TIGER’S CLAWS TOO BLUNT FOR SOME

This month we discussed TIGERS IN RED WEATHER by Liza Klaussmann
The Amazon description reads: ’Nick and her cousin Helena have grown up together, sharing long hot summers at Tiger House. With husbands and children of their own, they keep returning. But against a background of parties, cocktails, moonlight and jazz, how long can perfection last? There is always the summer that changes everything.’
This best-seller set in Martha’s Vineyard, and covering the two decades after the end of World War II, has received rapturous reviews but the Berwick Book Group members are a hard bunch to please. There was a distinct tone of ‘meh’ in the feedback from the majority.
Martin was the most anti- , writing: ‘yet again a book which fails to raise a scintilla of interest. I couldn’t even skim read as by using a man’s name for the woman I kept tripping over it. Having finally become aware that Nick was female I found her a total waste of space and consigned the book to the scrap heap. I tried looking deeper into the book to see if anything happened. If it did I never noticed. Execrable. Merde. Rubbish.’
Jill felt that there was too much of the ‘soap opera’ about it, and Helen, who did not finish the book, thought that far too little happened.
Paula and Glynis both found it a more enjoyable read – Paula particularly liked the descriptive style and the examination of how a whole class would rally round to protect one of its own – but they both felt that the ending was ‘over-the-top’ and not in keeping with the tone of the rest of the book
I also enjoyed the book. I liked the writing, which was full of nuance and sub-text and currents moving beneath the surface. The characters were each distinct and complex and the sensual detail of the descriptive passages was beautifully done. I wondered why the author had opened with Nick in her time away from the hub of the plot, Martha’s Vineyard. This was a risky strategy, which lost some of our group. However, I enjoyed the five different narrators, and the way their views of the other protagonists influenced my own feelings. I agreed with Paula and Glynis about the ending – it was a false note on which to end a compelling narrative.

Next month, in June, we will be discussing ‘The Sense of an Ending’ by Julian Barnes. Meanwhile, here are some other reading recommendations from the group:
Hilary Mantel’s ‘Beyond Black’.
‘Play it Again’ by Alan Rusbridger.
Any of the crime fiction novels of Alexander McCall Smith, Andrew Taylor or Susan Hill
Kathy Reich’s novel for young adults, ‘Virals’.
‘The Life of Pi’ by Yann Martel
Chris Beckett’s prize-winning ‘Dark Eden’
‘The English Patient’ by Michael Ondaatje

Ann Coburn

‘Gone Girl’ by Gillian Flynn

Amazon describes our April book as a ‘taut thriller’ and continues: ‘What are you thinking, Amy?’ The question I’ve asked most often during our marriage, if not out loud, if not to the person who could answer. I suppose these questions stormcloud over every marriage: ‘What are you thinking? How are you feeling? Who are you? What have we done to each other? What will we do?’ Just how well can you ever know the person you love? This is the question that Nick Dunne must ask himself on the morning of his fifth wedding anniversary when his wife Amy suddenly disappears. The police immediately suspect Nick. Amy’s friends reveal that she was afraid of him, that she kept secrets from him. He swears it isn’t true. A police examination of his computer shows strange searches. He says they aren’t his. And then there are the persistent calls on his mobile phone. So what really did happen to Nick’s beautiful wife? And what was in that half-wrapped box left so casually on their marital bed? In this novel, marriage truly is the art of war…’

 

After finding ourselves in complete agreement last month, the members of Berwick book group were back on familiar ground this month.  Some of us, Martin for instance, were not at all ‘gone’ on Gone Girl. He writes:

‘Oh Dear, another disappointment. Is it me? I loved my journey with Harold Fry, but these people, Nick and Amy? I realy struggled to care what was happening to them but they were so shallow, their lives and values so alien I couldn’t be bothered so after about page 70 (I told you I tried) I skipped to the end to find Amy frames Nick for her non-murder, then unframes him. It is so daft I’m inventing words to describe it. Nick and Amy would fit right in with the crew from January’s book about the City. I found the clues to her treasure hunts particularly annoying and impenetrable, her habbit of emphasising things 3 times annoying and I resented having to put off Jennifer Worth’s sequel to “Call the Midwife” which I enjoyed hugely both as a book and a TV show. I love reading but not stuff like Gone Girl.’

 

Barbara, on the other hand, gave it a thumbs-up.

‘Given the genre, I didn’t expect or demand anything deep or meaningful from Gone Girl and I think it is unfair for readers to place either literary or moral expectations upon this kind of novel. I think, when a novel has had a great deal of hype, some readers are determined to take against it, however unreasonable their stance.  I thoroughly enjoyed the read and very much admired the expertise of the author. I found the characters convincingly written, particularly Amy, and the plot was compelling. I loved the way the author played with the reader throughout the first half, leading them up a very wrong path, and I thought the twist at that point was breathtaking.  After that, I continued to admire it although my only criticism is that the ending was, for me, a twist too far and stretched credibility somewhat.  Some readers seemed to think Flynn should have written an entirely different book, but I was more than happy with this one and in fact I have already started to read another by this author.’    

Janet has a different opinion about the ending.  Here’s her review:

‘I was looking forward to reading Gone Girl: it’s in my favourite genre (crime) and there’s been a real buzz on Twitter about it for months. And while I was reading it I was swept along by the story, wanting to know how on earth the situation between Nick and Amy was going to be resolved. The plot is clever –  although I saw the big twist coming –  as is the narrative technique of having not one but two unreliable narrators. However, the best way I can sum up my response to this book is I ‘admired’ it.

 My main criticism is that none of the characters is at all sympathetic. Amy and Nick are well-drawn and have strong voices, although this does diminish as the book progresses. However, I didn’t care what happened to them and at the end I felt they deserved each other. The police weren’t very bright or original and none of the peripheral characters stood out, bar Nick’s sister ‘Go’ for the simple reason that her name irritated me.

