This is my review of Charles Dickens: A Life by Claire Tomalin.

This is very much in the mould of Claire Tomalin's biographies: very detailed and well-researched yet highly readable, revealing with honesty, empathy and wry humour the complexity of Dickens's personality, warts and all.

We gain a sense of the huge, perhaps manic, energy which made him so prolific a writer, known to work on two great novels at the same time. Walking for miles most days gave him time to observe people and to form ideas. Tomalin tells us that he needed to pace the streets – the limited scope of the Swiss countryside (despite its beauty!) only frustrated him. It is a shock to realise that he died in his late fifties – probably at least partly as a result of the smoking and heavy drinking which must also have contributed to his outbursts of explosive anger and emotion.

I was impressed by his precocious determination to overcome adversity. Forced when barely in his teens to leave the school where he excelled to work in a blacking factory because his father was in jail for debt, Dickens divided his meagre weekly earnings into seven piles, to make sure he did not overspend. Despite the lack of a university education and disrupted schooling, this clearly very intelligent young man rapidly became a self-made success, as first a journalist and then an exceptionally popular author. His charisma and dramatic skills (he wanted initially to be an actor) assisted him in promoting his work through his readings – the murder of Nancy by Bill Sykes was a possibly overdone favourite theme.

The author shows how Dickens made positive use of every aspect of his life in his writing. His childhood in Kent gave him a great love for that area, and became the setting for "Great Expectations" which Tomalin regards as in some ways his most "perfect book". His father's chronic debt helped shape the attitudes of Mr Micawber, but also scenes for Little Dorrit set in the Marshalsea Prison.

Tomalin describes how he produced his stories largely in monthly episodes, which required remarkably little rewriting, although his approach may account for some of the overwrought and "hammy" passages in his books, which she freely acknowledges, together with his rather bland female characters. It seems that he followed an overall plan, particularly in the later works.

Although sociable and gregarious, which might suggest easy-going, Dickens was a man of strong principles in certain respects. He was a staunch republican – one reason why he admired the French so much – and gave many readings of his works to highlight the parlous conditions of the poor.

Of course, one area in which his morality fell short was in his callous treatment of his long-suffering but probably rather dull wife. He may have married too young, settling for safe domesticity after the failure of a passionate love affair. However, in successful middle age he embarked on his long relationship with the actress Nelly Tiernan, covered so well in another of Tomalin's biographies. The enforced secrecy of this liaison may have added to some of its appeal. I was also intrigued to learn of the strong friendship between Dickens and his sister-in-law, which Tomalin believes to have been platonic on his side, one of blind loyalty and admiration on hers.

As further evidence of his capricious and unpredictable emotional responses, we learn how Dickens was often hard on his sons, but even after being let down many times by his feckless father, found him a job and praised him in extravagant terms on his death.

This blend of biography, literary comment and evocation of the Victorian world has certainly inspired me to take another look at Dickens's work. I have always admired his intentions as a social reformer, but found many of his characters too caricatured the general tone too sentimental.

⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ 5 Stars

This is my review of How Proust Can Change Your Life by Alain de Botton.

I thought this quirky mixture of selective biographical details and literary analysis might pave the way to my good intentions to complete at least the first volume of Proust’s “Remembrance of Times Past”. Presenting his ideas in short sections under subheadings makes for an easy, if fragmented read.

Proust spent much of his adult life in bed, was plagued with illness and pain although probably also a hypochondriac, and sounds distinctly bi-polar in, for instance, his obsession with the distracting effects of noise, and occasional bursts of manic activity, as when he translated Ruskin’s work, despite having a very limited initial knowledge of English. Were these traits critical to his unusual ability to observe, describe and philosophise about minute aspects of human behaviour and motivation?

I would have liked more detail on this complex man whose excessive politeness led his friends to coin the verb “to proustify” but who also held that friendship expresses itself in futile conversations which only “indefinitely repeat the vacuity of a minute” and is in the end no more than a lie to make us believe that we are not irremediably alone”.

