Is it a bird? Is it a plane? No; it’s something else entirely.

Publisher: Hutchinson (Random House)
Pages: 296
Type: Fiction
Age: Adult
ISBN: 978-0-091-94422-3
First Published: 7th February 2013
Date Reviewed: 11th March 2015
Rating: 4/5

Calamity Leek lives with her ‘sisters’ in Mother’s garden. It’s mainly aunty who looks after them. They have lovely furs to wear, work in the garden, and gain an excellent education. Oh, and they are being trained to fight and sleep on straw. Calamity is reaching the age where she’ll be sent off to war, but one day sister Truly decides to climb The Wall. Nothing will be the same again.

Let’s get this out of the way – The First Book Of Calamity Leek is not a book about books. The title relates to the way in which Calamity must think through her life and come to terms with everything that does not align with what she’s read in her aunty’s appendix. What Lichtarowicz’s book actually is is a very strange, silly-sounding but surprising story.

The writing style is odd. Calamity talks strangely, a particular sort of childish language; uppity, almost. So odd is it, that’s it very possible you’re going to read a few pages and want to move on to something better. (It’s also strangely humorous, both naturally and in that way children can be when you know you shouldn’t be laughing.) Calamity can be irritating, obnoxious, a bit of a pain when compared to her sisters. The truth is that even if you persevere it’s going to take quite a while before you become used to it as well as understand it all.

Understanding. There are two schools of thought here. One is that Lichtarowicz is a genius, that the way she lures you into considerations of a bizarre fantasy world is wonderful. The other is that the subject has been handled in a way you may not find comfortable. Is this a book about pigs living in a barn, about animals? Is it about children? Perhaps it is about birds? Fairies? Ghosts? Suffice to say the confusion, alongside the oddity, is likely going to put you off. Upon working it out you may want to flick through the previous pages.

References to modern media abound to confuse you further. Aunty’s actress days ensure plenty of singalongs: Mary Poppins, The Sound of Music, Grease, and a nod to The Phantom Of The Opera. Whether these were designed to confuse or whether they suggest something more is never explained, but there is plenty to wonder about. The children watch show-reels to learn about men, videos wherein aunty is, to the reader at least, acting in various musicals; they’re are taught that these are real events, or that at least they represent the reality of aunty’s life.

There is much that can be said as to the realistic possibility of what happens – in both the past and present sections. Whether Lichtarowicz wanted realism here is not obvious: it’s more than possible that the things that go on, and the reactions that would be frowned upon in reality are based solely on the way Calamity perceives them. At the same time it’s also possible that it’s the result of the adult way of doing things that may not always gel with a child’s understanding, especially not one in Calamity’s state.

The First Book Of Calamity Leek is incredibly odd and difficult to get through. Its narrator is irritating and it takes a long time until you realise exactly why. The ending is a little ambiguous. This is a book in which you are thrown into a situation with only so much explanation given.

Nevertheless it’s a good book and worth reading. What you discover may shock or surprise you and it will certainly make you consider what you’ve read and the reasons the author has chosen to write the tale the way she has. Calamity is not trustworthy but she’s innocent enough not to realise it and not to see that by reporting what she’s experienced, we will learn the truth.

Give it a go; see what you think. And make time to chew it over afterwards.

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The eternal ‘what if?…’

Publisher: Weidenfeld & Nicolson (Orion Books)
Pages: 442
Type: Fiction
Age: Adult
ISBN: 978-1-474-60016-3
First Published: 4th June 2015
Date Reviewed: 10th March 2015
Rating: 4.5/5

Eva takes her bicycle; she’s on her way to her university tutorial. Whether it’s a nail in her path, a dog she must swerve to avoid, or a dog she tries to move around but cannot, this day is accompanied by the presence of a boy she could meet. We follow three possible futures: one in which Jim and Eva meet and go for a drink, one in which they don’t, and one in which they do but then continue their day apart.

The Versions Of Us is a fine novel that takes its time to reveal its point. A decidedly average, run of the mill, set of lives, you will be forgiven for the times you wonder whether you should keep reading and will be rewarded at the end with a small yet very important thought. Indeed it’s not a lesson or message, as such, that Barnett wants to leave us with, it’s a notion. A notion and a reminder that whilst we can have regrets, few will ever have a perfect life no matter which choices they make.

Barnett favours a style of writing that is simple on the surface. Stripped of embellishments, the prose often reads as a bullet-pointed list, yet it is nevertheless detailed and literary. It’s the sort of writing that may take a few pages to get used to but urges you to read on. Yes, of course, every author wants you to keep reading, to keep turning those pages, but there’s a subtle difference here that is hard to pinpoint exactly. “Read,” Barnett seems to be saying, “not because I think you should love my book but because I know what you wonder about and I think I’ve found a way to help us all.”

