When everyone feels they are to blame.

Publisher: Agora Books (previously Ipso Books)
Pages: 273
Type: Fiction
Age: Adult
ISBN: 978-1-912-19475-9
First Published: 21st June 2018
Date Reviewed: 29th June 2018
Rating: 4.5/5

Southampton, 1985: Phoebe has died at three years of age, and Linda, Tom, and their eldest daughter Esme all feel the blame lies with them. As the days pass and Linda’s pregnancy advances, the loss will prove to have as much of a consequence on their futures as Phoebe’s passing.

Missing Pieces is a novel told in two time periods – the months after Phoebe’s death and several years in the future – that looks at the differing effects of grief and the ways people cope with loss.

I’m going to have to start with the setting because I know it too well and as such as much as I read the book as I do any other, it was naturally quite a particular experience due to the location choices. The use of location and the world-building is fantastic – the family clearly live somewhere in the Burgess Road/Swaythling/Bassett Green area and it reads well. When it comes to the bookshop Tom owns, the location isn’t as real; understandably there is some fiction here to create the travel bookshop: for the section set in 1985 it works, but for the section of the book set in 2011, reality needs to be suspended – a genre bookshop, particularly on the High Street at that time, would have been barely treading water and heading for closure – in reality the various independents and small chains all were. (Sadly we have only two bookshops left now, in 2018 – one Waterstones, and an independent in a nearby suburb that has a particular ethos, a good following, and other items for sale that help it stay afloat. Until a few months ago we had an additional two more – an Oxfam which has obviously closed, and a second, longer-standing, Waterstones that was gutted by fire.) In sum, the use of location is excellent and fiction has been applied thoughtfully. And quite frankly, a travel bookshop on the High Street is a wonderful dream to have.

Back to my usual mode of reviewing, then, and to follow on from the bookshop it must be said that, yes, this is a book about books. There are few specifics – more references to books on beaches and people ending their day with a coffee and a book on the sofa – but it means that the book always has a cosy, welcoming feel to it whilst you get through the story.

This said, the story is not difficult, per se. The subject is sad but Pearson’s writing of it is wonderful and all about showing. Of particular note is the way the author depicts Linda’s continued depression; Linda gets to that point where people expect her to perk up a bit and get back to family life, give birth to the baby that was growing when Phoebe died and be a mother to the child, but she can’t. The death affects her to the extent that she shuts everyone out most of the time and Pearson stays with this situation, letting it unravel where it will to show plainly how grief and the depression it can cause should never be on a timeline. In her grief, Linda makes poor choices and Pearson goes right into the thought process. The conclusion here succeeds in showing the need for tailored support and just more thought from others in general.

Related to this is Pearson’s depiction of how parental favoritism towards one child can have long-term consequences for the child who isn’t the one most loved. Part of Esme’s struggle is in her mother’s utter – in her depression – neglect of her, her eldest daughter, and the way that Phoebe’s death means that Linda shuts everyone else out, which is added to the situation before the situation wherein Esme felt that there was a lot more interest, from Linda, in Phoebe, than Linda had ever had for her. (This is in turn backed up by Linda’s thoughts.)

Tom’s grief gets looked at in terms of his decision to be elsewhere for much of the time, in his feeling that Linda is pushing him away. The new baby, Bea, is the subject of the second part of the book, wherein Pearson looks at however things that affect a person indirectly can still have a big impact.

Due to the ‘showing’ Pearson does, the ‘reveal’ as to how Phoebe died is drawn out until the last few pages of the book; you know that Linda feels Esme is partly to blame, that Linda feels that she herself should have been there, and that Tom should have been at home. The lack of knowledge can be frustrating on occasion but only when the subject is brought up – the lack of talk on the events that led to the death mean that you can concentrate on the rest of what Pearson is trying to show.

Missing Pieces has a commendable aim and it reaches it with flying colours. The reading experience is good, the attention to detail excellent. You may not remember the characters themselves as much – some detailing there has understandably been left out in favour of the story – but the essence will remain with you.

I received this book for review.

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Speaking to Laura Pearson about Missing Pieces, Nobody’s Wife, and I Wanted You To Know (spoilers included)

Charlie and Laura Pearson discuss the process of grieving for various members of a family, writing a book about cancer when you are working through the same, and changing stories almost entirely from their beginnings.

If you’re unable to use the media player above, this page has various other options for listening.

(I’m considering 8 years or more to be ‘years ago’, as it matches my blog’s age and is only one year off the time I’ve been reading avidly.)

