2009 in Review: Words

So when I started this blog, I had an idea that it would be about words (books, mostly) and stitches (knitting, mostly). The stitches part worked out, but I rarely write about books. So when I thought about doing a bit of a review of 2009, one of the first things I wanted to talk about was books. I love reading, but I have a terrible memory for what I have read (particularly the name & author - I can remember the content pretty well), so hopefully this will serve as a reminder for me. And maybe suggest some new reads for you.
2009 was the year I really got into using the library. Brilliant. This means it was the first year of my life where I didn't do very much re-reading. Anyway, here are some of my favourite books that I read in 2009:

The Children's Book, A S Byatt: brilliant. Didn't want it to ever finish. A wonderful examination of the artifice that adults impose on children, and of a strange period of time. Includes very interesting discussions about the Arts and Crafts movement.

Outlander, Gil Adamson: Easy to read, great tale with a wonderful sense of place. Beautifully written.

Thousand Acres, Jane Smiley: My number one book of 2009. A re-telling of King Lear, set in modern rural America. She writes beautifully, and there was that great Shakespearean sense of dread as all inevitably collapses. I'm now reading Horse Heaven, another of hers, and while the topic is not something I'm especially interested in, she is a master of words.

Secret River, Kate Grenville: So close for number one - I can't stop thinking about this, even nearly a year on. Haunting, a brilliant portrayal of early Australian life.

Yummy Yucky, Leslie Patricelli: Fun book about all the things that are yummy and yucky. I love it as much as B does :)

Forty Signs of Rain; Fifty Degrees Below; Sixty Days and Counting, Kim Stanley Robinson: Nerdy trilogy about climate change and the impact on our way of life. As usual with KSR, the writing and characterisation are flimsy at times, but the ideas are great. I keep thinking 'why can't we just do that'....full of good, big ideas and a bit of hope.

so there are some of my top picks for 2009. I'd love to hear any of your top books that I could add to the list for 2010!

The Sea, The Sea

Well, despite appearances I have been doing something other than working & playing around in our garden (although they seem to be the two dominant features of my life currently!)

I have been knitting, although fairly tedious pieces that don't warrant much discussion. I have also enjoyed getting to know my Secret Pal a bit better, which has been heaps of fun. I have been trying to give myself a bit of extra care, given recent stressful experiences (read, more baths!). I have been enjoying the sunshine and in particular, drinking Kopparberg Swedish pear cider (only from a giant red wine goblet!) and Aperol wine spritzers with orange slices, my two new favourite spring drinks! I have not been exercising due to sore knees. And I have been reading..

I have just started To The Lighthouse (Virginia Wolf) which I can't believe I have never read, and I have, in line with new years resolutions, bought a lovely old tattered copy of Sholokhov's And Quiet Flows the Don, which I am hoping to take with me on holiday soon. And I have just finished reading Iris Murdoch's The Sea, The Sea (1978).

I bought a Murdoch book (The Bell) last year, and thoroughly enjoyed it. I purchased it in an effort to read some UK fiction whilst here, and it really does have a sense of place. So when I saw The Sea (lets leave it at that from now on) in a charity shop, I snapped it up. Interestingly, it is both strongly resonant of The Bell (1973), and completely different. The Bell has a much more straightforward structure, which highlights the beauty of the prose. The characters are interesting, without being overly 'likeable' - the sense that everyone has faults is clear. In contrast, The Sea has an unusual structure - purportedly a diary but never quite fitting this genre. The prose, again, is beautiful and clear, and there is a more defined sense of human foibles and frailty. The entire story is told from the protagonist's view. It is in this sense that the diary structure rings true - the narrator's self-delusions are excruciatingly clear to the reader. He is a revisionist self-historian in many ways. And yet, I was never truly comfortable with the character. For a first person narrative, the distance between the reader & the protaganist felt too great - I like the idea of a dislikeable narrator, however I still need to have a sense of why I should continue reading. I did continue, and I did like this book. Alot. It is beautifully clever, and a masterpiece of technical writing I am sure. But it just didn't quite capture me. The introduction to this edition, by John Burnside, ends in identifying her body of work as a study on ideals and imperfection. This seems true - in many ways this book is beautiful, and wonderful, and yet it feels....almost like it has reached a level of perfection in one way that has come at the cost of that intangible 'something'. I am now committed to reading more Murdoch - I'll let you know how it goes!

Sadly, the only picture of the sea that I could find without resorting to my archive photos! It is the Med, from a city beach at Barcelona. Not at all the type of sea that Murdoch refers to, but at least a picture to liven up this dreary word-heavy post!

Holiday Book Reviews

Well, a few reads to talk about from the holiday/pre-holiday period.