[spoiler alert!] Looking back, the plot had several inconsistencies and was just too convoluted (how do you collect a pregnant woman’s urine without her knowing?). If Amy was clever enough to plan such an audacious deception, it seemed unlikely that she could so easily be parted from her cash by a pair of drifters. And Desi’s death felt tacked on, as though because this is a crime novel it had to feature at least one murder. All that being said, I found the ironic ending very satisfying and can’t think how that could have been bettered. If I was reviewing this book on Amazon I’d give it 4 out of 5 stars.’

 

 

 

‘The Unlikely Pilgrimage of Harold Fry’ by Rachel Joyce

Apologies for the late appearance of this blog entry – I forgot to post. What can I say? March was a very busy month!

When Harold Fry nips out one morning to post a letter, leaving his wife hoovering upstairs, he has no idea that he is about to walk from one end of the country to the other. He has no hiking boots or map, let alone a compass, waterproof or mobile phone. All he knows is that he must keep walking. To save someone else’s life.

‘The odyssey of a simple man, original, subtle and touching’. – Claire Tomalin

‘From the moment I met Harold Fry, I didn’t want to leave him. Impossible to put down.’ – Erica Wagner, The Times

Our March read produced a rare response from the Berwick book group: everyone liked it!  We found it moving, evocative and a compelling read.  We all loved the complexity of the characters, and we appreciated the parallel journeys of Harold and his wife Maureen. For some of us, it edged towards saccharine at times – and the Berwick upon Tweed portrayed at the end of the novel is not the Berwick-upon-Tweed we know! – but those were the only criticisms in a sea of praise. 

After his complaint about the quality of recent book choices, Martin wrote: ‘I shall rant more often. After doubting the quality of our chosen books along comes one I absolutely love. A rivetting tale, stimulating, thought provoking, resonances with my experience of life and characters who I can actually like.

A brilliant exposition on how we allow our relationships to sour, how we lash out at those we love when we are hurt, how we hide our feelings and allow hurts to fester. None of these failings are sudden but incremental until they are overwhelming.

I was saddening but credible how Harold’s very individual efforts were hijacked by the self-serving and the media but heart warming how his wife and Rex were allowed to support each other and Harold without forming a sexual relationship. Friendship and human concern remained untainted. There was no mystical resolution, Harold was as tongue tied as the rest of us when confronted with Queenie in extremis but there was hope that no matter how deep or long an estrangement a relationship can be mended. More books of this quality please. ’

 

 

‘This Bleeding City’ by Alex Preston: a bad investment for Berwick readers?

Amazon describes our February book about City Traders as follows:
‘Charlie Wales is a young man who wants everything. Fresh from University, he’s seduced by the excitement of a new life in London and all that it promises. There’s Vero, the beautiful French girl who might finally fall for him. There’s the lure of art, but also the promise of fast money in the City. And his friends, who are spiralling into a world of non-stop parties and unchecked greed. But as the choices begin to tear him apart, there’s also the danger that all the things he desires are on the brink of crashing around him …
This debut novel, written by a 30-year-old trader, does not merely pick over the carcass of the financial markets in the wake of the recent crash. It is also a heartbreaking love story, a withering study of the years of excess, and a timely reminder of how good people end up doing terrible things.’

It seems that February is a busy month; although we had all read the book, the majority of us (me included) could not make it to this month’s book group meeting. Luckily Martin did, and kindly wrote a report of the discussion for our blog.
‘It was a very select foursome who convened at the Barrels on Tuesday. I expected us all to lambast This Bleeding City and go home but Jill started off by saying she quite liked it and Rose concurred, particularly the parts which explained the shenanigans city traders get up to and why we are all now so poor. Even Glynis thought the descriptions of the workings of the city were the best part. Alas I was so dispirited by the start of the book I never got that far. We all agreed that the writing was poor and the characters pointless and inexplicable with Glynis finding his metaphors especially annoying considering the man was a literature graduate.
Glynis suspected a huge misogynistic streak in the author after his depiction of the lone woman worker who was the only one with any sense.
Martin expressed some dissatisfaction with the quality of the books we have chosen to read. This one was by far the worst. To compensate the ladies suggested some alternative reading:-
The Inspector Fox novels of Ian Rankin
22-11-63 by Steven King, and
Heartburn by Nora Ephram’

Barbara could not attend the meeting but sent her thoughts about the book.
‘What a shockingly poor piece of writing it was. The only thing I can say in its favour was that given the writer’s background, the setting and info about the financial world are probably accurate. But it is impossible either to believe in, or care about, the principal characters. There also seemed little point to the novel, as it was neither a good story nor did it ‘say’ anything interesting or original. Although I sort of made it to the end, I skimmed it so fast that I don’t feel able to make any further comments.’

As for me, I have to agree with everyone else: I really disliked this novel! Charlie, Vero, Henry et al, irritated me so much; beautiful, privileged posers the lot of them – self-aggrandising, with an overdeveloped sense of entitlement and a very poor grasp of reality (I suppose it could be argued that this was the point, but I suspect that the author was writing without any sense of irony or distance from his characters). Alex Preston is always romanticising them (for example the first meeting between Charlie and Vero when the barman is stunned by Vero’s beauty and says to Charlie, ‘You have to go after her, the beer’s on me’). I found them unsympathetic, selfish and crass.
And the dialogue is often awful!
‘Do you… Do you still love her Charlie?’
I looked across at him, sighed out a stream of smoke.
‘Of course I do. I think I might always love her.’
Brief Encounter anyone? Or maybe Eastenders (they use one another’s names all the time in conversation)? In places the dialogue is so over-expositional it could be used in a creative writing class on how NOT to write dialogue. I really don’t think people voice their innermost thoughts and feelings so exactly and openly, and analyse themselves all the while like this lot do. I mean, who actually talks like Charlie and Henry on p14-15?
‘You’re a strange chap, Charlie, so worried about the future. I try not to think about the future at all. I’m.. to be honest, Charlie, I’m absolutely terrified of growing old. There’s the problem with having a gilded childhood. You never want to leave it. I think that’s maybe why I take photographs. They give me the sense that I can pause time. I’m only twenty three and already so much seems to have passed..’
I fell asleep with him still talking.’
I’m not surprised.
The only effective sections for me were those which followed Charlie as he moved up through the ranks in the City firm, Silverbirch, with very little knowledge or talent, fuelled by drugs and testosterone, while Madison (the only voice of reason) is derided, passed over for promotion and generally treated in an unforgivably sexist manner. Yannis, Christos etcetera are a chilling group, gambling with huge sums of money as though they are playing for smarties or matchsticks.
‘We were superheroes of the Market. We were invincible.’
However, even more chilling is the new, grey City man Charlie becomes at the end of the novel, with no personal effects or connections to anchor him to the real world.
I didn’t like the writing style either. I found it overwritten, with a tendency to overuse metaphor and simile, which occasionally worked (scorn perched on her nose like pince-nez) but more often didn’t (his eyes were blue and darting, like fish in a rock pool).

