Richard Hopton reviews recently published works by writers from across the globe… Welcome to The Reading List.
This month’s favourites are by authors who are appearing at
Hay Festival this month. The Reading List
This is your monthly list of the newest books to curl up with, whether by the fire in winter or on the beach come summer. Richard Hopton’s done the hard work for you of rifling through each month’s newest releases, bringing you the best reads that will accompany you on many a journey, sleepless night and cosy Sunday…
Why not challenge yourself to read one a week? This month, we recommend
The Killing of Butterfly Joe by Rhidian Brook , Anecdotal Evidence by Wendy Cope , Rosie: Scenes from a Vanished Life by Rose Tremain , Martin Gayford’s Modernists & Mavericks: Bacon, Freud, Hockney & The London Painters and How Britain Really Works by Stig Abell . Check back every month for new recommendations…
READ MORE (literally): The Best Art Books Ever | The Best Books about the Russian Revolution | The Best Literary Festivals of 2018
How Britain Really Works
Stig Abell, former editor of the Sun and now in charge of the Times Literary Supplement, has written a brisk, readable account of how our most important institutions work. He casts his eye over the economy, politics, the NHS, the military, the police, the justice system and the media. His views are left-leaning – tellingly, he defends political correctness despite the fact that it ‘limits free expression, and precludes honest debate’ – but in general he favours common sense over ideology. There is a good deal of humour in the book too, much of it squirrelled away in footnotes.
John Murray, £20
Modernists & Mavericks: Bacon, Freud, Hockney & The London Painters
Martin Gayford is The Spectator’s art critic whose latest book is the fruit of three decades of interviews with London’s leading painters. It embraces those mentioned in the title but also Auerbach, Bomberg, Hodgkin, Riley and many others. It offers a comprehensive account of their careers as well as tracing the stylistic development of the various schools between 1945 and 1970. The art historical weight of the book is leavened by anecdote. In the 1950s, for example, someone suggested that Francis Bacon should live in Switzerland to which the great man retorted: ‘All those fucking views’.
Thames & Hudson, £24.95
Rosie: Scenes from a Vanished Life
Rosie is a clear-sighted memoir of the author Rose Tremain’s upbringing. Abandoned by her father at the age of ten and unloved by her selfish, bulimic mother, it was her nanny who provided the love that enabled Rose to survive her emotionally suppressed childhood. This memoir is exquisitely wrought, full of telling details recalled with astonishing freshness despite the passage of time. The book is studded with footnotes explaining how specific incidents from her life surfaced in her novels, an interesting insight into how an author draws on life in writing fiction.
Chatto & Windus, £14.99
Wendy Cope’s new collection is a gentle celebration of life’s joys as she takes stock at the age of 70. She recalls childhood homesickness, ruminates on her father’s volumes of Shakespeare and grins at the memory of watching the 1972 Olympics on TV in a haze of dope. There is much humour, too, as when she. contemplates the notion of an archbishop jogging: ‘There’s no reason at all why he shouldn’t keep fit./It’s commendable. You can’t help sneering a bit.’ Cope’s poems may be deceptively simple, shorn of literary flourish, but they succeed brilliantly.
Faber & Faber, £10.99
The Killing of Butterfly Joe
Llewellyn Jones is a directionless young Welshman who falls in with the Bosco family and sets off across America with them selling butterflies. This rollicking, entertaining road novel is as much about make-believe and truth, loyalty and friendship as about the agonies of cold calling: ‘every sale you attempt contains the possibility of failure, rejection and a kind of death’. The prose is a marathon of brilliantly sustained folksiness and linguistic invention, a riot of erudition, both faux and real. A triumph.
Happiness is a richly variegated and enjoyable novel.
On one level it is about London and the extraordinary variety and contradictions of the city. Aminatta Forna brings to life the polyglot cultures which thrive cheek by jowl in London and takes us into surprising corners of the city, not least the nocturnal world of the urban fox. Both the principal protagonists are sympathetic characters who have become, for different reasons, cut off from their roots. Jean, an American naturalist who studies urban wildlife, is forging a new life in London following her divorce. Attila is a Ghanaian psychiatrist who has spent many years travelling the world, flitting from one disaster zone to another, helping the survivors come to terms with their experiences. He is a citizen of everywhere and nowhere; he feels comfortable in many places but at home in none of them. Both have lived lives in which work has taken priority over family. It cost Jean her marriage and turned Attila’s wife into a grass widow, destined to die alone.
