Marlon Brando’s over for coffee.

Publisher: Accent Press
Pages: 291
Type: Fiction
Age: Adult
ISBN: 978-1-783-75257-7
First Published: 22nd December 2014
Date Reviewed: 17th August 2015
Rating: 3.5/5

When his wife Jane springs a divorce request on him, David is lost, but not for long. The school reunion he attended, at which he realised bullies will always be bullies and people change beyond recognition, led him to meet Bridget for the first/second time and they got along rather well.

A Street Café Named Desire is an oft-funny book, and a romance told from a male perspective, that has a lot going for it but doesn’t quite reach its potential.

Gould has a way of writing that can pull you in when you’re sitting somewhere noisy. His writing style is comfortable, the humour a mix of straight-forward and subtle – guaranteed to put a smile on your face – and the characters steeped in reality. David is very British, just an average chap trying to live his life which he was doing well until his narcissistic wife told him she was having an affair. He may not be the most thrilling of people but that’s part of the point – he shouldn’t have to be – and regardless, he’s very likeable.

The humour is all British and, if you’re British or know a lot about the Isles, you’ll ‘get’ it. Mishaps, children old enough to know what’s going on, orange paint that isn’t orange actually. The humour is never forced, it rolls out naturally.

The first half of the book is super. The plotting is good, the characterisation works well, and the way Gould has written the children is just great. Rachel in particular isn’t ready to let her mother get away with running off with a friend; in many ways Rachel takes on what David ‘should’ have been doing, getting angry on both her own and her father’s behalf and refusing to see her mother. It is a good part of the story because it shows both the difference between David’s relatively passive behaviour and his daughter’s assertiveness, whilst also delving into the teenager’s hurt and therefore the way the wronged parent has to comfort others whilst they themselves are in pain.

Bridget, too, is a fine character, and matches David’s contentedness with vividly-coloured passion. The attraction between them is something Gould shows brilliantly and Bridget’s no-nonsense responses to David’s worries read as true.

The issue, then, comes in the second half. Whereas the first half is rather excellent, the second half is full of info-dumps and minor, two-line, characters who are given lengthy backgrounds. It slows the story, which gets lost in amongst the detailing, and gives you a lot of information about people and situations there is no need to know anything about. Secondary characters, too, have sections given to them that don’t have much or any baring on the plot at hand.

A Street Café Named Desire is fun, true to life, and promising. It’s a fair read, and worth it, but needed more editing.

I received this book for review from the author, who I’ve met.

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Because communication isn’t always the problem.

Publisher: Vintage (Random House)
Pages: 160
Type: Fiction
Age: Adult
ISBN: 978-0-099-56384-6
First Published: 1926
Date Reviewed: 26th August 2015
Rating: 5/5

Original language: French
Original title: Le Malentendu (The Misunderstanding)
Translated by: Sandra Smith

Yves spots Denise when her child throws sand over him; he is entranced from that moment. The two begin an affair as Denise’s husband leaves for work and continue seeing each other for the remainder of their holidays. Back in Paris, it’s not the same. Yves, once rich, has to work for a living, whilst Denise lives in luxury; and that is just the start.

The Misunderstanding is one of those novellas in which the reader is privy to the issues at hand and will see that the couple have a lot to work on if they’re going to be in with a chance. It was Némirovsky’s first book, so it’s not as polished as others – the language is overly detailed, romantic, and the author favours angst for angst’s sake – but nevertheless it’s exquisite – even as a twenty-one year old this writer knew her stuff.

In the foreword, Sandra Smith states that the French version of ‘misunderstanding’ Némirovsky uses means three different things: a specific event; ‘the person who is misunderstood’; ‘incompatibility’. It’s a good thing to note because it is indeed that way in the story. There are a couple of events, one in particular, that cause the couple problems. Neither Yves nor Denise understand each other, understand the other’s life and where they’re coming from. And this, perhaps more so than their respective rank in life, causes their incompatibility.

This incompatibility has to be explored. In a past life, or, rather, if Yves had remained rich (he lost his parents’ fortune during the war) the two would be very compatible. The main thing that gets in the way is the financial distance, the difference between luxury and necessity. Perhaps it wouldn’t be such a problem if Yves didn’t feel so hard done by (he is constantly in debt because he lives above his means, trying to emulate his childhood) but Denise’s relative obliviousness to her lover’s situation creates distance all by itself. Yves can’t go out in the evenings, he needs to sleep – something Denise cannot understand on a fundamental level. So Yves resents Denise, resents the way she’s overbearing in her love, and in pushing her away as he starts to do, Denise resents him in turn. She listens to her mother’s advice and applies it to her relationship, and it works up to a point, but she pushes it too far.