Maybe next month’s book, ‘The Unlikely Pilgrimage of Harold Fry’ by Rachel Joyce, will receive a better reception…

Ann Coburn

‘The Dinner’ leaves readers less than satisfied

When only six of our hardy reading group turn out for our meeting in early January, it’s hard to guess whether it’s because of the choice of book or the time of year. Probably, there’s an element of both.
But, as usual, we sustained an interesting debate on Herman Koch’s The Dinner, translated from the Dutch by Sam Garrett. The novel has been likened to similar highly successful novels such as The Slap and We Need to Talk about Kevin.
The anxiety I always have about these kind of novels – which seem to be typical book group fare – is the danger of lapsing into a rather redundant debate about the moral issues, rather than concentrating on the literary merits (or otherwise). We did fall into that trap for some of the discussion.
Glynis did enjoy the novel and found it funny. She also found the accounts of upper middle-class over-protective parenting and the behaviour of the families when on holiday in France particularly credible and amusing. Paula, who read the book on holiday, also found it an easy read and that it raised some interesting issues.
But almost all of us found the overall work dissatisfying, particularly in comparison to other works that follow a rather similar plot. For Mike, Lionel Shriver and Christos Tsiolkas did a better job of examining the issues. We also felt that a recent film, Carnage, covered similar ground.
Certainly we agreed that we were pulled into the plot and read to the end to find out what happened. But for me, that was the novel’s only saving grace. I found the language flat and clunky, and at times annoyingly repetitive, although I accept this may have been a problem with the translation rather than the original Dutch.
I also felt the notion of ghastly middle-class parents stopping at nothing to protect their offspring is becoming something of a tired old trope and this felt rather derivative of those other works.

The nature-versus-nurture debate was tackled much more originally in Lionel Shriver’s We Need to Talk About Kevin and at least she examined it from a partly-feminist point of view. Here, I felt that Koch excused the father by dint of his ‘illness’ and that the real dark, controlling heart of the family was the mother – yawn. (The mystery illness was a particular cop-out, I thought, and like the rest of the group I was unconvinced by it).
For me the characters were caricatures, almost entirely unpleasant with barely a saving grace between them, except a misguided urge to protect each other. Koch left the reader with no choice as to who to ‘hate’ and with a black-and-white moral issue. It would have been much more interesting if the boys had done something where their culpability was more debatable. And some suggestion that the urge to protect or defend one’s child is universal, not just a middle-class sin, would have been welcome.
I’m not sure if the societal comment felt more relevant to a Dutch reader. For an English readership I felt it pressed some very ‘easy’ buttons.

I will leave the last word to Martin, who e-mailed this comment: “I found the book unreadable. The narrator was so consumed with angst and envy I wanted to perform extreme violence against him. He was so annoying I couldn’t care what his grouse was and could not bring myself to spend any more time in his company to see what happened. I got to chapter 3 after several attempts then gave up. I hope the next book is better.”
Barbara

“Let us read, and let us dance; these two amusements will never do any harm to the world.” Voltaire

For a brief time on Tuesday night the cosy side-room of the Barrels Alehouse – a real ale pub on the banks of the River Tweed – rang with the exotic rhythms of Tango. Kapka Kassabova, the author of our December book choice, ‘Twelve Minutes of Love: A Tango Story’, had come to our meeting. Perched at one end of the room like a delicate-boned migratory bird, she played Tango music on her lap-top and spoke, with great honesty and charm, about her journey to the heart of this tangled, troubled form of dance. There were fourteen of us in attendance, plus Olivia Chapman from New Writing North, and most of us had questions for Kapka, so the ninety minutes flew by. Our thanks go to Kapka and Olivia, for travelling to Berwick to see us, and to Kapka for staying to sign books afterwards.

The Amazon description provides an excellent summary of the content and flavour of Kapka’s book:
‘Kapka Kassabova first set foot in a tango studio ten years ago and, from that moment, she was hooked. With the beat of tango driving her on and the music filling her head, she’s danced across the world, from Auckland to Edinburgh, from Berlin to Buenos Aires, putting in hours of practice for fleeting moments of dance-floor ecstasy, suffering blisters and heart-break along the way. Here, in sparkling, spring-heeled prose, Kapka takes us inside the esoteric world of tango to tell the story of the dance, from its Afro roots to its sequined stars and back. Twelve Minutes of Love is a timeless tale of exile and longing, death and desire, love and belonging.’

Judging by the questions and comments on the night, the majority of our group enjoyed the book. Subsequently, two members sent in very contrasting critiques for the blog.

Barbara writes:
‘I found the subject matter fascinating, as before I read this I had no idea that tango was such a cult and that so many were obsessed by it. I found Kapka Kassabova’s structure and writing style highly creative in dealing with such an abstract subject. I was reminded of Yeats’ poem Among Schoolchildren and the famous line ‘How can we know the dancer from the dance?’ It was an absolute pleasure to hear Kapka talk about the way she came to write the book and her views on memoir writing in general. Her comments on the differences between writing fiction and nonfiction seemed particularly perceptive. If I had one slight reservation about the work, it was that the sections about the relationships lacked a little passion – and it was interesting to hear Kapka explain how her editor had persuaded her to rewrite these parts in a less emotional way, and that she felt it was a better work for it. I will definitely be looking out for more writing by this author.’