From the moment Attila and Jean bump into each other on Waterloo Bridge, their lives – and those of many other, disparate characters – become ineluctably entwined. Forna, whose novel The Memory of Love won the Commonwealth Writer’s Prize, writes understated, gliding, keenly observed prose. Her description of a care home’s smell as ‘sweet, stale air and nickel taint of medicine’ is perfect.
The novel, as the title suggests, is also about happiness. It is a hymn to the adaptability of the human spirit: many of the characters in the book have made new lives for themselves in London, far from home. This message is mirrored in the way in which foxes and coyotes have adapted so successfully to life in an urban environment. Change, even upheaval, can be a good thing; life is not, and cannot be, composed entirely of the bland and
the harmless. As Attila muses to himself at one point, ‘Was there no human experience that did not merit treatment now?’ Bloomsbury, £16.99
Territory Of Light
(trans. by Geraldine Harcourt)
Yuko Tsushima, who died in 2016, was a much-garlanded Japanese writer whose novel tells the story of a young woman recently separated from her husband and infant daughter. The novel has an allusive, elliptical feel – perhaps the result of the fact that its 12 chapters were published serially over the course of a year in the late 1970s. Set in Tokyo, it charts the young woman’s struggles with the demands of divorce, work and parenthood. Dreams play an important part in the novel, contrasting the young woman’s ‘inner’ life to her everyday, ‘outer’ existence.
Turning For Home
This is Barney Norris’s second novel; his first, Five Rivers Met on a Wooded Plain, won a Betty Trask award. Turning for Home, set over one weekend in a rambling house in the English countryside, is a moving and subtle portrait of Kate, a damaged, vulnerable, anorexic young woman, and her grandfather, Robert. As the weekend progresses and the rest of the family arrive to celebrate his 80th birthday, Kate’s story and Robert’s career in British intelligence in Northern Ireland reveal themselves. This is an entertaining and clever novel about family, love and loyalty.
The Only Story
Julian Barnes’ latest novel is a thoroughly rewarding book – a compassionate, touching and funny account of a lengthy relationship between a young man, Paul, and a much older, married woman. Late in life, Paul reconstructs the story from memory, at the mercy of the tricks, gaps and elisions of time. As the story progresses, the tone darkens as Paul’s youthful optimism evaporates. It is a novel about love, alcoholism, loss, disintegration, memory and the passage of time. A profound book, it compels one to think about one’s own life.
Jonathan Cape, £16.99
The Necessary Angel
Max Jackson is a New Zealander who lives in Paris and lectures at the Sorbonne. The Necessary Angel tells the story of his tangled relationships with three women: his estranged wife, a younger academic colleague and an English student. The novel reaches a climax which is surprising and unusual but apt. It is an enjoyable book, worldly and detached in tone, ruminative and amused, sophisticated without being pretentious. Stead captures the essence of Paris, its certainties and its contradictions, while simultaneously invoking the power of literature to alter and direct lives.
Allen & Unwin, £15.99
This is a story of loss, grief and thwarted opportunity. Set in a run-down quarter of Toronto, it recounts the lives of a family of Trinidadian immigrants, a mother and her two sons. It is a moving tale of the tribulations facing immigrant communities, especially the ever-present racial prejudice, expressed both casually and violently. It has much to say about the shabby way in which western societies treat immigrants but also about the ties of love and duty that bind families, and the sacrifices parents make to better their children.
Alfred Döblin (trans. Michael Hofmann)
Set in Berlin in 1928 and first published in 1929, this flashing kaleidoscope of a novel recounts Franz Biberkopf’s struggles to earn an honest crust following his release from prison. He’s a ducker and a diver, who tries his hand at everything, a Del Boy Trotter reincarnated in the Weimar Republic. It is also a portrait of Berlin, showing the tough, seedy, licentious and impoverished side of the city glamorised by Christopher Isherwood. In Michael Hofmann’s translation the prose is slangy, conversational and unstructured, mimicking the argot of the street, which gives it a vivid immediacy.
