecht. Skippy collapses, and in his final moments, he squeezes raspberry syrup out of a doughnut, and writes, ‘TELL LORI’. The rest of the book goes back in time, and then forward, with the incident described above as the pivotal point.
Seabrook is run by Holy Paraclete Fathers, although Greg “Automator” Costigan, the acting principal who is a thoroughly vile character, intends to change that. Then there are the teachers, the bullies (who are en route to becoming full-fledged criminals), the perverts, the sex-obsessed students and of course, the fairer sex – girls!
In this 661-page chunkster, various stories intertwine, to create a book that goes well beyond a boarding school story. There are the obligatory school bullies in Carl and Barry, who start dealing drugs. Carl borders on being totally psychotic – his hands are scarred with cuts, he hates competition and he has his eyes set on Lori, an attractive student from the all-girls school next door. Then there’s Howard the Coward, who was a student at Seabrook. Currently, Howard is the history teacher, living with his American girlfriend, Halley, but infatuated with the new geography teacher, Aurelie McIntyre, “an investment banker not used to that kind of unbridled depravity.” There’s a slight play of words when it comes to the unlikeable French teacher, Father Green, whose name in French translated to Pere Vert, and there’s the typical friendly teacher cum coach, Tom Roche – another teacher who used to be a student at Seabrook, and was on his way to become a national sportsperson before an injury robbed him off those dreams.
Ruprecht the genius has already been mentioned – he is a genius, single-handedly responsible for raising the average grade of the class by four percent. He wants to go to Stanford, has a role model in Professor Tamashi (who doesn’t seem to exist, if I google his name?) who is a professor of m-theory (an extension of string theory that says there are eleven dimensions), and spends his time looking for extra-terrestrial life. He comes up with grand plans on how to draw the aliens into conversation or open the portal to the parallel universe(s), and dreams of winning the Nobel Prize, or studying under Prof. Tamashi.
“When you think about it, the Big Bang’s a bit like school, isn’t it? Well, I mean to say, one day we’ll all leave here and become scientists and bank clerks and diving instructors and hotel managers – the fabric of society, so to speak. But in the meantime, that fabric, that is to say, us, the future, is crowded into one tiny little point where none of the laws of society applies, viz., this school.”
And what about Skippy? Well, he’s on the swim team, a good student, who seems to be going wayward due to some things going awry in his personal life, the details of which we aren’t privy to until much later in the book. In a way, he’s the glue that holds a bunch of the boarders together – boarders who don’t take kindly to Ruprecht but still befriend him because of Skippy. The buck-toothed boy is in love with Lori, a girl he’s never met in real life, but seen through the lens of his genius friend’s telescope. At a school dance, he finally talks to her, and they leave the dance together.
So yes – all the typecasting has been done, all the stereotypes introduced. But, the manner in which Murray brings them all together is anything but typical. It’s not Harry Potter, but then again, it’s no Malory Towers! The characters are real twenty-first century characters, and despite the stereotypical roles that have been created for them, they do step outside the boundaries every now and again. None of the characters are perfect, although some are likeable and some loathsome. However, I did find myself rooting for Skippy throughout the book – not sure if it was a direct result of the book being entitled Skippy Dies or if he was actually a sympathetic character though, or …
This book is funny and tragic – the banter between the students, the dialogues between the friends had me smiling a fair bit, but in equal measure, I found myself shaking my head. I don’t really know if I should be asking this question, but seriously, how much time do fourteen year old boys spend thinking about sex? Or all the double entendres? I shouldn’t have asked that, should I have?
