I rarely lend my books to anyone. Although I’m not overly concerned about the overall condition of books as Jamie has discussed, once I have a book, if it was new and in a fair condition, I’m loathed to lend it.

I like my books to stay in a good condition. I’m one of those people who try not to bend spines or cause those crinkles on front covers (inevitably it happens sometimes). I am less worried about hardbacks (hence the choice of books for the photograph), but then they do have dust covers.

Here I must admit that in the past I haven’t taken care of others’ books. If I’m to present myself as such a perfectionist it stands to reason that I should be honest. At school I let a friend’s book – given to her for review nonetheless – become creased, and with another book I let the edge get bent.

Yet for all this I have a second reason that is just as ‘important’ – I fear never getting the books back. Again, it may relate mostly to younger years, but I had a favourite book lost forever when I lent it to someone who lived a few hours drive away. I’ve seen them since, but the book hasn’t been returned. And likewise I am missing CDs and have a broken board game. I could make a rule only to lend books that could easily be replaced, but it’s uncomfortable asking people to pay for losses and I don’t have the money to pay for second copies unless there is a major reason.

Looking at it from an avid reader’s perspective, I can’t help but think that it feels worse when someone didn’t like your recommendation if you lent them the book, than it does if you bought them a copy or they got a copy themselves. It becomes not only an ‘affront’ to your recommendation, but to a beloved possession as well.

In the last several years I have borrowed Pride And Prejudice from my boyfriend’s mother. Reading it caused the start of my love of Austen and I am grateful to have been able to read the pretty old Penguin edition. Being that it belonged to my boyfriend’s mother I was very aware of how I was holding it and so forth, and thankfully returned it in the same condition. I was also lent a battered copy of The Alchemist by a friend who wanted me to read it. It was her favourite book, she was onto her eighth copy, and we had just reconnected. I didn’t have to worry about the condition as she was about to buy number nine, and following my reading I’ve gone on to read Eleven Minutes, Veronika Decides To Die, and Manuscript Found In Accra. Had I not borrowed my friend’s book, I likely would never have read Coelho.

I think, all things considered, I sound a hypocrite, but then I do (at least since my teenage years) treat others’ books how I’d want them to treat mine. I am as fastidious with theirs, and ‘managed’ to lend my spine-breaking boyfriend Pratchett. Being that he’s my boyfriend, it returned in perfect condition. (My copy of Mort, lent to Dad, didn’t fare so well.)

In summary I suppose I lend books to those I’ve vetted, and with reluctance.

How do you go about lending, and lending in conjunction with recommendations?

Today I’m also at Alice’s blog talking about the Relative Worthlessness of Book Lists.

Like any avid reader, I tend to notice when places, situations, and brands, are mentioned in books constantly over a certain period of time.

You may know that prior to my blogging days, during that in-between era of my life where I was reading two books a year, I looked to chick-lit to further brighten sunny days. For me, my foray into chick-lit was a defining moment of my life, as it heralded my transition from the Young Adult fiction I desperately wanted to keep a hold of, to the more adult fiction I knew I should try (adult fiction covers were often boring at that time).

A lot of the chick-lit authors I read reside in London, and set their books in London. And because many of the characters, at least a few years ago, had quite a bit of money, they themselves resided in the more affluent areas. Inevitably in reading chick-lit set in London you are introduced to areas that tourists may not be aware of.

I believe it was Freya North who first introduced me to Primrose Hill. There is at least one character from her novels who spends time there. Likely Lisa Jewell, with her tales of nearby Belsize Park has used it also, though it has been a while since I’ve read her work. This long, in fact. Whoever and whichever, the hill has been mentioned enough over a period of time that I found myself wanting to see it for myself, to see what the fuss was about – especially since the descriptions in the books, to someone who does not know of the hill, do not really suggest why it should be highlighted. Indeed until I actually got there last year I assumed it was just your average hill, high (higher than it turned out to be) with some shady trees.

I think my photograph says it all. From the top of the hill almost the entirely of London (baring what’s behind you) is at your fingertips. You can play I Spy quite easily up there, and even work out the best route to take to minimise travelling times. Even on a cold day the hill is bursting with people and to top it off, pun not intended, there is even a quotation from William Blake.

I have conversed with the spiritual sun. I saw him on Primrose Hill.

If it were not for chick-lit and Freya North I likely would never had encountered Primrose Hill, or at least not for a long time in the future. Being there is like watching London from afar – I expect it is the same as Central Park in New York, you don’t feel as though you’re in a big city at all. The sun shines on you throughout the day and the mood is ever hopeful and inspiring. People just sit and look, relax, and time stands still.

So that others may live…

Publisher: (self-published)
Pages: 338
Type: Fiction
Age: Young Adult
ISBN: 978-0-615-78130-3
First Published: 2nd May 2013
Date Reviewed: 11th June 2013
Rating: 4.5/5

Incenaga witch, Emmeline, may have escaped Mahlon and Weldon and found happiness with the servant who turned out to be a prince, but as she always knew, that happiness would not last forever. As she and Erick prepare for their wedding another person seeks to claim her power…

The Underground Witch is the follow up to Dee’s début, The Last Witch, and whilst there are still issues with the text the book is leaps and bounds ahead of the first.

The book is plot-driven (at least in the main – Emmeline’s development is crucial). A fast pace runs throughout it and the detailing is good. Red herrings are used less this time around, but the somewhat predictable plot twists are not disappointing. Rather they might surprise you initially before you realise that in using them Dee has created more scope for future books.

The storyline, whilst inevitably sporting a ‘fight against evil’ thread as its base, is rather different otherwise to the last. Whereas there was a strong focus on romance before, here the romance is in the background, the love fuels Emmeline’s decisions and but is less important than the action. And despite the fact that the chemistry is strong, Dee’s change in focus is one of the most successful aspects of this book, because she doesn’t spend any time letting the characters linger in angst longer than is necessary for the plot, which means that the story keeps moving.

This leads us swiftly on to Emmeline herself. The character was likeable before, but now she is a contender for strongest female character this year. Not once (again, unless absolutely necessary) does Emmeline give up her opinions, her will to fight, her sense of what should happen. She repeatedly stands tall in the face of evil adversity, but never so much as to overturn common sense. (This is of course partly because her power undermines anything her adversaries throw at her.) Emmeline is not simply a breath of fresh air, she is the entire gust of wind. When it’s necessary to give in she does so without losing hope, and never lets anything break her spirit for more than a few moments.

Erick is not as strong but then it aids the plot and the development of the relationship for him to see only what’s on the surface for a while. And Dee doesn’t draw it out for too long, practically piling the sense and other reasoning on him as soon as he comes to his nonsensical conclusions. The other characters are developed enough to make them interesting; given that the plot is the main event, it does not matter too much that they are not as detailed as Emmeline and Erick.