Mary Lynn Bracht
White Chrysanthemum is a novel about guilt, love, the brutality of war and the power of the human spirit. Set in 1943, it tells the story of Hana, a teenage girl from Jeju Island off the southernmost tip of Korea, who is abducted by the occupying Japanese and forced to work in a military brothel in Manchuria. They – and there were thousands of them – were known, in a grotesque euphemism, as ‘comfort women’, but their story is little known in the West.
The chapters dealing with Hana’s experiences in the military brothel are the stuff of nightmares: living in squalid conditions, she is repeatedly and brutally raped by numerous Japanese soldiers. The soldiers’ bestial behaviour and the cowed reaction of the women represent the low point of the story, when Hana realises that henceforth perpetual rape is all that life has to offer.
She has nothing to live for. All hope is extinguished. From that moment, the darkness gradually lightens
as a combination of luck, the kindness of others and Hana’s own indomitable spirit begin to roll back the black clouds.
The second strand of the novel tells the story of Hana’s sister Emi as she, in old age, travels from Jeju Island to Seoul in December 2011 to visit her children. Emi has heard nothing of Hana since she was snatched by the Japanese in 1943 and is wracked by guilt. Her sister sacrificed herself so that Emi might survive. Gradually, the story of Emi’s life and the tragic saga of Korea’s post-war history is unwrapped as she searches for some sign of her beloved sister.
Mary Lynn Bracht is an American author of Korean descent; this is her first novel. It is written in calm, unflashy prose; the horror and power of the story needs no literary flourish to engage the reader.
It is an original, shocking novel, contrasting mankind’s capacity for cruelty with the unquenchable strength of the human spirit, even in the most dire of circumstances. Chatto & Windus, £12.99
This spellbinding debut novel is set in Neverness, a primitive, imaginary island community; a pre-industrial society whose citizens live by the rhythms of nature and the superstitions of their forefathers. There is a prelapsarian, Norse, folkloric feel to the book, as if Beowulf were let loose in the Garden of Eden.
Gilbert’s prose is simple, deliberately down to earth: ‘A cured stick for a stirrer. A sturdy one for a sweeper. Brittle sticks for tinder. A green branch to hang the pot. A forked one for ceremony.’ The names, too, have a primitive Old English resonance to them: Ivy Rincepan, Clotha, Madden, Gad, Turpin, Werrity, Shilla, Linnet and Pike. Her prose is also beautiful, describing Neverness’ countryside and fauna with acutely imagined detail, conjuring up a world tinged with magic and a powerful sense of the supernatural. One of the characters, Verlyn Webbe, has a wing where an arm should be; an oddity presented as being perfectly normal.
Magic and fantasy are a serious matter. As a result, for all its charm and imagination, Folk is wholly lacking in humour. It’s as if the author realises that the slightest hint of a joke would prick the illusion, reducing the whole enterprise to the level of a Monty Python spoof of the Vikings or a Blackadder series set among the medieval peasantry.
It’s also debatable whether Folk can properly be considered a novel. It reads more like a collection of short stories and, as the publishing history makes clear, many of the chapters have already been published as separate pieces. ‘Tether’, the concluding story, is an unconvincing attempt to tie the collection together into a novel. The individual stories have characters in common and they share the environment of Neverness, its civilisation and culture. Certainly, the cumulative effect of the stories is to establish Neverness in the reader’s imagination but perhaps this makes it more of a travelogue of the mind than a novel. Bloomsbury, £14.99
The Life To Come
Michelle de Kretser
A rumination on friendship, memory and loss. Set on the fringes of Sydney’s literary and academic world, The Life to Come gently sends up the absurdities of modern life. At one point, a character announces that, ‘My naturopath has me on a caffeine-free protocol’. Likewise the novel is scathing about the pretensions of the literary world: one scene describes a public reading of a ‘cross-genre work narrated by a cell phone’. De Kretser writes with a light descriptive touch; the novel is well observed without being overbearing. A quietly satisfying, enjoyable book.