It’s really difficult to sum up this book in such few words – the book encompasses so much more. We learn more about the characters, their histories and their future. We see Howard through his obsession with World War I, and we see Lori alternating between two extremes of innocence and provocativeness; we see Skippy from being morose and obsessive to being jubilant and we see Ruprecht doing a complete metamorphosis from looking for life beyond earth to compulsively eating doughnuts. More importantly, we see how one event can change things so dramatically – almost like the butterfly effect – even if people haven’t been directly affected by the incident in question. We contemplate questions – what’s more important, punishment or honour? reputation or justice? reality or the version of history provided in our text books? the “right” thing or what people expect? And the list goes on and on…
Despite being massive, I found myself flying through this book – specially the first two chunks, Hopeland and Heartland. The penultimate section, Ghostland, was probably the most thought-provoking section though, and I found myself reading that chunk slower than the previous two – which is kind-of ironic, as I normally like flying through the last bit of the book, and taking my time with the beginning to settle in and acquaint myself with the book, the characters and the environment.
Have you read Skippy Dies? What do you think its chances are to make it to the shortlist? If it did, to be honest, I wouldn’t have any complaints, despite the fact that parts of the book are colloquial, and I did want to scream when some of the students were texting each other, and textspeak filled the page. And, have you read Murray’s debut novel, An Evening of Long Goodbyes? Recommend it?
How’s your Booker reading coming along so far? Or, do you avoid the prize-winning hype just because it’s not worth it?
Tags: Ireland > Paul Murray
Emma Donoghue – Room
Posted on | August 24, 2010 | 11 Comments
This is probably one of the most gripping books I’ve read this year. I almost feel guilty that I didn’t take Audrey Niffenegger’s advice, scrolled across the book cover:
Room is a book to read in one sitting.
That’s what working life does to you, I guess. I did read the last fifty pages or so at work though, ignoring the people who asked me if I was there to work or read. Hopefully, even they figured it was a rhetorical question. Anyway, as I couldn’t agree more with the rest of the quote, I thought I might as well share it:
When it’s over you look up: the world looks the same but you are somehow different and that feeling lingers for days.
Room is a novel “triggered” by Felix Fritzl, the five year old son of Elisabeth Fritzl. Elisabeth was locked in the basement by her father for twenty-four years, raped repeatedly and had seven children. Three of them were imprisoned with her, and the five year old had no clue about the world beyond the basement they were locked in.
Normally, one would expect such a book to be a money-making gimmick, with the author milking the tragedy of another family. Realising that it was narrated by the five year old might add to that sentiment. However, with Room, Donoghue creates a wonderful “unputdownable” novel, with great insights and contemplations from the five year old, Jack, who was under the impression that the world existed in his eleven feet by eleven feet room he lived in with his mother (Ma), and had no clue as to the reality beyond the locked door and the skylight.
Ma, a twenty-seven year old, protects him and tries to bring him up right, by schooling him with the limited resources she has at her disposal. So, Jack’s narration is actually reasonably articulate, although it is still from the viewpoint of a five year old, who has never experienced life outside the closed quarters of the room, and initially thinks himself and his mother are the only two human beings in the world. He has “friends” in the television, but as far as he’s concerned, that’s not real.
This morning it’s Dora, yippee. She’s on a boat that nearly crashes into a ship, we have to wave our arms and shout, “Watch out,” but Ma doesn’t. Ships are just TV and so is the sea except when our poos and letters arrive. Or maybe that actually stop being real the minute they get there.
Animals are TV except ants and Spider and Mouse, but he’s gone back now. Germs are real, and blood. Boys are TV but they kind of look like me, the me in Mirror that isn’t real either, just a picture.
In a way, it’s almost a relief that the book is written through the eyes of the child, and not the mother, for, if it was written through the eyes of the mother, it might have been one of the most heart-wrenchingly painful and scary reads. The innocence of Jack alleviates the horror of this book a great deal, as he doesn’t understand some of the more delicate issues that his mother has to deal with, in her captivity.
When Old Nick creaks Bed, I listen and count fives on my fingers, tonight it’s 217 creaks. I always have to count till he makes that gaspy sound and stops. I don’t know what would happen if I didn’t count, because I always do.