Whereas The Last Witch darted back and forth in time with little time spent where it should have been spent, The Underground Witch takes the literary equivalent of the scenic route, slowing down, detailing everything and generally seeking to create that which is now commonly termed ‘epic’. It’s true that the ending is quick, but given that this is the second book in a trilogy that was to be expected somewhat, especially given the obvious direction the third book will take (as intimated by the last paragraph).

Like before, the book is very violent. Emmeline is struck by her captor repeatedly and there are many murders. This is a series where the heroine is strong but ultimately lives in a world where men have the upper hand.

What unfortunately brings the book down is something that marked the last. There are many editorial errors – spelling, grammar, and there are times when the wrong punctuation is used (such as questions ending with full stops instead of question marks). If you enjoy the story enough they may not bother you too much, as this is a book where the plot is good enough to aid such a dismissal, but they are noticeable all the same. That said, there is good news in regards to the dialogue – the book lacks the proliferation of modern day expressions that mired the last, baring only a small number and all but one or two confined to description.

The Underground Witch may not be perfect but it is an incredible step up. Dee has advanced a great deal in the short time and it is a wonderful thing to witness. The book promises a strong end to the series and is a novel that one can recommend without hesitation.

Help Erick. Discover the princess. A very strong heroine awaits you.

I received this book for review from Sage’s Blog Tours.

Related Books

When worlds collide.

Publisher: Alma Books
Pages: 275
Type: Fiction
Age: Adult
ISBN: 978-1-846-88241-8
First Published: 2012
Date Reviewed: 7th June 2013
Rating: 4/5

Japanese Reverend Oda was sent to the monastery as a child by his parents. The action saves his life and he comes to enjoy living in the temple. But the temple is moving on, modernising, and where there are now western Buddhists there is the requirement for a competent priest to move to America. The temple believes Oda is that person, but Oda feels very differently. And working with and teaching westerners who have not grasped the teachings may prove difficult.

Buddhaland Brookyn is a peaceful book, in its words, about cultural clashes and how they influence the working together of a group of people who must be a team. It demonstrates how, with more thought, people can overcome their differences and work together. Morais offers a poignant character in the person of Oda.

Yet it must be pointed out immediately that Morais’s Buddhism here is not at all the sort you are likely expecting, and this is true no matter how much or how little you know of the religion. Reverend Oda smokes and has sex, eats meat and drinks alcohol, and his fellow priests go shopping on the high street for golfing clothes. It is indeed best that the potential reader knows this beforehand so that they can decide whether or not it would work for them. This is in part because it means that so many of the cultural differences that would ‘usually’ occur in such a situation, are not here. (It should be noted that Morais says, in the acknowledgements, “My novel should in no way be considered a serious religious work…”.)

Yet the absence of the expected Buddhist tenets does allow for Morais to concentrate on the less general areas of conflict that might have occurred. Instead of dealing with, for example, the decadence of his American congregation, Oda must teach them that their faith is a little misplaced (for example believing that prayer helped a company survive). This is where the heart of the book lies, in the transitions that need to be made by the congregation, as well as the understanding Oda must develop of his adopted land.

Oda is at the heart of the book – his change as a person is the most important. This may seem odd considering that it should be the western believers changing in order to be true Buddhists, but Morais made the right choice. As mentioned, Morais’s Oda is a wonderful character, and it’s evident that the writer has spent a lot of time getting him ‘right’. And the flow of the story, the way it has the capacity to draw you in for countless minutes before you realise just how many pages you’ve read, is a very good thing. It ought to be said, however, that this does mean the secondary characters are not as developed and a lot of their inclusion is down to the easily-identifiable stereotypes they provide (Morais is not being prejudice, he uses stereotypes to make the conflicts simple to understand).

The book ends quietly, there is no great statement or revelation. It should be noted that depending on the reader’s feelings about Buddhism, or, more so, religion in general, they might find the compromises made – in light of what happens in reality – disappointing. Yet the book’s story and voice, and the feeling that it could have been a memoir, keep it relevant and engrossing.

This Brooklyn presents a very different Buddhism, but for what it is the book is a success.

I received this book for review from Alma Books.

Edited on 11th June to reflect the information later provided of Morais’s long-time interest in Buddhism.

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She was a punk, and he did ballet (or rather, played baseball), but there’s far more to say¹.

Publisher: Harlequin
Pages: 462
Type: Fiction
Age: Young Adult
ISBN: 978-0-373-21063-3
First Published: 28th May 2013
Date Reviewed: 31st May 2013
Rating: 4.5/5

To win the current round of dares, Ryan has to get the phone number of the girl at the drive-thru counter, and it would have been a lot easier if she wasn’t a ‘skater’. Beth tries her best to protect her mother, whose boyfriend beats both of them up, and when she [Beth] takes the blame for Trent’s injuries, uncle Scott suddenly swoops in and takes her to Groveton. Beth hates Scott for abandoning her as a child, but the biggest issue she’ll have is when Scott introduces her to the boy who’ll help her find her way in school – and that person is Ryan, the jock from the taco bar. Baseball and grunge don’t tend to make a good match, but if Ryan’s to win the resurrected bet he’ll have to get past Beth’s curses. He’s likely to fall in love in the process.

She stares at my wrist, then at my jeans. “I see your tastes haven’t changed.”
“No,” I say. “But Ryan’s have.”

Dare You To is a book that will appeal to many readers, even those who would typically pass up on YA. McGarry’s story and writing style fit an older time – Dare You To is unlike the current crop of books out there and has an old school feel to it. The best way to describe it would be to say it’s akin to a darker, gritty, non-musical Grease, or 10 Things I Hate About You, where the hero and heroine are from completely different backgrounds and no one can see the relationship working. That said, the usage of the word ‘dark’ and the reference to these two films does not describe the book correctly. This book is similar at its foundations, but it is full of angst, domestic violence, drugs and alcohol. It could be said to straddle the border between YA and New Adult, and whilst Ryan may be innocent in his so-called perfect world, McGarry holds nothing back when detailing Beth’s life.

Given the above it may come as no surprise to hear that there is little weakness to the characters (of that annoying kind) and no silly choices. The characters are strong and although they both have issues, when they are upset, it remains realistic. There is so much detail and reality to these characters it’s evident that McGarry has put her heart and soul into the storytelling. There is a lot of angst and sadness, but none of it is excessive or there for little reason. The book never wanders away from its subject, and whilst the inevitable budding relationship between Ryan and Beth obviously changes things, invites love and romance, the characters do not change beyond loving looks and the odd understandable blushing and weak knees. They never lose sight of their dreams.

So to the darkness. This is not a book for teens at the beginning years of the life stage. Beth is 17, a drug user and a drinker. She has had one heck of a terrible life with her mother, a woman who will not protect her child (rather Beth protects her), and when Ryan meets Beth’s group of friends he provides the outsider perspective on what the group is (although in that last point, there is not so much worry for younger readers). And Beth is no stranger to sex. Her friends are supportive of her, rather than bringing her down, which one might have assumed from the first descriptions of their living conditions, Isaiah and Noah work to help Beth see that the life Scott has gifted her is the better one, that it would ruin her future to stay with her mother. Ryan’s own family has problems, though here it’s a case of perfection on the surface, and estrangement underneath. His town is religious, anything that bucks the trend and doesn’t conform is shunned. Everything blended together, it has to be said that McGarry has structured and written her book brilliantly, and without leaning on the support of extreme drama and the confrontation of multiple families.

