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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Do Re Me You So La Te.

Publisher: Carina Press
Pages: 153
Type: Fiction
Age: Adult
ISBN: 978-1-322-07557-0
First Published: 20th October 2014
Date Reviewed: 30th October 2014
Rating: 2/5

Anjuli’s given up her singing career and returned home to Scotland. Sad events behind her, or so she hopes, she looks forward to the renovation of the Victorian manor she has bought and tries not to think too much about the millions she’s lost. Then there’s Rob, the man she left at the altar eight years ago, the love of her life. As much as she was happy with her career, she sorely regrets leaving him. Has he thought of her?

Pitch Imperfect is a book that starts well but all too soon falls victim to too many subplots and a whiny-for-no-reason heroine.

Anjuli moans about everyone – Rob’s receptionist who she labels a busybody for no good reason, Mac’s dress sense (the woman is a teacher, she’s not going to be wearing the carefree outfits of her younger years). She hates a woman who happens to be talking to Rob and leaves on obviously friendly rather than intimate terms; she hates reporter Sarah who has accepted that Rob will never be hers and never suggests otherwise. Anjuli is always moaning, always hating others, and it’s impossible to see what Rob sees in her.

In addition there is a lot of slut-shaming and thin-shaming, enough that to review without discussing it would actually be impractical. Women who go near Rob are sluts, Sarah is a slut, and then there is all the hatred for thin women. Anjuli has a bit of weight on her but no one points it out, quite rightly, and in fact the men in this book find her curves irresistible. Nevertheless Anjuli spews further hatred on Sarah and other women because they happen to be thin. The hate would be somewhat understandable if the women were in relationships with Rob but there is never any evidence of that – the reader knows it’s not happening, Anjuli only ever assumes.

Americanisms abound, which is understandable as far as the author is concerned because she is not British, but they really should have been caught during the editing process.

So what is good about Pitch Imperfect? Rob is good; he is a fine character. The sex scenes are very well written. Overall the language is clear and easy to read. The setting is somewhat romantic and even though it’s fictional and would realistically be unsafe, it’s nice to see people having access to castles that we cannot have in the real world. The reason for Anjuli’s angst, besides Rob and all that hatred, is fair and well considered.

But there is too much going on in this book with all the other characters (babies from one night stands, burning buildings) and whilst a character does not have to be likeable they do need to have some reasoning behind their thoughts and actions.

Pitch Imperfect may work for some but it’s best to keep your expectations low.

I received this book for review from the publisher.

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Time may change, but there will always be that person in a similar situation.

Publisher: Harlequin
Pages: 234
Type: Fiction
Age: Adult
ISBN: 978-1-460-33836-0
First Published: 1st August 2014
Date Reviewed: 14th October 2014
Rating: 3.5/5

Nick won’t give up, so Grace agrees – an otherwise usual day as a property historian/gallery assistant is changed when Grace accepts the energetic Nick’s proposal that they work together on his commission to discover whether a Victorian architect designed for the Great Exhibition. Grace’s life is ruled by her partner (bed and work) Oliver, and she’s done a good job of pretending she’s happy for nine years, but Nick’s offer, whilst overwhelming, piques her interest. Little is known of Lucas Royde’s career before he became famous, but that might just be about to change.

The Crystal Cage is a dual-plot novel that studies the art world and history but later takes a long look at the expectations people have of each other, especially those less well-off (in all ways), than themselves, to good effect.

None of the characters are likeable, however whether or not they are supposed to be is not obviously stated and so it would be fair to say that if you go into the book knowing that this is the case, you are likely to finish it more content than someone who goes in expecting happiness and romance. Be not ye fooled by the name of the publisher, there is little real romance here and, given the subjects, it is all the better for it.

Lucas, for example, is assuming and takes jealousy to an extreme level. A subtle, non-violent level, but one all the same. The man who is quite obviously in lust rather than love hates his rival from the word ‘go’ with scant reason and it can be hard to feel anything for him when he puts himself in such an awkward and socially unexceptionable position with little behind it that the reader can understand. His ‘romance’ is an interesting one, however, in part because of the way the author does not include any details from the point of view of the woman. Indeed the book would have been too long if she had been given a voice and so it may simply be that she was left out for no literary reason, so to speak, but nevertheless the effect is intriguing. You don’t hear a word from Alessia except through Lucas and therefore it is easy to believe that perhaps she is less in love with him than Lucas thinks, she is certainly more desperate and less powerful than Lucas can comprehend. Their story may be sad, and it may be true as much as the fiction can be, but what is left out ensures that there is a further link in the main social theme.