After he turns five, Ma finally tells him about Outside, but unsurprisingly, Jack doesn’t believe his mother initially, and who can blame them? If you’ve known only one world for five years, and you’re suddenly “unlied” to, and told about the wonders of a whole new world which exists, but you were never aware of, how would you react? It’s too strange, too surreal, to be true, and I really felt for Jack when he was told the truth, and subsequently become the focal point of his mother’s grand escape plan, which “scaved” (a “wordsandwich” meaning scared and brave) him!
More themes about society and values emerge as the book progresses, and each one evokes an emotion of either sadness or anger or sympathy. Forgive me for stating the obvious, but from the start of the book, when you’re made aware of the situation, you can’t help but hope and pray for a happy ending – no adult and no child should ever have to go through that kind of hell.
I was utterly hooked to this book, and I can’t recommend it highly enough. I’ve not read a story like this before, and I doubt I’ll come across one even remotely as engrossing and irrepressible as this work by Donoghue.
Have you read Room? Or, any other book by Donoghue? What did you think? Would you recommend any of the others?
And, what do you think are the odds on this book making the Booker shortlist?
Tags: Elisabeth Fritzl > Emma Donoghue > Kidnapping
Lisa Moore – February
Posted on | August 20, 2010 | 9 Comments
Melancholic – that’s the first word that came to my mind when I finished this book. I’m guessing that’s how Helen, the protagonist, felt for a major part of her adult life. Her husband, Cal, had been on the Ocean Ranger that sunk in 1982, off the coast of Newfoundland – there were no survivors.
Fast-forward to 2008, which is when this book starts: Helen, now a middle-aged woman, is battling loneliness and misery, as she tries to find some kind of solace in looking after the grandchildren and sewing beautiful wedding and prom dresses as a career. She’s tried her hand at online dating, after being persuaded by the children; she’s tried yoga; working in a corporation and all in all, it just sounds like she’s tried a myriad of things to get over the grief – but to no avail. Does one ever actually get over losing a loved one?
The narration isn’t linear though – it’s almost like a series of random flashbacks and memories that have made up some of the happiest, saddest and most poignant moments of Helen’s life : be it receiving a Valentine’s card from her husband, days after the Ocean Ranger sank or, contemplating his last moments – did he at least get to play a last game of cards post-supper?
There is no plot – at least not one that I could find. It was essentially focusing on Helen’s despondence, as well as the lives of her children and grandchildren: her daughter getting pregnant at the age of fifteen, her daughter coming home drunk and escorted by the police. It’s also a very “twenty-first century” novel, with references to Cosmo and Vogue, eBay and online dating. I’m still not quite accustomed to seeing them in books – even though, for once, it didn’t sound like those references were forced. It was just part of the narrative, and it made the book more real somehow.
Did I enjoy this book – not really. It depressed me, and made me ponder on things that I ordinarily wouldn’t (e.g. do you ever get over the loss of a loved one, specially a husband?). It was just so – sad, for lack of better words! Well-written, descriptive, emotional, but sad! One of my favourite poems is Dylan Thomas’ Death Shall Have No Dominion, but clearly, those left behind beg to differ, as this book reminds us, not very subtly! Who knows how life can change by things we have no control over, when we least expect it to?!
Have you read anything by Lisa Moore? I’ve heard Alligator is worth a read – would you recommend it?
As for this book being on the Booker longlist – well, I personally don’t think it’ll make the shortlist, but hey! What do I know?! What do you think – does the shortlist have a place for February?
Tags: Lisa Moore
Andrea Levy – The Long Song
Posted on | August 11, 2010 | 9 Comments
I apologise for my thoughts on this book at the very outset. I’m going through a bit of a stressful phase right now, and while normally, it doesn’t affect the way I approach books, I’m not completely convinced that it hasn’t this time ’round. I mean, The Long Song was longlisted for the Orange Prize, and it’s on the Booker longlist as well. It’s got to be a good book, right?
Well, I didn’t finish it, and it wasn’t for lack of trying! I put it aside at 150 pages – my edition had 308 pages, so I did read about half of the book, and it failed to engage me at any level. Strange, because the subject matter is intense and well, more often than not, I end up empathising and sympathising with the protagonists and narrators of such stories. This time – absolutely nothing.