As for the writing, as previously accounted for it is good. McGarry has a firm hand on the dialogue. Everyone gets to the point with little waiting involved, and characters say what you would expect them to. The book is told from the perspectives of Ryan and Beth, going back and forth between them. There are rarely any gaps in time; as soon as Ryan’s chapter ends Beth’s takes over in a heartbeat. This means that you get to see every shared moment from both points of view, and means that no curtains are drawn over uncomfortable situations.

There are but a couple of aspects that could have used a little more work. Firstly, there are several pages devoted to the plight of a bird that is clearly a metaphor for Beth. It’s not bad, but it continues for too long and the point is made repeatedly. Secondly, and this may not be a problem depending on the reader’s location and the media they consume, although Ryan and Beth are a ‘jock’ and ‘skater’, from the perspective of a reader not well acquainted with these terms and styles (for example a non-American) it may be the case that the wrong conclusion is reached about who the characters are. More description at the beginning would have worked well here, although it does become obvious later on. Considering that these two issues are not of paramount importance, it would be difficult to pursue them further, and in the case of the metaphor it is easy to see why McGarry used it, even if it is unnecessary.

Dare You To achieves something that Young Adult novels have not, recently, and that is a demonstration that one can write a romance into a book without glossing over the strength and common-sense of the characters. It offers knowledge of difficult subjects unapologetically and brings to the forefront the strife that is the social situation for many people, not just teens.

The decision for how to end this review is perhaps the most uncomplicated for a long time. Dare You To is an exceptional and different Young Adult novel that may be just what you’ve been looking for.

I received this book for review from Harlequin.

¹ A play on Avril Lavigne’s “Sk8ter Boi”.

Related Books

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All books are works of fiction.

The Books

Jane Austen: Persuasion – Anne ended her engagement with Frederick Wentworth some years ago due to family pressure, but now he’s back. I tried, I really did, but I didn’t like it any more than my last read a few years ago (I’ll aim for objectivity in my review, however).

Kate Atkinson: Life After Life – In the early to mid-twentieth century, Ursula lives her life over and over. Maybe if I’d not read Before I Fall I would’ve liked it better, but I found it too repetitious and the promise at the beginning was never fulfilled.

Katie McGarry: Dare You To – Ryan is dared to ask a skater girl for her number, and when she moves to his home town after saying no, it’s nowhere near over between them. Everything the trends are not, and that’s such a good thing.

Kimberly Derting: Dead Silence – Violet now has her own echo playing in her head, and her next assignment involves a young group of people. Still holding onto that strength.

Maryanne O’Hara: Cascade – Dez wants more than her home in a small town, and the government wants to turn her small town into a reservoir. Very, very good.

May was alright, though reading Life After Life took it out of me. It was just too long. Cascade was great, however it’s made me consider opting out from Netgalley except in certain circumstances (pdfs and ereaders are a nightmare). My favourites were definitely the two young adult books, Dare You To and Dead Silence.

Quotation Report

None this time.

I’m going to try to read more in June. Incidentally I’m aware my ‘review coming soon’ section is currently hearts and flowers. I’ve found my reading slumps are best filled with light romance books, but promise I won’t start posting about them one after another. (In fact I think a few have been there a couple of months already.)

What was your favourite book this month (or week if you round-up each week)?

I’ve started a service for writers who are in the midst of drafting their books; the service is a detailed critique. If you want to take a look, the site is here: Carnelian Valley Manuscript Critique.

I never thought I’d get the site completed and everything prepared, but somehow it all got finished in the end. Perhaps the biggest thing I’ve learned from this is that it’s incredibly difficult to procrastinate over starting something when everything is ready. And I’m glad to be using the homepage of my dot com again since I stopped personal blogging a few years ago – I’ve been ‘Carnelian Valley’ for 10 years now.

The question for today has to be: when was the last time you took on a daunting task/project?

I apologise to my email subscribers who have likely received this post late. The only way to adjust sending times (my posts get sent to you at 7am) would have resulted in a duplicate email.

This is a post I’ve thought of writing for a long time. So long that if ideas were objects I’d have had to dust it off.

Adding my image to this blog has been a constant thought of mine. I know that I like to see the writer behind the blog (I’m therefore somewhat of a hypocrite), but all those worldwide worries sometimes come into play. When I started working on my plan B I realised it was time for my image to be online. I’d put it off for ages and working on my project has been a catalyst for making my decision, it’s pushed me to make that step. To be honest I’m glad. It’s time I stopped deliberating.

In my case, adding my photo to this blog, or any blog I might begin, gets rid of the particular anonymity provided by my name. I’ve never pretended to be the opposite gender, but I’m aware that some people mistake me for it, conversational content intimates as much, as have various letters. Being a ‘Charlie’ has given me a lot of insight into the differences in how men and women are treated, subtly, by both sexes. And whilst most people (at least I assume) know which I am, such anonymity elsewhere can have its advantages.

So there was that to consider. Yet at the same time, the age-old, or rather 21st century, question – why should gender matter?

Moving on to a universal point of consideration – does a blog with the owner’s image grant more authority to what they say? Does it make their words more memorable? The latter is easy to answer – yes, names and faces and so forth. The former not so much. I’d say people can have authority, followings, and the like, without being visually recognisable. Consider the simple idea of the many DJs in the music industry who we wouldn’t recognise except aurally. Yet it strikes me that generally, authority is stronger when combined with a visual. It’s not about power, or putting up your photo with the purpose of authority, it’s that authority can seem a natural effect. You can put a face to the work, there is a certain bond created, and you feel you’ve been invited into the person’s lives.

I’m aware that so far I haven’t invited you beyond edited words.

Editing brings me to my next point – how big an issue is privacy nowadays? In the early days of the Internet, everyone was careful. But now, with so many people online, with companies wanting to show their staff’s faces in order to appear more approachable, with journalling moving online, it’s starting to be the case that online is just as anonymous as a city street where everyone can see you. Though of course on a street you’re nameless.

And the type of writing, the type of online presence we have as bloggers, somewhat begs for a face.

Lastly, another simple point – image has a lot to do with confidence. It’s easy to be confident online anonymously. My decisions haven’t been down to any shyness or lack of – I am confident in my writing – but it’s a point that bares inclusion here.

I guess the best way to end this post is to say “Hi”.

Whichever it is in your case, a photo or not, what factors lead to your decision?

Capturing a thief, hunting down memories.

