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Louise Douglas – The Love Of My Life

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The tree makes the apple fall… and calls itself lighter for it.

Publisher: Pan Macmillan
Pages: 328
Type: Fiction
Age: Adult
ISBN: 978-0-330-45358-5
First Published: January 2008
Date Reviewed: 8th November 2017
Rating: 4/5

After Luca died, Olivia decided to move back up north, where she and her husband were originally from. She wanted to be close to their childhood homes but true to form his family are not at all interested in seeing her return, in fact they really don’t want her to come back. Olivia’s childhood was not a happy one and the choices she made were seen as rebellions. Only Marc, Luca’s twin brother, is happy to see Olivia, and they find themselves becoming closer in their grief, a dangerous thing in the situation they’re in.

The Love Of My Life is a short novel with a dual narrative, Olivia speaking of the present in tandem with the past. The book is somewhere between a contemporary novel of social issues and a work of suspense, the reason for all the hate unravelling slowly but the slowness being rather apt as Douglas has something she wants to talk about – the way Olivia was brought up and the effect her mother had on her maturity. Olivia is only somewhat a heroine, often remaining passive and often quite annoying to read about, her decisions being the sort we call wrong; however your like or dislike for her is not the point in this book, rather the importance lies in how Olivia has come to be in the situation she is in.

Olivia was, is, and likely will always be the black sheep of the family, her mother spitting out such phrases as ‘you’re just like your father’ and demeaning her. Because Olivia was not as talented academically as her sister and because she often made very normal mistakes for her age, she was belittled. The town being small meant that this hatred from her mother spilled over into society, with adults believing Olivia was trouble. And so as she aged she rebelled, but there were also a lot of things she did that weren’t her fault at all.

So Douglas looks into the effect of this treatment. Struggling in a place that hates her, Olivia’s choices often look bad but aren’t. A good example that doesn’t spoil the plot – because it’s known from the start – is the way she ‘stole’ Luca from his family, ‘ruining everything’ by starting a relationship with someone who she’d known since childhood and who loved her very much. Olivia wasn’t good enough for their family.

The only possible point of contention with this study is how it continues into the ending of the book, the climax being perhaps not as satisfying as you might have hoped and Olivia leaving things be that she could very well fight against. Whether or not you like the ending will largely depend on how much you’re willing to suspend bookish enjoyment for what Douglas is trying to do, however either way you will likely see and appreciate it for what it is.

Interesting to consider is the way the author balances showing and telling. As a first-person narrative, Olivia obviously tells the reader a lot but Douglas’ look at grief and its effects allow for a lot of showing. There’s a lot to Olivia that she, the character, may or may not realise – things that the reader is privy to. As much as she can be difficult to emphasise with on occasion, you will feel a lot of understandable pity for her and the desire for her to spend her time with those who support her.

It’s a book steeped in grief but there are happy times. Douglas’ flashbacks and writing of Luca are so winsome it’s easy to forget you’re reading about a character who is no longer there; whilst Luca doesn’t ‘haunt’ the book, so to speak, his personality makes the pages brighter. Luca’s inclusion provides extra ‘evidence’ alongside Olivia’s descriptions and the phone calls with her sister as to the way the protagonist has been manipulated and split as black, the scapegoat everyone uses to take all their issues.

As for the writing, it’s rather lovely, and is enough to keep you reading when things are difficult. Douglas’ careful prose and attention to detail makes the pages fly by as you seek to know what happened all the while feeling at ease with the pace she’s set.

This is a book that exposes why things that seem so trivial or different on the surface affect people – a lot of the conflicts are small on the surface but big for the characters. It’s a book with a lot of romance but balanced by a massive dose of reality. But whilst it may be difficult at times it’s never too much to handle, Douglas’ expertise ensuring a good reading experience.

I read this book in preparation for my event.

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Terri Fleming – Perception

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Redux.