Set in the early nineteenth century, this book focuses on the final days of slavery in Jamaica. The primary voice is that of July, a slave born on the sugar plantation called Amity, after her mother was raped by the overseer of the plantation. July was separated from her mother, Kitty, when the plantation owner’s sister, Caroline, found her utterly charming and wanted to groom her to be a lady’s maid. Caroline, new to Jamaica and the rampant slavery, depended much on July, and the slave girl often took advantage of her mistress’ dependence.
Personally, I thought that the writing lacked the intensity that the subject matter deserves, and almost treated the subject frivolously. I also did cringe, occasionally, on reading some of the lines, although I’m willing to bet that Levy intended to have that effect on the reader.
“Stuff up her mouth with rags, come on, come on,” he insisted once more. Rose took a rag, dipping it in the water from the pail and brushed it against Kitty’s lips. But Tam Dewar, exhaling with annoyance, commanded, “Not like that!” He snatched at the rag that Rose held, then forced the damp cloth down into Kitty’s mouth. “Like this, you fool, like this.”
Rose protested, “Massa, she birthin’, she birthin’!” as Kitty choked to accommodate the bulk of cloth in her mouth.
I don’t think I got used to the style of writing either, where the narrator constantly addressed me as “Reader,” and it switched between first person (present) and third person (past). And, I really didn’t care what happened to the characters – who survived, who didn’t.
Maybe I’m being harsh, but despite the writing being simple, I found reading this book a chore, and didn’t feel inclined to pick it up. I wish I’d finished this book, to see what the end objective was – and maybe, just maybe, the second half of the book would end up redeeming itself. Have you read this book? Do you think the second half is better/more engrossing than the first?
Have you read Levy’s Small Island? I think it’s her most talked about book. Would you recommend that over her latest?
Tags: Andrea Levy > Jamaica > Slavery
David Mitchell – Black Swan Green
Posted on | August 5, 2010 | 13 Comments
About five years back, with the launch of the iPod Shuffle, Apple declared “random is the new order” to the world, as “life is random” so we should “give chance a chance.”
What does any of this have to do with Black Swan Green? Well, nothing, really! However, it does have a lot to do with the way I’ve approached the works of David Mitchell – Unlike some book bloggers (e.g. Kerry), I haven’t read his works in any kind of order; just as and when I got my hands on one of his books. I never had a chance though. I didn’t even know who David Mitchell was (yes, I was living in a black hole of sorts) until one of my friends shoved number9dream in my hands, and insisted I read it. From the opening line, which I can still repeat off the top of my head, I was hooked. The rest, as they say, is history.
And so, I started my fourth book by David Mitchell eagerly, not quite knowing what to expect. I knew it was a coming-of-age story, and I half wondered if it would be similar to the surreal number9dream, or well – I didn’t really have an alternative.
Black Swan Green is much more of a “traditional” coming-of-age story. In fact, if I didn’t know better, I would have assumed it was Mitchell’s debut novel – not because of the quality of writing (seriously, I don’t think you can fault Mitchell’s quality of writing!), but more because the book was a lot more conventional than I’d have expected, specially considering it was released on the back of Cloud Atlas.
It’s 1982, the year of the Falklands War. Havoc is wreaking on that front, but thirteen year old Jason is fighting another battle: against bullies, against a stammering problem he can’t seem to get rid of, and harbouring a secret that might make him the laughing stock of the school: a secret desire to be a poet. Closer to home, his sister refers to him as “thing,” and his parents’ marriage is rocky – thirteen, it’s a “wonderful miserable age!”
Bluebells swarmed in pools of light where the sun got through the trees. The air smelt of them. Wild garlic smelt of toasted phlegm. Blackbirds sang like they’d die if they didn’t. Birdsong’s the thoughts of a wood. Beautiful it was, but boys aren’t allowed to say “beautiful” ’cause it’s the gayest word going.