Publisher: Harlequin
Pages: 275
Type: Fiction
Age: Adult
ISBN: 978-0-373-29742-9
First Published: 21st May 2013
Date Reviewed: 30th April 2013
Rating: 4/5

Finally in a position to discover what happened to her family, Li Feng makes use of performance troops to develop her skills further. In the process she ends up with a group of thieves and therefore finds herself followed and caught by thief-catcher Han. Li Feng escapes and Han catches her again, but this won’t be a simple game of cat and mouse when love is involved.

The Sword Dancer is in part a wuxia novel; the book rests firmly in the suspense/action subcategory, giving the book an extra plot thread and meaning that the heroine is pretty strong both physically and mentally.

Li Feng had already been through a myriad of experiences before this particular crime and Han’s interest. Her background, the lost family, has led to a lot of her desire to learn how to protect herself as well as to be cautious and never exploited. This can be related to her non-belief in her relationship with Han, a more descriptive reason for how they work as a couple. Li Feng gives in against her nature only when it’s appropriate, never changing her mind simply because she likes Han. Han has his background too, but there is a little more in the book about Li Feng’s and the difference makes for a fine balance, allowing Lin to look into social and domestic issues without any distractions. The issues never take over the plot, nor the plot the issues. Everything fits together well. As for Han? He has had an easier life, certainly, but his feelings of inferiority have marked him as a person and his desire to do well could be said to form some of the basis for the book.

And so the only way Li Feng’s strength is hindered is by her constant belief that a relationship with Han is impossible. Whilst it makes sense – a law-abider and criminal being together would be difficult – as it’s inevitable the book is going to end happily, it does feel redundant, even if it’s understandable. Nevertheless the romantic scenes are well written, the crimes just as much a focus, and Lin has plotted her book to perfection. In addition, it cannot be said that Li Feng’s reluctance isn’t a good contrast to her strength, or that the reluctance doesn’t fit well with her trials as a person without a family.

Instead of having lots of dialogue or simply detailing a scene, Lin breaks up conversations with information about a character’s background, politics, or a character’s thoughts, rather than having the characters reveal it themselves. What you learn about the characters tends to come from the pen rather than their voices; it’s the sort of writing that might divide opinion. However Lin has spent a lot of the time developing everything – the story, the romance, the characters – and the elements are fascinating. Even plot points that seem convenient are not a negative here because of the way Lin deals with her setting. It is more a case that you feel the book would have not suffered if descriptions of backgrounds had been removed.

The book is a winner when it comes to accessibility. Chinese words are included without the constant translations (those that can make usage superfluous) that can be found in other books, and Lin has chosen a theme and made it her own. The scale of the crimes are perfect for the book – not too big, not too small, and detailed well. There is enough happiness and well-intentioned corruption to keep you reading.

If you’re looking for history, chemistry, and adventure, you’ll find it here by the bucketful, though some descriptions may prove to be less successful.

I received this book for review from the author.

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The emphasis today is on the ‘how’. In my case I am historically (if such a word can be used in reference to someone who is 27), a pen and paper person. Although my handwriting has deteriorated over the years, thanks to my desire to write out study notes and the ensuing speed that soon accompanies the tediousness, there is just something about literal writing that I love. It might be the stationary, it might be the sound of the pen, the nib of the type I choose, or it might be the romance of it. Whatever the reason, because I’m not really sure which it is, writing is ‘it’ for me.

However writing can also be a pain. It takes longer to write than to type and therefore occasionally you find you’ve forgotten how you were going to end the sentence as you inscribed the first half of it. Typing is instant and quicker all round. In general I prefer typing my posts, with a few forays into writing when the sun is out and I want to pretend I’m back in the 90s.

But recently it’s occurred to me that my love of typing is perhaps more intertwined with the computer I’m using. Up until a few months ago I was pounding away on my laptop, loving the professional sound of the keys, and the idea of the portability even if I didn’t move location much. Sitting here, in front of my keyboard, which for comfort is necessarily at the edge of the desk whilst the computer screen is at the back, I aptly feel disconnected. As though pen and paper would be preferable. That extra distance between me and the screen often results in a lack of interest in writing blog posts, and because I know I actually am interested overall, I either procrastinate or go and find my notepad.

This post has changed topic since the opening question, but if I’m to speak personally then it had to be that way. I think having a tidier desk would help; mine is currently a mess of books and paper, but I don’t think neatness will ‘cure’ it. There is definitely something to be said about getting too used to electronic devices that were never going to stand the test of time, though I do know that preferring notebooks isn’t a bad thing. I’ll have to see how it goes.

So, to clarify, how do you write your blog posts and do you have a preference that affects your mindset and the resulting content?

Sense And Sensibility And Sea Monsters and… you know the deal.

Publisher: Vintage (Random House)
Pages: 354
Type: Fiction
Age: Adult
ISBN: 978-0-099-56369-3
First Published: 1st January 2012
Date Reviewed: 21st April 2013
Rating: 5/5

It’s Emerald’s birthday, and as her step-father leaves to go to a meeting to discuss the family’s ability to keep their house, everyone is getting ready for the dinner party. Charlotte is in a whirl and not sure about her daughter’s friends, Clovis is being his usual self, and Smudge is unwell and thinking about the charcoal drawings on her wall. But an unexpected call from the railway changes everything, as the family find themselves having to make allowances for a crowd of people left waiting after a train accident. It’s a weird group of people, and it gets stranger still when an old acquaintance of Charlotte’s arrives as another passenger of the train.

The Uninvited Guests is a peculiar book that turns the notion of literary fiction on its head. Not at all what you’d expect from Jones, the book is somewhat of a parody, yet retains its literary feel throughout.

Jones’s writing is as good as it has been since her début. History is still the period of the day, The Uninvited Guests appearing to take place around the early twentieth century, but there is also a great amount of humour in the book. Either Jones has taken a chance or she wishes to show that literary fiction need not be so separate from genre fiction.

The action takes place over the course of 24 hours, with the majority of the book contained to the evening. A lot happens; it can be hard to remember it is still the same day. What fills the book and keeps it from ever being dull is the number of characters and their development. Apart from the ‘guests’, who are generally observed as a whole group rather than given time individually, the characters are all related in some way and each is distinctive – as detailed to some degree by the summary above. They all have their own stories and goals within the main one assigned to them as a unit, and this means that Jones switches back and forth between them when they’re separated. Jones’s usage of solo plots works here because of the nature of the characters, for example Charlotte is quite the snob and a bit lazy so she stays in her room, and Smudge is the oft-forgotten child and therefore spends a lot of time alone.

Owing to the period and the idea of the sudden burden of people, an aspect of the book lies in the family’s principles. The social status of the passengers compared to the family, the aims and aspirations of Charlotte, the wishes for a good birthday, and the general feeling of unwelcome arrivals, forms the basis of the book and is a big part of why it takes so long for the characters to work out what the reader knew all along (because in this book the reader is purposefully ahead of the game). It is a big part of the hilarity, too, and, somewhat uncomfortably, also the way Jones demonstrates neglect – for example the family literally forget little Smudge, which is what leads to her mishaps.

