This site will share with you hundreds of book and film reviews written since 2009. Also a chance to discuss these reviews together with some of my creative writing to be added.
Very much in the vein of "Who's afraid of Virginia Woolf" and Yasmina Reza's "The God of Carnage", also featuring a son with a hamster, this intense dialogue of a play is a portrayal of a marriage on the rocks.
Their son's first "sleepover" gives architect Adam and his wife Jan a rare evening alone together. This starts off in a bantering tone leading perhaps to a night of love, but there is a lack of communication and hints of darker problems from the outset and at times the bitternesss turns to violence. I found the frequent sudden shifts of mood or topic somewhat artificial and they weakened any sense I might have had of being moved by the plight of this couple who seem both self-destructive and ill-matched. The quickfire wit also prevented me from feeling very sorry for either of them, but it is very entertaining.
I concluded that this is really a set of observations on the nature of a variety of marriages, say where women play the game and turn a blind eye to their husbands' shortcomings and infidelities, or where women have children to please and keep their husbands and then hate their partners for this. Although Adam may be technically more "in the wrong", his wife Jan certainly comes across as more neurotic and manipulative. This may be the unintentional effect of a male writer identifying more with the man in the marriage. There are too many insightful comments to retain on first viewing of a performance; probably each person will come away with some different perceptions triggered by the play.
This is the true story written by Signol in the first person to capture the oral memories of Marie, shared with him in her old age. Found abandoned as a baby and brought up by a kindly shepherd in the remote Causse region of Quercy, Marie's life as a shepherdess, mother and husband of a quarryman spans the two World Wars and the technical advances which first disrupted and then destroyed her peaceful existence.
In a vivid account of life in a French village from the early 1900s, we see Marie taking her bread to the communal oven to be baked, her linen by cart to the washhouse twice a year, and the vital social contact she gained from all this, as from the round of traditional festivals in a community where everyone is expected to take part and support each other.
At first, I found the narrative rather sentimental and banal, as when Marie marries, when she is old enough, the farmhand sent to assist her guardians, as Signol informs us in advance as soon as Florentin makes his first appearance as a young boy, just as we are told on the birth of Marie's daughter that she will have a mind of her own and leave home at the age of eighteen.
Then, as harsher blows strike her, I began to realise that Marie's simplicity, acceptance of fate and positive attitude to adversity are not just a somewhat mawkish saintliness, but the result of her closeness to nature, of the long periods spent alone, almost meditating, observing subtle changes in the landscape and weather and the insignificance of mankind in the universe. When, in late middle age, she visits Paris, Marie is appalled by the lack of community spirit, as people pass each other in the street without any greeting, devoting themselves to acquiring material possessions. Initially, she criticises the young rioters of May '68 for protesting when they have so much, but then she realises that their "inner souls" are seeking something other than the pursuit of money, possessions and wealth.
This is a good way of practising French as the language is crystal clear (apart from the patois), with a smattering of useful idioms. It's not "great literature" but provides an insight into the mind of a good-hearted woman experiencing the undervalued pleasures and vicissitudes of rural life as it gradually crumbles away under inevitable forces of change.
Frustrated by politicians' refusal to admit that western economies may be in permanent decline, and their wrangling over austerity versus stimulus as the key to restoring growth which may be a chimera, I leapt eagerly on King's topical book.
I like King's rejection of economists' recent preoccupation with obscure models, and his concern to take historical, political and social factors into account, although I think some of his analyses would make academics in these disciplines wince.
The most original aspects seem to be his comparisons between the current situation and previous events, such as the decline after a period of promising growth of both Argentina and Japan, the bubble of "subprime" investment in the original American railroads, or the crises of the 1990s from which "Tiger economies" like South Korea or Malaysia, recovered quickly owing to their lack of a sense of entitlement, or so the author claims.
His examination of the recent financial crisis is clear, but has already been well-covered elsewhere. Yet his approach to economic terms seems inconsistent: the "loss aversion" which occurs in periods of stagnation is defined at some length, but I am not aware that he explains at any point how bond yields work, or the difference between monetary and fiscal policies, all crucial to an understanding of the economy. A glossary of economic terms would have been useful.
There is a good deal of space-taking repetition and some of his observations seem unduly subjective and perhaps a little confused, such as frequent references to the guilty role of "baby boomers" who are "having their cake and eating it". Does he expect this group to opt for early euthanasia so they can hand their ill-gotten share of resources on to the next generation?