As opposed to a linear narrative, this book is essentially a set of snapshots in Jason’s life as a thirteen year old, focusing on the events that help him mature, as he realises some hard truths about life, be it about his friend’s father’s alcoholism
“[...]Tell you what it’s like, it’s like this whiny shitty nasty weepy man who isn’t my dad takes my dad over for however long the bender lasts, but only I – and Mum and Kelly and Sally and Max – know that it isn’t him. The rest of the world doesn’t know that, see. They just say, Frank Moran showing his true colours, that is. But it ain’t” Moran twisted his head at me. “But it is. But it ain’t.[...]“
or, about the cruelty of war, and how it ruins lives
War’s an auction where whoever can pay most in damage and still be standing wins.
Okay, maybe that’s a little too profound for a thirteen year old, but the point still stands! Speaking of profundity, how’s this:
I’ve never listened to music lying down. Listening’s reading if you close your eyes. Music’s a wood you walk through.
And then, you have some mixed with a desperate call for anger management:
Me, I want to kick this moronic bloody world in the bloody teeth over and over till it bloody understands that not hurting people is ten bloody thousand times more important than being right.
Oh! To be thirteen again…
I enjoyed this book, and the various episodes of Jason’s life, despite the fact that at times, he really did seem older and wiser than his years (above excerpts withstanding). It was an easy read, but delightful at the same time, and it was a story I could relate to – being someone born in the eighties myself! I got most of the music references, be it Duran Duran, Beatles, Sex Pistols, Joy Division or the infamous “Do the Locomotion”. It took me back a long way, and I was reminiscing away about my life and how things were about a decade ago! I could identify with Jason’s preoccupations and concerns at times, and I sympathised with him on the whole rivalry with the sibling – been there, done that! My brother and I couldn’t possibly be closer now. Oh, how times change…
Have you read any David Mitchell? Any favourites? I still have Ghostwritten to go, so I’m really looking forward to that.
Also, do you have any other favourite coming-of-age stories? I do love reading them – they almost always take me away to a simpler easier time. Do you feel the same as well about comfort reads?
Just as an aside for you David Mitchell fans out there who’ve read Cloud Atlas as well:
Madame Crommelynck, the daughter of the famous composer in Cloud Atlas, makes an appearance in this book, when she attempts to introduce Jason to European literature. She plays Robert Frobisher’s Cloud Atlas Sextet for the teenager, who is awed by it (see quote above). I loved that bit! Any idea if there are any more references to other characters from his previous books that I’ve missed?
Tags: David Mitchell
Rachel Ferguson – The Brontës Went To Woolworths
Posted on | August 3, 2010 | 5 Comments
The Brontës Went to Woolworths is one of those utterly bizarre books, with quirky characters and a story which makes the mind boggle. The thin line between fact and fiction is erased by the Carne sisters – the protagonists of this book – as they let their imaginations run away with them, and create a wondrous warm world of friendship, happiness and make-believe. A dog who used to be Pope, a doll who used to live in Paris and friends in high places, including Judge Toddington (“Toddy”).
You also have their mother, who indulges them and the prudish governess, Miss Martin, who judges them, as she can’t quite fathom what’s going on inside the bubble the family has created for themselves, probably to cope with grief and sadness after their father’s unfortunate demise. To be fair, one can’t really blame Miss Martin for being confused about what’s going on in this 1930s household – I was utterly baffled by what was going on for the first fifty odd pages, and I kind-of had an inkling of a clue. However, once I figured out the line that the Carnes had erased, things suddenly became much clearer…
…and while they became clear in my head, things got slightly more complicated for the Carnes, when Deirdre (the eldest sister) met Lady Mildred (Toddy’s wife) at a charity bazaar, and ended up befriending the older lady and subsequently, her husband – the father figure that Deirdre had created for herself. The “Saga” the Carnes had created for themselves was suddenly moving closer towards reality, and the emotions that ran through the book were both, endearing and heart-rending. Shiel, the youngest daughter, practically had no grip on reality, and her older sisters were extremely protective of her – not only that, but, they themselves spent most of their time in the nursery, escaping their own reality.