In some respects The Misunderstanding can be compared to The Great Gatsby – the love of a once penniless soldier compared to the once rich man. A topic often discussed is whether Jay Gatsby would ultimately be happy if he had Daisy, and this is something we could ask of Yves. Does Yves love Denise because she represents what he was and would like to be? Doubtless he believes they would’ve had an easier time were he still rich, but then things would have been different across the board.

Yves’s feelings on the divide are summed up by this line:

“When I’m with her… I always have to be mentally wearing a dinner jacket.”

Would Denise accept him if he were poor and didn’t proffer to pay for expensive luxuries as he does? The chapters written from Denise’s point of view suggest that she would, but then if she is unable, as Némirovsky notes, to understand his relative poverty, she is surely living a sort of fantasy.

Yves cannot see what is in front of him any more than Denise can. It would take the reader breaking the forth wall from their side and stepping into the novella themselves to patch things up to a good level. Denise’s mother has it right; she knows what’s going on and has good advice, but there is a level of pain, hurt, that has been somewhat manufactured by Yves and Denise that stops them breaking the barriers between them. Self-loathing runs smoothly in this book, informing everything.

So The Misunderstanding is not on the same page as Suite Française, nor, even, Fire In The Blood (a book with content that’s not as complex or as likely to bowl you over as this one), but it’s incredible nonetheless. It’s quite obviously the work of a new, young, fearless writer who has yet to learn that flowery language doesn’t make a good book, but at the same time it’s also the work of someone with an immense understanding of her subject and the knowledge and empathy to write it well.

Should you read it? Oh, but you must!

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Don’t know where, don’t know when.

Publisher: Doubleday (Random House)
Pages: 315
Type: Fiction
Age: Adult
ISBN: 978-0-857-52194-1
First Published: 2014
Date Reviewed: 11th August 2015
Rating: 5/5

Hettie dances for a living. Giving up the job in Woolworths her mother was happy for, she has taken work dancing with men, only getting paid if chosen to partner. When she meets Ed, it seems things might finally be going her way. Evelyn works in pensions, assessing claims for veterans of the First World War and dealing with the lowered pay that the men will not accept. Her brother is always too happy, far happier than other men who served. Ada lost her son to the war but can’t quite believe it; she’s been in limbo for a few years now whilst her husband sits forgotten. In amongst these three tales is woven the homecoming of the Unknown Soldier and the situations of those who aid his journey.

Wake is stupendous. It’s full of character, emotion, the excellent results of research; this book is just wonderful.

In fact it’s the sort of book you wish would be adapted for film; the characters leap from the page – they are very real and the writing is such that you can picture it all well. There isn’t really much of your conventional plot, instead the novel is about the spiritual/psychological, post-war journey of the three characters, the way they deal with the after effects of the war.

The use of the three definitions of ‘wake’ speak of the book’s whole as you might expect. The characters are waking from a metaphorical slumber: Hettie from her situation at home, her strict mother and now silent brother; Evelyn from the drudgery of the everyday; Ada from her limbo. We witness the funeral and effects of the funeral, which could be termed the ‘wake’ of the Unknown Soldier. And we are seeing what’s happening as a consequence of the war, in the wake of the war. It is a rather powerful combination and the way it’s all done so that it takes studying to really see it, is rather stunning, too.

It’s this, the combination of the three definitions, that makes the book what it is. There is just so much to take in, to savour, despite the story taking place over only five days. Emotion is the be all here, and whilst the characters are each important, the culmination of the book, the homecoming of the unknown soldier is just as important if not more so in some ways. It’s the way Hope links the homecoming to the characters, the way she demonstrates to her readers, most likely people who did not witness the event and were not alive at the time, what an effect it could have; you will feel like you were there. It’s fair to say she shows the event from the point of view of those who organised it – what it was created to represent. The body could represent a person another had lost, the lost person who hadn’t been found. People could, likely often quite reasonably, believe it was the body of a loved one. It’s this symbolism that Hope delves into with such aplomb, and the emotion she stirs up… well, similarly to what I’ve said above, you can picture it in your mind, it’s as vivid as a film and as powerful as any visual could be. If you’ve ever wondered what this time was like, this book will show you, and as my repeated use of the word should intimate, it really is all about ‘show’ – there is no telling here even though there are details aplenty.