The dialogue is understandably steeped in its time and the writing is as good as Jones’s previous novels. The humour is both pure comedy and a sort of silliness. Sometimes Jones goes too far – as the book reaches its conclusion it could be said that the humour becomes a sort of private joke, rather over the top and unnecessary – and so it may shock readers who were thinking it might be more serious (despite the quotations and descriptions the book’s cover does not aptly indicate the nature of the contents). Thankfully the silliness resolves itself in the end – as much as possible given the plot.

Perhaps the best way to describe the book is to say that the characters would really like this to be character-driven, but Jones has decided that it is plot-driven. Indeed there is a constant push by the characters to forget the crowd of passengers and enjoy their evening.

There are lessons for the characters, and there is such development of them as to make you feel sorry to close the book, but really this story has no specific purpose. The Uninvited Guests is a novel that exists just because – it’s a laugh a minute but of no lasting value as literature. However that seems to be the point. As long as you’re okay with the idea of literary fiction being gatecrashed by paranormal dystopian stories – which is itself another possibility for the feelings of these ‘poor’ literary characters – and you’re willing to switch the angst-ridden beauty of Jones for frivolity, then you will likely love this book.

Jones’s latest – jolly good fun old chap.

Related Books

Barbara Kingsolver: Flight Behaviour – I’m not enamoured by the character names, but we’ll see how it goes. This will be my first book by Kingsolver, and has been reviewed by too many people for me to ignore any longer. I know the response has been mixed, but it’s partly that that made me interested – I want to see for myself how Kingsolver handles the different subjects she has included.

Debbie Dee: The Underground Witch – I read The Last Witch last year and although it wasn’t spectacular, it showed a lot of promise for the next book, so I said ‘yes please’ to this next book.

Emma Henderson: Grace Williams Says It Loud – It has been my aim, ever since the 2011 Orange Prize was shortlisted, to read said shortlist. I’m finally getting round to it.

John Green: The Fault In Our Stars – Recommended by too many book bloggers to leave it any longer.

Julie Kagawa: The Iron Queen – I liked The Iron King, wasn’t keen on The Iron Daughter, hoping this one will be more like the first.

Julie Kagawa: The Iron Knight – Ditto the above.

Laini Taylor: Daughter Of Smoke And Bone – I had absolutely no interest in this book for the longest time. Then Jenny wrote a review of it.

Meike Ziervogel: Magda – I wasn’t actually aware that Meike (of Peirene Press) had written a book until Jackie reviewed it. Having read Peirene’s books the last few years and having met Meike, when I saw this on a display in Waterstones there was no question, I was getting a copy.

Nancy Bilyeau: The Crown – Bilyeau had something special going on with The Chalice and I want to read the first part of Joanna’s story.

Paula Lichtarowicz: The First Book Of Calamity Leek – Caused by Judith’s review.

Peggy Riley: Amity & Sorrow – Judith, Jennifer, and Jenn’s, and I know numerous others, got me interested in this one.

Richard C Morais: Buddhaland Brookyn – This is fiction about starting a Buddhist monastery in New York. I have a thing for Buddhism, and also Buddhist monasteries (the culture is fascinating… and they make awesome vegan meals with random mixes of ingredients and not planning time…).

Taylor Stevens: The Doll – I reviewed The Informationist last year, so accepting the pitch for this just made sense. I’ve missed the second book, The Innocent, but considering the sort of series it is I’m hoping I’ll be able to work out what’s happened.

Yep, a lot to get through.

When everything happens at once.

Publisher: Penguin
Pages: 353
Type: Fiction
Age: Adult
ISBN: 978-0-1431-2351-4
First Published: 16th August 2012
Date Reviewed: 21st May 2013
Rating: 4.5/5

In the 1930s Dez married Asa as life became difficult. When her father dies he leaves the family’s beloved playhouse to Asa, with the intent that its care be passed on to any children of the union. But the town, Cascade, is under threat by the state who need to create a reservoir for the health of residents of Boston, and Dez is unhappy with Asa as it is. She dreams of a career in art that will never happen in Cascade, and as Jacob continues to be a scant part of her life, she wonders about the possibilities for more.

Cascade is a complex novel; on the surface it is straight-forward, the story of an unsatisfied woman and the imminent demise of Cascade, but as it continues it becomes obvious that there is a lot more to it. Indeed it takes a long time to truly pick up the pace, appearing for a good while to be a somewhat laid-back story about an event that is surely horrific for those involved; the persistent reader will be well rewarded for continuing with it.

Because as much as the word ‘cascade’ refers to the town – its name and the literal cascades of water situated nearby – this book is also about the cascade of feelings, isolation, and hopelessness that happens when everything that borders on white lies and secrecy, explode at once. In Dez you have a character who is difficult to like in her entirety. There is an overwhelming sense of her being used by others, and of being unable to stretch her wings, yet there is also some true selfishness there at times. Most of what Dez chooses to do, the mistakes she makes, even the good choices, have understandable reasoning behind them, but a few do not.

This does not mean that Dez is not a good character, however. She is indecisive throughout the book, but as a character she is wonderful. O’Hara rarely takes the easy route – just as it seems you can predict what will happen, the events work in Dez’s favour (or not) but as much as O’Hara wants to help Dez, she doesn’t let her off every time. O’Hara’s narrative for Dez means that you get that real sense of worry as O’Hara makes her character go through the misfortunes of life, and Dez’s wishes are very modern, meaning that the reader can confidently root for her without worrying about feeling disconnected by the time period. In Dez, O’Hara has created reality. You could create a book group discussion out of Dez’s life, question whether O’Hara even liked the character.

This leads us to the book itself. Moving on from the slow start and quickening pace later on, Cascade is one of those magical works that pulls you in so much you don’t even realise you are reading. There is no fairytale, no wonderment, and yet the book itself is a wonder. The secondary characters are written just as truly as Dez. You get the harsh reality of Asa’s pain contrasted with what seems at times a violent nature, but throughout your time with him its obvious O’Hara is telling you to look deeper, to really see Asa, and not assign stereotypes or even the fact of his fictional nature on how you view him. O’Hara wants to make her people exist, and whilst this may be true of all authors, it is particularly obvious in Cascade.

Being that the book takes place during a time when personal freedom was becoming important, but that it is entrenched in tradition and a small town, there are a few moral questions up for debate. As discussed above, O’Hara doesn’t make it easy for her characters, and therefore no matter which side of the debate, or just the view, you might fall on, she makes it easy to feel comfortable with what is being discussed, opening conversation and successfully managing to not leave anyone out despite the fact that sooner or later her characters must of course make decisions.

Truly this is a book that is as much, if not more, about a person rather than a town. If you approach the book hoping that it will be full of protests and violence you will be disappointed. O’Hara’s aim with the town is to look at the process rather than the overall affect. Affect is reserved for the characters.

