The Gift of Rain

A brief and belated entry to record that we met at Maria's recently to discuss the The Gift of Rain by Tan Twan Eng. Despite its length, and it is probably too long we decided, everyone apart from me had finished it (and I'm nearly there now) and enjoyed it very much. We were unanimous in agreeing that the portrait of Penang in the run up to and during the Japanese invasion was very atmospheric; and we really felt the cultural divisions there and Philip's duality. The general view was that there was a bit too much historical narrative "dumped" into the novel on occasions and that the martial arts sections, whilst interesting, were rather too protracted for most tastes. We had a spirited discussion about Endo-san and Philip's relationship - suffice it to say that some of us read more inference into some of the aikido scenes than others!

We are turning our attention next to more feminine matters: we will meet at Lucy's on 18th April to discuss Mary S Lovell's biography, The Mitford Girls.

Apologies & Jane Austen

A series of apologies are in order.

First, for my failure to thank Caroline and Peter on behalf of the Book Group and this blog for hosting such an enjoyable evening with the men in January. The food and wine were delicious and plentiful, the company excellent and our discipline in sitting down and discussing the books we had read quite remarkable. I have a feeling that we were on our best behaviour in order to impress the men.

Secondly, for my failure to record our reading and discussion. For the record we read This Blinding Absence of Light by Tahar Ben Jelloun, One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich by Solzhenitsyn and, in light hearted contrast, Sweet Tooth by Ian McEwan. Most of us had read at least 2 of these books. Sweet Tooth gave rise to a surprisingly animated discussion (to the extent that Ann, who is Ian McEwan phobic is tempted to read it). Everyone was moved by the extraordinary story of the 19 year ordeal of a group of Moroccan political prisoners in the exquisitely moving and strangely beautiful and spiritual  This Blinding Absence of Light.  As a generalisation, those who had read A Day in the Life as teenagers or young adults were less moved by it on re-reading whereas those who were discovering it for the first time enjoyed it very much.

Thirdly, for my failure to confirm details of our next meeting: we are at Maria's on Thursday 7th March and the book involves a mood change and a move to the Far East with The Gift of Rain by Tan Twan Eng.

Finally, an apology to Jane Austen (my all time favourite author) for failing to acknowledge the 200th anniversary of the publication of Pride and Prejudice on 29th January. I was so distracted by the many photos in the press of Colin Firth in a wet shirt that I forgot to do a blog entry.

As for the future, this blog is going into semi-retirement over the next few months as I return to the workplace.

Christmas books

The stilton is reduced to crumbs, the final mince pie has been devoured and only the cob nuts are left in the bowl. These are all signals that it is time for my third annual review of Christmas books and this year there was an interesting collection under our family tree.

Biographies included In Two Minds: A biography of Jonathan Miller by Kate Bassett (theatre critic on the Independent on Sunday) - has there ever been anybody who has excelled in quite so many different fields?  Serious non-fiction included Robert Peston's very well reviewed book How do we fix this mess? which I shall read (even though it was not given to me). My personal highlight is a huge book on modern art by the goofy looking, entertaining and highly articulate Will Gompertz, What are you looking at? 150 years of modern art in the blink of an eye. Gompertz is described as the world's first art history stand-up comedian so I'm definitely looking forward to getting stuck into this,  seduced by the "tube map" of modern art inside the front cover.

Another intriguing gift is One on One: 101 True Encounters by the former Times and Sunday Times journalist and satirist Craig Brown. It describes, in Brown-like terms, a "daisy-chain" of encounters leading one historical figure to another starting and ending with Hitler via Rasputin, Frank Sinatra, Noel Coward, The Queen, Edward Heath, George Galloway, Roald Dahl and many others. It was, apparently, chosen as book of the year by half of the literary establishment and is next on my list to read. I expect it to be both funny and informative - it feels as though it will read like a Christmas game of consequences but with satire, history and greater wit.

Finally, a gift designed for book group members and a masterful choice. A translation from the French and written by Pierre Bayard, a Parisian professor of literature and psychoanalyst , it is about reading and talking about books and is delightfully titled How to talk about books you haven't read. To quote from the cover, 'Bayard argues that not having read a book need not be an impediment to an interesting conversation about it.......it is a book for book lovers everywhere to enjoy, ponder and argue about - and perhaps even read". I'm inclined to think it would be a good choice for our next book group read.

Foreign Bodies - an aberration

I blame my miserable failure to report on our December meeting on Twitter rather than Christmas preparations. Somehow, in comparison to Twitter, other forms of new media seem rather dated. I've been following England cricket and cricketers in India, Miranda Hart, various friends of Celia's to get a taste of student life (makes me feel ancient), Laura's school, my personal trainer, the district and piccadilly lines (very useful) and so on. All very distracting when there is a blog to write.