Martin writes:
‘Kapka describes Tango with reference to the Mandala, a pattern with nothing or everything at its core. Unfortunately, so is her book and I found almost nothing. It was difficult to start, I had at least 3 attempts. I ususally devour books at one sitting, I had to drive myself back to this again and again. Kapka’s obsession with Tango promised something meaningful or at least interesting at the core but I never found it. I suspect that part of the reason was the difficulty in translating an intense physical and emotional experience into words and even though I am A Strictly Come Dancing enthusiast, Kapka did not reach me in the way Vincent and Flavia do when I watch them Tango. All that was left was a list of people she encountered. Most barely expanded beyond a name check and the rest in vignettes which gave me no insight to their characters. The revealed history of Tango from its African roots was the most interesting part of the book and I am always jealous of people with a facility for language.’

As for me, I loved the emotive, evocative style of Kapka’s writing and, like Barbara, appreciated the way the book was structured to reflect the Milonga (an evening of Tango dancing). I felt that I was being taken on the same journey of discovery as Kapka, which meant that I found the first quarter of the book – with new faces appearing on nearly every page, and new Tango terms and techniques to understand – a challenging read. I’m glad I persisted. I found myself sharing Kapka’s delight when earlier acquaintances resurfaced in the most unlikely places – and I became increasingly invested in her journey. I suspect that many people head out in search of their nearest Milonga after finishing this book but – although I was fascinated by the origins, traditions and variations of the dance – I was more interested in the way that Tango symbolised – well – life, the universe and everything! Kapka’s quest was about more than becoming the best dancer she could be – and her superbly written account of her ‘final’ tango left me both uplifted and tearful.
Ann Coburn

‘It was a dark and stormy night…’

Ten of us gathered around the fire at The Barrels Alehouse on a suitably chilly November evening to discuss ‘Dark Matter: a Ghost Story’ by Michelle Paver.

The book description tells us that it is: ‘January 1937. Clouds of war are gathering over a fogbound London. Twenty-eight year old Jack is poor, lonely and desperate to change his life. So when he’s offered the chance to join an Arctic expedition, he jumps at it. Spirits are high as the ship leaves Norway: five men and eight huskies, crossing the Barents Sea by the light of the midnight sun. At last they reach the remote, uninhabited bay where they will camp for the next year. Gruhuken. But the Arctic summer is brief. As night returns to claim the land, Jack feels a creeping unease. One by one, his companions are forced to leave. He faces a stark choice. Stay or go. Soon he will see the last of the sun, as the polar night engulfs the camp in months of darkness. Soon he will reach the point of no return – when the sea will freeze, making escape impossible. And Gruhuken is not uninhabited. Jack is not alone. Something walks there in the dark…’

Most of us enjoyed the book.  Jill loved it.  She thought the characters were believable, the descriptions of the snow and the dark were convincing, and the tension built nicely.  She also loved the dogs.  New member Suzanne also enjoyed the book, but found Jack an irritatingly whiney character and was not convinced by the theme of class.  Paula was interested in the exploration of how a person copes with isolation, inhospitable surroundings and constant dark for weeks.  Rose, Anne and Josie also found it a page-turning if undemanding read.  Glynis was unconvinced by the ending and thought it felt engineered and tacked on.

Martin and Dave have both sent their thoughts.  Dave gives a qualified thumbs-up:

‘This book was an enjoyable read and held my attention well. I had some nitpicking pedantic points about the protagonist’s life in the 1930s. £3 was a decent salary, a UCL Physics graduate would have easily got an industrial job, the solitary life described seemed off the wall – compare with Orwell’s Coming up For Air and Keep the Aspidestra Flying set in the same period where people with smaller incomes had more of a life. Once they got on the ship things became more convincing and resonated with non-fiction accounts of expeditions and life in high North. I actually fond the Norwegian characters the most interesting – especially the trapper. The point about him being poor was particularly sharp – Spitzbergen as a wilderness was somewhere a poor man could have a life on his own terms but the poor devil who haunted the expedition site had not been allowed to have that life. Suspense relatively well maintained. Comparisons are odious and although I liked the book I thought the theme of evil in that world is better done in Jack London’s The Sea Wolf but I can see how the Dark matters as it were. So the reference to theoretical physics works very well as a title.  This issue of permanent night comes over in lots of real life accounts of polar winters. I was interested that such a boy’s book, no real female characters at all, appealed to the women members of the group and did feel that the female author can write men. Ann’s point in discussion about archetype fear of the dark as the time of the predator was very well made.’

Martin, on the other hand, gives a definite thumbs-down!

‘One of my pet hates is stories which rely on things which go bump in the night and being frightened of them just because they go bump.

I hoped a jolly little trip to Spitzbergen may have broken the mould. Rgretably we had the frightened captain and crew who refused to say why they were frightened, thereby saving the writer the bother of coming up with a reason. This was leavened with a truly obnoxious character who wanted to shoot or maim everything in sight and 3 little boys who would rather nanny left the nursery light on at night. (So why go to Spitzbergen?) Around page 100 or so Jack sees a vague wet shape come out of the sea, Even though he KNOWS there will be no trace of it’s passing he goes to look and “lo and behold” there is no trace but Jack KNOWS this is the mysterious thing only he saw earlier, after which I threw the book across the room and started another you have all recomended, Wolf Hall by Hilary Mantel. (Apologies those those who dislike capitalisation for emphasis).’

As for me, I’m a sucker for ghost stories set in frozen wastes  (I also recently read and enjoyed The Terror by Dan Simmonds and Cold Earth by Sarah Moss) so I was looking forward to this, and Michelle Paver did not let me down. From the opening ‘teaser’ letter, giving dark hints of what happened on Gruhuken, I knew I was in safe hands and settled down for a good read.  I loved the repeating imagery of the ‘round, wet head’ throughout, from the moment when the drowned man is pulled from the Thames, to the truly horrifying reveal  – I’m saying no more! I expected – and got – impeccably researched evocations of 1930’s expeditions, and of life in the frozen North after the sun has tipped over the horizon for the last time for months (the ‘first dark’), but I was pleasantly surprised by the psychological ‘added extras.  Jack is of a different class to the others – and there is also an exploration of his ‘hero worship’ of, and love for, Gus, another expedition member.  The three men on Gruhuken are, to some extent, engineers of their own fate; the ghostly presence or dark matter is a very frightening fourth hand.

