A Red Herring Without Mustard, by Alan Bradley
Alan Bradley’s Flavia de Luce series, which is on its third volume with Red Herring Without Mustard, continues to delight, intrigue, and enchant in equal measure. Flavia, child genius, poison expert, and consummate aide to the investigations of the local constabulary, has once again involved herself in the nefarious goings-on of the village of Bishop’s Lacey. This time a mysterious gypsy woman has been attacked, but not before she manages to imply that she knows something of Flavia’s mysterious mother. Of course, Flavia is quickly on the spot to do a bit of investigating, not least because, as an apology for (accidentally) lighting the gypsy’s tent on fire, Flavia had invited her to stay on part of her father’s estate. As soon as the crimes begin piling up, the intrepid and inquisitive Flavia is on the move, questioning possible witnesses, conducting (almost certainly) dangerous experiments, and bringing the sort of insight that only Flavia can bring, complete with mental games to make the most of her quick wits and understanding:
I had long ago discovered that when a word or formula refused to come to mind, the best thing for it was to think of something else: tigers, for instance, or oatmeal. Then, when the fugitive word was least expecting it, I would suddenly turn the full blaze of my attention back onto it, catching the culprit in the beam of my mental torch before it could sneak off again into the darkness. “Thought-stalking,” I called the technique, and I was proud of myself for having invented it.
Flavia’s thought-stalking should be the worst fear of any criminals in the area, and she quickly proves herself capable of both helping and hindering the police, depending, of course, on how appreciated she feels at the time. Her relationship with Inspector Hewitt is especially wonderful, combining equal parts competition (on her part) and compassion (on his) to make for one of the more charismatic teams in the detecting business:
How I adored this man! Here we were, the two of us, engaged in a mental game of chess in which both of us knew that one of us was cheating.
Selected Poems, by Anthony Hecht
With some poets it is difficult not to apply knowledge of their personal history to the reading of their poems. In the case of the American poet Anthony Hecht one event seems so central to his work and his world view that it is impossible to ignore. On April 23rd 1945, aged 22, Anthony Hecht was among those who liberated the Flossenbürg concentration camp. What he saw there, and what he learnt later through extensive reading of Holocaust literature, stayed with him for his whole life and was a constant presence in his writing. Though not explicitly mentioned in his first collection, A Summoning of Stones, there is even here an elegiac tone filled with regret: “Susan, it had been once / My hope to see this place with you”.
However, Hecht is not an autobiographical poet and his personal experience at Flossenbürg itself is confronted directly only once, in the poem ‘Rites and Ceremonies’ from his second collection The Hard Hours. In this four-part poem Hecht places his own experience alongside other events from history, presenting a continuity which in no way diminishes the horror of the holocaust but allows the author to warn us against the complacency of viewing it as an aberrant one-off. A similar approach is used in the poem ‘Sacrifice’ where the Biblical story of Abraham and Isaac is juxtaposed with the consequences of French family in World War II defying a German soldier’s demand for a bicycle Read more
Pigeon English, by Stephen Kelman
At the back of Stephen Kelman’s debut Pigeon English is a reading list, a set of thematic questions and a Q & A with the author, packaged as the novel’s reading guide. The list includes stories that brought into the world memorable voices from a young perspective: Salinger’s The Catcher in the Rye and the more recent Booker Prize winning Vernon God Little by DBC Pierre. And while Kelman has created a charming and idiosyncratic voice with his 11-year-old protagonist Harrison Opoku, Pigeon English isn’t in the same league as the aforementioned coming-of-age heavyweights.
The book tells the story of Harri, a boy who has recently moved from Ghana to London with his mother and elder sister. They live in one of the city’s deprived urban pockets among every single multicultural nightmare ever conceived by the tabloid press. Following the death of a local lad in a knife attack, Harri and his pal Dean, form a detective partnership to hunt down and bring the killer to justice. All they want for their services is a grand, which they intend to spend on bikes and video games.
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The Dead Hand, by David E. Hoffman
As Japan faces the most serious nuclear incident that the world has seen since Chernobyl, prompting a global re-evaluation of the safety of otherwise of nuclear power. it seems somehow fitting that David E. Hoffman’s Pulitzer Prize-winning book The Dead Hand is here to remind us of a time when not just nuclear power but nuclear weapons were completely out of control, and the threat of Armageddon was a very real and tangible prospect, with the USA and the Soviet Union pointing enough nuclear warheads at one another to unleash the equivalent of tens of thousands of Hiroshimas. Hoffman is interested in the thinking behind the arms race, the gradual move towards talks on disarmament, the issue of command and control over nuclear weapons and the fate of the nuclear arsenals of the Soviet Union after its rapid disintegration.