The other thing I loved about this book was the irony and humour present throughout. There were a fair few chunks that had be laughing out loud. For instance, the opening paragraph, as narrated by Deirdre, reads:
How I loathe that kind of novel which is about a lot of sisters. It is usually called They Were Seven, or Three-Not Out, and one spends one’s entire time trying to sort them all, and muttering, ‘Was it Isobel who drank, or Gertie? And which was it who ran away with the gigolo, Amy or Pauline? And which of their separate husbands was Lionel, Isobel’s or Amy’s?
How can you not love the irony, when this book is about the three sisters, for the most part?
Another bit that absolutely had me in splits was when Deirdre talks about a proposal she received:
I couldn’t accept the man, much as I liked him, because I was in love with Sherlock Holmes. For Holmes and his personality and brain I had a force of feeling which, for the time, converted living men to shadows.
I did enjoy this book thoroughly, and would recommend it highly. It’s not very twenty-first century, though, so it’s almost like a fairytale. The cynic in me did kick in from time to time, but, I just brushed it aside, for I couldn’t help but hope for a “happy ending” for the kooky family, that resorted to escapism to find their solace.
Tags: London > Rachel Ferguson
Reading In August
Posted on | August 1, 2010 | 16 Comments
I’ve had a relatively “busy” July. For the first time since January, the number of posts I created in a month has hit double-digits. It’s just ten – nothing to write home about, but, it’s still a nice feeling, if you know what I mean. I’m not comparing myself to some of you book bloggers out there, who stack up more than twice that in a fortnight! :)
Read about nine books in July (two reviews are still pending), and thought it was a good month reading-wise.
I read three different books by Nobel Prize winners:
- J.M. Coetzee’s The Life and Times of Michael K
- Ernest Hemingway’s The Old Man and the Sea
- Doris Lessing’s The Fifth Child
And three books that appear on the 1001 Books To Read Before You Die list: (sorry, there’s an overlap)
- J.M. Coetzee’s The Life and Times of Michael K
- Ernest Hemingway’s The Old Man and the Sea
- Haruki Murakami’s Kafka On The Shore
So, yes, I enjoyed my July, but for the fact that I didn’t make a dent in my to-read pile, as I was at my parents, and then fell ill and then ended up visiting the library and reading books that were lying around there. So, August is going to be about hitting that massive to-read pile, and conquering it somewhat. It’ll be a while before I do that, but a girl’s got to try!
So, without much further ado, here’s my proposed book-stack for August – likely to change, but it’s what I plan on right now.
Yep, it’s almost got an “around the world” theme to it, with books from India, Turkey, Russia, France, Nigeria and Czechoslovakia.
- Jhumpa Lahiri’s The Namesake
- Irène Némirovsky’s Suite Française
- Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie’s Purple Hibiscus
- Orhan Pamuk’s My Name Is Red
- Milan Kundera’s Farewell Waltz
- Mikhail Bulgakov’s The Master and Margarita
Also, if my library would be nice enough to get some of the books from the Booker longlist, I’ll be reading those. Note for next year: do not exercise the self-imposed reading ban in the months of July, August and September. I’ll be keeping an eye out on all the reviews, and come September, I’ll be treating myself to a chunk of the Booker longlist and shortlist.
What do you have in store for August? Will you be tackling the Booker longlist?
Frances Hodgson Burnett – Little Lord Fauntleroy
Posted on | July 30, 2010 | 7 Comments
I finally have some semblance of a life again after being under the weather for an extraordinarily long time (well, “extraordinarily long” is a relative term, but it is coming up to about two months now). I read loads of my old Enid Blytons and Nancy Drews, while twiddling my thumbs and imagining all kinds of crazy things, but most of them were being re-read for about the seven hundred and twenty third time. I can actually recite some of those books without any prompts…
Right, that’s a long digressive opening paragraph, which is meant to lead up to this simple statement : the only children’s book (comfort read) I read during this period which I hadn’t read before was Frances Hodgson Burnett’s Little Lord Fauntleroy. I absolutely loved both, The Secret Garden and A Little Princess, but I’d just never managed to find this book anywhere before. Hurrah for libraries!