Back to the characters then; that well-known situation where you tend to prefer one character’s narrative to another? – Hope tackles that to good effect. You may still prefer one of the three but it has less of an impact because the author is constantly switching back and forth, never lingering too long; she’s spends time fairly. She also gives you reason to enjoy each narrative and to really get under the skin of Hettie, Evelyn, and Ada. She keeps them apart, narratively, so you can focus on them.

Hettie, who introduces us to old-fashioned dance halls and the PTSD from the viewpoint of the sister of the man; Evelyn who has been as involved as she could be in the war, lost a finger and rebelled against bad parents in a similar place as Hettie, the sister, but closer to her brother; Ada, parent, sometimes wife, who is seeing her dead son everywhere and can’t accept the loss without information. The thread of PTSD, as seen and experienced by the various characters, is rather valuable in its way. Of course not everyone will recover, but the author shows the glimmer of hope.

The writing? Gorgeous. Succinct but never lacking. Every word valuable whilst not important – it’s the whole that’s important but the pieces make it so.

It is difficult to do Wake justice; one just wants to say ‘read this book!’ but of course that would be an injustice. Suffice to say that if you want to learn about the aftermath of WWI, you should read this book. It may be fiction but the facts are everywhere. If you want to learn more about the time period in general, you should read this book. If you want to learn about women’s roles in society, the way they were reversed after a war which saw woman move from the home, you should read this book. If you want to read something powerful, vivid beyond your imagination, and unique in the way it deals with the subject, you should read this book.

Just read this book. There; I said it.

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To pass with flying colours…

Publisher: Firefly Press
Pages: 202
Type: Fiction
Age: Young Adult
ISBN: 978-1-910-08018-4
First Published: 2015
Date Reviewed: 24th July 2015
Rating: 3.5/5

It’s 2059. The world has largely flooded and there is very little land left. In Britain the Ministry deals with the population problem by making 15-year-olds sit exams – those who achieve high marks get to stay, those who don’t are sent to the Wetlands where there are few resources and disease is rife. It’s a death sentence. Wealthy and/or influential parents can pay to upgrade their children, set them up with the technology that streams information straight into the brain, and many do. But Noa’s parents didn’t. A ‘norm’, she spends her time revising and hanging out with her friends whilst she still can; Jack is good at art but may fail science, and Daisy is an average student with little support. But then there’s Raf, the ‘freakoid’ surgically-enhanced new kid who isn’t like the others.

The Territory is an ambitious and very ‘current’ young adult novel that looks at the way exams impact students in the context of a dystopian society. Comparable to The Hunger Games on certain levels, the book marks the start of a trilogy, the beginning of a bold journey for Govett. The book sports appeal for both teenagers and adults – teenagers are more likely to accept the language, adults more likely to enjoy the political elements.

Let’s get the characters and language out of the way first. Noa isn’t at all likeable. She’s irritating; she judges people based on their appearance (this can be argued to be fair considering exams and social standing are everything – it’s the sheer number of times she does it that is the issue); she uses offensive language on every other page (“mental”, “psycho”, “denser” – again understandable where intellect is of utmost importance, it’s just the repetitiveness of it that’s uncomfortable and off-putting). Her use of language is seemingly at odds with her education, at least in the context of our day.

But, and this is a big but – this is Govett’s point. Noa is average, an average teenager, as likely to cause offence as any other, as likely to be nice or nasty as any other (and Noa isn’t heartless, she’s far from it). She’s cited as clever but there’s the ongoing question of whether or not she’s clever enough to be saved. Govett’s point is thus – why shouldn’t Noa, who stands for the average school-aged child, be free to live happily? Why shouldn’t she be saved, why should she be placed behind a person who has had every advantage? In this way Govett questions our present, real, society, and the importance we put on status, on exams; she questions elitism and the barriers placed in front of disadvantaged children that effectively hinder their progress. And so Govett has taken her questions and woven a dystopian tale around them.

Going back to the language and Noa, the language is something your typical adult reader, and likely many younger readers, too, are going to have to work around, to get past if they can. Noa’s language is almost too colloquial – there are words here I know I’ve never heard of that may or may not be made up (this is the future and language is always evolving) – and there are many capitalised words and exclamation points. The book is written in the first person in what seems to be a diary – at least it reads like a diary.

