Tag Archives: Book reviews

The Night Rainbow and the madness of publishers

The-Night-Rainbow-frontOne day soon I’ll review Claire King’s Night Rainbow which was every bit as good as I expected. Set during a long hot summer in France, it would make a perfect summer read. Well it would be great at any time,  but since I enjoyed most of it out in the garden, it felt just right for the moment and I thought it would make an ideal birthday present for my Big Sis (Francophile and reader extraordinaire) so off I went to order a copy. But what’s this – the paperback isn’t out until August?!?

Silly old me. I had temporarily forgotten the utter madness vagaries of commercial publishing. After all the book has been out since Feb and I recently availed myself of a special offer Kindle copy for all of £1.49. With the hardback at £8.57 (I’ve paid more for many paperbacks) it’s not so much the money as the inconvenience. I don’t kn0w anyone who, except in very particular circumstances, would choose to own a novel in hardback.

If anyone can remember why the route of hardback/paperback was ever a good idea, and more crucially why traditional publishers are sticking with it in this day and age, I’ll be happy to be enlightened. Meanwhile, I’m always pleased to get a Kindle bargain, but now feel rather sorry for the tree-book reader who must wait longer than the rest of us to get what he or she wants.

Still, they – and you – can take my word for it that this is a touching story skilfully told of a five-year-old girl left to run wild in the meadows around her home in the company of a strangely bossy younger sister. What will happen when they make friends with the  mysterious loner called Claude? Well worth getting hold of, however you do it.

 

Dancing for Uncle Joe

russian winter coverI was sent a copy of Daphne Kalotay’s Russian Winter some time ago and for some reason it languished on my shelf, not rejected but simply neglected, until a passing friend happened to mention she was stuck for something to read. Try this, I said, and tell me if it’s any good. Within a few days she said how much she was enjoying it and at our monthly reading group she was so clearly taken with it, I made a plea for ‘no spoilers’ and  started reading it straight away. I have to say this really is a gorgeous book and exactly the sort of thing I like.

It’s about three people all living in present-day Boston: Nina a ballet dancer who defected from Stalin’s Russia who has decided to auction off her stunning collection of jewellery; Drew, the young representative of the auction house handling the sale, and Grigori, an academic who’s life work has been the translation of the poems of Viktor Elsin, the husband Nina left behind in Moscow and who did not survive the Stalinist terror. But if Nina can rid herself of the jewels, the act of doing so sirs up searing memories. Grigori too, an adopted child still mourning the death of his wife, has never come to terms with the mystery of his Russian birth parents and the fact that Nina has always refused to acknowledge any connection to him. Through all three characters the story of Nina and her life with the Bolshoi Ballet under Stalin unfolds at just the right pace until a whole skein of false assumptions is unravelled and a new set of connections revealed.

What do I like about it? The narrative,  carried entirely by the main characters, is taught, but absorbing rather than gripping, allowing us plenty of time to see the lives of other characters like Grigori’s friend, the dissident poet Zoltan, Nina’s fellow dancer Polina who is prey to constant anxiety and fear, or Viktor’s aristocrat mother (a kind of white Russian Miss Haversham) whom he has to hide behind a plywood wall. The story has many layers but everything is germane to the themes of how  love and loyalty are compromised under a reign of terror.  And by the end I knew so much more about Stalinist Russia, the life of a ballerina and even amber jewellery.

It’s interesting to ask why I didn’t pick this book up sooner. I certainly think the title is bland, and the cover similarly conventional. Nothing about the appearnce of the book stands out, which goes to show how much these things count. Of course this is a conventional novel ,  but in a good way. It delivers in all it sets out to do and I found it entirely satisfying. Who could ask for more?