We ended with a fascinating discussion about ghost stories: the archetypes they represent, why they require suspension of disbelief, and why we need them.

Ann CoburnShow More

Show Less

‘The truth is rarely pure and never simple.’ Oscar Wilde

A small and cosy group gathered in the Barrels Alehouse this month to discuss Jeanette Winterson’s ‘Why Be Happy When You Could Be Normal?’ Barbara was one of a number of members who could not attend, so she emailed her thoughts to us before the meeting.

‘I loved Oranges Are not The Only Fruit and had heard some extracts of this latest memoir on Radio 4, so I knew I was going to enjoy this book. I also know that everyone will cite the same outstanding things (astonishingly vivid character portraits, humour, compassion) so I’ll just say that these elements worked really well for me too. I’m going to avoid playing the amateur psychologist and trying to work out why Winterson did certain things or said things a certain way. I’m happy just to accept them because she is such a compelling storyteller. One thing that bugged me was the sometimes clumsy and ‘teenage’ style of writing, such as use of CAPITAL LETTERS and rows of ellipses. I don’t think an unestablished writer would’ve been allowed to get away with them and for me, although they may have been a deliberate device to invoke the youthful voice, they were an irritation. As a typical buttoned-up middle-class Brit I felt vaguely uncomfortable with accounts of her real-life, more contemporary lovers. Otherwise it was a fantastic read, but I knew it would be! I think Winterson is one of our most exciting and original writers.’

Janet did attend, and found herself in the role of ‘witness for the defence’. She has sent her thoughts for inclusion in the blog.

‘Although my usual reading fare is crime fiction, when I heard a couple of excerpts of this book, read by the author, on Radio 4 I knew I had to buy it. Aside from that experience, I came to Why be Happy … knowing very little about Jeanette Winterson. I was dimly aware of the TV version of her novel, Oranges are not the Only Fruit, which deals with much the same subject matter, but hadn’t read the book. My ignorance meant that I approached her memoir with few preconceptions and, perhaps as a result, I thoroughly enjoyed it.

I was appalled yet riveted by Winterson’s depiction of her relationship with her adoptive mother, whose attitude to parenting is summed up in this paragraph:

‘When I went deaf she didn’t take me to the doctor because she knew it was either Jesus stoppering up my ears to the things of the world in an attempt to reform my broken soul, or it was Satan whispering so loud that he had perforated my eardrums.’

Winterson also describes in a matter-of-fact way the poverty of her childhood, most movingly in the story of the old lady who, it was only discovered when her body was being prepared for her funeral, had kept her coat on wherever she went because she hadn’t been able to afford a dress.

Alright, so some of Winterson’s descriptions may be exaggerated, she trots out cod psychology every now and then, and she skates over huge chunks of time (I would have liked to hear more about her experiences at university). But this is a memoir, her memoir, so she’s free to tell it how she wants. I forgive her for all the book’s failings, because of its humour, its lyricism and the fact it is a tale of a young girl surviving through books.’

Glynis, Ann LF, Martin and David were all singularly unimpressed with the book, particularly the first half, which was dismissed as a re-hash of ‘Oranges Are Not the Only Fruit’. Glynis disliked the cod-philosophy and objected to Jeanette Winterson’s tendency to explain her writing in the ‘did-you-see-what-I-did-there?’ manner of DJ Steve Wright, rather than allowing her readers to draw their own conclusions. Ann LF couldn’t relate to the characters and found the book a depressing read, so much so that after the first few chapters she decided to opt out and turn instead to something more uplifting. Martin LF was also unimpressed; after hearing Jeanette Winterson talk about the book on the radio he was expecting it to be about her search for her birth mother.  However he felt that this was relegated to an afterthought.  He enjoyed the writing about Mrs Winterson, but he questioned the veracity of the piece in places (citing as a ‘for-instance’ the example of Mrs Winterson and her brother; if they had been estranged for many years, then why did she call him from Blackpool and why did he then turn up at the house with a large dog, prepared to turf out intruders on her behalf?) as did David, which led us into an interesting discussion on the nature and definition of memoir. Should one be able to trust that a memoir is ‘true’? If so, what kind of truth are we expecting? Objectivity? Or is all memoir subjective? Emotional truth, then? Yes, but if that is the only ‘truth’ on offer then would not the writer be better turning to fiction?
David thought that Winterson did not give enough time to the influence of the Grammar School and her teachers, and he would have liked to see this time explored in more depth. Glynis, Martin and David were all frustrated with the structure, which jumped twenty five years from her time as an Oxford undergraduate to her breakdown and her subsequent search for her birth mother.

I, on the other hand, decided that I liked the structure. I thought that Winterson’s use of an Intermission between her earlier and later life, and her inclusion of a Coda at the end of the book, had something of the theatrical about it: an opera perhaps, or a ballet. It signaled to me that Winterson might not be writing a faithful-to-the-facts type of memoir (she declares this from the start, ‘Part fact part fiction is what life is’) but that she would be ‘emotionally’ truthful. There was also a certain honesty about her exploration of divided or changeable emotions: ‘she was a monster but she was my monster’. Anyway, I was up for it, because I love an unreliable narrator!