I was disappointed by his recommended policies, which are presented in a rather rushed and woolly fashion in the final chapter. Some, too complex to explain fully here, on say, rating creditors for the quality of their decisions, or setting up "fiscal clubs" or encouraging more mobility of labour seem too theoretical, taking little account of the realities of nationalism, democracy or the implications for local services. Other policies seem based on flimsy arguments: I am unconvinced that banks have been forced to pursue risky ventures promising higher profits by the need to subsidise such "social commitments" as ATMs, or telephone and internet banking services for small savers.
Just as Alistair Cooke's deceptively laid back, meandering "Letters from America" used to draw me in by some subtle magic even when I was a teenager, so A.A.Gill's mirror images of these hooked me from the outset, before disillusion set in. Since I have always thought of Gill as unable to resist an acerbic barb at someone else's expense, I was surprised by the lyrical style of the opening pages in which he begins by describing his fading family ties with the States to which some of his ancestors emigrated, including "the Yorkshire cowboys".
Like Cooke, he often commences a topic in an oddly intriguing place, as for "Guns" where he describes how Civil War guns used by the slave-owning South were sold to the French, captured by the Prussians, sent for use by African troops in German colonies, fell into British hands and ended up displayed in the Imperial War museum. The chapter on "Speeches" begins: `The last word Abraham Lincoln ever heard was "sockdologising", this being from a line in the play he was watching when assassinated.
Although most of the topics interested me – skyscrapers, philanthropy, evolution i.e. creationism, to name a few, I was frustrated by Gill's frequent wandering into successive marginally relevant fact-laden digressions. So, I could only cope with this book in small doses, returning to pan for a bit more gold in the perhaps self-indulgent muddle of his thoughts.
Whereas Cooke apparently always saw himself as a journalist, Gill comes across to me as an essayist, which means that perhaps he is generally more concerned with form than substance. So, he can end the chapter on guns with a clever fantasy in which guns acquire a power and personality of their own : "The guns want us aware, they want us fearful, they want us to want them" – which is of course entertaining but nonsense. Yet the development of Americans' attachment to their guns is not explored very fully.
Cooke's aim was "to explain in the most vivid terms the passions, the manners and the flavour of another nation's way of life". By contrast, Gill's ideas often seem half-formed, even when stated emphatically, since an unusual take on topics tends to seep away into subjective rambling. A final question is whether Gill's letters' would come across better if read aloud, like Cooke's.
Promoted to Colonel's rank for an act of courage, Lewis Morgan is posted to the British Zone in Hamburg, devastated by the force of Allied bombing, to supervise the "denazification" and restoration of civilian life in the aftermath of World War 2. It seems clear that his dislike of bureaucracy and evident sympathy for ordinary Germans will land him in hot water. Sadly, his empathy does not extend to his wife Rachael: prolonged separation and a family tragedy have driven a wedge between the two. Tensions are compounded by Lewis's unconventional, perhaps naïve decision (inspired by a similar real event in the author's family history) to share the impressive dwelling in which his family has been billeted with its defeated German owners, the cultured, spontaneous architect Lubert and his stroppy teenage daughter Frieda.
From the outset, I felt in the hands of a writer confident in his skilful plot and complex, well-drawn characters. He makes it all look deceptively easy, and slips in evidence of detailed period research quite subtly. Although you can guess some of the main plot developments, the denouement is always in doubt so that the tension builds strongly to an unpredictable ending.
Some reviewers have found the character development weak, and I admit to never quite believing in the unpleasant Major Burnham whose eyes both men and women seemed to find "pretty", whilst the half-crazed dissident Berti did not quite work for me either. Some of the minor characters, like the officers' wives, seem like caricatures, although may sadly be an accurate portrayal of the prejudice and snobbery rife at the time in their society. Despite this, the main players come across quite strongly. I particularly liked the character of Lewis's son Edmund, an appealing mixture of innocence and guile, as he earnestly attempts to read the codes of the adult world, frequently "getting it wrong". Rachael's shifting emotions in the course of the tale also appear both convincing and moving.
Others have spotted the odd anachronism, or grating, even misued word, and I was a little disappointed to learn that the book was written with a film in mind, so that some descriptions are guidelines for props departments rather than how a character might have perceived a situation. Yet all these are minor quibbles over a page turner which brings alive a neglected aspect of World War 2.