 

Northern Lights, Polar Nights

Polar%20NightsSoon it will be April when fellow Thornberrian Simon Hacker and I are joining forces for a World Book Night event, and so I thought it was about time I read Polar Nights, his comedy thriller set in the far North of Scotland which came out last month. From the outset it was clear that Simon’s prose was going to pack a punch (well he’s  a journalist, so is that a pen name or a case of nominative determinism – I must remember to ask!) And the action was soon under way with a wonderfully salty-dog fisherman doomed (you need to say that with the right accent) to be an early victim of the iceberg that washes up on the coast of Sutherland complete with resident polar bear. The fisherman’s demise is the cue for the arrival of a host of characters winging there way to Wick, including doughty Rebecca, working for a satellite tv station and Dan, an environmentalist with an agenda of his own that soon expands to include Rebecca.   The new arrivals – (that includes the bear) also have to contend with an even more colourful cast of locals, including a gun-toting mad aristo, a dour policeman who may be mad too and a poet with a chip on his shoulder the size of Ben Nevis. And did I mention he was definitely deranged? Last but not least, we also get to meet the bear ( perfectly sane as bears go, just a bit disorientated). For a short time I thought I  might succumb to colourful character and punchy-prose overload but once the bear starts to move so does the story, and it really is a fun read with plenty of high jinks, simmering passion and just the right amount of plot convolution. Oddly it was the very un-mad Dan whom I found least convincing character, but then it usually is the baddies who get the best parts. And I’m glad to say it’s the bear who has the last laugh, or maybe ‘Aw’ moment. As a Scot who has failed to get past Inverness, I was also intrigued to get a glimpse of this most northerly tip of the British Isles.

Thriller? Well sort of, but there’s also a strong dash of romcom and after getting to know the bear I was a tiny bit disappointed the ending didn’t pose more in the way of questions. But this really is a fun read that will appeal to both sexes and anyone who’s more in teh mood for a Highland Fling rather than a tranche of tartan noir.

By the way, for anyone on the right wavelengths (do they stil have wavelengths?) Simon is being interviewed by Claire Carter on Radio Gloucestershire on Friday March 15th at 3 pm. Should be interesting!

The nice thing about blogging

As an antidote to my previous grumble, here’s a nice thing about blogging. Back in the mists of time (5 years is a long time in blogging)  I made contact with Maureen at Random Distractions, a lady who lives in Devon and has all kinds of interests which she shares with friends and followers. On her site I’ve found recipes, knitting patterns, and book recommendations – many of which have turned out gems.  I sent her a copy of ‘Kettle’ for old times’ sake and am delighted that she liked it enough to give it this lovely review. She also makes an interesting point that the cover of modern novels rarely reflect the actual story – don’t think that’s always true but I can certainly think of books that have turned out very differently to how I expected from the cover image!

The Trading Post

our table is ready at The Trading Post!

Maureen also has a family connection to The Dabbler– a lively culture blog with its own book club where I’ve gleaned some great freebies.  Best of all,  we’re planning to meet up in this quirky garden centre one of these days. 

 

 

IMG_4389Maureen is kindly passing on her paperback copy of A Kettle of Fish so if you’d like to go in the draw, do pop along to say hello.

You never know what else you might find.

 

Turn of the Tide: Scottish history comes to life

Knowing this Scottish historical novel by Margaret Skea had  battled through the scrutiny of Authonomy authors and the Alan Titchmarsh People’s Novelist Competition, I was really keen to read it, but at first I was uncertain. The writing was polished and clearly backed up by detailed research but could I be gripped by this tale of warring  16th century lairds? More importantly (wine with supper not always conducive to concentration!) could I remember which side they were all on? The  dialogue also has a formality that feels authentic and distinctive but is occasionally a little hard to untangle. And so for a while I found myself making little critical notes as I went along, wondering if I would stick with it. But its appeal gradually crept up on me and by the end I loved it to bits.

Turn of the Tide coverFollowing a horrific massacre, the young King James of Scotland asks that two warring factions of Scottish gentry – Cunnighames and Montgomeries – should end their long-running feud.  By now the reader has already been introduced to sympathetic (and not so sympathetic) characters on each side and understands the truce will be fragile to say the least. The jockeying for position at court is fascinating, and there are great set pieces like the hunt arranged for the king by one faction in which the others are equally desperate to make the right impression.  This is very the human side of  history in which political affiliations turn on how much the king likes the gift of a poem or a favoured jewel and have huge consequences not just for the lairds but also for the women at home. It’s clear that the author has detailed knowledge of and empathy with them,  particularly Kate Munro, whose husband owes allegiance to the Cunninghame clan but is gradually drawn into friendship with the Montgomeries.  Munro frames the book, in at the initial kill and centre stage in the brilliant climax, all the more shocking as the conclusion of an otherwise measured tale.