Allen & Unwin, £16.99
This is the second novel in Tim Pears’ West Deodora trilogy. It tells the story of the wanderings of Leo Sercombe through rural Devon and Cornwall in the years immediately before the First World War. The novel unfolds slowly but its real charm lies in Pears’ beguiling descriptions of the West Deodora as it was a century ago, its primitive, unmechanised farming and ancient landscapes. It is also a treasure trove of long-forgotten country practices and folklore. The counterpoint to Leo’s ramblings are the well-ordered lives of the landed, aristocratic Prideaux family. Bloomsbury, £16.99
The Dreams of Bethany Mellmoth
The author’s latest book contains seven short stories and two longer ones, The Vanishing Game: An Adventure and the title story. At over a hundred pages, this is almost a novella, a study of ambition and the random chances of life. In these stories, Boyd’s characters have lives which are, generally, enviable but which on closer acquaintance are also frayed. There is a sense of slight underachievement, of human frailty. Boyd’s style is engaging, worldy and witty, the collection a treat for enthusiasts of his work and new admirers alike. Viking, £14.99
The Deodora House Library
Libraries can stir long-buried yearnings for the contemplative life. This book, with its stunning photographs of many of Britain’s finest private libraries, adds a dash of old-world style and comfort to the mix. For a moment we can all sit at our own library table surrounded by elegant shelves of leather-bound volumes. Mark Purcell’s book is also a serious contribution to the history of the English country house, filling the gap left by architectural historians who concentrated on the libraries as building and decorative schemes rather than as collections of books. Yale, £45
Rooms with a View: The Secret Life of Grand Hotels
Rooms with a View is a potted history of 50 of the world’s best-known hotels, from London’s Savoy to Delhi’s Imperial via Venice’s Gritti Palace and Marrakech’s La Mamounia. The grand hotel is a 19th-century concept which thrived in the early decades of the 20th and, surviving wars, depressions and the democratisation of travel, now flourishes as never before. Mourby tells the story of each hotel from its foundation alongside anecdotes about its famous guests: Hemingway weaves drunkenly through the book, Burton and Taylor scatter stardust, while Coward and Maugham sparkle and bitch. Icon Books, £12.99
The Secret Life of The Owl
This is a little jewel of a book, a cocktail of mythology and ornithology. The book begins and ends with vivid descriptions of the author’s own co-existence with the tawny owl – Old Brown – on his farm in the Welsh Marches. The book has a poetic quality about it, as if to reflect the mysterious nature of the owl and its nocturnal otherworldliness. Lewis-Stempel takes us through the varieties of owl which live in Britain, and their lifecycles, while pondering the bird’s reputation for wisdom and its longstanding association with death.
Woods: A Celebration
Published to coincide with the 30th anniversary of the Great Storm of October 1987, which blew down 15 million trees in Great Britain, Robert Penn’s new book is sumptuously illustrated and his prose stands up well to the glory of the photographs. He leads the reader season by season through the woodland’s eternal cycle, noting that ‘the continual process of death and renewal is at the heart of our woodland story’. Penn clearly has a deep affinity with woods and wood: he lives in a wooded valley in South Wales and helps out in a local woodland project. His last book, The Man Who Made Things Out of Trees, described the felling of an ash tree and its transformation into
a host of objects from dominoes to kitchen worktops.
Woods is a potpourri of a book, taking in many aspects of the woodland. Penn understands the complex nature of our woodlands, their history and man’s relationship with them: an integral part of our landscape and an essential resource yet also a deeply embedded, mystical element of our national identity. ‘Woodlands,’ he says, echoing folk legends such as Robin Hood, ‘are the province of older beliefs, places of lawlessness and havens for the just.’ He invokes authors as varied as R.L. Stevenson and G.M. Hopkins, Louis MacNeice and Robert Burns to illustrate the hold of the British woodland on our imagination.Nor does the book flinch from the science and ecology of woodlands; for example, Penn explains why leaves change colour in the autumn, how trees grow and criticises what he calls ‘the idiocy of 20th-century forestry policy’. The book explores the rich flora and fauna of our woodlands: the flowers, ferns, fungi, lichens and mosses, as well as the birdlife, mammals, insects, butterflies and beetles. Woods is both a hymn to the beauty of our woodlands and a plea for their proper preservation and management. As Penn says, ‘The desire to appreciate and understand trees is part of what it is to be human.’