There’s something about children’s books and being ill.* They’re just feel-good, and take you away to this “happy place,” where you’re thinking rainbows and butterflies, without actually resorting to LSD or ’shrooms or any other illegal substance. Little Lord Fauntleroy is no exception.
A story set in the late nineteenth century, it focuses on eight year old Cedric Errol who lives with his mother (who he calls Dearest) in a New York side-street, after his father, Captain Errol, passes away. Everyone is extremely fond of the boy, with his “quare little ways” and “ould fashioned sayin’s!”
“‘Ristycratic, is it?” she would say. “Faith, an’ I’d loike to see the choild on Fifth Avey-NOO as looks loike him an’ shteps out as handsome as himself. An’ ivvery man, woman, and choild lookin’ afther him in his bit of a black velvet skirt made out of the misthress’s ould gownd; an’ his little head up, an’ his curly hair flyin’ an’ shinin’. It’s loike a young lord he looks.”
One day, out of the blue, a lawyer from England visits the mother and child, and breaks the news to them : Cedric, the grandson of the Earl of Dorincourt, was to become Earl someday, as both his uncles had passed away in the recent past. Probably not the best of comparisons, but think The Princess Diaries.
However, unlike the princess in The Princess Diaries, Cedric already exudes lordship: sensitive to others, generous and always wanting to help those he can. If that’s not enough, he’s also polite, respectful and fearless, completely oblivious to class differences and the prejudices that rule the world. For instance, how his grandfather, the Earl, had disowned his son when he married an American commoner. So, that’s the grandfather – the polar opposite of Cedric; a crabby old man, who no one likes and who, in turn, cares for no one. Or, is it vice versa?
The rest of the book is essentially about the interaction between the grandchild and the grandfather, and how the latter is won over by the innocence and good-heartedness of the child. It’s weird, and so unreal, but I just couldn’t help rooting for that perfect happy ending, simply because that’s all I wanted from the book. In another world, you could have the the impressionable child being more swayed by his grandfather, and becoming just like him! Or, a brattish spoilt child being the person to inherit the estate. But, no! None of that dark miserable stuff was in this book (thankfully – it was just what I needed after reading The Fifth Child).
I thoroughly enjoyed it, and am really glad that I read it when I did. However, I still can’t help but strongly believe that The Secret Garden is miles better! I really must re-read it someday soon. I’m now wondering if I should venture into some of Burnett’s books for adults. I’ve not read any, but have seen a fair few reviews on The Making of a Marchioness and The Shuttle, both of which have been published by Persephone.
What other works by Frances Hodgson Burnett would you recommend? And, do you have any favourite “comfort-reads” that simply must be read?
*Verity had a couple of posts on comfort reads and children’s books a few weeks back as well (here and here). I couldn’t agree more with some of her recommendations and selections.
Tags: Frances Hodgson Burnett
The Booker Prize 2010
Posted on | July 28, 2010 | 14 Comments
So, the shortlist for the Booker Prize was announced yesterday. Like many of you on the blog’o’sphere, I didn’t do a post on what I’d expect to see on the longlist. There’s a good reason for that – it’s because I had absolutely no idea! I figured that Mitchell and McEwan would make it, but that’s it. Hmm, even there I was wrong.
So, that’s the longlist:
- Peter Carey – Parrot and Oliver in America
- Emma Donoghue – Room
- Helen Dunmore – The Betrayal
- Damon Galgut – In a Strange Room
- Howard Jacobson – The Finkler Question
- Andrea Levy – The Long Song
- Tom McCarthy – C
- David Mitchell – The Thousand Autumns of Zacob de Zoet
- Lisa Moore – February
- Paul Murray – Skippy Dies
- Rose Tremain – Trespass
- Christos Tsiolkas – The Slap
- Alan Warner – The Stars in the Bright Sky
I’ve read the David Mitchell, and enjoyed it despite finding it a bit of a difficult read. Not read the others, but I do want to read a few of them. Do any of you have any suggestions? I don’t really intend to read the entire longlist…
I really don’t want to read the Peter Carey (do you really think he’ll be the first author to win the Booker Prize three times?), as I really really didn’t enjoy the only one of his books that I have read. Yes, I’ve used the word “really” four times in the previous sentence….
