My current read, Jessie Greengrass’ Sight, has two plot threads, told in one narrative by one person. In the first narrative – the main fiction, so to speak – a woman looking back at the time when she was struggling to make a decision as to whether she should have a child. The other is factual – although narrated by our fictional character – and covers the discovery of X-rays and what they could do by scientist Wilhelm Röntgen at the end of the 19th century.

Röntgen’s story is an interesting one, particularly as Greengrass includes the problems that arose due to a previous scientist having seen X-rays but not investigating – where Röntgen had seen a light and investigated it, this other scientist had seen the same light but not thought anything of it.

Most interesting to me, however, was the information that is included at the start of Greengrass’ tale of Röntgen – the author compares the beginnings of his discovery with the creation of the first motion pictures. She chooses the evening of 28th December 1895, wherein early filmmakers the Lumière brothers, Auguste and Louis, hosted the first public film screening. Ten very short films were included, and Greengrass’ nameless character speaks most of La Pêche aux Poissons Rouges (Fishing the Goldfish), which features Auguste and his daughter:

Users of IMDB have given it only 5.2/10, which kind of defeats the point…

It’s an astonishing film, really; the quality of the picture and the speed of it… when you compare it to later ‘feature’ films, it seems far ahead. (I’m thinking here of the crackly nature of black and white films, all those dots and lines, though admittedly a one shot, one angle film wouldn’t need to work with transitions.)

Greengrass moves on to X-rays from here, but I was interested in carrying on the research into film. The reputed first ever film was created in 1871. Sallie Gardner at a Gallop was the result of an experiment and technically more a precursor to film that one itself.: twenty-four photographs shown on a zoopraxiscope, creating an effect very similar to flip books.

The first copyrighted film was Fred Ott’s Sneeze, a 5 second film in which a man pretends to be feeling under the weather; Fred inhales some snuff. He breaks the fourth wall at the end. The film was shown through a Kinetoscope, a massive device created by Thomas Edison, who knew the creator of Sallie Gardner at a Gallop. When Edison exhibited his creations at the Exposition Universelle (Paris, 1889), what we would now call his stand was an acre in size and featured an entire power station.

There are a lot of very early films out there, and most of them are available to view. Thinking on why I hadn’t known about them before and why there is so much general knowledge on photography but not film, I concluded that since we are so invested in photography for the purposes of personal and societal history, it makes sense that early films – often random and very very short – would not be so well known. At least that’s my thought.

What have books taught you recently?

As I was reading La Belle Sauvage, it struck me how relatively inaccessible it was to new readers. I say relatively because it is accessible; it’s a case of there being a lot left unsaid that relies on you having read His Dark Materials, but what’s left unsaid isn’t anything that would actively detract from the experience of a new reader, who would quite likely not notice. Pullman achieved a good balance.

Should a new book for a series that started (and ended) years ago – thinking, of course, of situations like older trilogies and new ones – be written for the original audience only – since grown up and thus creating the situation wherein you want an adult book for what was once a children’s series – or should the new book be written with an eye to the new generation?

What responsibility does the author have in the context of ages? If they were to call the new book an adult book then the intention would be clear but the result would be a book that may well not be appreciated because the original audience would be looking for more of the same – the same magic that was in the previous books.

In that way, writing in the same fashion – for children – works for both original and new readers. You want the magic of the original series; in many ways you’re actively looking for a children’s book. (With all the debates about adults reading Young Adult books, a point must surely be made about YA books in a series that started long ago. Certainly the buzz around La Belle Sauvage suggests that’s perfectly acceptable.)

There’s also a basic responsibility the author surely has – that previous fan base is most likely where sales will begin. And it’s the adults who have been waiting or, if not actively waiting in the case of a new book being a more sudden occurrence, the most appreciative.

Should we or can we expect new, younger, readers, to start with the older books? The young readers who will likely be most interested in the new books are those who have been introduced to the older books by parents, siblings, and so on, so they’re effectively in the same boat. If they haven’t read the original books yet but planned to/have had them put on their reading list by an enthusiastic adult, we can assume they’d not be ‘allowed’ to read the new book until they’d finished the originals.

This naturally moves on to content – should prior details be regurgitated? Pullman didn’t do this – if he had it may have been more of a filler book that it is – but how much is detail needed? Should the length of time between books be considered or is it safe to assume that fans who feel they’ve forgotten will have re-read the original series prior to the new release? I think it is.

Of course the lack of old details – in Pullman’s case there isn’t a long description of the ‘bad guys’ and not much world-building – may stop new readers starting with the new books. That could well be argued to be a good thing.

A lot of all this depends on the individual – what they remember, how much time and inclination they have to re-read, and whether they’re happy with any big changes. But considering the fact that there are lots of books that do include repetitive details in series – in my experience the worst is another old series, The Babysitter’s Club which effectively paraphrases or copies and pastes (I always skipped them so can’t say either way) the same first several pages of the first books continually, presumably to aid memory but actively making it look as though there’s more story – a book that doesn’t has the effect of trusting the reader to remember instead of creating the unfortunate other effect of making the reader feel the author doesn’t trust them to remember.

I think continuing for the original readers is a good thing. And it provides another book for them to introduce to the new generation (or provides the excited conversation that would intrigue a young reader to look for the older ones themselves… we can hope!)

Your thoughts?

I didn’t read as much in December as I’d planned, what with all the busyness of Christmas and other happenings. I’m hoping to make up for it later this month; I’ve many ‘easier’ books to read (I dislike that term but romance and fantasy is generally less mentally taxing, and I welcome it).