I was impressed that De Botton was only about 28 when this book was first published. There is something “young fogeyish”, facetious and a little too clever by half in his tone, but he succeeds in highlighting some thought-provoking aspects – perhaps the essence – of Proust’s writing, from which he quotes very effectively. For instance, Proust noted that there is nothing particularly special about the poplars Monet loved to paint, but through the painter’s interpretation, one can learn to appreciate the trees in one’s own experience more. Reading can open one’s eyes to the surrounding world, but writers should not be worshipped: even the greatest books have limitations – they do not provide blueprints for living or conclusions, but only “incitements” to understand more. So, it is ironical that the very ordinary village of Illiers has added the suffix “Combray” from Proust’s imaginary settlement and become a place of pilgrimage where visitors buy madeleines supposedly of the type Proust so famously described.

It is easy to understand why Virginia Woolf was so elated by the “vibration and saturation” of Proust’s writing, yet also depressed by the sense that she could not begin to write as well- although in her own original way, she achieved greatness.

Selecting the above points has made me realise the degree of skill De Bouton has exercised in expressing his ideas, but I think he has limited his impact by being a bit too jokey and trite, particularly at the end of chapters.

⭐⭐⭐⭐ 4 Stars

This is my review of The Yellow House: Van Gogh, Gauguin, and Nine Turbulent Weeks in Arles by Martin Gayford.

I thoroughly enjoyed this biography, which conveyed very clearly Van Gogh's tortured personality, with all the classic symptoms of manic-depression, which nevertheless seemed crucial to his genius – the striking use of colour and brushstrokes, and the disregard for the conventions of art. If modern mood-stabilising drugs had been available, he would probably have been a mediocre artist, if he had painted at all. I had not realised how prolific he was, creating a relatively large number of paintings in barely a decade. Sadly, these only began to sell after his death, so much of his life was spent worrying about money, and feeling frustrated by his inadequacy, since if others did not recognise his talent perhaps it did not exist.

His distinctive painting style is analysed in detail, again with great clarity, as is the very different style of his sometime friend Gauguin. The intriguing relationship between the two is also brought out – including the brief period in which Van Gogh mutilated himself after a rift between them, and Gauguin was initially accused of attempted murder on his return to their shared house in Provence.

As other readers have complained, my only criticism is the poor quality of the illustrations, particularly where they are black and white versions of paintings by two artists for whom colour was an essential factor.

⭐⭐⭐⭐ 4 Stars

This is my review of Tolstoy: A Russian Life by Rosamund Bartlett.

I don't know why this biography is described on the back cover as "unorthodox" unless it is because of the author's frank, but very well supported criticisms of Tolstoy.

It is a relief to find a biography of a widely revered writer which reveals him warts and all. I was intrigued to read that the author finds Tolstoy an unappealing young man, sanctimoniously writing over-ambitious lists of worthy resolutions, only to spend a few days in prison for failure to attend lectures, or weeks in a clinic to be treated for venereal disease.

When a young man, he was forced to sell villages along with serfs to pay for his gambling debts, and then used some of proceeds together with bail-outs from long-suffering friends, to lose still more money.

He is portrayed as promiscuous – apparently quite common for wealthy young men of his day – controlling, for instance of the long-suffering wife who was a teenager, half his age, when he married her, and very opinionated, prone to falling out with friends – once, he even challenged his friend Turgenev to a duel.

It is interesting to learn that Tolstoy cared more for his "ABC" primer for children than his most famous novels. Although he spent many months researching them and trying out different plots, he was bored with "War and Peace" before it was finished, and struggled with "Anna Karenina" which became for him, a "banal.. bitter radish".