After the detente and arms limitation talks of the 1970s, the Reagan presidency was initially defined by Reagan’s characterisation of the Soviet Union as an ‘Evil Empire’, seemingly making it impossible for meaningful conversations between the two sides. Yet beneath the bluster, Reagan dreamed of eliminating nuclear weapons completely – and once he had a Soviet counterpart with whom he felt he could do business, Gorbachev, the two men made considerable strides, for the own reasons, in moving their countries towards a position where disarmament became worthy of consideration. Reagan’s determination to develop the Strategic Defence Initiative (‘Star Wars’) meant that these moves did not bear fruit until after he had left office, but Hoffman leaves us in no doubt where the credit belongs.
The Wise Man’s Fear (Kingkiller Chronicle 2), by Patrick Rothfuss
The long-awaited sequel to Patrick Rothfuss’ debut novel The Name of the Wind is here – and it’s a monster. Weighing in at 994 pages of reasonably close-set type, it’s the kind of book that strengthens your arm muscles as you’re reading. Authors who publish books of such monstrous size have to work extra hard to justify their readers’ investment of time and money – and the good news is that the work that Rothfuss has put in to this book, and the time he has taken over it, have paid off handsomely.
The Wise Man’s Fear continues the tale of the legendary mage and adventurer Kvothe, as recounted to the unnamed historian known only as Chronicler by the now middle-aged Kvothe himself, living in obscurity as an innkeeper called Kote. It tells the story of Kvothe’s continuing education as a student of the arcane at the University, where his propensity for getting in trouble is well known; it describes his adventures in search of a patron who can support him as a musician, and his experiences hunting bandits as the leader of a group of mercenaries; his discovery of the fairer sex (despite his skills and wits, he’s only sixteen at the start of this book), and his acquisition of martial abilities at the hands of the Ademre people. In short, it charts the further development of his legend as a scholar, fighter, lover and adventurer.
New York – A Novel, by Edward Rutherfurd
So a different location but the same old Rutherfurd, working his magic and weaving together fictional dynasties from across centuries of history. That said, this is the magic of Rutherfurd. No one else can match his style and ability – New York is a big enough subject for him to pick and choose the best stories. If not gripping this is a fair read which entertains throughout and keeps you coming back for more.
The large volume requires a lot of history to be cut out or glossed over – how could it be otherwise – but the big stories are here, from 9.11 through to the War of Independence to the Civil War and the very start of the Dutch trading post, eventually be renamed New York. For me the interesting times were when New York was a no go area in the early 80’s, with gangs, graffiti and new music one of the many creative outputs. This was brushed under the carpet a little quickly, but then the book has to end somewhere.
The Bride Stripped Bare, by Anonymous
You were recommended this book because unusually it is written in the second person, which is rare these days though you didn’t even know it was possible. You were interested to read it – not only was it interesting conceptually – but also, you knew the book to be about a house wife’s sexual awakening. You quietly hoped it would be a touch erotic; a guilty pleasure, something you might blush at while reading on the bus to work.
She was a good wife, but finding out on the honeymoon her partner has been cheating with her best friend, she spends the following months coming to terms with the betrayal and trying to find a way to reconcile her broken marriage. At first she is resolutely faithful, only letting her mind fantasise, but in time her fantasies become reality, and she finds solace and healing in other partners that are liberating and satisfying without being complicated. She opens the door to filthy sex she’s only ever dreamed of, and in doing so finds that healing can come from the unlikeliest of places.
You would not have believed it was possible to write over half a book about raunchy sex and leave a reader completely cold.
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Conquest, by Stewart Binns
At first glance Conquest has the potential to be a fascinating piece of historical fiction. Hereward of Bourne, the main protagonist, is a genuine historical figure whose impact on English history has been sadly overlooked, a figure that fought against the Norman invaders even after the death of the King, a symbol of resolve that represented the hopes and aspirations of Saxon England.