The yearly tradition of Thackeray being moved to the new year’s reading list has happened. This year he took with him Solomon Northup – he got lost amongst review copies some months ago – and J Courtney Sullivan’s The Engagements, which is a relative tome to start in late November with the festive season looming.

For the first time since I started reading avidly, I specifically asked that any Christmas presents not be books. I received one book and that was only because it was a present that had been meant for another occasion and hadn’t turned up in time. It was a strangely wonderful situation; as much as I have lots of books to get to regardless, not receiving more was freeing. And as much as receiving an awesome book can get you out of a funk, I can say that not receiving any books can do similarly. In fact I’m now raring to go, there’s just one thing I’m having to consider:

I’ve been spending a lot of time knitting. A few years ago, my Second Mum, as I’ll call her, started making me sweaters after she saw me wearing shop-bought knitwear. Having always been interested in knitting but only ever knowing enough to start but not finish a scarf (I’ve 3 of those lying around), I asked for instruction and now have enough knowledge to graduate to sweaters myself. I did the logical thing and decided to make my first project one for a small person rather than my adult self so there was less to lose if it went wrong… and then soon realised it wasn’t so logical a choice because children grow at an alarming rate. At best, my nephew will be able to wear the sweater for the rest of the cold season we’re currently in so it’s a bit of a race against the clock. I’ve decided I’ll make him a hoodie next but a couple of sizes bigger so I don’t feel the need to spend all my free time making it and can pick it up every now and then. The good thing is that the reading in the small moments idea has translated well to knitting – from what I’ve read, those who knit a lot have their projects ready for queues and public transport, just like readers their books.

So that’s taking more of my time at the moment but I’ll be finished soon and looking forward to giving time back to reading; I enjoy it but knitting is going to have to go a few steps back in the priority line.

…Because I am reading, albeit slowly. On a few present-giving occasions last year, I found myself with a selection of romance books – hence the note at the beginning of this post. I received the last two books in Eloisa James’ Desperate Duchesses series, a couple of books by Sherry Thomas, and a Sarah MacLean I’ve heard a lot about. I also received Eowyn Ivey’s To The Bright Edge Of The World, and in terms of review copies Jessie Greengrass’s Sight is high on the list. I won’t be getting to them all one after the other but most will be read fairly soon.

Once again I’ve decided not to set any particular reading goals – I’ll read as much as I can get to. Last year’s reading wasn’t as diverse as I’d hoped and I think keeping that in mind this new year may mean it’ll be better. Certainly it seems that when I make any sort of specific target in regards to anything related to books it doesn’t happen. Vague notions are best.

What are you hoping to achieve this year, in terms of reading or otherwise?

Yesterday was a particularly strong example of a reading phenomenon that I don’t think has a name.

At some point in the last two years, I bought Helen Oyeyemi’s short story collection, What Is Not Yours Is Not Yours and a little while later I attempted to read it. I want to say that these events happened in the last year – it feels like that’s the situation and it would make yesterday’s reading more interesting – but I have the hardback which was published in March 2016, so it can’t have been much longer than that date.

On trying to read the book I found I couldn’t get into it. I remember thinking the writing was lovely, but that it was too heavy a subject and needed a lot of attention. I considered what I’d surely considered before I’d bought it, that Boy, Snow, Bird had proved to be nice but a bit of a mess, and that buying the new book had been a bit of a silly idea.

I left it and left it and didn’t really have even a vague notion of returning it to for a very long time.

Well, in comes yesterday, I was wanting to read something on my shelves and as I was heading over to the books I received last Christmas that I still haven’t read, my eyes fell on the Oyeyemi and I thought I’d give it a go. I didn’t expect much.

It’s now Monday morning and it’s off the currently reading list already. I started it just before lunchtime and spent the rest of the day reading. I absolutely loved it; it was everything I look for in a book. Granted it was completely bizarre and didn’t always make complete sense, but those two things were more a positive feature than a drawback.

Being in the right mood to read a book is often discussed. So too is timing. And I think both of those ideas may have applied to me, but usually you get a sense that you’re reading the wrong book. That first time with the Oyeyemi felt, on the face of it, perfect, but, particularly in yesterday’s case, as I read the pages I’d read before it seemed to be a completely different book.

Perhaps it was because I was wary then, of reading another Oyeyemi, whereas since that time I’ve read interviews with her and have come to understand that the bizarre is a long-used feature. Maybe this time because I was resigned to the idea that I might end up shelving it again – I went in with the thought to take a quick peek and certainly didn’t envisage spending the rest of my day on it – it worked for me. I don’t know. But I think I should pay more attention than I do to that feeling of it being the wrong mood, wrong time, even when I’m otherwise raring to go.

Interestingly this doesn’t tend to happen with review copies. It does sometimes but generally not. Perhaps in those cases I’ve spent long enough beforehand contemplating them.

What books have you put aside with indifference only to return later and love them to pieces?

The lack of posts on this blog recently may suggest otherwise, but I am in fact writing every day.

The festival I’m working for started on Thursday so my role has expanded – to the original public relations and marketing I am doing, I’ve now added event reporter and photographer. It’s often early mornings and late nights.

As for this blog, I’m going to aim to post again (properly) on Friday, but it may end up being Monday. The festival finishes on Saturday and I’ll be back to my normal schedule.

How is October treating you? We’ve had some t-shirt weather but the season is definitely changing.