As his social conscience developed, Tolstoy tried to free his serfs, only to discover that they mistrusted his intentions and refused to cooperate. Then, he was one of the first to found a school for his serfs' children. It was remarkably child-centred for its day. Yet, he left it after only a few matter of months to research educational practice in Europe, then closed it down completely in order to move on to other interests. This kind of flitting from one obsession to another was typical. To be fair, from the age of 7 X 7 = 49 (he was very superstitious), he was consistent in his attempt to lead an ethical life, passing through the phases of "religious maniac" to "Holy Fool". Tolstoy's run-ins with the ludicrous censor make fascinating reading. Eventually, he was excommunicated for his inflammatory writing in an extraordinary procedure in which he was declared "anathema" but this only aroused yet more interest in him, by then far more popular than the Tsar.

We are told that the only reason the Tsar did not consign the outspoken Tolstoy to a remote monastery in later life was because he did not want to give him the oxygen of the publicity.

Even Tolstoy ceased to deny, in fact came to revel in, his weaknesses which included self-absorption and insensitivity, in particular to the wife ground down by childbearing, domesticity and isolation in the countryside, with whom he vainly tried to practise "sexual abstinence" but totally refused to use contraception. Yet he was a visionary thinker, genuinely concerned with inequality and the meaning of life and possessed a rash courage. It is interesting to speculate what would have happened to this pugnacious individualist if he had been born into a poor family.

Although the book sometimes gives too much space to minor details – such as which relatives came for Christmas one year – it is mostly very clear and readable – not only concerning how Tolstoy produced his books – with his wife copying out "War and Peace" several times by hand – and the complexity of his personality but also in bringing to life C19 Russia in a period of dramatic change.

The author raises the intriguing question of the extent to which Tolstoy's anarchic views triggered revolution. She highlights the sad irony of the speed with which the Bolsheviks adopted a schizophrenic approach – revering Tolstoy's novels whilst condemning his anarchic views and persecuting his followers even more fiercely than the Tsar's regime had done. How would Tolstoy have reacted to Stalinism? As the author suggests, he would no doubt have been promptly shot.

⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ 5 Stars

This is my review of Three Cups Of Tea by Greg Mortenson,David Oliver Relin.

I was more interested than I expected to be in this account of the American Greg Mortensen's obsession with building schools in the remote, mountainous northern areas of Pakistan and Afghanistan. This was despite the often toe-curlingly cringe-making journalese and frequent fulsome adulation of Mortensen – for some reason never just called "Greg" by David Oliver Relin who actually wrote the book.

The book succeeds on three counts: it conveys the wild beauty of the landscape, it makes us appreciate the dignity, intelligence and humour of the tribal people who live in communities, close to nature, in a manner which seems morally superior to that of the commercialised western world, and it also provides quite an effective potted history of an area which affects us all, in the light of the activities of Osama Bin Laden, the endless war in Afghanistan and instability of the nuclear state of Pakistan. Reading between the lines, "Three Cups of Tea" also provides an intriguing study of how Mortensen's background and personality have equipped him to achieve his goal.

The journalist Relin was apparently hired to create a marketing tool – along with the children's and Kindle versions of the book – to raise money for the cause. This is fair enough in view of the compelling argument that building schools to reduce ignorance is one of the most effective ways of countering the rise of terrorism amongst the disaffected youth whose lives have been ripped apart by war, for which they largely blame the US.

I suspect that some anecdotes may have gained in the telling, not least because Relin takes the liberty of describing Mortensen's past thoughts, even his dreams, in as great detail as if they are his own, and recreates verbatim conversations from years ago. I was irritated on almost every page by the style – an overloaded lorry "fishtailing" up rutted tracks between mighty "daggered" peaks that "garlanded" the town, and so on; Mortensen pacing round "powerless" rooms, meaning that they had no electricity, or sleeping until "motionlessness awoke him" ….. Yet, if this book gives some gung-ho Islamophobic Americans pause for thought it will have served a useful purpose.

⭐⭐⭐ 3 Stars