On the whole, I found myself somewhere between the enthusiasts and the critics. I agreed with Glynis about the ‘self-help-book’ passages, which seemed to be concentrated in the opening chapters and I also found the writing occasionally self-aggrandizing, but I liked the intellectual curiosity which would send her off into an exploration of the character of Manchester, or a treatise on slate roofs, or a story about the famous Accrington ‘nori’ brick. And I loved the literary and story-telling references and the adoration of books. The fairy-tale theme of transformation coursed through the writing: size and shape were negotiable (Mrs Winterson in the phone box) and transformation entirely possible. I also liked the quieter moments of honesty (her acknowledgement that the physical violence she exhibited as a child became an emotional violence later, when she deliberately sabotaged budding relationships) and I found her account of her breakdown and recovery powerful and moving.
Like Janet, I found the death of Aunt Nellie very moving – the washing of the body as a lesson in love. Did Winterson worry that she might be seeing her future self if she continued to sabotage her relationships? For me, in the end, the strengths outweighed the faults.

Ann Coburn

A Song Worth the (re)Singing?

Ten of us arrived at The Barrels Alehouse on a beautiful September evening to discuss ‘The Song of Achilles’ by Madeline Miller.  The cover blurb for this 2012 Orange Prize winner reads:

‘Greece in the age of heroes. Patroclus, an awkward young prince, has been exiled to the court of King Peleus and his perfect son Achilles. Despite their differences, Achilles befriends the shamed prince, and as they grow into young men skilled in the arts of war and medicine, their bond blossoms into something deeper – despite the displeasure of Achilles’s mother Thetis, a cruel sea goddess. But when word comes that Helen of Sparta has been kidnapped, Achilles must go to war in distant Troy and fulfill his destiny. Torn between love and fear for his friend, Patroclus goes with him, little knowing that the years that follow will test everything they hold dear.’

Although most of us finished the book and found it an enjoyable read, opinions were wide-ranging, running the gamut from ‘underwhelmed’ to ‘captivated’.

Jill felt that the writing lacked power, particularly in the way the gods were depicted; she wanted them to be ‘bigger’. Glynis absolutely adored the book and described it as a ‘paeon to love’.  Paula too really engaged with the book, finding it a page-turner, interesting and imaginative. She found the descriptions of ancient Greece convincing, particularly the encapsulation of the long, hot summer days.  Margaret thought the ending was ‘soppy’ but enjoyed the Troy section and Achilles’ engagement with Agamemnon.  Rose also disliked the ending and found the style annoyingly whimsical.  We all agreed that the writing was, in the main, lyrical rather than powerful although there were exceptions, such as the human sacrifice scene, which was shocking and visceral.

Here are some thoughts from other book group members.

Helen: I did enjoy the book.  I thought it an interesting and entertaining subject, and particularly liked the mixture of mortals and gods interacting seamlessly!  I thought the characters were well drawn and found it easy to enter the writer’s world.

Barbara: I loved lots of things about this novel.  Had I read the rest of the Orange shortlist first, I might have picked a couple of others as being even better. But I still think the judges were right to praise Miller’s original take on the Achilles story, her lyrical language and her inventiveness in dealing with some of the trickier issues such as the death of the main characters and the co-existence of humans, goddesses and gods.

Although some readers criticised the author for straying from some of the source material, this was not an issue for me. I believe that writers should be able to take myths and fairytales and do with them what they will, including changing elements of a familiar story or legend. I also did not read the novel in the context of what had gone before, so it was of no concern to me that some reviewers compared Miller with earlier writers and it did not influence my reading or enjoyment.

I found the characters well-drawn and plausible, although extremely modern in their sensibilities.  Again, this did not worry me. As modern writers/readers, we cannot genuinely know how people in the far past felt and how similar or otherwise their emotions were to our own, and I am much more worried by writers who claim to be ‘authentic’ in this regard. We are always looking at history through a modern-day prism and I felt Miller was ‘up-front’ about this.  I found the writing pleasurable and often poetic and the narrative was compelling. Although there were some rather breathless passages, I do feel that the author captured something about young, naive love and obsession.

The Independent described the novel as ‘Greek history for idiots.’ This makes the reviewer look like an idiot – it’s not meant to be history but a work of fiction. I will read more of Miller’s work.

David: I thought that the comment on the blurb on the back of the book comparing this to the work of Mary Renault did the author no favours. Renault handled Greek myths and history much better and was a livelier and more engaging writer. One common feature is that Renault also used first person narratives but did it better. I didn’t ‘mind’ the book and finished it but I thought elements were thin. The reality of the Gods is fine by me and I am quite OK with any reworking of a myth or historical narrative of this sort but Thetis didn’t so much seem divine as the mother from hell from the point of view of son’s partner, a well known character in reality. The one passage that hit me was the sacrifice of Iphegenia. The book got better when they got to Troy and Achilles became more of a character but if you like this sort of thing then I recommend anything by Renault as a much better read, not to mention any decent translation of the Iliad.

Martin: I could not rate this as one of my favourite reads. I felt that any enjoyment came from the original Greek tale and that the angst Patroclus felt in his love of Achilles was irrelevant and to put it mildly BORING. It has reminded me to go back to the original some time. The most succesful part was to drop the daft idea of Achilles being protected everywhere but his heel. Although this gave us a very popular phrase, I find the idea of the goddess protecting Achilles with her powers and then withdrawing them when she was spited somehow  more acceptable in spite of both being fairy stories.

Ann: I found the narrative voice engaging and wanted to keep reading despite already knowing that it ‘ends in tears’.  I particularly enjoyed the section dealing with Patroclus’ boyhood (increasingly alienated and isolated as a result of the lack of paternal love) and his life-saving, transformational friendship with Alexander.  Like most book group members, I also enjoyed the Troy section and the exploration of free will versus fate as the lovers struggle against the ‘hero’ destiny written for Achilles.  However I was less convinced by what I felt was a soft-focus, romanticised depiction of the relationship between Patroclus and Achilles and I also kept being brought up short when actual centaurs and living, breathing gods were introduced into a narrative with an otherwise naturalistic style and contemporary feel. I am still not sure what to make of that juxtaposition; maybe, when the author chose to end the book in the Afterlife, she then needed to make everything else about the Greek belief system a reality.  I am also still undecided as to whether Miller has achieved what she feels an adaptation should do: ‘stand brilliantly on its own, while inspiring a fresh look at the original.’