At first, this 1973 Booker winner seems too much of a conventionally structured "good yarn", a kind of Somerset Maugham with humour, to gain the prize today, but as the plot darkens and becomes more bizarre, I revised this initial view.
Inspired by the 1857 Indian Mutiny, the novel covers the siege of the "Residency" of "the Collector", a senior representative of the East India Company at the fictional although authentic-sounding Krishnapur. The Collector is the only person to foresee the rebellion, but his insistence on constructing security walls is dismissed as evidence of eccentricity, even madness. Meanwhile, we are introduced to a range of distinctive characters, members of the British expatriate community, in the main complacent, ignorant and contemptuous of Indian religion and culture, casually exploiting the locals as a source of cheap labour to support a luxurious lifestyle. There are moments of droll comedy, as when Lieutenant Cutter gallops on horseback onto a friend's verandah, spearing feather cushions to alarm and delight the ladies. Similarly, the culture clash is shown with amusing irony when the self-absorbed Fleury, obsessed with poetry, fails to grasp the bitter sarcasm of the local Maharajah's son, who finds himself frustrated in the attempt to discuss technical inventions with a westerner. Throughout this scene-setting, the reader anticipates that the peace is about to be brutally shattered.
With the siege in progress, I felt the book started to lose its way. A major flaw is that it seems utterly implausible that such an inexperienced and inadequate bunch of defenders could possibly hold out against a band of determined sepoys for more than a day. Also, the callous, facetious tone used to describe brutality begins to grate after a while, and certainly inures one to shocking and poignant events. I was unconvinced by the contrived nature of some of the philosophical debates which Fleury, or the doctors, or the padre are prone to launch into despite the pressing ongoing need to fight off the enemy.
The story begins to rally, ironically, as we see the characters reduced to starving skeletons, stripped of many of their former prejudices and worldly preoccupations. This is one of those books peppered with arresting insights as applicable to us today as to the Victorians, and with striking descriptions, such as the Collector's admiration for vultures for which he had grown fond: "by their diligent eating of carcases they had probably spared the garrison an epidemic" whilst, in flight "they ascended into limitless blue until they became lost to sight…. They more resembled fish than birds, sliding in gentle circles in a clear pool of infinite depth".
Tension is aroused in the final pages, since the eventual outcome is unclear. One senses Farrell is all too capable of wiping out at the end every character who has survived against the odds. He was a daring risktaker of a writer. Some passages are brilliantly original and quirky, others miss the mark with an element of Boys' Own fantasy. And underlying all the thud and blunder, there are perceptive comments on the meaning of life.
There is endless potential in the theme of how men may be damaged when drafted to fight in distant lands for causes which do not arouse their allegiance, like the Korean or Vietnam Wars. Unable to express their emotions, they may drift into abusive relationships and neglect their children, damaging them in turn without meaning to do so.
If this sounds bleak, it could be made gripping and moving by the quality of the prose. Many reviewers have found this to be the case here, but after struggling with this book I had to admit defeat. I liked the evocation of an unfamiliar Australian landscape and culture. It did not bother me that the key points of the story are revealed only gradually and in some cases remain unclear. I did not mind its initial slow pace, but, in terms of structure it is too meandering. Also finding the opening pages so preoccupied with mundane aspects of daily life and the inner thoughts of Leon who seemed to me to be mentally ill, I felt the need for a touch of underlying humour, even of the wry or black variety.
Although the images used are at times striking and original, I agree with reviewers who have found the writing often banal – it really irks me when an author keeps using "like" instead of "as if".
Again like some other reviewers, I found the introduction of large numbers of minor characters together with frequent switches of time and place not so much confusing as irritating. Certainly, this contributed to my not feeling as much for the main players, Leon and Frank, as I think was intended.
I was left feeling frustrated: "here's the skeleton of a good novel, but this isn't it". Having read a number of classics recently, perhaps I have set the bar too high. In view of the quite polarised reaction to this book, I wonder whether it tends to appeal more say, to young men, than to older women like me.