I guess the ones that appeal to me most at the moment are :
- Paul Murray – Skippy Dies
- Rose Tremain – Trespass
- Christos Tsiolkas – The Slap
Have you read any of them? What did you think?
Do you plan on reading the longlist this year? Maybe the shortlist? Or, just the winner?
Doris Lessing – The Fifth Child
Posted on | July 26, 2010 | 8 Comments
By virtue of Doris Lessing being a Nobel Laureate, her books have always intimidated me. The size of the one book I’ve heard about the most, The Golden Notebook, hasn’t really helped. However, when I stumbled upon The Fifth Child at the library, I felt as though I had to try reading at least one of her books. I’ve read Nobel Prize winners before, and more oft’ than not, I’ve enjoyed the reading. Also, the blurb at the back of the book intrigued me. It reminded me of Lionel Shriver’s We Need To Talk About Kevin. No, this isn’t a book about a high school shooting. Instead, it’s a book about a child being born into a perfectly happy family, who is violent and uncontrollable, with a vicious streak in him from the time he was in his mother’s womb.
Set in the 1960s, this book revolves around two social “oddballs,” David and Harriet, who meet at an office party, and almost immediately decide to get married, and have loads of children (“six, eight, ten”). They buy a massive house in the suburbs which they can just about afford, and Harriet gets pregnant, on the first viewing of the house! In the six years that follow, the couple have four children, and depend on their family for support. Yet, they’re happy, which is the important thing.
Despite the family’s constant advice, the couple are adamant to have more kids, and so, the fifth child is born. Even before the birth, Ben seems to be a violent child. According to Harriet:
sometimes she believed hooves were cutting her tender inside flesh, sometimes claws.
And when Ben is finally born, he resembles a goblin or a troll more than a human – Harriet’s thoughts again! Nothing is safe from the little Frankenstein. Not the pets, not the other children, not the house they live in. His parents hate him, his siblings hate him. And so, the idyllic life that Harriet and David have built with such conviction starts falling apart.
Harriet was wondering why she was always treated like a criminal. Ever since Ben was born it’s been like this, she thought. Now it seemed to her the truth, that everyone had silently condemned her. I have suffered a misfortune, she told herself; I haven’t committed a crime.
This book raises more questions than it answers. In a family, what is the concept of consequentialism : the good of the entire family, or the good of every child? In a warm loving environment, how is a child like Ben born? And more importantly – why? Is happiness merely transient? Or, did David and Harriet tempt fate with their constant utopian life? Oh, and of course, it takes us back to the age old question: nurture or nature?
I found The Fifth Child to be a fascinating gripping read, and was amazed by how much Lessing had packed in in such a short novel (160 pages). The language wasn’t complicated, and the plot moved fast. Even before the first chapter was over, David and Harriet had met for the first time, and decided on their marriage!
There’s a sequel to The Fifth Child called Ben, In The World. Have you read it? If yes, is it worth reading?
Have you read any other books with a “monster” child, that you’d recommend? It does seem to be a crop up a fair bit in the world of literature. I’m just hoping it’s not that common in reality.
Tags: Doris Lessing
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things being said
- Joanna on Emma Donoghue – Room
- Jackie (Farm Lane Books) on Paul Murray – Skippy Dies
- Coffee and a Book Chick on Lisa Moore – February
- Parrish on David Mitchell – Black Swan Green
- Bina on Paul Murray – Skippy Dies
- Steph on Paul Murray – Skippy Dies
- Tricia on Paul Murray – Skippy Dies
- Teresa on Paul Murray – Skippy Dies