This is my review of Summertime by J M Coetzee.

At first it seems incongruous to have this short and deceptively slight novel shortlisted for the Man Booker Prize alongside the sprawling tomes of Wolf Hall and The Children's Book. The opening pages, "fictionalised" (we never know to what extent) fragments of Coetzee's notes for an autobiography which an imagined premature death have prevented him from writing, establish from the outset an impression of "quality rather than quantity": the spare, elegant prose, intriguing hints of conflict between the characters, wry humour, insights into the complex tragedy of life in South Africa in the years preceding the end of apartheid.

The work is original in taking an unusual perspective. Sandwiched between Coetzee's notes are interviews between his fictional biographer and five people who knew him before his recent death. Each interview reads like a short story in its own right, drawing us into the lives of a very disparate group of people and evoking in the process vivid impressions of the lives of white people in the South Africa of the 1970s. Again, there is unexpected humour in the often sparky exchanges between interviewer and interviewees who are not backward in questioning his techniques. The fascinating issues are raised of how a Nobel prize winning writer may seem, even be, very ordinary, and may appear very differently to various people who knew him. I found most moving the account provided by Coetzee's cousin Margot, although it was the only "interview" to be written in the third person, in the form of a transcript being read back for confirmation.

I agree that beneath the portrayal of Coetzee as perhaps excessively self-effacing, with a possibly exaggerated lack of appeal, one senses a certain discomforting self absorption in the writer. Why did he focus on himself in this way? On the other hand, you could argue this is a twist on the fact that many novels contain unacknowledged, perhaps even unconscious elements of the autobiographical. Also, perhaps a Nobel Prize winner is allowed to be self-absorbed – may even need to be.

Another point which concerned me a little was the similarity in "voice" of the author and the interviewees, with the exception of the Brazilian dancer. Also, although the distinctive precision of the writing is a welcome contrast to the cloying sentimentality of some writers, there is the nagging sense that it links to a level of cold, clear-eyed dispassion which can seem almost repellent – I imagine some readers will feel this more than others. And does it matter, if reading is all about extending awareness?

Whilst I admire this book, and suspect I read it too quickly and need to revisit it and reflect more on the many observations about human relationships, culture and the meaning of life, I was left feeling a little let down. Perhaps this was because the final scene in the book is agonising in it sadness. Perhaps my disappointment is because many of the issues which interested me, such as the role of a "liberal Boer", were underdeveloped. There seemed to me to be the potential to do so much more, without the book becoming too flabby or weighty. I noticed the same quality in "Disgrace" and wonder whether Coetze's main message is that life is not clear cut, accepted definitions of success and failure are open to question, individuals are complex and essentially unknowable, even to themselves – life is, simply, inconclusive and often disappointing….

⭐⭐⭐⭐ 4 Stars

This is my review of The Little Stranger by Sarah Waters.

After a slow start, this well-written tale initially reeled in my interest with its evocation of life in rural England just after World War 2, with the conflict between nostalgia for an irrevocably declining way of life and the pressures for change. Waters captures well the appearance of cracks in the still rigid class divide, the physical decay of the elegant house and way of life which the impoverished local gentry could no longer afford to sustain, interesting details on rationing, reactions to the establishment of the NHS, the inescapable gossip grapevine, and so on. However, there was a fragmented nature to the plot, which with increasing frequency lapsed into a poltergeist-cum-Gothic horror fantasy. I am no fan of ghost stories, but I suspect that this one does not score very highly on the spine-chilling scale. Somewhere round page 160 I almost gave up, but resolved to continue since this is the choice of my local book group. Without giving too much away, the details of the hauntings which drove first Rod and then his mother mad seemed to be too silly for words, and insufficiently frightening, just ludicrous. What was slightly more alarming and intriguing was realisation of the way in which doctors, with possibly questionable motives, might react to people troubled by the supernatural by locking them up in asylums indefinitely for their own good.

Another point which concerned me was that, because of the author's decision to write in the first person through the eyes of the local doctor Faraday, many of the most dramatic scenes had to be reported to him which obviously detracted from the tension. Plus at times, the narration of these supernatural events entered into the minds of third parties and what they had thought and felt to an implausible degree.

I also disliked the disjunction between the development of subtle and intriguing relationships between characters and the ruthless killing off in bizarre circumstances of some key players.

The book improved towards the end with the course of Faraday's relationship with Caroline, and the revelation of his own character. There was an interesting final twist which caused me to reflect on the chain of supernatural events, Faraday's precise role in this and the ambiguous identity of the "little stranger" but, to conclude, I think Sarah Waters' talents could be better used.

⭐⭐⭐ 3 Stars

This is my review of Disgrace by J.M. Coetzee.