The second thing that needs to be worked around, by the reader for them to enjoy the book, is Noa’s attitude, specifically the way she expresses herself and her emotions. Noa is sarcastic and favours humour, which is obviously at odds with the situation but makes sense when you consider she probably needs to let off steam. What doesn’t work so well is the distance between her and the reader. You can draw parallels with the way Katniss can come across as uncaring until you peel back the layers and realise she is suffering from PTSD, but unlike Collins’s trilogy, The Territory‘s lack of stated emotion has a negative impact on the world building.

Govett has obviously spent a good while on the world-building; most questions are answered and the only big mystery that remains by the end refers to the Wetlands. This itself is quite fine because it’s evident that you’re going to be visiting the Wetlands at some point and any amount of experience with dystopian fiction is enough to alert you to the fact it’s likely the Wetlands aren’t cut and dried (excuse the pun) much in the same way you don’t hear about District 13 or any other dystopian underworld right at the beginning. The problem is that there is too much focus on language – an obvious focus on getting the language right to the detriment of the world-building. You are told much, and see a little, but more could have been made of what is said. Being in Noa’s head limits your knowledge and her seeming lack of care, her distance, means it’s difficult to care yourself.

As you can see it’s a trade in and trade off – The Territory is undeniably excellent for what it does, says, presents and asks. It includes most everything it needed to to attract the reader and it does keep you wanting to read. But it could have used more outward emotion, detailing, and immersion in the world.

The promise at the end is that the second book will be full of action and there’s no reason to think otherwise. The Territory is very much the set-up book and where the political elements are put into place. It’s a book that’s worth the read so long as you keep in mind that there are two levels to it and you remember which one is yours. (This itself is not something that limits or detracts from the novel.)

I’ve met the author.

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Keeping the estate, keeping the man.

Publisher: Mills & Boon (Harlequin)
Pages: 146
Type: Fiction
Age: Adult
ISBN: 978-0-263-24726-8
First Published: 30th July 2015
Date Reviewed: 6th August 2015
Rating: 3.5/5

Julia moved to St Bryar with her children after the death of her husband. She loves working as a doctor and the life she’s made for her family, but all that may change when Oliver, heir to the dukedom, comes home from abroad. He isn’t interested in the estate and it’s pretty much a given that he’ll sell it, taking Julia’s job in the process. He’s somewhat her rival but from the moment they meet neither can quite take their eyes off each other.

Doctor… To Duchess? Is a fair tale that falls under the medical romance genre. It’s got all the hallmarks of a good story and for the most part is a success.

Starting with the characters, Julia and Oliver are well written. You get a lot of their thoughts and O’Neil does a fabulous job of detailing all the anxieties of the couple – falling in love is accompanied here by the worries of rejection. Oliver, in particular, due to his particular worries, is very real. There’s a balance, a very natural back and forth between strength and weakness, worry and ‘pull yourself together’. Whilst the inner dialogue can seem a lot, it’s realistic. People do think, worry, this much, and perhaps it takes a book to demonstrate that. The dialogue is funny, and keeps the repetitive parts from taking over.

“Are you on?”
What? Seventh heaven?
Oh, for goodness’ sake. Don’t say that.

There is some repetition. Most of it is down to the detailing; the book has more detailing than dialogue so there can be a disconnect between reader and characters on occasion. You hear more narration than speech. This said, in the context of the sub-genre, the medical aspect, the details are welcome. O’Neil has obviously done her research and works her knowledge into the book without it taking over; this is a medical romance book – the focus is on the romance and medicine simply informs the lives of the characters.

This book has one sex scene which is good to note in part because there are people who will like that for itself and because it shows what’s important – emotion. Of course there is some desire, okay there’s a fair amount of it, but O’Neil is all about showing how people fall in love and work through their issues. The story may begin with desire, lust, if you will, but it quickly changes to love.

There are just a few places where dialect does not ring true, for example ‘baked goods’. Whether it will have an affect is down to the individual reader. Otherwise it is firmly in the traditional English countryside and the trueness of it may outweigh the previous note.

On the topic of traditional, it should be noted that whilst the setting and people are convincing, they are not too insular. That is to say that this is a village romance (think British version of the American ‘small town romance’) but it’s not too strong; those who like the idea will enjoy the book, those who just want a good story will like it, too.

If you want the unapologetically realistic in your romance (at least in terms of emotion and worry – few people find themselves with the nobility, after all!), Doctor… To Duchess? is for you. As said, the characters seem to be over-thinking until you step outside the box (the book) – this book has more than a surface dressing and it pays to look a little deeper. There are flaws and it ends a little too swiftly but the positives outweigh these for the most part and it is nice to watch the characters grow into their futures.

I received this book for review from the author. We have met.

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