Lions and tigers and bears… and war and legends.

Publisher: Weidenfeld & Nicolson (Orion)
Pages: 336
Type: Fiction
Age: Adult
ISBN: 978-0-297-85901-7
First Published: 1st January 2010
Date Reviewed: 19th June 2015
Rating: 3.5/5

Natalia is off to vaccinate children at risk. In a country torn literally apart by war, help is needed. As she and her friend get to grips with their location, she muses on her grandfather, his life, and the tales he told her.

The Tiger’s Wife is a many-layered book. Good but with vague purpose, it is enjoyable but decidedly average.

The main problem where lack of success is concerned is the way Obreht chooses to write her story. The natural choice of main character was the grandfather but instead Obreht opts to tell the story through his granddaughter. It shows – Natalia is severely underdeveloped. There is no reason to care about her, nor anyone else. Everyone is forgettable.

This way of telling a story, through someone else, may work at times – Lockwood and Nelly in Wuthering Heights are fine, as is Wells’ time traveller speaking of the past – but in those cases there is a basic disconnect, a sub-textual acknowledgement that the narrator is just a device. In The Tiger’s Wife, whilst Obreht may see Natalia as a storyteller, she also includes enough about the woman herself to suggest she wants us to relate to her, to warrant detailing her life. Granted, Natalia is a device through which Obreht also teaches us about the Yugoslav wars and life at the time, likely chosen to bring about a similar affect as a memoir might have, but it doesn’t quite work.

The other problem is more opinion – some readers may find the book too vague. You are left to work out Obreht’s point by yourself; Obreht actually says near the end that she isn’t going to tell you what it was about. The problem is, it can feel like you’re grasping at straws. Suffice to say it could be argued the book was written to fill gaps, to provide a taste, to be beautiful.

And it is beautiful. Obreht’s writing is stunning. There are too many details but the style, structure, words, linger in your mind. It’s typical to describe a good début as not being like a début – this is an apt description of The Tiger’s Wife.

The social and political information is telling. Obreht leaves no stone unturned – she wants to inform readers about the division of Yugoslavia and that’s what she does. She weaves in diversity, showing the different cultures and how to some people the difference mattered, how to others it did not. She is incredibly candid about the way children can be, adults can be, when they are on the cusp of something big but not quite there – the way war can be appropriated to satisfy selfish and bad behaviour.

Those first sixteen months of wartime held almost no reality, and this made them incredible, irresistible, because the fact that something terrible was happening elsewhere, and at the same time to us, gave us room to get away with anarchy. Never mind that, three hundred miles away, girls sitting in bomb shelters were getting their periods at the age of seven. In the City, we weren’t just affected by the war, we were entitled to our affection. When your parents said get your ass to school, it was all right to say, there’s a war on, and go down to the riverbank instead. When they caught you sneaking into the house at three in the morning, your hair reeking of smoke, the fact that there was a war on prevented them from staving your head in. When they heard from neighbors that your friends had been spotted doing a hundred and twenty on the Boulevard with you hanging none too elegantly out the sunroof, they couldn’t argue with there’s a war on, we might all die anyway They felt responsible, and we all took advantage of their guilt because we didn’t know any better.

Obreht explains without trying to apologise, she explains to show what division, what war, can do, how it can change people.

The book is heavily influenced by folklore and The Jungle Book – Kipling’s original rather than Disney’s adaptation. Through these she explores social and cultural problems, domestic violence, the way people will see what they want to see, take from a situation only what aligns with their thoughts. This folklore is where the magical realism comes into play, the story of a man who cannot die and the titular story of a woman who befriends a tiger, scandalising a village that cannot understand it.

This is a book best read away from food. Natalia is a doctor and Obreht describes training in detail. She also has a fascination with the physical affects of sinus problems which are relayed without notice and may put you off your lunch.

The Tiger’s Wife is far from bad but there is an air of ‘written for acclaim’ about it, which was of course realised when it won the Orange Prize. It can teach you a lot but it’s not particularly well-paced and keeps its secrets beyond the last page.

Read it if you will but don’t put it above others on your list.

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Turnips, books, and occupation.

Publisher: Bloomsbury
Pages: 238
Type: Fiction
Age: Adult
ISBN: 978-1-408-81026-2
First Published: 29th July 2008
Date Reviewed: 14th June 2015
Rating: 5/5

Juliet is stuck. Her last book did well but she’s having trouble finding a new topic to write about. She begins to receive letters from a man in Guernsey who bought a book she’d sold to a second-hand shop. Dawsey introduces her to his life and friends, the story of their makeshift book club, and wartime Guernsey. It’s hers for the taking.