A friend's fulsome praise for the recently issued film of this book encouraged me to reread it partly because I was so embarrassed at being unable to recall the details of the plot. I now think this was because of the bleakness of the tale, as the main character sinks into a passive acceptance of his waning sexual and academic powers and influence as a result of ageing, and the "reversal of roles" in South Africa as black men gain ascendancy post-Apartheid. This beautifully written book works at several levels, as an examination of both personal morality and commununal responsibility or guilt for the exploitation of one group by another. With his history of preying sexually on young, inexperienced girls, is David Lurie any better than the black rapists who impregnated his daughter, either as a demonstration of new-found power, or through some instinctive desire to spread their seed?

What repelled me about the story was the degree of acceptance of "fate" by both Lurie and his daughter. Still only in his early fifties, he seemed too young to "give up", and even if he had been older, I would have wanted him to "rage against the dying of the light". I accept that the sheer weight of circumstance e.g. the ineffectiveness of the police in solving crimes made it hard to maintain one's resistance. Since Lurie clearly felt no great guilt about casual sex and seducing vulnerable women, it was unclear exactly what the extent of his disgrace was. A part of him seemed to feel that rapists and robbers should not get off scot free just because they might have been treated badly in the past. Yet, at the end, he seemed to compound his downfall, and give up too easily. His embracing of the "lowly task" of disposing of surplus dogs seemed too much of denial of the possibilities of life. The final choice of when a lame dog (which he could have kept as a pet) should be put down may have been an analogy for the state of his own life, but seemed too negative.

What exactly was the point of the scene where Lurie is invited to dine with the father of the student whom he "wronged"? What comparisions does the author wish us to draw between the course of Lurie's life and that of Byron, once a serial seducer but brought low towards the end of his life? There is a great deal to speculate upon, and to discuss in this book.

The plot seems to tail off and meander once Lurie accepts that he can no longer take refuge with his daughter, and drifts back to the city. Perhaps this is a deliberate reflection of the random nature of much of "real life".

Although I could not say I liked this book, I admired it.

⭐⭐⭐⭐ 4 Stars

This is my review of After You’ve Gone by Joan Lingard.

This skilfully written and well constructed book, with many touches of humour and irony, held my attention to the end which, if fairly predictable, gained depth from leaving intriguing questions unanswered. The use of a real seaman's journal from the 1920s gave an authentic air to the extracts read aloud by the heroine from her husband's letters, which formed the heart of the story – letters which ideally would have bound them together only aroused her sense of dissatisfaction, thwarted ambition and suspicion, to the point at which her husband scarcely seemed to be a real person to whom she could relate and should feel loyalty or love. The interplay between the characters was interesting and the portrayal of working class life in Edinburgh seemed convincing. The moments of joy and pathos in the banality of "ordinary life" came through clearly. The plot had a good pace with some points of real tension. This book contained insights on a par with those found in more self-consciously highbrow literature.

⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ 5 Stars

This is my review of The Outlander by Gil Adamson.

This book creates striking, poetic images of the Canadian wilderness and changing weather. It also captures the human will to survive in adversity, and what it must feel like to hallucinate – begin to die from starvation. The realities of living rough are also well described.

Interwoven with the slow place, and focus on introspection and memory, is the bones of quite a gripping plot. The reader knows from the first few pages that the main character is on the run from the two brothers of the husband she has killed. The reasons for this act of violence, and the details of the crime are leaked out judiciously to maintain the suspense. Even when life seems to be improving for the widow, as she is rather awkwardly called throughout, you know that her pursuers are still on the trail. There is sufficient brutality in the tale for you to be uncertain as to whether it will end happily- the author seems capable of bumping off any of the characters. Also, the widow has a certain ambiguity: she is clearly a flawed character, a kleptomaniac for instance, and her degree of guilt, the strength of extenuating circumstances, are unclear.

Although this book deserves praise, my main reservations lie in the fact that the author seems uncertain how to fill in the gap between the arresting beginning, and initially exciting but ultimately rather flat and contrived denouement. She peoples the plot with a number of rather unconvincing, two dimensional characters who are too often caricatures, and some rather tedious and uninteresting incidents. At times I was reminded of a feminist take on Huckleberry Finn e.g. the section spent in Frank with the Reverend, but occasionally it smacked of a kind of Western Mills and Boon – I refer in particular to the romantic passages, and the odd encounter with Henry the Indian and his too good to be true wife.

As already implied, I did not care for the ending (which I cannot give away). If I understood it correctly, it seemed like a somewhat gimmicky contrivance. And why did the ridgerunner need to be so called all the time?