So, back to Cynthia Ozick's novel, Foreign Bodies, which we discussed at a December meeting at Sally J's (complete with festive stollen and a potentially large dog with a wagging tail). I was not alone in wishing that I was more familiar with Henry James' The Ambassadors which had so inspired Ozick in writing this book. The book is about belonging (there is a strong Jewish theme) and isolation, personal journeys of assimilation and integration into society on either side of the Atlantic. Both New York and Los Angeles seem unscathed by war whereas the Paris which is depicted in this novel is a sad, drab place which has become a transit lounge for the flotsam and jetsam of European refugees in the years after the war. It is only the wealthy young American tourists who play at being existentialists in left bank cafes. Real life is very much grittier.

The characters, not all of whom we thought were entirely credible and certainly not likeable, exist as islands, continually failing to empathise and communicate with each other. The novel's success relies on a lack of communication and the story would not have been possible in this form had it been in a contemporary setting - email, mobile phones and Skype would have undermined the basic premise of how difficult it is to trace people and maintain contact with them. There was a general appreciation of Ozick's spare and restrained style of writing and it was definitely a good book group read which provoked a number of interesting discussions.

Our January meeting is with the men and we will meet at Caroline's on 24th January. The men were given the task of choosing the book for this occasion and were unable to reach a consensus. So the choice is one or more of Ian McEwan's cold war novel Sweet Tooth, This Blinding Absence of Light by the Moroccan writer Tahar Ben Jalloun and One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich by Solzhenitsyn. Other than the fact that they are all short books, a theme will emerge.

Women Who Read

Here, for your contemplation in a quiet moment, is a link to a Pinterest blog comprising a rather lovely collection of paintings of women reading: Women Who Read (Art). It's full of peaceful and relaxing images and I'm pretty sure that Leonora or Florence must be amongst them.

I'm new to Pinterest blogs but have concluded that the name has nothing to do with Harold, plays or pauses, but instead is a combination of pin (as in board) and interest (as in hobby or enthusiasm). Quite how a picture of a pumpkin cheesecake has made it onto Women Who Read is a mystery.

The Good Soldier is a good debate

What an excellent book group read Ford Maddox Ford's The Good Soldier turned out to be; views on it diverged so sharply that we had A Good Debate last Tuesday evening at Alison's. Those who liked it really liked it .....and, as one of those who was less enthusiastic, I was left feeling rather shallow for my lack of appreciation of the book.

It is an old fashioned read, that's for sure, but at the time (written in 1915 and set a little earlier) it must have been both shocking in content and ground-breaking in form and style. We are used to and are comfortable with novels which are non-chronological and which use flashbacks to tell a story and so, perhaps, it is this familiarity with form which makes it easy to underestimate the novelty and achievement of The Good Soldier.

Whilst I didn't much care for any of the characters, I admit that there is something intriguing about Dowell, the narrator, since he is manipulated by virtually everyone else and his naivety is staggering. He too is a device; he is unreliable (not necessarily a good thing in a narrator) and as the story of the web of disintegrating relationships between Dowell, Florence, Edward and Leonora unfolds nothing is as Dowell has originally revealed to us.

We agreed that by setting his characters in an aimless vacuum of European spas with no need to earn a living and no family to distract them, Ford isolates them and allows them to be morally and spiritually lost (and, as a result, completely dishonest with each other). With no outside forces, the reader realises early on that they are unsympathetic characters on a destructive course..... the book's opening sentence sets it up: "This is the saddest story I have ever heard".

We meet again on 28th November at Sally J's when we will be discussing hopefully happier themes having read Foreign Bodies by Cynthia Ozick, a novel inspired by Henry James by a writer who worshiped him. It is a choice which met Alison's challenge of finding a book which starts with a letter.

Man Booker shortlist on radio 4

I'm thoroughly enjoying the Today programme's interviews this week with the shortlisted authors for the Man Booker prize. However, they don't always do a good selling job on their books. This morning it was the turn of Jeet Thayil to speak about his novel, Narcopolis. Thayil has an interesting personal story; he is a highly educated, recovered alcoholic and opium addict from India's intellectual classes who has published this, his first novel, at the age of 52. It is set in the opium dens of Bombay (as it then was) in the 1970s and 80s and is obviously personal in many ways. So far, so interesting. But as soon as I learnt that the first sentence is six and a half pages long, I turned off (not literally). Now, it may be that this is a completely contextually justified, poetic, narcotic dream-like sequence, but what an off-putting thought; and as a reformed lawyer, I would find it hard to resist punctuating this mega-sentence.

In comparison, Monday's entertaining interview with a chirpy Hilary Mantel whet the appetite for the third book in the Thomas Cromwell trilogy. After she won the prize for Woolf Hall in 2009 she was reported as having plans to spend the winnings on "sex, drugs and rock 'n' roll". Rebecca Jones politely asked her how this went, only to be told that it was "hideously disappointing"and that paying off the mortgage was a "bigger imperative". Maybe she'll have more fun if she wins second time around.