The Guernsey Literary And Potato Peel Pie Society is a wonderful little book that has earned its place in every bookshop. (Is there a reader who hasn’t encountered it somewhere?) Jolly, fun, but balanced by the solemnity of World War II, it provides both a great escape and an excellent history lesson about a place mainland classes forget.

The book is told through letters, telegrams, and a couple of diary entries. The correspondents are many but it’s not difficult to keep track of who’s who – the only reason you’ll fail is if you worry about it. The authors have given each character a unique voice and personalities shine through the text. You will know these people extremely well by the time you’ve finished. You’ll know more about them than you would if the book had been told in usual prose. The writers are open, unrestricted as they are by thoughts of anyone else reading the letters than their intended (fictional) friend. Given the nature of letters between friends, the book is not bogged down by detail. You form your image of the characters naturally, without the usual ‘my hair is… my eyes are…’ and it takes the pressure off; you never have to wonder if you’re picturing them correctly.

This is a story within a story. It’s about the composition of a potential new work of fiction or non-fiction inside a larger tale. It’s as much about Guernsey as Juliet’s personal journey through life, about the beginnings of a new way of life, and like Daphne Du Maurier’s Rebecca it’s also about someone who is no longer there (though for entirely different reasons). You get the wishes, the relationships, and the mundane day-to-day. The troubles, the fun, the history.

And history is inevitably important to this book. Shaffers (for we can assume it’s her¹) spends a lot of time on the German occupation of Guernsey, ensuring the fiction she writes weaves around it convincingly. She shows the hard times, the evacuations, the punishments, the food scarcity, but she also shows the humanity of the German officers, reminding her readers that there was a fair amount of ease, some respect between the occupied and occupiers. The name of the book, quirky as it is, links into the rationing and shows people trying to make the best of a bad situation.

So, not surprisingly, this is also a book about books. Books bring Juliet and the islanders together and there are explorations of reading groups and passages and, on a general scale, what reading means, the place it has in our lives. Literature carries the story along.

In truth any review I wrote could not do this book justice. It is hard to put into words how great an experience it is. If the characters see Guernsey as home, see those who arrive as coming home, then reading the story is like coming home. You are welcomed with open arms. The characters could be real, the authors the fictional people.

The Guernsey Literary And Potato Peel Pie Society is exquisite. It’s an escape, it’s a laugh, it’s a lesson. There’s a reason it’s everywhere and has been for some time. Let yourself be drawn to the characters, let them whisk you to their post-war Guernsey.

¹ Shaffers wrote the majority – Barrows, her niece, took over when her aunt was too ill to carry on.

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Hiring power.

Publisher: Peirene Press
Pages: 160
Type: Fiction
Age: Adult
ISBN: 978-1-908-67022-9
First Published: 1986 in French; 15th June 2015 in English
Date Reviewed: 8th June 2015
Rating: 4.5/5

Original language: French
Original title: La Lectrice (The Reader)
Translated by: Adriana Hunter

Marie-Constance has a nice speaking voice. She puts an advert in the paper, offering her services as a reader. She takes on her first three clients: wheelchair user, Eric, a 14 year old coddled by his mother; a widowed countess who may be old but will not be beaten; a managing director who wants to be able to impress at dinners but has no time to read. And it seems these people need her and need books more than she expected.

Reader For Hire is an exploratory novella that looks at the power of people in the context of the power of books, of reading. Open to interpretation, it offers a simple character-driven narrative and plenty of pleasurable reading moments.

There are many elements to this book. One: it’s a book about book. The chapters are full of quotations, mini analysis and odes to reading. Marie-Constance favours classics but there are other sorts of work. Make no mistake, you’ll be adding titles to your wishlist.

The biggest, or strongest, element, is power. The power of reading, what it can do and make you feel, how it expands the mind and can inform an opinion (that may lead to action). Be it Marie-Constance’s voice and manner of delivery or simple just the text, the books have an impact on the listeners. One ends up in hospital, another supporting a strike, and there’s the almost inevitable person who hires Marie-Constance but is more interested in the bedroom. (On this subject Jean asks us to consider further – is it stereotypical perversion or is it specifically to do with the reading?) The readings open minds. It gives the listeners a small voice where they’ve not had one for a while.