This is a topic that’s been on my mind a lot lately. I’ve been thinking about how my knowledge of the books I’ve read fails at times, then felt glad that I’ve made notes and written reviews… but there are a lot of books I haven’t made notes of, and quite a number are those I’ve read since I started blogging.

It’s bad enough when you can’t remember a book you read a year ago. I’m trying to create a list of conversation points for a book but struggled after two – and it’s a book I know I loved. I can even remember the general concept and sentiment behind it, a lot of the plot too (granted, it wasn’t a long book) but I know there was a lot more to it than that.

Even with notes, it can be a struggle to remember. The problem with some notes is that because you’re making them at the time of reading, despite the fact you know that you have to be careful with details because out of context what you’re writing down might not make sense, there will still always be notes that don’t work long term, where the best will in the world couldn’t help you ‘translate’ them later.

I find that once I’ve read a book twice, remembering is pretty easy. I won’t have an exact grasp of all the content but I’ll be able to speak about it in perpetuity, whether further studies are conducted or not. Writing more than one post can help me remember a book I’ve read once but it’s never as useful in this sense as a re-read. I’m not much of a re-reader generally but I’m definitely a re-reader in terms of realising I can’t remember a book, finding that troublesome, and doing something about it. (These will be books of which I remember having a particulary emotional reaction or studious interest. Some books I can’t remember and I’ve no plans to change the situation.)

I had a favourite book for a long time which was replaced in my affections when I was a bit older and found better books. I can tell you I liked the magic and the reversal of power in the otherwise factually-based society, and I can tell you that I’ve since read others’ opinions on it and came to call into question a section that I hadn’t noticed was problematic at the time because I was too young to understand it. I can tell you there was a princess, a warrior woman, a person who had a disability, and a few other people. But I can’t tell you the story, and I haven’t a clue who the other people were. (That was The Secrets Of The Jin-Shei which I will re-read at some point.)

On the other hand, I could talk about Northern Lights – read twice – for ages; I found the idea of reviewing it too daunting but I’ve written about the trilogy before.

I opened my reading database for 2009, the year before I started blogging, wherein most of the books I read did not receive a belated review. Of the 27 on the list, I could talk about 7 of them with confidence, however this number includes Stephenie Meyer’s first book which would be difficult to forget given the popularity and general talk, two are factual history books on subjects I know well in general, one is historical fiction which didn’t differ from the fact too much (thus I can remember where it did), one is a memoir of someone with a highly unique story, one I’ve gone back to many times since, and the last is The Hobbit. A few I could give a vague summary for – time period, location, how I felt about it, and the rest I really couldn’t say. And that’s scary.

Some years ago I wrote about the ‘production line’ I saw in my blogging and how it affected my reading. It was different to this post today – I hadn’t been reading avidly for long enough to truly forget at that point – but going back to it I’m reminded of my thoughts of being engaged in a text. It goes hand in hand with what I said above about note taking and writing other posts – I’m engaging in my reading even more now than I was in 2013, but that forgetfulness still lingers. I expect the way we naturally change over time also plays a part.

(As I’ve mentioned 2013, I thought I’d open my database for that year as well – 76 books, 24 I remember the general summary for.)

Interestingly, I don’t think that reading less would affect this forgetfulness. It’s all about the progression of time and the fact that unless you revise, you’re going to have trouble remembering the more time moves on. The more you read the more likely you are to come across books that say similar things or have characters that remind you of others and so on that will cause you to confuse texts.

Apart from re-reading or writing enough notes that you might as well transcribe the entire book, there’s no way around the problem. Perhaps as some say the information gets stored in our heads somewhere but if that’s so, science hasn’t yet reached the point where we can get that information back without re-reading. As much as a reading experience can last, it definitely has a use by date and unlike a shop shelf where you can look for food items with longer dates on them, there’s no saying what a book will be like.

How much do you remember? (Your own ‘years ago’ may vary – I’d like your thoughts on that, too!)

A little more conversation.

Publisher: Mira (Harlequin)
Pages: 370
Type: Fiction
Age: Adult
ISBN: 978-1-472-01628-7 (ebook; paperback out of print)
First Published: 30th July 2013
Date Reviewed: 22nd June 2018
Rating: 4.5/5

Lucy’s twin died in love and now Lucy is afraid to fall herself; happy as a near spinster, she writes erotic letters for her brother’s friends to give to the ladies they wish to woo, donating the money she makes to those in poverty. But her last letter hits the mark a bit too close to home – in helping her brother, she unwittingly ruins the upcoming marriage of Robert, the man she kissed some years ago. Robert needed to wed the lady in order to gain his inheritance and Lucy may be the only possible bride left.