As usual, we had an excellent discussion.  We ended the meeting with book recommendations from members who have been doing a great deal of summer reading:

‘Half-Blood Blues’ by Esi Edugyan

‘State of Wonder’ by Ann Patchett

‘Mud Woman’ by Joyce Carol Oates

‘Canada’ by Richard Ford

‘Stone Cutter’ by Camilla Lackberg

Any book from the ‘Inspector Montalbano’ series By Andrea Camilleri

‘Bring Out the Bodies’ by Hilary Mantel

‘Philida’ by Andre Brink

‘Fingersmith’ by Sarah Waters

‘Ramshackle’  by Elizabeth Reeder

‘Grapes of Wrath’ by John Steinbeck

‘Chocolate Cake with Hitler’ by Emma Craigie

‘22:11:63’ by Steven King

Berwick Book Group: Reading Fit to Beat the Banned

This month’s blog is a cooperative effort, with contributions from a number of our members.  It sprang from our ‘school’s-out’ tradition of doing something a bit different in July to end the year.  At our June meeting, Helen had come up with a really interesting theme, inspired by a book she found in a second-hand book shop: ‘100 Banned Books: Censorship Histories of World Literature’ by Karolides, Bald & Sova. Everyone went away to choose a book which had been banned at some point, somewhere in the world.  Then, at the July meeting, we each shared our thoughts with the group and read aloud a short passage from our chosen book.  It was a fascinating evening, so much so that we overran by 45 minutes. There were no duplications (perhaps that says something about the shameful number of banned books out there) in a really interesting and diverse selection.  Here are a few of them, with a paragraph or so of explanation from the choosers.

Mike chose “Howl” by Allen Ginsberg

‘I chose the poem “Howl” because it remains a significant contribution to US poetry which I admire. The poem was first read by Allen Ginsberg in San Francisco in October 1955 at “a charming event” as it was described in the publicity. The audience was transfixed because of the vivid, profane, personal nature of the poem which contrasted with the impersonal poetry which dominated US literature at that time due to the influence of T. S. Elliot. Ginsberg utilized his experiences and the experiences of his friends to present a nightmare vision of post-war US society, but he saw hope of a revival of that society within the lunacy.

This was a significant event in poetry circles but assumed international significance when the poem was published the following year and the publisher, Lawrence Ferlinghetti, and his book shop manager, were arrested on obscenity charges because of the sexual language in the poem. They were cleared in a landmark case because the judge agreed the poem had “redeeming social significance”. As a result “Howl” became a huge seller and encouraged a new energy and frankness in US poetry, while the first lines (“I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed…”) became probably the most famous in the US canon. Ginsberg, of course, went on to be a major figure in the Beat Generation.’

Helen chose ‘Lord of the Flies’ by William Golding

‘I picked this having read it at school and remembering what a strong impression the story made on me.  Apparently it has been banned (especially in schools in the USA) at various times on the grounds of profanity, lurid passages about sex, statements defamatory to minorities, God, women and the disabled.  Oh, and violence.  One view suggested it is a thinly disguised criticism of the Christian church, saying that religion is not necessarily a civilizing factor.  This is shown in the episodes where the so-called religious boys are the ones creating havoc and barbarism.  William Golding himself said that we can trace the defects of society back to the defects in human nature.
Reading it again after all these years, I thought it showed the danger in ignoring individual responsibility – the threat of danger from people who hide behind any group.  And the danger of not recognising the potential of the dark side of our own natures, which if not understood and faced, can lead to bullying and intimidation of minorities, and even war.
My quote was from the character of Simon, the gentle boy who was ignored. He imagines he is hearing the dead pig’s head talk to him, “There isn’t anyone to help you.  Only me.  And I’m the beast…Fancy thinking the beast was something you could hunt and kill!…You knew didn’t you?  I’m part of you?  Close, close, close!  I’m the reason why it’s no go?  Why things are what they are?”
Simon understood that the Beast was inside, not outside.
I enjoyed the book even more, second time round.  It works on many levels, to use a well-worn cliche.  And I thought it was interesting to discover that the 1963 film originally came out as X-rated.  Now it’s a PG.  Fun for all the family!  A sign of the times?’

New member David chose Miklos Haraszti’s book A worker in a worker’s state Penguin 1977.

‘ I would have picked Vassily Grossman’s Life and Fate - the great Russian novel of both the second world war and the great terror which the KGB said could not be published for 200 years but didn’t have it to hand to get a quotation. Haraszti’s book comes from the end period of the Soviet system when things were oppressive in a much milder but also much more banal way. He had been sent to work in a factory as a punishment (so manual work was a punishment in a workers’ state) and described the conditions and attitudes of the workers in much the same way as say Huw Beynon’s UK Working for Ford. The book was condemned basically because it showed that alientation in all its aspects was just the same in the workers’ state as under capitalism. The author was fined and given a suspended sentence. The passage I quoted on the consequences of being ‘under the inspectors’ resonated absolutely with the increasing bureaucratic control of public sector professionals and other workers in the UK today. I checked up on where Haraszti is now. He is a leading light of the liberal opposition to the quasi-fascist / nationalist government in contemporary Hungary (very anti Jewish and more practically anti Rom) and is an academic living in the US.’

Janet chose To Kill a Mocking-Bird  by Harper Lee

‘Published in 1960, this novel was an immediate success. It won the Pulitzer Prize and has sold over 30 million copies. Now regarded as a modern American classic, it is widely taught in schools throughout the world. Yet I had never read it, nor have I sat down and watched its 1962 film adaptation starring Gregory Peck as Atticus Finch, the Alabama lawyer who defends a black man accused of raping a white woman. So when I googled ‘banned books’ I was delighted – though startled – to see To Kill a Mocking Bird come up. I read it in little more than a day, and enjoyed it very much, especially the narrative voice of young Scout.