I was also unsure about the depth of psychology intended. I think the author liked her main character, the widow, and we were meant to empathise with her. Yet, on one level, she seemed cold to the point of lacking normal emotions. Had she been "frozen" by her upbringing and driven temporarily insane by post-natal trauma? Her husband did not seem "bad enough" to justify killing him! She generally seemed too rational and calculating to have committed this act, as described.

To end on a positive note, some of the descriptions and turns of phrase to reflect on life were beautiful and memorable.

⭐⭐⭐ 3 Stars

This is my review of The Children’s Book by A S Byatt.

The author's deep knowledge of the arts in Europe as the late Victorian age gave way to the Edwardian makes me hesitate to criticise this lengthy, complex work, and it is easy to see how it came to be shortlisted for the Man Booker. Although I found the opening pages wordy and slightly stilted, what I came to see as an erudite soap opera of a privileged circle whose lives revolved round art and writing gradually sucked me in as the darker forces began to emerge from beneath the idyllic surface. Without giving away too much, we are speaking of casual promiscuity, incest, and the exploitation of others, often in the name of art. Byatt manages to develop and differentiate a large cast of characters,each of whom are brought to the fore in turn as the story evolves. Some of the dialogue was sharp and revealing.

I found the story gripping for chapters at a time, and appreciate this as the kind of story in which a reader can become totally engrossed, entering another world, so as to be sorry when it ends. However, there were a few flaws which arguably cost it the ultimate Man Booker Prize. Byatt has a habit of telling you what is about to happen, rather than let the reader experience the suddent shock of revelation (when this is allowed to happen, it works well). Also, her narration of the historical and political background to the story can be rather didactic and too condensed to make much sense. An example of this is an almost incomprehensible and apparently superfluous description of Lady Asquith's correspondence with Lloyd George. I would have like less of this, giving more time for character development. Having said this, I felt "educated" by the book.

Am I the only reader whose heart sinks when confronted by the prospect of reading a lengthy fairy story? I realise fairy stories are important to the author, and they are relevant to a key character, and the "climax" of the plot but they are an acquired taste.

The length of this book, smacking of self indulgence at times and an inability to prune, makes this book compare unfavourably with the shorter and much more sharply focussed "The Glass Room" – another impressive item on the Man Booker shortlist.

With a more ruthless edit, this book would have been excellent rather than an impressively researched and enjoyable read.

⭐⭐⭐⭐ 4 Stars

This is my review of The Glass Room by Simon Mawer.

The quality of the writing justifies the inclusion of this imaginative work in the Man-Booker shortlist,and it would have made a worthy winner. Mawer's skill is wide-ranging: the meticulous description which conjures up striking images of, say, Von Abt's glass house, vividly described from his drawing, which gradually rises from the mud of the hillside; the sharp, witty dialogues; the subtle development of a cast of varied characters in all their complexity, strengths and flaws; the underlying sense of menace and insecurity. The intriguing plot soon caught my interest: from the first few pages, it was clear that the early optimisim and good fortune of the wealthy Landauers was doomed, the year being 1929, the husband being Jewish, and their homeland being the newly formed Czechoslavakia, soon to fall under Soviet control.

Although I have no great liking for modern architecture, this book succeeded in enabling me to appreciate the vision that the glass house represented, and something of what architects working in angular lines and non-traditional materials are trying to achieve. I particularly liked the way in which the appearance of the building changed over time as, rather like its occupants, it was battered by external forces.

My criticisms are minor. The initial prologue, foreshadowing the end, added little, and ran the risk of putting readers off, with its slightly mawkish tone, before there had been time for us to be intrigued by the construction of the unusual house and the inevitably eventful and probably tragic fate of its inhabitants.

Although the complex relationship between Liesl and Katalin was explored quite well, Victor's role in the ménage à trois could have been revealed in more depth.

The hints at lesbianism irritated me slightly, since I wondered whether they had been included for effect, and how well the male writer could really handle them.

The plot deteriorated for me towards the end (Part 4) when most of the original characters had slipped away, and, as other readers have noted, the pace seemed to speed up, presumably to "get to the end" without becoming too long-winded, but at the cost of the satisfying, in depth development of characters and situations which marked the early chapters. Tomas and Zdenka were pale shadows of Victor and Katalin, as lovers and "real people", and I would have liked more of Von Abt.

However, the final denouement works reasonably well, bringing together some of the "original" characters, full circle. Although many "loose ends" are tied, a few questions remain unanswered. What exactly happened to Katalin? This adds to the realism and pathos of the work.

I shall certainly look out for more of Mawer's work and appreciate the view that he ranks amongst our best current writers, and has been underestimated to date.

⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ 5 Stars