There is a lot about art in this book – Dez’s passion, the art world, descriptions of Dez’s paintings and the creation of them. Due to O’Hara’s fictionalisation and overall decisions regarding which story elements get page time, the art shouldn’t be a problem for anyone who isn’t as passionate as Dez. What may cause a problem, however, is the extent to which Anna Karenina is detailed. If you haven’t read the classic and don’t want it spoiled, you can easily skip Dez’s visit to the cinema without missing anything important to O’Hara’s book itself. Anna Karenina is used as a reference later on, but simply by knowing that Dez was interested in the film should be enough for you to understand these later references.

Cascade is a myriad of ideas and details, focused on one woman, but encompassing much more, just in smaller doses. It will delight anyone looking for a heroine who may not be strong but is successful, and will leave you thinking on its topics long after you’ve finished.

I received this book for review from Historical Virtual Fiction Author Tours.

Giveaway

In my rush to get this written yesterday I forgot to add that I have one paperback copy to giveaway. It is unfortunately restricted to the US (the book isn’t out yet elsewhere) but if you are from the States and would like to read this book, please let me know in the comments and I will choose a winner this time next week.

Related Books

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This photograph was taken by sleepyneko.

Yes, you read it correctly, there was no accidental copy-and-paste when I wrote this post, today I’m blogging about blogging about blogging. It’s rather like Historiography, which I was introduced to last year – learning about how people write history about the past – and I thought I’d take a moment to ask some questions and summarise some of what I’ve been thinking about.

I have a certain fascination for blogs that discuss blogging. There is a great amount of posts I’m not interested in, but I love those that deal with the process of writing – finding ideas, combating burnout, and tailoring your posts so that they read well. I don’t know why I’m fascinated, as most of the time I read I think ‘great advice’, and promptly forget it all or realise it doesn’t fit book blogging. But I am, and I continue to waste hours (in phases) doing it.

I know that as I’ve continued to write at The Worm Hole, I’ve inevitably brought some of my other interests to the table when I plan posts. History is covered here, I’ve spoken of my web design, films make an appearance, and I’ve noticed that every now and then I lean towards talking about book topics in the context of blogging overall. I like the mix of book-centric topics, and writing about blogging in the context of books. Incidentally, knowing a little about SEO I’m aware that this post will likely be spurned by Google because of the many mentions of ‘blogging’, but it can’t be helped, and Google doesn’t know everything. Yet.

I had a myriad of paths I could explore in this post, but the most pressing was the above summary, and asking you some questions.

Do you mind posts that revolve around blogging itself?

One thing that has stayed in my mind since The Estella Society posted a piece by a non-blogger reader, is how accessible is my site to a non-blogging reader? I know that recently I have been somewhat swayed by my above-mentioned interests, though I do have many ideas for posts that are solely about books and reading. I also know that the first cardinal rule is to write what you want to write.

I suppose what I’m trying to say is that blogging about blogging with books in mind seems appropriate to me, but does it to everyone else?

And is there a limit to how much is interesting?

I think this is one of the most rambling posts I’ve ever written, which is why I seldom go into great detail or write all those essay-like pieces I have in mind. Leaving it here, feel free to answer any of the above questions (please do!), neatly summed up as:

Do you enjoy reading blog posts about book blogging?

When a woman dared to tread.

Publisher: Wiley
Pages: 270
Type: Non-Fiction
Age: Adult
ISBN: 978-0-470-84881-4
First Published: 2003
Date Reviewed: 22nd November 2012
Rating: 3.5/5

Please note that whilst the title of the book may suggest another woman had ruled in China before Ci Xi, Laidler himself makes no mention – thus it should be noted that there had been another Empress to rule China, Wu Ze Tian (also called Wu Zhao), between the years 690-705. Please also note that due to the different methods of transliterating Chinese into English, I have included the two most, in my opinion, used. (Any discrepancies are my own as I used my own knowledge to transliterate the method not used in the book.)

Laidler presents a biography of the Empress Ci Xi (Xu Xi/Tzu Hsi) from teenager to death, looking at how she managed to defy tradition to become the ruler of China and the ways in which she kept that power in the face of opposition.

The Last Empress is a difficult book to define. At once very detailed politically, it misses out a lot of information that would have been of use, yet what it does include is incredibly interesting and Laidler’s style makes for an easy read.

Ci Xi is surely a fascinating character to learn about (though it should be noted that for reasons unknown Laider has called her by her clan name – don’t let that fool you into thinking she was the only Yehonala at court). The way she came to power, her confidence and intelligence, the punishments she meted out to her enemies, and her lack of emotion for many of those in her care – Laidler makes sure that he provides a balance and includes discussions of why she became such a despot. Whilst admitting that her lust for power was unquenchable, Laidler questions her background and how being a woman, and at that a woman forced to become an emperor’s concubine instead of marrying the man she loved, would have given rise to a vengeful spirit, a woman with no love for the dynasty she had been brought to serve.

And this is key to what makes Laidler both accessible and hard to dispute – he may have his own views, but seldom are these included subjectively. Laidler’s work is incredibly unbiased, he damns and glorifies both sides, always presenting the various arguments and possibilities, and succeeds so well in his goal that the reader will have a tough time working out where his loyalties lie beyond his loyalty to introduce Ci Xi to his reader. Indeed all evidence points to him being completely objective. Such a method of writing is a relief when you consider that many books err more on one side than another, creating discomfort when the reader does not agree with the author’s views.

Unfortunately, however, Laidler’s writing is marred by a lack of referencing. Sometimes this is literal – he doesn’t reference any source at all, leading it to seem as though he wrote all the facts when he of course did not – and otherwise there is just a simple lack of footnotes. Both issues are a major drawback as they bar further study into the sources and limit the knowledge the reader can gain into what Laidler has researched, what is common knowledge, and what he took from elsewhere – is what you’re reading true or made up, and how much is speculation? (From the way it’s written all speculation appears to be what is obvious speculation – the rumours recounted by Laidler.) It also means that on many occasions where quotations are included, there is no way of finding out the original source of the work, beyond the name of the speaker. The only upside of this marring is that the work is largely chronological and there is no major aim to convince the reader of a certain idea, meaning, at least, that one will not be able to cite Laidler as the source for reasons of debate. It does mean that Laidler’s work has little value for the student, which given the overall lack of importance given to Chinese history in western academic institutions is disheartening.

Poor editing and some bad writing join the source work. Sentences sometimes make no sense or are unfinished. Despite, or maybe due to, the easy style, phrases such as “had been begun” seem to have slipped through the net, and there are far too many errors. In fact it is as though no proofreader were employed at all. The extent to which grammatical and spelling errors flourish means that any actively engaged reader, wanting to make notes and copy sections, will likely have to edit the text themselves, and the writing on occasion reads as though written by a person with scant knowledge of the English language.