It would be silly to deny that a reader will never be confused by this novel. Barnett doesn’t set her ‘versions’ out to be too different to each other – whilst there are differences, the basis is the same – and this was obviously a decision made to match the aim of the book. She’s not showing how wildly different our lives could have been if we’d said ‘yes’ to that man at the bar, or if we’d said ‘no’, or if we’d danced with the girl at the party or turned her down – she’s showing that our regrets shouldn’t have so much of a hold on our lives. She reminds us that yes, it could have been awesome, but it might have been mundane or even bad. Too often we look through rose-tinted glasses.

So you’re going to muddle these versions as you read, and that’s okay; it’s expected. Barnett ensures you know everything that’s important to know – when the versions match up (for example, an event that was always going to happen because it’s to be hosted by a third party) she includes the most pertinent details in at least one version so that you’re always up to speed. If there’s anything to gripe about, it’s the oft-repetitive nature of the book – Barnett is dedicated to keeping the stories in the same time frame, never jumping ahead. However the repetition itself is a good reminder that some things are out of our control. Obviously more time is spent on some versions than others at any given time, and the version that deals with Jim and Eva together at Cambridge often makes way for the versions in which they are apart so that both sides can have their say.

Barnett never suggests there is a right way to live; in keeping with the notion of possibilities she shows that there will be flaws and unhappy moments in even the best lives. She delves into the fact that something can look amazing on the surface whilst being fraught with difficulties behind closed doors. One good choice is unlikely to set the tone for the entirety of your life.

And this is why the story itself is average. Jim and Eva’s three versions are meant to represent lives that you can relate to. There may be the riches and fame, but they’re accompanied by the everyday, and likewise there are silver linings to the dark days. There is Cambridge and then your standard art college. There is the well-known author and the low-wage copy-editor.

Whether you prefer one version to the others is entirely up to you. Barnett doesn’t seem to have a favourite; she is simply studying a concept. It’s likely you will change your thoughts as you continue, as you see the various good things that can happen when the assumed best route is not taken.

The Versions Of Us is super. It takes the film it is compared to, Sliding Doors, and provides what that story lacked, showing that it’s not just the conclusions that may be humbling but the middle part, too. It’s confusing and you may want to put it down sometimes, but doesn’t that just echo life?

I received this book for review from the publisher.

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Heads held high as others fall.

Publisher: Michael Joseph (Penguin)
Pages: 450
Type: Fiction
Age: Adult
ISBN: 978-075-38232-48
First Published: 22nd May 2014
Date Reviewed: 1st March 2015
Rating: 4/5

When Lady Jane Grey is killed the future becomes uncertain for her mother and sisters. Regulars at court and related to Queen Mary, no one knows whether or not they will be safe and as time goes on and this doesn’t change, it’s up to the family to try and find a solution.

Sisters Of Treason is the second novel by Fremantle, which looks at the trials (sometimes literal) of the Greys that remained. It also looks at the little known life of minature artist, Levina Teerlinc, filling in the gaps in the history.

It has to be said that this is no Queen’s Gambit, however this is not entirely down to the author. Whereas previously Fremantle chose to write about a queen with plenty of history behind her, this time her subjects are somewhat obscure and did not lead as eventful a life as Katherine Parr. This, then, presents a conundrum: the book is not particularly riveting, but then Fremantle has followed what is known of the history.

Essentially this book was always going to be limited in scope; yet this limitation itself is worth discussing. Katherine and Mary were rarely away from court and, in Mary’s case especially (at least here in this book), they are not particularly fond of court. This means that whereas we are often told – by teachers, television, evidence – that court was a blustering, busy, exciting place, this novel shows us that actually in many ways it was boring. We all know it was stifling, rife with jealousies and full of backstabbing, but ‘boring’ is rarely a word used.

This is to say that Fremantle effectively shows the reader how dull Katherine and Mary’s lives were. Not dull as in to say unworthy of study, but dull because they had to remain at court when they may not have wanted to. There is the threat of death ever lingering in the background, but as a conflict it is not very strong – it could be said that this is a character-driven story when generally factually-based historical novels straddle both plot and character, tending towards plot as their backbone. It could thus be said that this would have made better non-fiction.