Unfortunately Binns does not do justice to the character. Indeed one of the central concepts of historical fiction, as demonstrated by the likes Cornwell, Iggulden, Riches and Hume, is that of character development, and the contextualising of the dramatis personae to create a believable background upon which to build; taking us step by step through a character-arc to live to the story, and embrace all they become.
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A Tiny Bit Marvellous, by Dawn French
Meet Mo, a woman who lives the same routine day after day, year after year, and swears she could drive to work blind folded…
Following the success of her memoir Dear Fatty, Dawn French’s debut novel A Tiny Bit Marvellous was bound to be a bestseller. Dawn French is a likeable, popular celebrity who draws the interest of a wide audience; from hard core fans to those who are mildly curious. All readers will probably expect something light hearted and funny, easy to read, depreciating and thoughtful, as would be expected from the star of The Vicar of Dibley and French and Saunders. Readers will not be disappointed, this is the perfect novel for occassional readers of best sellers and other lightweight fiction. It is also packaged beautifully in hard back with no dust jacket, making it the perfect gift.
The novel is prodominately driven by character, as French builds a parody of a typical middle class English family and their lives. It is all very 2.4 children, echoing My Family, pantomine and other comedy influences. Each chapter is narrated by an individual family member as an extract from their diary. The aptly named Battle family are a family at war, a family of misunderstood, isolated individuals all trying to live the charade of lower middle class life. There is Mo, the mumsy, menopausal, middle aged mother. Mo is a child psychotherapist, and therefore, belives she is the best person to understand her own children, Dora and Peter. Dora is the back-combed bleach blonde, tangoed skin daughter who strives to fit in amongst her peers. The younger son Peter is in a perpetual existential eighteenth century crisis, an Oscar Wilde obsessive, an eloquent, eccentric outcast. Then there’s the dad- the normal, quiet one, who keeps out of the way. They also have a dog called Poo.
Proust Was a Neuroscientist, by Jonah Lehrer
Proust Was a Neuroscientist is a slim book with a weighty aim. Though Jonah Lehrer, its fresh-faced author, writes with the snappy accessibility of a science journalist, he has a serious revelation to make: far from being the contrasting academic vocations of popular stereotype, art and science are merely parallel roads leading to the same truth. Indeed, Lehrer argues that when it comes to working out the mechanisms of the human mind, art has repeatedly pipped science to the post. The ‘truths’ about the human mind later eureka’d upon by neuroscientists were first articulated in the works of great artists like Marcel Proust, Walt Whitman and George Eliot.
Proust Was a Neuroscientist consists of eight essays, each elucidating an angle of psychological investigation in the work of a great artist – four literary, one musical, one visual and one culinary – and relating it to a subsequent discovery in neuroscience that has, according to Lehrer, since ratified their intuition. Marcel Proust investigated (or in Lehrer’s slightly over-egged words ‘discovered’) the fallibility of memory before Kandel and Si theorised the function of prions. Paul Cezanne’s post-impressionist paintings prophetically portrayed the world as, we have now discovered, it appears before the optical cortex assimilates it into a coherent picture. Igor Stravinsky’s The Rite of Spring intuited that dissonance and harmony are states of mind before science knew that the cortifugal network adapts to impose a hierarchy based on the sounds to which it is accustomed.
Apostle Rising, by Richard Godwin
Apostle Rising is the debut novel from London playwright and short fiction writer Richard Godwin. Godwin has been a prolific contributor to numerous online publications, notably A Twist of Noir and Pulp Metal, and those familiar with his work will justifiably have high hopes for Apostle Rising.
The novel centres on the troubled DCI Frank Castle and his partner, DI Jacki Stone, as they investigate the crimes of two serial killers working in parallel. One of these killers is a copycat, recreating a series of murders that defeated Castle nearly thirty years ago, saw him pilloried in the press and that he has been dangerously obsessed with ever since. Read more
White Egrets, by Derek Walcott
There is a common view that winning the Nobel Prize is a mixed blessing for a writer. It is one of the highest recognitions they can be accorded, but it all too often signals the end of the greatest period of creativity. Since winning the Nobel in 1992 Derek Walcott has gone on to produce four collections. His previous, The Prodigal, contained a morbid prophecy, with the author telling himself it might be “your last book”. Thankfully White Egrets, released in hardback last year and now available in paperback, has proved him wrong, and shows without doubt that Walcott has escaped the curse of the Nobel.