The Lady And The Laird is a very well-written regency romance that includes conflict but never at the cost of a good story.

It is the defining feature of this work that allows the rest to flow so well. The Lady And The Laird sports a good handful of problems that keep the story going without ever going too far. This is to say that the main conflict that prevents the romance moving forward – as you would expect such a thing in romance – carries on only until a very realistic point wherein the characters open up to each other and communicate their problems. Communication is a big element of this book. The characters have trouble at first but they give it their all; there is no situation where a lack of communication is used as a device.

That said, there is one area that could have been tied up a bit quicker, and that is the story behind Alice’s death. It’s not a conflict in itself – the conflict is the result it causes for Lucy as explained above – it’s that it’s one of those times when the reader can tell very quickly what’s gone on but the narrative takes a while to fully inform.

The romance is well done; with the characters given a lot of time to progress and with the realism included (away from the obvious fantastical perfection and coincidences that create a story) it’s steamy not just in the scenes themselves but otherwise. The characters are on a par with each other and whilst there are times when Lucy is undermined by others, Cornick quickly flips the tables and puts her in a position of strength.

There is plenty of history to be had both in terms of the Scottish Highlands and a Scottish version of the Bluestocking society, both of which this reviewer can’t determine the reality of but whether fact or fiction provides a good representation of the real life. (Cornick refers to the ‘Golden Isles’, which may be a nickname for a real place.)

For all of the above then, the book is a fun, quick read. The world-building is often such that you find yourself immersed in the scene, with the running and repairing of inherited land written with aplomb. There are some editing errors but these are mostly confined to the opening chapters. The only thing missing is one possible thread – there is some dialogue and a long-term quarrel between two secondary characters that is presented in a way that suggests the two will discover a romantic connection, but which is not ‘completed’; it could be that it was just a quarrel, it’s simply that it’s referred to a good few times but doesn’t get an ending besides the characters returning to their respective homes.

This book is pretty damn good. It brings refreshment to the staid idea that a romance must have a continual conflict, shows the importance and positive result of communication. The characters themselves may not be the most memorable – because the novel itself is so good.

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I’ve come a fair way since the days when I had to have absolute silence around me to read, and having travel sickness. In the past year I started being able to read on buses (for a short time and as long as I didn’t look up much) and just recently I’ve come to find solutions to other problems, namely keeping my attention on the book.

As much as I can’t not place some of the blame on myself, it would be correct to say that since social media and phones and so forth have been contributing to our world-wide attention span problems I’ve often had issues with reading, especially when it comes to longer books and that delayed satisfaction of completion that naturally accompanies them. If I’ve had all I can take of the internet in a day, I can read. And if a book is very good, I can read, which is of course something to think about in this respect – our fast-paced lives are not the only reason.

I’ve come to find that I’m at my reading best when reading first thing in the morning, before I’ve done anything that will get my brain heading in a different direction. If I can, breakfast then book, or book then breakfast is the best way to read. On the days when this happens, I consider any extra reading to be a bonus. (Interestingly, despite this and despite multiple reading slumps lately, I’m currently on track to make my average of 50 books in a year for this year.)

Lots of studies have found that keeping the parts of your day not related to screens away from screens provides the best chance for getting things done. As I’m not a big TV watcher, I can sit in front of a TV and read a lot, but I do find it good to stay away from the computer. I often sit in a particular seat in another room where I can have a drink on a table. In the summer, reading outside is wonderful – I believe it’s the reason my Julys are always full of books – lots of sun, warm weather, and to be outside is to be ever further from the computer. The only downside is that a computer or other device is useful for looking things up you may not understand, and so there can be anxiety if I come across something in a book that I feel needs explaining before I continue. Do I go to the computer and potentially lose some time in research (admittedly often very worth while), or do I try and remember for later what I want to look up? The latter is fine… until you’ve a small list of things to remember. I also find I don’t concentrate so well once I’ve something noted to research.

This brings me to note-taking, which can of course help with items of research – taking notes is great but it can pull you away from your reading flow. I also find that once I start taking note of a good quote or two, it’s all too easy to pinpoint further quotes of worth.

In terms of noise, I can now read with a bit of noise. There’s a bit more traffic where I currently live compared to my previous home – the first time I attempted to read with the windows open I soon came to the conclusion that as nice as the place was, reading was going to be difficult. But I kept at it; a few weeks later I found I’d blocked out the noise.

Whilst I can read on buses, even when there’s quite a few people on there, I find trains impossible. And those ‘quiet’ carriages are often the most loud. I’m not sure what the difference is – a bus is more bumpy, there are more stops and there’s more bustle.