The depth of research shines out in the details of costume, cookery, agriculture, childcare and the role of women, all of it throwing light on what has always been a murky and ill-understood period in my own mind and bringing the characters and their lives to shimmering life. This is a fascinating and engaging read with great visual effect. Bring on the sequel!

E-book and paperback from Capercaillie Books (whose picture can’t be copied – understandable but irritating!)

Sex in the Sixties

book coverThis week I’ve been reading the new best-seller Thursdays in the Park, so we’re talking age, not era I’m afraid. But as I’m zooming towards the decade in question, it seems like something to think about. Is the older generation neglected by fiction writers, and has this one done them (us!) justice?

Interestingly, the oldies are already making a bit of a comeback on the screen. Just last year we had Best Exotic Marigold Hotel, a feel-good film which didn’t ignore the problems of old age (money, health, loneliness) but gave us all hope for a happy ending (or if it’s not happy it just isn’t the end). Now we have Last Tango in Halifax, where an elderly-looking  Derek Jacobi and the more sprightly Ann Reid (who famously went from Dinner Ladies to  landing Daniel Craig)  are giving each other more than companionship, or as mother says to daughter ‘I’m talking about sex, you know’.  Actually I don’t see this piece as a romance because the couple fall for each other in episode one and there’s no sense that anything is going to keep them apart. It’s more of a family drama, as the interest is in the fall-out for their respective off-spring who provide plenty of sturm und drang.

So there’s a love story in there but not a romance and maybe that’s the rub. There are plenty of books about getting older, most of which take account of emotional and sexual needs – what about Love in the time of Cholera, or  even Miss Garnett’s Angel, Old Filth, and I’m sure many of Joanna Trollope’s characters have been fifty. But maybe genre fiction is another matter. Is there a gap in the market, and does this book satisfy it?

Thursdays in the Park does tick the romantic boxes: – there’s dashing hero and a heroine whose family commitments  keep her away from him. Jeannie’s career-minded daughter and her sly husband provide plenty of plot fodder while her  devotion to her granddaughter is touching and realistic. If I had a problem it was with her husband George, a troubled and troubling character I never quite got the hang of and maybe also a tweeness in the unashamedly middle-class settings and concerns. (Whatever troubles there are, money isn’t one of them!) Still, despite a halting start (and ten-year hiatus) and a bolt from the blue in terms of George’s personal history, this kept me interested until the  sugar-rush  ending hove into view.

Faint praise? I suspect the problem is me. I don’t often read chick-lit, so I’m probably not the target market for gran-lit either. And did I mention the bedroom scenes? Well in general they were avoided or shall we say glossed over.  Which for many people is probably fine. But like Celia in Last Tango, I prefer things a little less coy. So I’m fine with the concept of grannihood (should the need arise!) but I don’t think I’m going to be a devotee of gran-lit, unles it gets a bit more gutsy than this one.

Heaven and earth: some books for the weekend

If  my reading week has been subject to cosmic influences, I blame Shirley Wright’s Time Out of Mind, even better IMO in its final version than it was when I first read it around a year ago. I had no hesitation in giving it 5 stars on Amazon – a rare occurrence! And its Cornish magic must have been at work when I gave into temptation and bought Patrick Gale’s A Perfectly Good Man on a very special offer in the local supermarket (of course I’ll have to attone for this sin by visiting a real bookshop and buying at least one full price book as soon as I can afford it!)  which is not only set in Cornwall but also mentions the very same standing stones as occur in Time Out of Mind.

Perfectly Good ManPatrick Gale is  an author who is always dependable but never predictable – what more can a reader ask? – and a great advert for mainstream fiction. This latest (a lot darker than the cover image suggests) is the story of a family and community  haunted by all kinds of heartbreak, pieced together in a compelling construction that uses different points of view and different time periods but  in a way that feels totally organic.  (The writer’s question of whether it is led by plot or character is irrelevant. It just works.)