Fremantle makes as much as she can of the known history, and chooses to incorporate less reliable evidence only when it suits her plot. As an example we have Mary, who has a crooked back, scoliosis perhaps. It is interesting to look at this example in light of the recent discovery of Richard III’s body. It was constantly debated whether or not Richard had scoliosis, whether or not we should trust the words of those historical figures who may simply have hated him, and in discovering his body it was found that those people were speaking the truth. All this to say that, given Richard III, if Mary was reported to be crook-backed then it’s very possible she was and thus despite the general lack of evidence in the pictures we have of her, Fremantle’s decision to incorporate a disability into her fictionised Mary’s life is something to savour. Fremantle makes a point of studying the culture in terms of disability, which is aided by her extra focus on Levina Teerlinc.

Teerlinc, a rarity in medieval history – a female artist – is little known, and so Fremantle’s dealing of her is largely similar to the character of Dot from Queen’s Gambit. Through Teerlinc Fremantle explores not only the Tudor working woman but the world beyond the court and the politics in the wider world that merit a totally difference handling when discussed inside the privy chamber.

It should be noted that the dispositions of queens Mary and Elizabeth are not favourable, which in the case of the latter may surprise you. However it is perfectly reasonable considering the viewpoints used – Katherine and Mary were not going to like Bloody Mary and if Elizabeth held them prisoner, it’s safe to say they wouldn’t have considered her especially wonderful, either.

Sisters Of Treason looks at the life of those who might have wished for something that would have rendered them even less well-known. Whether you will like it or not really depends on how open you are to the idea of sitting sewing beside the window whilst the world passes you by. It is likely to interest those with a prior interest in the sisters; as for others it is hard to say. The book is certainly well written and full of factual information you won’t forget in a hurry. Indeed the only written element that is cause for thought is the French of Frances Brandon, of which there is a lot.

Sisters Of Treason focuses on hope when everything else is lost. It’s packed with history and is an excellent example of good research and writing. It is respectful of the historical figures it uses, but it should be noted that it is steeped in anxiety and sadness and that the conflict is less apparent then is generally expected.

I received this book for review from the publisher.

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The last natural famine.

Publisher: Peirene Press
Pages: 130
Type: Fiction
Age: Adult
ISBN: 978-1-908-67020-5
First Published: 2012 in Finnish; 2015 in English
Date Reviewed: 26th February 2015
Rating: 3.5/5

Original language: Finnish
Original title: Nälkävuosi (Hunger Year)
Translated by: Emily and Fleur Jeremiah

As the Finnish famine makes it impossible to remain at home any longer, Marja leaves her dying husband and begins a journey, on foot, across the continent with her two children. In a wealthier place, the senator looks to the new railroad to solve the issue, and a doctor lives away from the horror until it creeps into his life, too.

White Hunger is a novella about the effects of the Finnish famine, particularly in the year 1867. It may be short but it illustrates the famine at large; what would have happened over a period of a few years. The text, in terms of the translation, is generally clear and an unexpected joy to read when considered alongside its subject. There are a few places that may invite confusion but not for long.

Marja and her children set out in the dead of winter in the hope of reaching St Petersburg, so the journey is particularly brutal. Snow is waist deep, they live from one day to the next at the mercy of the households they come across, and are subject to the horrors of desperation and the breakdown of social order.

Whilst the need for food forms the reason for the story, it’s this desperation and breakdown that is the major theme at hand. In a way very similar to Némirovsky’s Suite Française, White Hunger looks at the effects a disaster can have on people, the way that class systems can remain when it would be best they too were destroyed. Marja is labelled a whore because the higher classes are able to take advantage of her physical weakness, and the educated and political elite are in no danger of starvation. The poor are to be given but ‘thin gruel’, and whilst this makes sense – as one man says, a sudden lot of food in an emaciated body will cause more harm than good – most of the time this ‘thin gruel’ is a symptom of a people unwilling to help those with nothing, unwilling to share the food they have that for them is easy to replace.

Death is never far away in this book, but neither is hope. The balance makes it easier to keep going, even when the hope is comprised of an arrival in St Petersburg, a dream the reader will understand as one of the characters does – as improbable.

The sole drawback of this book is, surprisingly, the length. Whereas in everything else the length is a boon, when it comes to events in the story it means the events seem closer together than they truly are, which can lessen the effect they have. Due to this it is best to read the book slowly, perhaps in more than the usual one sitting, and to keep track of the passing of time.

Focusing on a well-known period of Finnish history and looking at the constant divide between those who have and those who have none, White Hunger may be short and sparse in overall detail, but it succeeds in making its crucial point in the limited time it has.

I received this book for review from the publisher.

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An excellent book about awful people.