Written exclusively in a loose iambic pentameter line resembling at times late Shakespeare, White Egrets is a highly unified collection. The poems, many untitled, exhibit a similarity of form that makes them resemble short chapters in a verse novel: the longest of them are around 20 lines, the shortest around 10, there are no stanzas, and the rhyme scheme throughout is roughly an alternating ‘abab’, with Walcott willing to leave words unrhymed, or rhymed at some distance, if it suits him. Like a master musician, his mastery of the rules means he know exactly when to break them.
The Afterparty, by Leo Benedictus
You’re invited to attend a very exclusive party. Friday, 1st April 2005. Cuzco, a private Soho club. Canapes, cocktails and coke are a given, but please also be prepared for infidelity, violence and betrayal. Elton John’s over there, sipping a fruit juice, holding forth. Gordon Ramsay’s in a booth, voice loud and language blue. Somewhere, Mike Skinner from The Streets is rallying against the state of the music industry in the UK. But the only people you’re concerned about are the quartet at the centre of this story about one fateful night: filmstar Hugo, journalist Michael, X-Factor reject Calvin and supermodel Mellody. Be honest. They’re the real reason you’re here. Read more
Karen Maitland
Karen Maitland travelled and worked in many parts of the United Kingdom before finally settling in the beautiful medieval city of Lincoln. She is the author of The White Room, which won an Author’s Club Best First Novel Award, Company of Liars and The Owl Killers, which were both published to outstanding critical acclaim.
We caught up with her to ask her about her writing life.
The Beauty Chorus, by Kate Lord Brown
As someone with a passion for feminism, a career in aviation, and a keen interest in the history of the Second World War, I was beyond excited to hear about the forthcoming release of Kate Lord Brown’s debut novel The Beauty Chorus. In my enthusiasm to obtain a copy as quickly as possible, I was acutely aware that this book, which sounded so perfectly tailored to my tastes, was going to have a tough challenge to measure up to my unavoidable hopes and expectations.
Twenty-year-old Evie Chase is the central character, who, in 1941, discards a life of privilege to join the Air Transport Auxiliary Unit (ATA) to do her bit for the war effort. She carries out the dangerous work of ferrying aircraft around Britain – alone, without instruments or radio contact, and even sometimes under fire. Along with two other new recruits, Stella and Megan, Evie moves into a tiny rural cottage in Kent and has to get used to a very different way of life very quickly.
Many books and history lessons of the Second World War focus on those who were in combat. There is no doubt that the bravery of these people was incredible, and their stories should never be forgotten. Many of us have heard first hand recollections from parents and grandparents, which are fascinatingly unique to every person. Something that I had never heard about, however, was the ATA. By skilfully weaving Amy Johnson, arguably the most significant woman in the history of aviation, into the book, Kate Lord Brown found a bridge between reality and historical fiction. The result is believable and compelling, and is the story of much more than just Evie’s daily tasks while in the ATA; we learn about more complex and sinister themes surrounding life at that time, from Nazi sympathising to hateful misogyny.
Time and energy is spent introducing and delving into the lives of the main characters (Evie in particular). Stella is a stoic mother concealing painful secrets, while it is impossible not to love sweet and innocent teenage Megan. Each of the three leading ladies has her own personality and each brings her own fascinating layer to the book. As well as our heroines, there are some extremely unpleasant (though very well written) characters, such as Virginia, Olivia, and Teddy. Several love interests manage to pull at the heartstrings of the three women, and the exploration of romance in a war-torn environment is thoroughly enjoyable.
It is no surprise to learn that the tragedy of wartime death is addressed in The Beauty Chorus, and I challenge anyone to not be genuinely moved by the untimely loss of one of the leading characters. (Keep a box of tissues at the ready.) Opposingly, there are a few witty one-liners that offer laugh-out-loud moments, and there is much referening to the very British desire for a good cup of tea. These varied sources of pain and amusement make this book very well rounded and well balanced.
While reading The Beauty Chorus, the author’s research for this book feels deep, genuine, and sympathetic. Although it is a work of fiction, it is easy to understand that there really were people whose lives were like that of the characters. I cannot help but think that The Beauty Chorus could well become adapted into a film, and has the potential to be fascinating in that format as well.
Thinking back to the high hopes that I had for this book, it is not exactly what I expected (though now that I have read it I cannot remember exactly what it was that I did expect). What I do know is that I am not disapointed, and my interest in learning more about the ATA and the role of women in the Second World War has deepened. Kate Lord Brown has written an exciting book that is insightful, evocative, and absorbing, and The Beauty Chorus is now a prominent and proud addition to my beloved bookcase.