Right before the holiday I was reading Philip Roth's The Human Stain. Another charity shop buy, I bought it because I had read some Roth many years ago and enjoyed it. Once I started reading it I realised that the film had been made recently (I haven't seen it though - I just recall the ads). In brief, it was ok. I am always a bit ambivalent about Roth - lovely prose, enjoyable reading, but it always feels a bit like he is trying to beat me with his message. It also felt very 'constructed' - I was always aware of the writerliness of the book. But a good read. Also, I quite like the cover design. Powells has a synopsis & some brief reviews.

Next up - Sarah Waters' Dickensian 'Fingersmith' (note: this link gives away the plot, which you probably don't want to know if you are going to read this). This was my holiday read, although it didn't last the whole holiday! Mostly due to delays at the airport I think, but also as it was a good yarn. It is clever, without telling you that it is clever. It is also constructed, but in a 'readerly' rather than a 'writerly' way (I don't know if this makes sense, but thats what I think!). It is not a great novel, but it is good. The prose isn't particularly wonderful, but it is period-focused without being a hinderance to reading. The plot is the gem of the book, and really this is a great story at heart. I won't say more than that, for fear of spoiling things, but it is an ideal holdiay read. The limited cast means you can pick it up and put it down regularly without losing who is who. I reckon if you were visiting London, it would be an ideal travel companion! Simon read most of it, and despite his usual verdict ('needs a good edit' - and I tend to agree in this case), he did like the story aspect. I don't think he has finished it, and he probably won't, but not bad for him. The Guardian review is here, plus the Powells synopsis & brief reviews. You can check out the author's website here.

Finally, the end of our holiday coincided with a cold snap in Europe, and two days of heavy rain. We gave up a bit on the last day in Florence - it was Monday, the galleries were mostly closed, we had walked for days on end, and it was cold & nasty. We found a foreign language bookstore, bought Hemingway's A Farewell to Arms (again, plot giveaway warning here), a bottle of wine, some cheese & hid out in our hotel room for a few hours. Great stuff.

I read a fair bit of Hemingway when I was 16 and 17 years old. I loved it, but I don't think I got it. This is my first Hemingway in years, and a concession to Simon who declares it the only fiction that he rates. In reality, this was bought for him, but I finished my other book, & couldn't find anything I wanted to pay ridiculous prices for, so I got to read it first! This is spectacular. I don't know why I haven't got back into Hemingway earlier - he is everything I love in a writer. The writing is sparse, clear, and you can see that each sentence has purpose. The writing is pared down to the essence. The story is great - there is no great moral, no metaphore, no mucking around, just a story to read if you wish to do so. There is no compromise to the reader - this feels almost voyeuristic, as though you are intruding on the narrator. Amazing. Watch out for the end. I'm not going to add links for reviews & stuff - check it out with a search if you like, there are millions of people having millions of things to say about this book. My suggestion - just read it and decide for yourself.

So, three very different books. I highly recommend the Hemingway, and this has got me back on the boil for his work.

One of my goals for this year was to get started on a longer term goal of reading more Russian literature, particularly more modern russian stuff. I recently re-read Bulgakov's Master & Margarita, and read Heart of a Dog. Even in the educated city I live in, it is hard to get hold of these things or find somewhere to browse a collection, so if anyone has any recommendations, I would love to hear them!

I Loved What I Loved

I recently finished re-reading (for the second time) 'What I Loved' by Siri Hustvedt. This book was a charity shop buy that I think I chose because I knew that Hustvedt was married to Paul Auster, and given that I like Auster, and presumably she does too, I thought this might be an interesting read. I don't know why I think that just because somebody is married to someone whose writing I like would be worth reading, but that is what I thought. And I stand by my random decision. This book is astonishing.

I started reading it with my 'light reading' head on - I think the cover & quotes signal that this book is a less intellectual read than it is. The book itself is also deceptive - this is not a linear narrative in a traditional sense. While time moves linearly, the focus of the novel does not. Characters remain present, even in death, but what is important changes. This novel feels real - it feels like a real life. When people die, it is not at a convenient time. When they love, it is not always at a convenient time. Children are not perfect. Friends are not always there. Happy endings are for other books.

The novel tackles some extraordinary creative issues, to do with art, poetry, writing, and creativity. Hustvedt's descriptions of the visual art are particularly evocative - I feel that I would like to seek out the main character's exhibitions. But I think the most interesting part of this novel is one of the most extraordinary, accurate and heart-wrending descriptions of a personality disorder. Hustvedt cleverly, without appearing to be 'terribly clever' allows one of her characters to discuss and dissect the role of personality and disorders of personality throughout recent psychopathological history. The associations are not always intuitive, and I would disagree with some, but they are definatley interesting and provide a fantastic counterpoint to the general pathologising of the normal spectrum of personality that is currently in vogue in the United States. The character of Mark is one of the best examples of personality disorder that I know in fictionalised literature; without exaggeration, without fantasising, without sensationalising the disorder, Hustvedt allows us to experience the pain, frustration and hopelessness of working or living with people with severe personality disorders.