Publisher: Orion Books (Hachette)
Pages: [to come]
Type: Fiction
Age: Adult
ISBN: 978-1-409-17062-4
First Published: 13th July 2017
Date Reviewed: 25th September 2017
Rating: 4.5/5

With Jane, Lizzie, and Lydia married and away from the family home, only Mary and Kitty remain. When Mr Montague arrives in town – single, wealthy, – Mrs Bennet sees possibilities ahead. Mary is inclined to believe marriage is not for her, but the man proves bookish, has a large library, and may have taken a shine to her.

This is a superb book, a fine follow up to a famous book by someone else.

Fleming has chosen to stick with Austen’s way with words; the language is Victorian and the effort to get it right practically leaps off the page – but it’s never overwhelming: Fleming blends in. Are there occasion moments of modernity? Yes, but more often than not it’s a discrepancy with grammar, wherein one could say that perhaps, maybe, Austen or her contemporaries might have said whatever it is. It would be impossible to say that this book has not been gone through with a fine tooth comb and that those few errors are not the equivalent of the odd typo found nowadays. (Indeed there are far fewer errors here than there in new books sets in our present era.)

The overall literary atmosphere is also Victorian, with Fleming keeping to the same relative lack of action as Austen. In terms of physical movement, nothing much happens – it’s all in the character development, which is rather good. It’s also an easy read, a book that makes you want to keep reading and isn’t at all difficult to resume reading when you need to take a break. It can be read in short bursts to no ill effect.

As said before, the character development is good. Fleming’s got them just right – they match Austen’s well yet Fleming manages to bring a bit of our present day feeling into it without distracting from the original context. Where, for example, some now say that Mr Bennet did not treat Mrs Bennet well (I’m personally of the opinion that they are a bad match and Mr Bennet is dealing with a lifetime of unnecessary drama), Fleming slides this idea in finely, looking at the question without detracting at all from the surface dressing.

There are a few characters that the book could have done without, namely the two shopkeepers whose role doesn’t have any true impact and who could have been edited out without issue. Thankfully their chapters are very short and there are only a handful of them. (They are also two of the purely fictional people so that combined with their lack of impact renders them completely irrelevant.) The other new characters work well and the original characters have been handled carefully, Fleming putting her own spin on proceedings and detracting from the original context as little as possible.

This is a book for book lovers. In addition to the major factors of the book, the story revolves around libraries, with Mary’s bookish nature allowed full reign. Whereas Jane and Lizzie’s stories are full of sweeping romance, Mary’s is more quiet (though no less compelling). It could be said it wraps up a bit too neatly but the same could very well be said of Mansfield Park.

Kitty’s romance is a lot less important in context, and isn’t as developed – at least in terms of time – as Mary’s, but given the relative shadow over her from Lydia’s presence, it’s not so out of place, so to speak. That Mary is provided more time, with all things considered, does make sense.

Perception is fantastic. It looks to conquer any language and structure issues head on, and creates a story that whilst factually unnecessary, does provide a lot of value, enough that you can say that its worth goes far beyond the simple idea of continuing a story very much loved. It’s also an excellent read just for the effort put into it, Fleming’s time spent researching and getting it all right being a delight to witness for itself.

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Orlando Ortega-Medina – Jerusalem Ablaze

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The twisted fire-starter.

Publisher: Cloud Lodge Books
Pages: 174
Type: Fiction
Age: Adult
ISBN: 978-0-995-46570-1
First Published: 26th January 2017
Date Reviewed: 8th September 2017
Rating: 5/5

In Japan, a young man finds himself with blood on his hands and looks back at how he came to be beside the dead master. In Israel, a priest finds himself in a prostitute’s erotic fantasy. And in town, a child finds themselves in the presence of a crowd running towards a tiger.

Ortega-Medina’s Jersusalem Ablaze is a collection of short stories full of darkness, both the humour and macabre, as well as a few stories dotted about that are less so (and can be a blessed relief!) It’s a fantastic collection, devoid of messages, but nevertheless leaves you with a lot to think about.

This is an incredibly well-written book, with a general style of writing used throughout yet the voices of the individual characters are unique. Told through a thin lens, the writer is there throughout, both at a distance from the text – letting the people speak for themselves – and in the definite position of storyteller, the darkness of the narrative as a whole echoing the idea of sitting around a fire listening to spooky tales. It’s at once both a fair boundary – the reader being far enough away from the character to see the subtext – and wonderfully immersive.