It could be said that Marie-Constance is the one with the power. She tends to choose the texts, and she chooses how to deliver them. It’s her presence in her listeners’ lives that changes them. And those who are listened to by society want to listen in return, to set reading on a literal stage and admire it.

It’s also her role as a reader that lands people in trouble. These troubles push her and in some cases her listeners, to re-think, to push a little harder for what they want – unconsciously. There is a place to interpret the book as being about subjugation. Listeners and Marie-Constance are pushed back. It seems that in educating themselves, thinking for themselves further than others may wish them to, they end up in trouble. Marie-Constance has to explain herself on various occasions – she’s just reading, isn’t she?

Reader For Hire asks you to enjoy reading but always question it, study its effect; to look at books and reading in a set few ways, to see the meaning in Marie-Constance herself.

At once simple and complex, this book about books is satisfactory in itself but will make you want to seek out others. By this time it’s likely Marie-Constance is booked until Christmas so it’s a good thing her story is available to all.

I received this book for review from the publisher.

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Against the grain.

Publisher: Various (I read Vintage Classics’ edition)
Pages: N/A
Type: Fiction
Age: Adult
ISBN: N/A
First Published: 1899
Date Reviewed: 22nd May 2015
Rating: 5/5

Holidaying with her husband and children on Grand Isle, Edna becomes friendly with Robert, a man close to her age who seems taken with her. On returning home she starts to feel limited in her life as a wife and mother, and slowly begins to make a play for freedom.

The Awakening is a book far ahead of its time. A novella that restricts itself to its subject, in the context of our present day it offers a look at the sort of repressed thoughts women of the late 19th century may have had.

The story, whilst upsetting – of course – is somewhat sublime. You can almost feel the liberties Chopin is taking by writing about the theme in her time and you can predict some of the tale simply due to the fact our society is different. One could argue that Chopin, whilst writing for her own society, has found her target audience in our modern selves – we may not be in a position to be affected in the way she might have wished, because our society has moved on, but we can still relate.

The Awakening was originally going to be called Solitude. It’s not known who changed it – Chopin or her publisher – or why they did, but ‘Solitude’ does express what Edna’s mission is all about. As she is ‘awakened’ to her individuality, her sexuality, Edna seeks time for herself. She may want Robert but she also wants to pursue painting, time to go out rather than play host to every woman who brings her card on a Tuesday, a place of her own bought with her inheritance rather than the house her husband owns.

It’s all about person-hood and, in a way, selfishness. That Edna is selfish is something that was comprehended most by her peers; today it will be down to the individual reader as to whether or not she is so. And it’s an interesting one because Edna is understandable, too. Selfish not because she wants to be free but because we can see how her responsibilities put her in a position that we frown upon today, namely the neglect of her children. The story makes you question how much ‘right’ a mother has to her own time. Chopin brings up the important point that a woman can love her children and still need alone time – in the context of her time that was a particular issue.

Chopin looks at the way a woman in her society was considered owned by her husband, belonging to him. She shows how a woman might want to refute the notion and the use of a fictional character allows her to give physical action to the thought. It’s interesting to note Chopin wrote as a widow; she would’ve likely had more freedom than most of her peers, indeed we could see her in Mademoiselle Reisz. Widowhood also means she would’ve experienced both sides of life – belonging and free – and that she married the man she wished surely influenced the way she writes Edna’s hopes for Robert.

There is plenty of symbolism in the book – birds, Mademoiselle Reisz, the sea. The sea features throughout, both ‘in person’ and as something Edna remembers. It’s the catalyst for change. It represents the freedom Edna wishes for, life without limits, and mirrors her memories of childhood, a meadow’s horizon.

The ending is particularly poignant. You may predict it, you may not, either way it is both satisfying and not so. It’s where Chopin is most bold yet questions are often asked as to why it was written. Is it weakness or freedom? It’s up to the reader to decide because it is also ambiguous. There’s a lot to it, it’s powerful, and you’ll be considering it for days.

The Awakening will awaken in you a love for Chopin. It’s superb; it’s one to savour, to think about, and to add to your knowledge of both literature and social history.

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Infiltrating male society.