National Trust, £20
This author’s first novel charts Willa’s progress through adolescence. The catalyst of Willa’s development is Patrick, the younger, beautifully formed son of Willa’s mother’s boyfriend. Willa’s experience contrasts with that of her glamorous elder sister, Joan. Set on America’s west coast, its air of prosperous conformity has sinister, even debauched, undertones which give the novel a discordant, off-key tone. It is printed without quotation marks, which, according to Robertson’s publisher puts her ‘in the tradition of experimental fiction which follows Stein and Joyce’. To others, it is simply a pointless and pretentious discourtesy to the reader. Bloomsbury, £12.99
Sing, Unburied, Sing
This, Jesmyn Ward’s third novel, is neither easy nor comfortable to read. It has much to say about the poverty, discrimination and lack of opportunity endured by the black underclass in the American Deep South. The inequalities and failings illustrated so glaringly by Hurricane Katrina, more than a decade ago, remain unaddressed. The book is relentlessly grim, depressing and frequently sordid, an apt metaphor for the deprivations visited upon the people represented by its characters. That Leonie, its principal protagonist, should be so selfish and self-indulgent scarcely, in the circumstances, comes as a surprise. Bloomsbury, £18.99
At the End of the Century: The Stories of Ruth Prawer Jhabvala
Ruth Prawer Jhabvala
German-born Ruth Prawer Jhabvala died in 2013 having enjoyed a much-garlanded career, which included two Oscars and a Booker Prize. This collection of short stories was written between 1963 and her death, and are reflective pieces, concerned with their protagonists’ thoughts and inner lives, tranquil rivers rather than babbling brooks. The stories explore the relationship between India and the West, the mentality of the exile and the artistic temperament. Many
of them are spiked with infidelity and sexual eccentricity and all of them are written in easy, frictionless prose that glides elegantly from page to page. Little Brown, £20
This is a tale of loss, rejection and reconciliation set in New York City during the Second World War. It spans several of New York’s worlds: the Navy, the Mob, organised labour and the Upper East Side. The boundaries of these worlds become progressively blurred and overlapped. The sea, tidal rivers and coastal waters around New York are ever-present, inspiring or menacing, at times almost a character in the novel.
This is Jennifer Egan’s first essay in historical fiction – her last novel, A Visit from the Goon Squad, won the 2011 Pulitzer Prize for fiction – but she convincingly recreates the ambience of wartime New York. The novel’s heroine, Anna Kerrigan, is a determined young woman who overcomes rampant prejudice to qualify as a Navy diver, an elite job hitherto the exclusive preserve of men. She also flouts the conventions of the time by having a baby out of wedlock, although, tellingly, she does concoct a respectable cover story to explain its existence.
Egan brings to life the world of the Mob, its hierarchy, its shifting loyalties, its greed, its violence and its venal immorality. Manhattan Beach illustrates, too, the extent of the Mob’s influence on New York life at that time. The novel’s anti-hero, mobster Dexter Styles, displays all the bogus respectability, craven
deference to power and willingness to resort to violence which is so characteristic of organised crime.
The most absorbing parts of the novel are the diving sequences. Egan captures brilliantly the careful, courageous deliberation of the divers and the claustrophobic menace and occasional exhilaration of the dives themselves. Somehow, the underwater scenes draw the reader into the story, tightening their eardrums and making it all that much more real.
The chapters dealing with the voyage and sinking of the Liberty Ship, Elizabeth Seaman, are grippingly exciting, taut with the instinct for self-preservation. Manhattan Beach is a thoroughly enjoyable novel, convincingly detailed, cleverly structured and engagingly written. Corsair, £16.99 start the slideshow
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