When I need to relax I ironically find chores a better escape; mindless activities. I’m also not too great in a library; I browse and then bring the books home.

Writing this, it seemed my reading life has become more limited, however until quite recently most of the above would have been off the table to the extent that they wouldn’t even warrant a mention. I reckon that whilst it’s happening slowly, I’m moving in the right direction.

How do you read best, and what are your limitations?

Stories can haunt you.

Publisher: Granta
Pages: 148
Type: Fiction
Age: Adult
ISBN: 978-1-847-08507-8
First Published: 2011; 2nd May 2013 in English
Date Reviewed: 18th June 2018
Rating: 4/5

Original language: Spanish
Original title: Los ingrávidos (The Weightless)
Translated by: Christina MacSweeney

A woman – generally unnamed but briefly described as Dolores – working as a writer and translator in Mexico, struggles to find Latin authors to put forward as candidates for publication to her boss; she finds the work of a poet – Giberto Owen – in the library and starts to construct a tale of discovering old translations by a famous translator. As she writes the translations herself she tells us the story of the novel she is writing, which appears to be very similar to her own life.

Faces In The Crowd is an incredibly literary book that, as Luiselli has her character write, is ‘a horizontal novel told vertically’ and ‘a vertical novel, told horizontally’ and ‘A novel that has to be told from the outside in order to be read from within’; in essence, this is a book in a book that’s possibly in another book that’s possibly not actually fiction at all… but then is, of course, fiction.

If that sounds terribly confusing that’s because it is – Faces In The Crowd is a great read but it can and most likely will do a number on your literary sanity. This is most likely an intended part of the experience. With Luiselli’s concept of ghosts and the reality and fiction meddling together and modifying each other – the author (Luiselli) even has her character write such a thing, possibly with the idea of helping her (Luiselli again) reader’s work it out – there are a lot of hints but their core meaning can be difficult to place against the text.

This novel in a novel, then, is formed of both Dolores’ home life and her work, and she writes about her home life as it happens, thus blending the two together, and goes so far as to call her translation work another life. Luiselli uses the concept of vignettes to separate both ideas and storylines but only loosely – one of the best easy-to-understand aspects of the novel is the way the different vignettes become associated as the narrative continues:

On Sundays, my husband, the children and I listen to Rockdrigo and eat pancakes for breakfast. But not this Sunday. My husband is angry. Through my own carelessness, he’s read some more of these pages. He asks how much is fiction and how much fact.

*

During that period, I took to telling lies.

As a further example, too long to quote, on the page directly following this, Dolores says that her husband got a postcard from a woman ‘in Philly’. In the next vignette, Dolores is just back from Philly, and in the one following that, women contact their first loves and ask to meet in Philly. Later the husband has to go to Philly… but later he, or his ‘ghost’ is still at home.

‘Ghost’ is the word here: with the various narratives gradually moving together, the concept Luiselli introduced early on is unpacked and made easier to understand. There is one ‘ghost’ who starts us off, and that is Gilberto Owen.

This is where we encounter the historical literary aspect of the book: Dolores’ chosen Latin poet is a real Mexican poet from the 1800s – this reviewer could not find out enough about him to be able to say whether Luiselli’s narrative for him is fact or fiction but there are hints as to poetry movements and concepts. Through Owen’s life – whether fictional in terms of Dolores’ ‘translations’ or simply fictional in terms of the novel – we meet the likes of Ezra Pound and Nella Larsen. (Luiselli has taken her title from Pound’s poem, In a Station of a Metro.) The use of fellow poets and writers aids the narrative, both in terms of real life happenings and the mere concepts that follow them, for example it could be said that Luiselli’s writing is styled rather similarly to Imagism – Pound’s school of poetry.

There isn’t much character development here – the plot and the style is the focus – but again, that adds to the narrative. Everyone sounds rather like everyone else, and the book becomes more an ode to interpreting literature and the work of historical writers rather than a book to enjoy. But the writing is very likeable and it’s evident that the translation has placed more prominence on understanding and getting the active point across instead of making words and phrases align which mean you get a firm idea of what the original is (would be) like.

Faces In The Crowd is a tough read – you’ll look at the thin stack of pages and ample white space thinking you’ll spend an hour or so in literary enjoyment and then find you’ve been there for a long time and still not finished; this book requires more attention than an ancient classic. But being able to say you’ve read it is satisfying in itself and if you’ve learned a fair amount about literary constructs and literary people in that time then all the better. If there’s anything else to be said about it it’s that it perhaps goes on too long, which does indeed sound ridiculous.

Perhaps it’s right that words contain nothing, or almost nothing. That their content is, at the very least, variable.

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