Unsurprisingly, considering what I’ve said above, there are many stand outs, which amounts to most of the collection, given the size of it. A particularly good piece, covered briefly in the summary, Torture By Roses looks at the forming of identity and vulnerability in youth, going to the extremes of having the character taken in by a renowned figure who in the privacy of his own home spends his days sitting amongst a mass of dead roses, wounding himself on the thorns deliberately; his promise of an inheritance for his young companion (or, to the reader, servant) causing the boy to stick around even though his mental stability is crumbling under the weight of what the man is doing to himself. After The Storm tells the story of a woman isolated in a lighthouse who, after said storm, finds a body on the shore and takes it home. The title story, Jerusalem Ablaze, again, summarised, puts an impressionable Israeli priest in the house of a prostitute with a specific fetish (that’s putting the whole situation lightly), and The Shovelist studies the way an old housekeeping agreement can continue once the house changes hands, an elderly couple persuading the younger to let them shovel their access routes.

On the subject of a lack of messages, it’s worth noting that the book isn’t something you read through and put down. There are no morals or so forth in the book but Ortega-Medina does provide much for you to think about, sometimes in the fashion of ‘stay in your mind for days pondering it’ and, suitably more often, the content will keep you thinking simply due to its weirdness. On the whole the lasting impact of the book is as a collection – the general quality and interesting ideas.

Jerusalem Ablaze – excellence all round.

I received this book for review. It has been shortlisted for the Polari Prize. The winner will be announced on 13th October.

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Eric Beck Rubin – School Of Velocity

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The constant reprise.

Publisher: One (Pushkin Press)
Pages: 213
Type: Fiction
Age: Adult
ISBN: 978-0-993-50629-1
First Published: 23rd August 2016
Date Reviewed: 22nd August 2017
Rating: 4.5/5

A conscientious piano student, Jan’s school life was changed by the arrival of Dirk, a boy who was here, there, and everywhere in every sense of the phrase. Previously unknown to the musician, Dirk’s presence shook Jan’s remaining years at school; the pair became best friends, complimenting each other’s personalities, and even exploring their advancing maturity together. But then Dirk leaves for college in America and Jan for university to further his piano studies. Contact dwindles and Jan believes Dirk no longer cares as much. The musician moves on as much as he can but as he ages, the ever-present music in his ears becomes more than just a nuisance.

This is a book for which it pays to explain more of the plot than usual. School Of Velocity is an epic story in a small package, a tale that emulates many great novels and ends on a literary high. The Financial Times has likened it to The Great Gatsby, the relationship between Nick and Jay, and they’re not far off. Dirk is a whirlwind compared to Jay, but the experience of the two books, the narrative style, and the overall product, is similar.

We could argue about whether the score was sacred or improvisation was allowed. Whether one plays in period or updates for the modern age. But if I was going to be a professional I would have to keep a professional’s schedule. No more poet waiting for his inspiration. Learn the section, choose an interpretation, stick with it, move to the next section. If I had imposed this routine on my student self, I would have rebelled. But as it became the outline of my daily life, and I added more pieces to my repertoire, and took on more work as a result, I found I liked it.

The major themes of the book are music and relationships. Rubin is very instructive and open about the music, detailing it to good extent and making it as easy to understand as he can for those not familiar with the terms; but the relationship he leaves entirely to you. Is Jan and Dirk’s connection one of friendship or one of user and supporter? Is there a romantic element? Is there an underlying aspect of distaste or dislike? Anything is possible; Rubin looks at every potentiality, sometimes through dialogue and other times through narrative, a short phrase or a gesture, employing nuance to study a situation in a way that makes the questions come to you seemingly without any help from the writer. Rubin’s style here often means that some of the story initially comes as a surprise, though on reflection you realise it was always there.