Publisher: Avon (HarperCollins)
Pages: 366
Type: Fiction
Age: Adult
ISBN: 978-0-061-24557-2
First Published: 1st January 2007
Date Reviewed: 12th May 2015
Rating: 4.5/5

Isidore is tired of waiting for her husband to turn up and after ten long years the suggestion of Lord Strange’s illicit house is most compelling. Harriet, widowed Duchess of Berrow and sometimes unofficial judge, agrees to play a male so that the plan can go ahead without a hitch – Isidore will have a friend with her, it just won’t be known. Harriet would like to find love but Strange’s party isn’t the place, or is it?

Duchess By Night is a great book that’s only downside is its ending.

James is on top form. The writing is very readable, the humour laugh-out-loud. The book begins on a fun note, the drunken judge whose role Harriet has taken over and a fancy dress party at which Jemma lends her a stuffed goose as a prop, and it sustains it for a rather long time.

The characters are fun. Not everyone is developed particularly well but due to the nature of the book that doesn’t matter so much. Harriet loves being a man and this shows, she takes to her role like a bird to flight and the freedom allows the story to be more involved with the male side of life. Harriet is also allowed to be a man by those who know, making polite society have less of a stake (if it ever did in this series!) This said, Harriet’s character is a little fluid, most obviously at the end which I’ll be discussing later.

Strange is best once he’s figured out Harriet is really a woman. It’s then that he comes into his own as does the romance. He’s not bad otherwise but he’s not presented as particularly eligible, and by this I don’t mean the house parties. He doesn’t read as eligible because in truth he sounds a little too old and distant; it’s after the reveal you get the sense he’s Harriet’s age and a good match for her. As such, overall he’s a rather different hero to those in Desperate Duchesses and An Affair Before Christmas, less defined, not as well written. Related to difference but not writing, as he would say, he’s a libertine, so the sex scenes are a bit different. This is not a bad thing.

There is Eugenia, wonderful literal child of fiction. Strange’s eight year old daughter is into science and maths and she’s marvellous to read about. Though kept away from the parties she’s mature enough to provide fun (and accurate) commentaries on adult songs. Her scenes are ones to look forward to. Although the book is a romance, everything else in it is just as good to read about.

There is a lot of bias against same-sex relationships as might be expected in a book set in this era. It is entirely in context and nothing is remarked upon out of it – these are 1700s thoughts, no more. The era does lend itself to an interesting semi subtext, however – Lord Strange rather fancies effeminate ‘Harry’, so what does that say of his sexual preferences? It was always going to be beyond the scope of the book to explore, but it’s interesting to speculate whether or not Strange is bisexual, or if he somehow sensed Harriet’s true identity before he really knew. It is also interesting to look at the way there is a lot of freedom in Strange’s house for affairs and casual sex – but not between two people of the same sex. Duchess By Night is almost a mini study at times.

I should mention Isidore here because it’s important – whilst Duchess By Night is Harriet’s book, the premise sets up the next, Isidore’s own book. This means that Isidore’s musings and hopes of luring her husband home play an important part. As someone there by choice but not there to ‘partake’, Isidore provides both balance to the house and a reminder of the differences in society.

The book takes a while to get to the romance but that’s okay – Harriet’s exploits are something you won’t look forward to ending. James makes up for the time Strange is confused by way of a several pages long reveal and sex scene in the latter section. It could be argued this book is the steamiest so far, though due to Harriet’s relative inexperience and Strange’s insistence it could also be argued it’s the least comfortable. James spends time making her characters take their time but keeps the balance between closed and open doors – this is to say there aren’t numerous sex scenes – barring the first they are short and a lot of the content is alluded to rather than written out. The story rests very much on the general attraction and compatibility, even if it doesn’t always read as though the compatibility is complete enough.

This book would get the top rating from me if it were not for the end. Duchess By Night is excellent right until the last 30 or so pages when it turns to mush. An illness and plight for no reason – presumably James meant to further deepen feelings but it wasn’t necessary. The very end is a gooey, sickly sweet mess in which there are sudden pointless arguments and sentimental conversations. Most notably Harriet’s personality does a 180 and it’s stated she won’t be wearing male clothing any more even though the book had shown she would. Soon after this it appears she does don breeches irregularly, but not for the freedom. In sum, the ending doesn’t fit the rest of the book and the characters aren’t the Lord Strange and Harriet we’ve come to know.

Duchess By Night is a blast; it’s an absolute riot. You’re likely to enjoy its successes even if you do have to rewrite the conclusion yourself.

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