This book is a fantastic read for many reasons - if you like subtly intellectual books, if you are interested in art, if you are interested in psychopathology and culture, if you enjoy beautifully written contemporary fiction, if you are sick of reading about lives that are too neat and work out too easily. This is one of the best books about love that I have ever read. Basically, I would recommend it to almost anyone. Just make sure you have your tissues with you at all times.

For more reviews, try The Observer, the New York Times, or the Guardian. Or this one, which is less glowing.

Baudolino

Well, I have had a bit of a reading binge in the last few weeks. I finished John Berendt's 'The City of Falling Angels' the other week, which was interesting. Not interesting in terms of content - although probably made more interesting by the fact that we are off to Venice in a few weeks, but interesting in terms of how it reads.

Basically, it is a journal-style view of Venice, documenting a period of time when Berendt was living there. But it feels like a cheap, gossipy view. It is very 'high life' - these are not people you are ever going to meet, nor are you likely to see many of the buildings (at least from the inside). Probably this is just a personal dislike of style thing - nothing actually wrong with teh book, but I would have preferred more about Venice & its history and less of the bitchy gossip of who did what to whom.

Then I had two days without a new book! Gasp! I read some journal articles instead, which I guess is probably good.

Then after a quick trip to the local second-hand book shop, got my hands on a copy of Umberto Eco's 'Baudolino'. I had bought a hard-cover copy of this for my mum a few years ago, as she really liked Name of the Rose (like me), but never got round to reading it. I am glad in a way that I waited as this was a great book to wallow in and take time over. It is much more 'readable' than NotR, with notably fewer sections in languages other than English! There is also a lovely aspect of the 'newness' of English. Even better, however, was reading this having previously read Mandeville's Travels (also known as the Travels of Sir John Mandeville) . I would say that if you are going to read Baudolino, read Mandeville near to it (before, during, after - shouldn't matter much), it really gave alot of it a more honest resonance. I think it would be pretty easy to label much of the book as odd or fantastic, without the knowledge that people were told and believed much of it in the 1300's. According to Wikipedia, Christopher COlumbus had a copy of Mandeville's Travels on his boat as a reference book! The book is like the original Lonely Planet for travellers to the east, except it was even less factual than good old LP (think unicorns, men with only one foot that they hop on and use as an umbrella, phoenixs, anthropophagi (men with no heads but mouths on their stomachs) and all sorts of wonderful stuff (there are some prints at this museum of hoaxes site). A must read in itself, but irresistable when read with Baudolino. Highly, highly recommended, this book rocks. Eco at some of his most accessible and fun!

For more info & reviews see Wikipedia , Powells , and Reviews of Books.

Unfortunately, finishing this once again leaves me bookless. Time for some re-reading I think.

Blood Meridian

Well, after several library fines I have been sufficiently chastened by various folk, & have decided to do some re-reading of my own library for a bit until I can learn to be a bit more responsible. Also, it has been about a year since I read any Cormac McCarthy. So I have gone back to Blood Meridian, which is the first McCarthy that I read. I find that with his novels I have very strong image-based memories of them, so there will be two or three clear visual images associated with each book, but the more detailed, textual aspects tend to be not so memorable for me. This isn't unusual for me, and is why I tend to re-read alot, because I often find I don't remember the text all that well. However, I feel like I know these books, without factually knowing them, if that makes sense. Anyway, I am really enjoying it. His prose is slightly different and less extended here than in the Border trilogy, I think, although less direct than No Country for Old Men, which feels very different again. But you can't escape the visual clarity of his prose - I understand why people want to make films of these books, but I have no idea how you could capture even one sentence-worth of complexity in two hours of cinema. Try this as an opening paragraph:
"See the child. He is pale and thin, he wears a thin and ragged linen shirt. He stokes the scullery fire. Outside lie dark turned fields with rags of snow and darker woods beyond that harbour yet a few last wolves. His folk are known for hewers of wood and drawers of water but in truth his father has been a schoolmaster. He lies in drink, he quotes from poets whose names are now lost. The boy crouches by the fire and watches him" (p. 1).
McCarthy, Cormac. Blood Meridian or the evening redness in the west. Picador, 1989.

Perfect.
Anyway, McCarthy is slow going, and requires a sturdy mood, so I will probably end up blogging this book again before I am done, but I can't recommend this writer enough.
If you are interested, there is more stuff here at salon.com, here at the New Yorker and here at Amazon. Go crazy.