Laidler writes a great deal about the naval warfare between the Europeans who wished to trade according to their own customs, and the Chinese who wanted to keep their traditions. In the main this means that the reader not only develops knowledge of the Empress herself, but of the context surrounding her reign and the reasons she was the last empress. However sometimes Laidler does go off on a tangent in ways that don’t apply to his main subject, resulting in pages that suggest the author was perhaps more interested in military history than the woman who took charge. This is not a huge issue, but it does mean that there are gaps left in Ci Xi’s life where it would have been sensible to either concentrate more on the ruler or, if such is the case, simply let the reader know that there is little known about the empress at that particular point in time.

Because for all his fair treatment of Ci Xi, and the approach that suggests a writer unbiased about gender, Laidler also leaves out aspects of Ci Xi’s power that would have added much to his work. Whilst explaining that Ci Xi’s rise in power over her husband was due to her sexual prowess, and including an explanation for how a woman confined to a world devoid of intact men might improve certain muscles – emphasis here on ‘might’, for there is no evidence that she did – Laidler neglects to discuss the issue any further. And considering it is apparent that Ci Xi retained her place as favourite for reasons other than abilities in the bedroom, there is a seeming lack of information in general. It is not detrimental, but it does suggest that Ci Xi’s rise was predictable, which given her time was not the case. And although there was a prophecy that a woman of Ci Xi’s clan would conclude the dynasty, speculation is of course no good basis for argument. What does seem to be reality is that no one really knows how Ci Xi came to power; that really ought to have been highlighted.

Hearing one lady holding forth on the evils of foot-binding, she pointedly asked if the European practice of binding women’s waists in whalebone corsets was not similarly barbaric.

Laidler does succeed in demonstrating how familial and social tensions created problems for China when it was faced with the invasive forces of the Europeans. Setting the backdrop of the stereotypical dynastic court that believed itself invincible, the author shows how tradition which was otherwise sustainable fell flat when confronted by the opposing beliefs of other countries. He gives a lot of time to Kuang Hsu (Guang Xu), the impotent boy Ci Xi chose (for the very fact he could not sire children) as heir to her dead son, and the ways in which, upon reaching majority, the now emperor tried to balance what he knew to be the iron will of his aunt with his own views of cultural and political reform. This not only means that Kuang Hsu is given a prominent place in the biography, but also that Laidler can adeptly reveal how Ci Xi changed her opinions on tradition and foreign powers – which is particularly interesting when placed alongside the way she manipulated tradition for her own ends.

And what is endlessly interesting is how this most powerful ruler of the wrong gender, of little status, and hated by so many, was able to take over a dynasty, a people, and keep that power for so long that her actions gave her reformist enemies exactly what they wanted.

Laidler’s book may not be in anyway polished but it provides a basis for further reading. Yet a basis it is, due to the speculation and content choices.

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This photograph was taken by Clarence.

Something I’ve been concentrating on recently is blog post word count. There are a few reasons for this; I’m glad to say that none of them pertain to the advice of ‘experts’, who have search engines in mind. No, my reasons are that I appear to have evolved away from my hatred of editing university essays and now see the value in being concise, and that I want to improve my writing. Yet it was when researching the advice of experts, to see if they matched my thoughts, that I got the idea for this post. (If you want to know what their advice is, it varies wildly.)

What is the optimal word count for blog posts? It really depends on what you’re writing. In my case I know that my reviews can be long and it is sometimes difficult to shorten them without losing a point I wish to make, or having the resulting post be incomprehensible. I know that I am by nature a conversational rambler, but when it comes to reviews that is not as noticeable by default.

When writing discussion posts I keep it shorter; a big part of the reason being so that I don’t exhaust the points of discussion – I want you all to be able to join in. And I’d venture that this is the same of most book bloggers – that our reviews invite longer articles and otherwise we’re more concise. Short posts tend to receive more comments; I’ve written about this previously so won’t elaborate here except to say that this is across the board rather than for types of posts.

As a reader I find longer posts more ‘acceptable’ if they are broken up by images. It took me a while to implement it here but there is definitely a huge benefit to it.

I would like to comment further on the advice some experts give, because inevitably some of it can be good. Experts cite the fact that readers like all lengths of posts, dependent on topic and writer, that long posts are fine as long as they are detailed and don’t ramble. These same experts are the ones who advise writing for readers rather than search engines. I’d a rather a handful of interactive readers than two-second visits, anyway. Accordingly, Google values content. It might like short posts in general, but a thesis is always going to be more valuable than a quick bullet-pointed list.

For now I’m tending to focus on 600 words. It forces me to stop repeating myself and get my point across. I don’t think it’s an idea to keep lowering the count, but setting a rough limit definitely improves my writing and hopefully makes my posts better. Whether I’ll continue to use it after this practise I don’t know, but the exercise is definitely helping me become a better blogger.

What do you think about word counts? Do you write with them in mind?

No longer on the shelf.

Publisher: Broadway (Random House)
Pages: 246
Type: Fiction
Age: Adult
ISBN: 978-0-307-39506-1
First Published: 2012
Date Reviewed: 28th April 2013
Rating: 2/5

At fifty-four years old, Clover feels invisible as a woman. One day she wakes up and it’s no longer a feeling – she is literally invisible. Going unnoticed by her family, she discovers a group of women like her and starts attending meetings. The other women have worked out what’s gone wrong, but is there a way to fix it?

Calling Invisible Women is a book that starts brilliantly and has a fantastic premise, but rapidly falls to what’s most comfortable in a way that provides a negative impact. The premise, or at least the supposed premise, of a middle-aged woman feeling invisible, is fresh. The possible metaphor of literal invisibility standing in for the invisibility of middle-aged women in a society that values youth and beauty, is promising and had a lot of potential, but sadly Ray does not take the opportunity presented.

What is good in Calling Invisible Women is the laugh-out-loud humour of the first half, the fine writing, and of course the social issues referred to. But that is where it stops. In Clover there is a character who feels invisible but has done everything that will insure she’ll remain so; a woman who simply does not fit her time period. If this book had been released in the mid-twentieth century, understanding Clover would be easier.

A typical example is Clover’s relationship with her daughter. Ray’s descriptions and the dialogue show Evie to be a self-absorbed person who cares not a jot for others unless she needs something. When Evie needs clothes, Clover describes how she’ll be giving her daughter, who is 20 and hasn’t realised her mother is invisible, the money for these clothes. If Clover spoke of how she should stop and how she lets her family walk all over her, it would be okay, but she doesn’t. There is also a situation where Clover and Gilda stop their grown-up sons making their own life choices, and when Clover tells her women’s group what happened “The group let out a moan, the collective heartbreak of all suburban mothers.” Given the subject at hand, Ray affectively wipes out a great number of potential readers from her audience as well as providing an out-dated social commentary on something that is widely considered an individual’s choice.