Publisher: Little Brown
Pages: 501
Type: Fiction
Age: Adult
ISBN: 978-0-316-22853-4
First Published: 1st January 2012
Date Reviewed: 24th February 2015
Rating: 5/5

On his wedding anniversary (which his wife would tell you he spent writing about the life of a girl on the council estate) Barry Fairbrother dies. The semi-rural town of Pagford is struck by it, tossed into chaos. The death means there’s a vacant seat on the parish council and it seems everyone wants a look in or has an opinion. Howard and Shirley Mollison who are secretly glad their rival is dead; Miles and Samantha Mollison, one running to take the free spot, the other trying to run clear away from it; Colin Wall and Parminder Jaswant who were friends of Barry and want to keep his dreams alive; Simon Price who will beat up anyone who might ruin his quest to be the next councillor; the teenage children who are affected by their parents’ narrow-mindedness; Krystal Weedon who lives on the council estate so many want divided from Pagford; everyone has something to win or lose.

The Casual Vacancy is a long in-depth novel that looks at the way classes are divided, at social and political problems at a local level, and about how prejudice can obstruct communication, understanding, and empathy. Likely to offend or shock (in fact I’d say it’s likely to shock most readers at some time or other) Rowling leaves nothing to ambiguity – she has things to say and come hell or high Pagford river water, she’s going to say them.

It will come as no surprise, then, when I say that the book is character-driven. The potential bestowal of Barry’s place forms the nucleus around which everything else spins.

It is worth mentioning that there are no good characters in this book apart from the innocent – one cannot call the toddler bad, for example, and likewise young Paul Price, eternally frightened by his abusive father, cannot be seen in a bad light either. Everyone else has a degree of hatred in them. You will be satisfied at some point, yes, by certain downfalls, but it must be noted that Rowling’s message, her reason for writing, requires her to expose this hatred.

At the same time, there are positive traits shown. Of course many characters have very little good in them, at least in the context of this novel, but others have a fair amount of goodness going for them. What Rowling does is look at stereotypes – this is where we initially acknowledge the offensive content; Rowling takes the stereotypes and runs with them. The stuffy, backwards-thinking white-majority middle class country residents? Check. The council-house-and-violence definition known by an acronym? Check. It can be quite difficult to read this book – more at the beginning when you’re not sure what Rowling’s point is, of course, especially as Rowling is so honest. She writes the accents, the ones we all know, the stereotypical speech patterns. She discusses the exclusive meetings and fake niceties, the drugs and the poor home environment. Abuse, self-harm, infidelity, health. The communication problems between children and their parents, parents not thinking of the affect their choices have on their children.

But then you’ll find the author is far from finished. Rowling shows the good side to both sides. She shows what can happen when the closeted look beyond themselves. She looks at the way poverty and hardship isn’t clear-cut – at how it’s often any endless cycle, at how people try to better themselves to no avail when the ‘other half’ won’t let them in. Certainly there is more ‘good’ time spent on The Fields, Pagford’s detested council estate, but then that becomes what you expect. It becomes what you expect even if you acknowledge what the residents of Pagford are saying (acknowledge but not quite accept). Yes, there is the sense that Rowling has a clear side she wants to win, and she’s not afraid to state her piece in the face of potential backlash (backlash that seems to have happened if articles are anything to go by) but there is never a metaphorical stride in. Rowling doesn’t break the fourth wall so much as remain beside the journalist who sits on the sidelines of the council meeting. Rowling’s primary goal is to make you think, and think hard. What’s really worth arguing over? What’s the worth of one person compared to another? And, of course, where much of the situation is so similar to arguments in real life, it is all the more important.

As for the characters themselves then, they are very believable. As well as the accents and realism it’s easy, at least if you’re familiar with the varying cultures (this is where I acknowledge that my Britishness may have aided my reading), to create the image in your head and supply any details that Rowling may have left out. You inevitably create a stereotype but, as you’ve probably guessed by now, again that’s the point and another way to make you uncomfortable. This creation will work no matter who you are; the diversity is yet another purposefully included element.

And if you can get through the hatred there is a lot to like about The Casual Vacancy. Rowling’s writing is fair. The attention to detail is meticulous. The amount of time each character gets is equal to the others. The issues are written without apology, in a way your Victorian melodramatic matriarch would find intolerable. There is reward for persevering, and whilst the ending may not be quite what you expected (it certainly surprised me), you’ll close the book with enough to work out the final message Rowling wants to leave you with. Ambiguity takes its place, but Rowling often withdraws its invitation at the last moment, the writer making use of her character’s personalities for a gain they would despise. Whether you agree with Rowling’s thoughts or not is of no consequence – the important thing is that she makes you think.

Political and very damning, The Casual Vacancy is one you’ll want to set a time for rather than sit down with on a relaxing Sunday afternoon. And whilst you’ll be sticking your finger up at the most basic etiquette by choosing such a time, it’d be hard to say it isn’t worth it.

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