Book coverHowever it takes a little while for the ‘pace’ (somehow the wrong word for this kind of novel)  to develop  and  I admit I was temporarily distracted from it by Some Kind of Fairy Tale by Graham Joyce, an author to be featured in the next What the Dickens Magazine. Not a whiff of Cornwall here, but plenty of what one might call the paranormal. I loved its examination of what happens when an ordinary family (is there such a thing? maybe not, but this one is compellingly real)  finds itself facing the possibility that the daughter/sister, missing for 20 years, has actually been “away with the fairies”. I believe there’s a Q&A session going on soon with Graham Joyce for anyone who knows his work. I’ll certainly be looking out for more of it.

Truth Games coverAnd finally, with so many books at the moment set in the eighties, I’ve decided it’s time for some seventies nostalgia.  Truth Games by Bobbie Darbyshire, now available as an e-book,  is set “after the hippies and before the yuppies, between the advent of the Pill and the onset of AIDS. … when the newest game in town was sex.”
Down to earth at last?

Dead Wood by Chris Longmuir

Dead Wood coverI’m not really a crime aficionado and read only the occasional detective story, but I met Chris Longmuir at the Love A Happy End event in June and I’ve been looking forward to her prize-winning Dead Wood ever since. Apart from anything else I’ve entered the Dundee Prize and  was keen to see the kind of book that had come out on top! And the book is set In Dundee too, a city I know only slightly, but anywhere north of the border starts with an advantage in my eyes. Would it go anywhere to challenging Rebus’ Edinburgh in the Scottish crime stakes?

I did have some qualms. Chris mentioned that some people find the book particularly dark, but although there are grisly scenes and disturbing glimpses into the mind of the murderer, there was nothing I felt was gratuitously nasty or prompted the revulsion I have occasionally felt with tartan noir, so no worries on that score.

The story centres on Kara, a young Mum who, after a mix-up involving a drugs deal, comes close to being the victim of a serial killer. During all this she has been forced to leave her kids home alone, and as a result they are taken into care. Her primary motivation throughout the book is to get them back, but she does manage to report  the killer’s activities to the local nick where we meet a hard-boiled detective struggling with a disintegrating private life. Sounds familiar? Yes, but this is no Rebus clone, because we also get to know a whole team of liaison officers and social workers dealing with the problems thrown up by Kara’s situation. The author has experience in this field,  making for an authentic picture of police work today, involving as it does case conferences as well as incident rooms.

In the same way, Dundee makes a great backdrop to events: unglamorous, gritty and with just a whiff of the sea, not to mention some outlandish characters, like the hooker who keeps snakes – (so bizarre I’m hoping there’s a real-life equivalent somewhere!)

There is a big cast of characters and an intricate plot. Somewhere in the middle I got a bit lost in the past history of Templeton Woods  but then everything clicked into place and it became clear that  the killer was not just on the loose but (trying not to give too much away!) very close indeed to the investigating team.

The closing chapters keep everything simmering at just the right temperature, and the ending, in terms of Kara’s future, hits just the right note. A great read with all the right ingredients, this will appeal to all crime fans and maybe a few more besides.

Chris writes mainly crime, but if you like historical sagas, her Salt-splashed Cradle  (e-book only) centred on a Victorian fishing community is well worth a look too.

Cotton Clouds

Sometimes the question of what is an indie book needs a closer look. Does it have to be published by the author? What if the author has given it an imprint? What if it’s published by a teeny weeny publisher and has limited distribution? I rather like the definition suggested by the Indie e-book review as one where (put briefly) the author, or an enterprise in which the author has a stake,  retains  rights in the work.  That sounds independent enough to me.

Playing on Cotton CloudsNow I don’t know the set-up with Crooked Cat .  They may retain all rights, they may not, but I don’t restrict myself to indie books and having read a few of their novels (which cover a huge variety of styles and genres) by far and away my favourite is fellow Ether author Michela O’Brien’s Kissing the Cotton Clouds, now reissued as Playing on Cotton Clouds. If there’s a tendency these days for novels to focus on a single character (often using first person narratives) and over a relatively short period, this book bucks the trend by following a group of teenagers from the end of school through to middle age.  There’s no riveting premise or crazy m.c. to drive things along, which I can see makes it a more difficult proposition to package and to pitch and I admit I was a bit doubtful on first approach.   A sex scene is a predictable start but it’s well-written and makes a good introduction to Aidan who’s already sleeping with a girl ‘from the grown-up world’. Then we meet the vying Grimes sisters  and finally Seth, a quiet boy who struggles to keep up socially and sexually with the rest of the gang. It’s a lot to take in in a few pages, but as soon as the gang meets up on the local bridge, I find myself not so much in the eighties (a decade which largely passed me by) as in the world of adolescence, that time when the boy/girl you fancy something rotten is oblivious to your existence because he/she is just as completely obsessed with someone else. This to me is a truth as universal as that whole man-fortune-wife scenario and one that doesn’t always recede with age! Then came this passage:

‘The bridge had waited for them all evening. It knew they would come…
[it] would welcome each one of them, with their sweet dreams and dark secrets, their hopes and their fears, their heartaches and triumphs, their handful of years and their unshaped future’.

Hmm, should that have been ‘futures’? No matter -  I just liked it. And I grew to like it more and more as the group travels through the years, more apart than together, but never quite escaping those old rivalries and jealousies, never totally casting off the friendships.  As they grow older they remain sympathetic but also retain their innate flaws. We despair of those mistakes we know we have made ourselves, the eternal ‘what-ifs’ of life and love.

The pace is unhurried and for a while I thought this was going to be more a collection of linked stories than a conventionally structured novel, but actually I was wrong.  The whole thing is skilfully drawn together in a perfect conclusion.

In many ways (setting, period,  jumps in time, even the character of Livy) this novel recalls the much-hyped One Day. But I think Michela O’Brien has pulled off a richer and more complex story (without resorting to a gimmick) and with a much more satisfying ending.

Eighties refusenik that I am, I still don’t particularly take to the  cotton clouds  (played on or kissed) of the title, but I hope this book gets as wide an audience as it deserves. For that to happen (take note Crooked Cat, take note a.n. other?) I suspect it really needs to be in print.

I hope some of you will take a look and see if you agree.

An Invisible Sign of My Own: compelling literary fiction – and a real book

Invisible Sign of My OwnI have only  ever read one short story by Aimee Bender and sadly didn’t like it (not so much the writing as the subject matter, not that I can even remember now what it was) but when an email arrived offering a review copy of an Invisible Sign of my Own, curiosity got the better of me. This isn’t unusual, but the book certainly is, because that curiosity stayed with me from beginning to end, something that marks this out as a bit of a masterpiece.

It was possibly a difficult week for me to  tackle a book that deals with difficult subjects: – you know the ones I mean: illness, bereavement, loneliness, but then I didn’t quite know what I was letting myself in for. The narrator Mona Gray has come up against all of these early on in her life. By the time she is twenty a neighbour’s baby has died and been left behind by its family, her father who inspired her on the running track has fallen prey to some debilitating illness that is too awful to be talked about, and her favourite maths teacher has deserted her just when she thought they would be soul-mates. She continues to find solace in the immutability of numbers, but when she is asked to teaching math(s) in a primary school, death still rears its ugly head in the shape of Lisa Venus, an eight-year-old struggling to deal with her mother’s terminal cancer.

But if death is the subtext, there’s plenty more going on in this beautifully crafted story and as a writer I’m reminded just how much plotting is actually contained in what will be remembered as an elegant and literary novel. Mona fancies the science teacher something rotten but a fear of intimacy makes her eat soap rather than have sex. The hardware store is a harmless interest, but buying an axe that looks like the number 7 is an odd way to celebrate a birthday. Then there are the mysterious numbers littering the neighbourhood, dropped there accidentally, or harbingers of more awful things to come?

I hope my description doesn’t make this sound like a dark and joyless book. If so,  I’m not doing it justice. Even though we worry about them, Mona and her school-children are great fun to be with and eventually she does work out that if death is inevitable, there is a natural order in the universe that makes it easier to bear.

I shall look out for Aimee Bender’s other novel, The Particular Sadness of Lemon Cake. I’m told it’s as good if not better. But I might approach it with caution, and on a day when I have plenty of emotional resilience to hand.

Finally, I read this as a paperback, and it reminded me of the nuances of typography that add to the distinctive character of a book in a way that the Kindle e-book fails to address.