This theme is of control, the expectations I have stated above. Grace became Oliver’s partner in every sense of the word, but it was/is a case of what Oliver says, goes. He was the lifeline she needed – the security, the job, perhaps even the man in a sexual sense – as long as she was at his beck and call. It is somewhat a spoiler to say this, so you may want to move on to the next paragraph if you’d rather not know too much, but the theme continues somewhat with Nick. Bounding, get-up-and-go Nick, whom Grace likens to Tigger. Whereas Oliver’s persona may have been obvious from the start, at least it would have been if Grace had been less in need, Nick allows the author to show how control can come in different forms. Similarly Alessia is controlled by her reported love for Lucas, and by her husband. It’s interesting to compare the two situations because the contemporary version may hit harder, being closer to home than the Victorian period. But of course both are equally damning.

This all sounds very good, and it is, but this theme consumes the end rather than the main section of the book. The book is overwritten. It’s wordy, flowery, and rather repetitive, with ideas being repeated mere pages after they have already been stated. There is also an element of prolonged angst to it that can be difficult to read. The insistence by Lucas that he’s in love when the reader can see that it is pure lust makes the story difficult to continue.

Nick and Grace are rude. They literally run away from people who had made time for them as soon as they, Nick and Grace, realise the person doesn’t have much information for them. They are well-matched in their lack of tact and in their attitudes to others. Lucas is jealous, as said, hateful of too many, and assumes too much.

The mystery has many, many dead ends, and these are convenient, a way to keep the story going. After a couple of these occasions wherein a search looks promising but is then fruitless, it becomes too predictable and the meetings and searches boring. Then, later, this turns 180 degrees when ideas about Royde appear out of the blue with no ‘evidence’ (for Royde is fictional) behind them. Grace makes guesses that are correct, but they are too much of an assumption without the information the reader has been privy to.

Lastly there are a few names and places that invite confusion, and areas that, other than the filler content, could have used more editing.

Yet the history itself is appealing and there is enough factual information for the interested reader to jump from it into their own research. And the ending itself is highly appropriate and rather excellent. Allingham shows all the worries and backtracking of someone in a difficult situation but writes the ending that you could say is expected. She doesn’t make sweeping changes or include roses on doorsteps – she gives you the realistic truth and has her character remain strong. And she shows that backwards can often be a step forward.

Granted the history works best for the themes of control and independence and less so for the romance. It could be argued that the book would have been better without the Victorian romance, and certainly Grace’s story of discovery is more compelling, but the theme itself makes it all worth it in the end.

The Crystal Cage as a title is exactly what it seems to be, just as relationships often are not. It takes time and yes, effort, to get there, but the book is recommended.

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

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All aboard.

Publisher: Crown (Random House)
Pages: 356
Type: Fiction
Age: Adult
ISBN: 978-0-385-34893-5
First Published: 1st January 2014
Date Reviewed: 25th September 2014
Rating: 3/5

When Munroe is employed to join Leo’s team on the ship in east Africa, she quickly realises that she hasn’t been told everything about what’s going on. She’s been kept in the dark – and kept out of the payment, too. When the ship is hijacked it’s time to reveal her true colours to Leo and the crew, and time to try and find out what happened. She doesn’t care what happened to Leo, but she feels for his wife and Victor, a kind team mate, and whilst she could leave them to fate, she’ll stay to help.

The Catch is the fourth book in the Vanessa Michael Munroe series. Whilst fair, it pales in comparison to the other books, especially as the previous, The Doll, was so exceptionally good.

The story itself is okay, but there isn’t enough of it and so the narrative has been padded out with repeated details. It’s both a case of necessary filler content and lacklustre editing. Repeated phrases and info-dumps slow the pace to a halt in many places and it may prove difficult to get through a number of chapters and work out exactly what’s happening. There are a great many characters in this book.