This is a book which argues for tolerance and against racism. It was, however, written from the point of view of a white family and is set during the Great Depression of the early 1930s. Since the 1970s, there have been attempts to have it removed from some schools and libraries in the USA, mainly on the grounds of being stereotypical and racially offensive. Its depiction of black people is deemed by some to be ‘degrading to African Americans’, and its use of what is now widely referred to as the N-word regarded as repugnant. A 1981 challenge to Lee’s only published novel sums up this attitude, stating that it ‘represents institutionalized racism under the guise of good literature’.

(Quotations are courtesy of the American Library Association’s website, www.ala.org, which is an excellent source of information on banned and challenged books. The ALA also holds an annual Banned Books Week to celebrate the freedom to read.)

Janet O’Kane’

Martin chose Spycatcher by Peter Wright,

‘The book was banned in the UK for 3 years on the grounds that it gave away secrets. However, it was widely available overseas (the internet was not so prolific then) and serialised in a Sunday newspaper, so they gave up the lost cause.

The most serious allegation from the government’s point of view was the assertion that Sir Peter Hollis was a soviet spy whilst head of MI5. Wright makes a case which cannot be checked without access to MI5’s files but sounds plausible. It must be borne in mind that Wright is a man with a grudge. When he joined MI5 he was promised that his 20 years of pension entitlement whilst a scientific officer with the Naval Weapons research would be carried forward. It was not.

Spycatcher is a cracking good read as a novel, every bit as good as a John le Carre covering much of the same ground but with the added thrill of potential historical accuracy. It is also a damning critique of the British secret services and ruling society in general for their crass stupidity, ineptitude and wholesale reliance on having attended the right school, the right regiment or the right club as the only criterion for ability or trustworthiness. Freemasonry was an even more pernicious plague. It also gives a previously unwritten history of radio communications in which initially his father, and later Peter were heavily involved.

The crucial point made, is that in 1922 a Royal Commission into long range wireless communication decided it was “an amateur science” and not worthy of further study. Wright Snr was Chief Scientist for Marconi and later that year he built an apparatus which cheaply sent messages from England to Australia to no avail. The ageing Marconi, unable to raise capital to develop his invention, merged his company with the thriving cable companies who promptly closed down his research department, firing Wright Snr. and all his staff. So overseas communication was reliant on cablegrams, laboriously transcribed into morse and pumped down millions of miles of copper wire before being decoded at the other end for several more decades. The last vestige of this operation was the telex system, now consigned to the dustbin of history. As late as the 1980’s any company of consequence listed a telex address on the mastheads. When did you last see one?

Like all good spy novels of the 1950’s and 60’s when there really were “Reds a under the bed” and Ted Heath expelled over a hundred Russian spies from their embassy, there is lots of drilling holes through embassy walls to plant microphones and huge inter-service rivalries where MI5 and MI6 and the FBI and CIA hated each other more than the supposed enemy.’

Anne R chose Wondrak and Other Stories   by Stefan Zweig

‘A few years ago while in Berlin I visited Bebelplatz, scene of the book-burning in 1933, now marked by the haunting memorial of an underground chamber, containing empty shelves, which is illuminated at night. And so when the theme of ‘banned books’ was suggested, I found myself thinking about books which have been not only banned but also burnt. One of the 75 or more blacklisted authors was Stefan Zweig (1881-1942), a non-observant Jew born in Vienna. I decided to read a small volume of his short stories; its centrepiece is the semi-autobiographical ‘Compulsion’, published as ‘Der Zwang’ in 1920. Ferdinand, an artist, has sought refuge in Switzerland, but when his army call-up papers eventually catch up with him he agonizes over whether to comply. The story is a vivid account of his thought processes, the heated discussions with his wife and his vacillation between an abhorrence of war and the compulsion to join up. ‘Compulsion’ represents a powerful argument for pacifism. Furthermore, Ferdinand’s wife is spirited enough to issue her husband with an ultimatum – he must choose either her or the army – and such forceful resistance from a woman would have alarmed the Nazis. This gripping story is beautifully written (as are the others in the collection) and translated, and I particularly admired the descriptions of scenery. It is sobering to learn that although Zweig emigrated to England with his wife in 1934, eight years later they both committed suicide in Brazil.’

Ann C chose ‘The Grapes of Wrath’ by John Steinbeck.

‘I read this Pulitzer prize-winning novel when I was in my late teens.  It  was a seminal book for me – and it is equally relevant today, with its themes of social injustice, prejudice against incomers, economic depression and greedy corporations. Published in 1939, it suffered an onslaught of challenges and bans.  When Kern County California resolved to ban the book in 1939, County Librarian Gretchen Kneif wrote a letter of protest to Supervisor Stanley Abel.

‘If that book is banned today, what book will be banned tomorrow? And what group will want a book banned the day after that? It’s such a vicious and dangerous thing to begin and may lead in the end to exactly the same thing we see in Europe today.  Besides, banning books is so utterly hopeless and futile. Ideas don’t die because a book is forbidden reading. If Steinbeck has written truth, that truth will survive.’

My chosen passage was the speech Tom Joad makes to his mother when he has to leave her to go into hiding. By the time it was my turn to read, I had already enjoyed a few glasses of excellent Pinot Grigio from The Barrels bar and found myself becoming, shall we say, ‘tired and emotional’ – but I soldiered on and managed to finish!

‘Fella ain’t got a soul, just a piece of the big soul. The big soul that belongs to everybody.  I’ll be all around in the dark – I’ll be ever’where—wherever you look. Wherever they’s a fight so hungry people can eat, I’ll be there. Wherever they’s a cop beatin’ up a guy, I’ll be there… I’ll be in the way guys yell when they’re mad an’—I’ll be in the way kids laugh when they’re hungry and they know supper’s ready. An’ when our folk eat the stuff they raise an’ live in the houses they build—why, I’ll be there.’’

Other banned book choices included:

Green Eggs & Ham (for Marxism, apparently!)

Alice in Wonderland

Heart of Darkness

Master & Margherita

Slaughterhouse 5

Farenheit 451

James and the Giant Peach

Walt Whitman’s Leaves of Grass

Our next meeting will be on Tuesday 4^th September, when we will be discussing The Song of Achilles by Madeline Miller, winner of the Orange Prize for Fiction 2012.