A lot of the success of the book is down to the reader being ahead of Jan in terms of knowing what’s going on. Jan talks a lot about things that make it obvious to you, the reader, what’s happening, or, at least, the possibilities of what’s happening, but due to a lack of belief in himself, often also a lack of confidence and a bit of a lack of self-worth, he doesn’t see it himself. In another novel this might be a drawback, the reader effectively waiting for the character to catch up, but here it’s a triumph. Jan’s inability to see what might be the case allows Rubin to explore the character’s mindset in detail for his audience.

This detailing races towards the second half as Jan’s mental state begins to fail him (the book is told in flashback so you know the mental changes will happen in advance). Again possibilities are abundant and again Rubin sorts through the chaff swiftly to show the reader what is behind it all.

Never letting up on letting the reader decide things for themselves, Rubin’s ending is open to interpretation which is in turn open to being called either a success or unsatisfactory. Suffice to say that if you’ve been enjoying the book – particularly a lot – then there’s more chance of you appreciating what the end result becomes, otherwise it anyone’s guess as to what you might think. What you will likely do, regardless, is appreciate it.

School Of Velocity is in many ways an incredibly literary book. The characterisation, the attention to detail, the subtlety – but it’s also accessible otherwise. The characters, especially Dirk, can be irritating, most often when you’re trying to work out the relationship dynamic, and you may wonder at Jan’s inability to completely move on, but it’s written so well and with such good reason that it’s consistently hard to put it down.

And, as Jan finds, it’s hard to walk away from it all afterwards, remaining present in your mind for a while after it’s over. Great stuff.

I received this book for review.

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Tove Jansson – Letters From Klara

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To quote Moominland Midwinter: ‘One has to discover everything for oneself. And get over it all alone.’

Publisher: Sort Of Books
Pages: 129
Type: Fiction
Age: Adult
ISBN: 978-1-908-74561-3
First Published: 1991; 1st June 2017 in English
Date Reviewed: 19th July 2017
Rating: 4/5

Original language: Swedish
Original title: Brev Från Klara Och Andra Berättelser (Letters From Klara And Other Stories)
Translated by: Thomas Teal

Letters From Klara is a collection of short stories that are very subtle in their points. The creator of Moomins, Jansson is quoted as saying, “I love the short story concentrated and united around a single idea. There must be nothing unnecessary in it. One must be able to hold the tale enclosed in one’s hand”, and she stays true to form in this collection. What this means is that some of the stories may strike the reader as missing something – Jansson holding on so much to minimalism that it can be difficult to see exactly what she wants to say, but there are others that are profound. Those more average in their storytelling still make for a good read.

There are thirteen stories here and most are confined to a handful of pages. Standouts include the title story, entirely epistolary, in which a person’s first letter (so far as the story is concerned) sets out how someone else should become less critical and then goes on to show that perhaps it’s the letter writer’s own traits, projected; another is The Train Trip, wherein a man who very much admired an old classmate meets him and discovers his admiration pails in comparison; and Party Games in which a group of what we might now call ‘frenemies’ in school meet up again as adults, having changed little. A variety of themes, as subtle, often, as the overall reasons for the stories, rounds it off well – who one is, one’s place in the family (often too burdensome!) and other groups and communities, how one relates to others.

Something not covered in the stories listed above is the oft-used theme of art. An artist herself – in fact Jansson saw the art as more important – a few of the stories look at different types of artist, and the different reasons, ways, and places for drawing and painting. An isolated, prison-like place where a young adult nevertheless cannot escape the idea of home; a classroom of budding artists where one person stands out for seeming to misunderstand the concept of friendship and closeness, later revealed to be part of something else about him.

As a translation the book reads well, in fact it’s difficult to note anything particular about it simply because Teal has done such a good job. He’s kept it steeped in time and place and the tone and word choices, feels very right, an echo of many English-language counterparts, if you will, dialect from a few decades ago and matching the phrasing of an older generation.

This is a book to read at a pace that feels comfortable to you – there’s the feeling that Jansson, whilst of course having a reason to write and a desire for you to know certain things, has left the reading experience itself open to choice.

Letters From Klara shows off Jansson’s ability beyond children’s literature, just as deserving of accolades.

I received this book for review.

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