After the initial set-up, wherein one could suppose the women have become invisible because of society and the way they themselves feel, Ray places the actual reason outside of the women’s jurisdiction in order to conduct a commentary of another subject. It means that the strength of the premise is destroyed, even if the commentary itself is an interesting one. This happens later also, in a minor way, by Clover’s changing thoughts about her family. This is a family who fails to notice that their mother and wife has become invisible, despite the fact that Clover continues a sexual relationship with her husband and affectively flies around in clothes, headless. There is also the fact that Clover’s issues really needed to be at the forefront.

For its premise this book needed strength and empowerment. The ending is little more than a summary and the action happens too late in the day. Calling Invisible Women could have been incredible, a friend to women entering middle-age and a lesson for those who are younger or who simply forget such women. Unfortunately, it is not and whilst it may be one thing to have an un-likeable character, it is another to have one who is nonsensical for no given reason.

I received this book for review from Crown Publishers.

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Screen shot from Midnight In Paris, copyright © 2011 Warner Brothers.

This won’t be a review because I’m not good at reviewing films, but I wanted to discuss Midnight In Paris because it got me thinking. Due to the style of this post there will be spoilers.

Woody Allen’s film has a premise to appeal to readers – the wannabe novelist, fond of what he knows of 1920s Paris, finds himself time travelling at night. Allen never goes overboard with the references, he includes a couple of very famous artists from different mediums but also lesser-known ones, too. Yes, it’s exciting to wonder who Gil will meet next, but it’s evident Allen’s focus is on Gil’s discovery of who he wants to be.

I must be honest and say that if the opening sequence had been just that bit longer I would’ve stopped watching. The sentiment was obvious, showing both the glory and averageness of Paris, an intimation of what will later present itself to be Gil’s preference (Paris in the rain) but the length was unnecessary. It didn’t represent the time Gil had spent in Paris, and it just didn’t strike me as an inviting way to begin a film.

I loved the way time-travel was used, as well as Gil’s reaction to it. In a way, it was more magical realism than fantasy because although it was far-fetched, it was never glamorised. (This links in with the focus being on Gil.) Gil’s fanboy excitement worked because there wasn’t too much of it – it was in ‘spits and spots’ – and it gelled with Owen Wilson’s general acting style. It never tried to be too much. I also love that a person went to their preferred period and that the periods weren’t far in the past (excepting the detective who I’ll talk about at the end).

I think it was a miss to have Adriana’s diary and her interest in Gil, and then have her choose to remain in 1800s Paris, assuming that, like Gil, she could go back again. It was just so sudden and suggested she didn’t care much about him. The conversation about golden ages was poignant, however, and I like that after all the spotlight on his romance, Gil chose his own passion over Adriana’s.

I do wonder if Gil would’ve pondered publishing his book alongside his heroes. Maybe he went back again, though surely the suggestion is that he didn’t and didn’t ‘need’ to. It’s not that I think he had to go back, but I think he would have wondered. And I loved that it can be assumed Gil’s manuscript was written in such a way that one needn’t worry that his heroes couldn’t understand it. In another film that could have been a big flaw, but here it was obvious what sort of books he liked and wrote.

My last point, then, and this is something I’ve thought about since reading a discussion on IMDB: what about the detective? He’s not a villain, so one can’t say the guards chasing him was justice. It’s more that the scene was a good intimation of what might have happened during the French Revolution. Obviously the Revolution was the detective’s favourite period. We don’t know why, but assuming time-travel works the same for everyone, that would be the case. We can assume the man got back to the 2000s, and I couldn’t help but think that this scene was purely for entertainment.

I really liked this film, it was a literary and time-travel treat. And the lack of plot detail, evidently part of the idea, made me think.

Have you seen Midnight In Paris? What did you think of it?

Questions and answers in a straight forward format.

Publisher: Knopf (Random House)
Pages: 188
Type: Fiction
Age: Adult
ISBN: 978-0-385-34983-3
First Published: 2010
Date Reviewed: 29th April 2013
Rating: 4.5/5

Coelho presents one of the ‘lost manuscripts’ – a fictional take on a real situation – and divulges its contents. As a town prepares to be attacked, a philosopher answers questions from the worried residents.

Coelho’s books are based in spiritual, philosophical content. In Manuscript Found In Accra he takes this a step further, styling the book as a question and answer session, keeping the text concise and devoid of superfluous detail, and borrowing from scripture. Indeed enough here is borrowed from scripture to make you wonder whether this book was produced too quickly, yet it fits the theme to have it included as Coelho writes the manuscript as one akin to the books of the Bible.

It is a very short book with little plot, but this means, as said, that there is nothing more than what needs to be said. Coelho’s never suggests he isn’t out to change minds, and the teachings are a good mix of common sense and thoughts that people tend to reach after a lot of thinking. The book is akin to Plato in style, and reads just like the ancient philosopher himself.

As there isn’t a plot besides the general setting of a town on the brink of extinction, it is possible to describe the questions without ruining the book. The prospective reader will find the following themes, amongst others: defeat being a bad thing, solitude, how to live happily, and love. The themes are more detailed than this list can suggest, though they work as general answers.

It could be said that this is a lazy offering from Coelho: short, sparse, lots of empty space on the page. It could be said that in essence it is more of the same from him. But those looking for a book of wisdom to be dipped into will likely appreciate this. And that is the take-away here – it is similar to the rest of Coelho’s work, but it still has its place on shelves.

I received this book for review from Crown Publishers.

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This topic was inspired by Violet, who questioned the need for such a phrase when I was reading Julie And Romeo (the cover of that book doesn’t say ‘a novel’ but the GoodReads title does). The question made me remember the times I’ve wondered the same.

My main thought, which I assume are the same as other readers, is that the usage stems from the publisher or author wanting people to know that the book isn’t non-fiction, to clarify what the contents will be. But then it’s generally obvious whether or not a book is ‘real’ or not – in fact it’s often books that don’t bare a distinction that are less obvious. It is also often books with a complex or nondescript title that include the phrase, for example it’s evident ‘Julie And Romeo’ is a play on Shakespeare’s work but it isn’t unheard of for real people to find themselves in such a situation. And, looking at the photograph above, some of those books might be mistaken for non-fiction if you didn’t read their blurbs. Thus a distinction is needed.

So, okay, that could be the reason. But somehow there is still that element of discrimination – in a way it seems the phrase implies the inferiority of fiction, as though the publisher is saying “This book!… oh, sorry, it’s not real life”.

You do have non-fiction books that state ‘the true story of…’ but in that case there’s the sense that that’s there to let people know it’s the truth, the real evidence as opposed to non-fiction that might be biased or not detailed enough.

Of course there is the possibility that it could be to confirm it’s fiction for those who don’t wish to read non-fiction. I admit this is a hunch, but there is that divide. Or, on the other side of the equation, and to bring in a conversation I had the misfortune to participate in, some people think they have enough stories in their own life to warrant fiction worthless.

Numerous other reasons could be found. This topic could be inexhaustible, and I doubt that without the input of someone in the know the true reason could be known.

What are your thoughts about ‘a novel’?