However Michael is as good as always, straddling the fence between good and bad, her background continuing to have an affect on her. In The Catch the reader sees her weaknesses – whereas she mostly escapes unscathed, here she is wounded badly and so Stevens is able to explore her willpower further than ever. The wounds are a bit of a problem, as they fall under the repetition – Munroe spends most of the book in pain and we know about it – but it does fill in for the previous occasions. And because Stevens has always managed to have Munroe escape unscathed without it seeming convenient, it is excellent that here she’s allowed the reader to see what happens when she is harmed.

The book feels more a standalone than the others; Bradford is not here and Munroe’s dealings with Leo are new and presumably not to be continued. Certainly it seems like a spin-off of sorts, illustrating what Munroe gets up to without her ‘usual’ team. We may have known she took on similar jobs, but this goes one further.

The Catch may not sport a particularly interesting story, and it most definitely is not the first Munroe book a reader should choose, but it does give you more insight into Munroe.

I received this book for review from the publisher.

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Who am I? Who are you? Do we care?

Publisher: Macmillan
Pages: 295
Type: Fiction
Age: Young Adult
ISBN: 978-0-330-39797-1
First Published: 1990
Date Reviewed: 14th August 2014
Rating: 4.5/5

Ginny’s not really sure whether or not she fits in. At sixteen, she’s happy in Wales, has a great relationship with her devoted father, and a fair few friends. But being one of only two black people in her town, she doesn’t feel quite… right. Okay, so she’s not completely black, unlike Andy, because her father is white, but when her skin colour is added to her artistic nature the question of who she is starts to become more prevalent. Yet suddenly this isn’t so important. Her father’s about to bring an unknown brother home. If he’s never told her she has a brother, what else is he hiding, and if she was wondering where she fit in before, where does this leave her now?

The Broken Bridge is a fantastic little novel that, although a YA book, has just as much if not more to offer the adult reader. I’ve read it three times now – as a child, as a teenager, and just yesterday, and each experience has been very different, but this last time had the most impact on me.

Perhaps it’s to do with the book’s age – as in all Pullman’s books, the content is not censored and real issues are confronted, and in the 90s when subjects such as homosexuality and racial diversity weren’t discussed quite so openly, and given that The Broken Bridge was written for teenagers, it is somewhat ahead of its time, or at least it feels as though it is. This is a major reason why I say it offers a lot to adult readers.

The story revolves around the theme of identity. Racial identity, familial identity, identity in the world in the long term. Pullman effectively pits one after the other, showing that everything is just as important – Ginny feeling happy in herself is important, but here’s her brother and her identity in this new set-up is just as important, and hey, look, here are a bunch of questions about her mother and where all her memories of her childhood stem from and what impact do these have on her?

There is the furthering of the theme beyond Ginny, and it touches on her brother, father, and in a rather compelling way her mother, too, but the main focus of course remains on Ginny as she makes mistakes, makes rash but good decisions, and works out who and what she is.

Pullman asks us to consider what makes a family and what is and isn’t ‘right’ in this context. He sets some difficult challenges for the reader – reunions that do not go the way you would expect them to and for their subject are very hard to read, relationships that are full of angst. He challenges the status quo almost to excess when you consider the book as a whole. But it’s a good excess. And, anyway, what is family and what is important? Almost everyone in the book lies somewhat or keeps the truth hidden, but Pullman does let go at the end, explaining everything. It’s particularly unsavoury but a good look at how people view independence differently, and how others can view dependence and routine as important.

And, somewhat obviously, the author takes time to look at racism. He shows how it isn’t always in your face, so to speak, how it can be quiet, how it can be worse depending on the situation, and how sometimes it can be part of a bigger burst of anger.

Lastly, if you are an artist or lover of art, of any kind – not just painting or drawing – you will love the detailing in this book. Pullman doesn’t just inform you about the great artists and about good paintings, he brings to mind the utter pleasure and passion that comes with working out what another is saying through their art, and the sparks, the love, that creators and enthusiasts feel.

The Broken Bridge is one you don’t want to miss. My copy, at least, looks to be very much a children’s book, and as Pullman’s writing is at times quite literary and of that earlier decade, you would be forgiven for starting it and wondering if it’s going to be a satisfying read. But it is, so much.

Mend this bridge – read this book.

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