Bubbling over with knowledge of the period, Antonia Fraser kindles our interest in what may seem a dry old piece of legislation by relating it to the events and personalities of the day. In a Parliament dominated by aristocrats, even the Whigs' desire to give some political representation to rapidly growing industrial cities like Birmingham was based on a pragmatic aim to avoid public revolt, after the grim precedent within living memory of the excesses of the French Revolution. Any thoughts of universal suffrage or a secret ballot were still the dangerous ideas of the "Radicals". It is startling to discover that the Reform Act only extended the franchise from 3.2% to 4.7% of the population!
Although other reviewers have praised the "novel-like" style of the book, I found the continual digressions into the family connections, appearances and verbatim comments of the main – and some minor – characters quite hard to digest. A glossary would have been really useful. More seriously, these often rambling discursions tended to get in the way of a proper understanding of the three Reform Bills which led to the 1832 Act itself. At no point does the book clearly explain exactly what was in each Bill and why. Neither is there a full explanation of the conditions which made the Reform Act necessary, with an indication of earlier efforts to improve the electoral system. Antonia Fraser's celebrity raises one's expectations, so that it is disappointing that this may also elevate her above being asked to submit her work to a thorough edit.
The book improved for me from Chapter 9, the point where England explodes into widespread riots after the Lords' first rejection of the Bill, largely because of opposition from the Bishops. To think how much ordinary people cared about it, when our latest widespread riots were largely about looting chain stores! Chapter 10 is particularly gripping with accounts of anarchy in Bristol, where soldiers held back out of sympathy for the mob. The official death toll was twelve, "but the number of rioters who died was probably more like 400". In view of some recent media scandals, I was struck by the scurrilous press attacks on the German Queen Adelaide who was thought to have influenced King William IV against reform. The extent of his power is intriguing – he could refuse to create the extra peers necessary to get the Bill passed. Yet, 180 years on, some continue to argue for the maintenance of unelected peers, and appointed lords still occupy key posts in our Government…..
Beautiful but mentally fragile, Jane is shattered to catch her father with his lover. Anchorless, she drifts on the hippy trail to Katmandu. The young Frenchman Olivier travels there as well, but for very different reasons. He is an angry young man, the bitterness over his unknown father and affectionate but neglectful mother twisted into an aggressive desire for change, leading him to fight on the barricades in the violent Paris student demonstrations of 1968, which leave him disillusioned.
Nostalgia for the '60s drew me to this novel, although Barjavel, who was almost sixty when he wrote this, has an older man's contempt for the hippies' self-delusion in seeking mystical peace and love in drugs. At first, I felt unengaged by the fragmented storyline and scenes of gratuitous violence involving characters I had not been given time to know. Then, I was hooked by the highly visual descriptions of Nepal. These aspects all seem to stem from the fact that the novel was in fact based on the 1969 film for which Barjavel wrote the script.
Often gripping and moving, sometimes ludicrous, even a little crass, this book is "a good read", but it has a thread of negativity – "What's the point of anything?" I took from this book the message that life is transient, we are all "dust to dust". Western materialist, "can do" culture may be pointless and eastern fatalism and acceptance closer to the mark, but once you have gained a sense of the rational, and the need to act, it is hard to lose it.
In the interests of positive discrimination, Adam loses his job to the young black intern he has trained. I was looking forward to a South African writer's take on the reality of the curdled idealism of life in the post-apartheid system. Certainly, there are telling observations of a corrupt policeman, a beautiful young black woman now able to make her fortune as a white man's wife, older black servants whose lives situations remain remarkably unchanged, and a thug in fear of reprisals from former colleagues he has sold out in his confession to a truth and reconciliation committee. Yet, the book turns out to be more of a psychological drama involving Adam's dealings with a former pupil at his school who seems to have become an unlikely successful entrepreneur.
I admire the clear, uncluttered prose which provides vivid impressions of the South African landscape, some convincing dialogues which reveal, say, Adam's uneasy relationship with his brother, and an insight into Adam's complex state of mind as he goes through a mid-life crisis. I also like the way in which most of the main characters are to some degree "impostors".
However, I agree with the reviewer who finds Galgut's writing somehow "bloodless", promising more than it delivers. In this case, I just did not believe in Adam's ill-judged friendship with Canning, his acceptance of the old nickname "Nappy", nor in Canning's enigmatic wife, nor his magical estate of Gondwana. There were some tense and moving moments, but the ending left me underwhelmed. There are all the ingredients here for a good novel, but the whole ends up less than the sum of the parts.
Antenna Reviews 