The Canal, by Lee Rourke
Beginning with its lugubrious epigraph by Heidegger “We are suspended in dread” and a Prologue introducing themes of boredom and nothingness, then continuing with the recurrent scenario of an introspective narrator brooding on life’s emptiness while sitting on a bench, The Canal initially feels like stepping back into an existentialist novel from mid-last century such as Sartre’s Nausea, in which a self-absorbed protagonist confronts the vacuity of existence and – yes - spends lengthy periods brooding on life’s emptiness. It might all sound rather adolescent (indeed it’s only during adolescence that most people read and appreciate Sartre and Camus nowadays) but Rourke’s recontextualising of these familiar materials within the context of an identifiable contemporary London – the scummy hinterland of the Regents Canal towpath, complete with feral chavs and bag-ladies – seems a promising twist, a post-modern retro-absurdism appropriate to the increasingly absurd, post-everything reality we find ourselves in today.
There’s also something engaging going on in the form of The Canal, which is built around the repetition and modulation of situations and motifs rather than linear plot-development or character-lead momentum. This both effectively reinforces the thematic focus on boredom and inaction and once again harps back to antecedents outside the British realist tradition: in this case to the roman nouveau of Alain Robbe-Grillet, whose dream-like narratives forego both character-psychology and story in favour of zoomed-in detailing of objects and locales.
Vampires, angels, witches and demons – win a fantastic bundle of paranormal romance titles [closed]
If you like all things supernatural, we’ve got the perfect prize for you. One lucky winner will receive:
- A Discovery of Witches, by Deborah Harkess (read an interview with the author and read a review) (Headline)
- The Bride That Time Forgot, by Paul Magrs (Headline Review)
- Ominous, by Kate Brian (Simon & Schuster)
- Darkest Mercy, by Melissa Marr (HarperCollins)
- Evercrossed, by Elizabeth Chandler (Simon Pulse)
- Fever, by Amy Meredith (Red Fox)
- Buffy the Vampire Slayer Anthology 3, which brings together three Buffy novels (Simon Pulse)
More vampires that you can drive a stake through in that little lot, we reckon!
At Home: A short history of private life, by Bill Bryson
At Home is a fascinating study of one house – in particular Bill Bryson’s house.
The book is laid out much like the house – a vicarage built in that busy year of the Great Exhibition. He takes us on a journey through all the rooms, tells us how they have evolved from the original plans. Of course this is Bryson, so the room is merely a starting point for his meanderings. The bathroom is mostly about germs and our history with little critters. We encounter all sorts of things, making the book a little like a miscellany of wondrous facts. The part about stairs I found, strangely, particularly interesting (All stairs are a compromise apparently – ideally we would have steep stairs for up and shallow wide stairs for that dangerous task of walking down).
A Hundred Doors, by Michael Longley
The title of this new collection of poetry by Michael Longley ostensibly refers to a Byzantine church on the Greek island of Paros, visited by the poet in a piece of the same name. However, as with his poems the title means far more than simply the subject at hand. Memory features heavily in this book and the ‘Hundred Doors’ can be seen as both Longley’s poems themselves, and the recollection on which he drew in the writing on them. In a work by a poet who is now in old age it is sad but inevitable that as well as memory, death will become an unavoidable subject. Longley does not shy away from it, approaching it, both in elegies for his friends and acknowledgments of his own mortality, with a quiet dignity. Read more
The History of Love, by Nicole Krauss
The title suggests some cloying, sentimental tale, but this will require a little more concentration than some vacuous chick-lit. The History of Love describes a complicated tale that spans generations, countries and cultures – from war-torn Poland to modern America.
Leo Gursky is a strange man, an anti-social anti-hero. Rendered too infirm to work after a heart attack, he lives out his remaining days reminiscing about his first and only love, and pining for their son brought up in the marriage of another. His life is devoid of anything except one last friend, and he fills his days going places and doing things in order to be remembered, by strangers, by anyone.
Fourteen year old Alma documents her world and life in clear facts and statements in an effort to make sense of her father’s death, and her mother’s enduring sadness. She wants to find the antidote, and when her mother is asked to translate the book whose main character Alma was named after, she believes she may have found the answer in the enigmatic enquirer.
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