This is my review of Offshore by Penelope Fitzgerald.

At first, “Offshore” seems like a farcical soap opera involving an eccentric little community of barge-dwellers on the Thames near Blackheath Bridge in the early 1960s. Penelope Fitzgerald’s own experience of living on a houseboat which sank gives her vivid descriptions of changing tides, varying qualities of mud, and parts of boats an authentic air. When “amiable young” Maurice realises that self-appointed leader Richard calls all residents by the names of their boats, he quickly gives “Dondeschiepolschuygen IV” his own name. This quirky bit of humour along with some much more subtle, wry examples soon had me hooked along with the author’s gift for conveying implicitly a great deal about her characters’ situations and personalities. I also enjoyed her launches into unexpected little scenes, as when the child Tilly leaps between abandoned objects precariously stranded in the river mud at low tide to prise out examples of beautiful antique tiles which she and her sister can sell to buy Cliff Richards records at the local Woolworths.

From the outset, the author distances herself a little from the barge-dwellers to observe them as “creatures neither of firm land nor water” who “would have liked to be more respectable than they were… but a certain failure to be like other people caused them to sink back with so much else that drifted or was washed up into the mud moorings”. This approach reduces our own sense of involvement with the characters, so we tend to regard them as mere sources of entertainment. By the middle, I started to get a little bored with them and to think, wrongly, that having established her cast, the author was drifting on the ebb tide with little plot in mind. Some details feel a bit false, like the reference to two “family planning shops” close together in the same high street (doesn’t sound right for 1961-2). At six, Tilly, seems far too articulate and knowing, but I later concluded that, with her own highly educated and perhaps somewhat unorthodox and rarified background, Penelope Fitzgerald may indeed have known or even produced children as precocious as this.

As the book worked up to an ending which shocks you with its abruptness, but on reflection seems the most appropriate one possible, I began to see how the threads of the story all prove to have a purpose, link and mesh tightly together. In the process, my sympathy for the characters grew. Like other readers, and unaware from my kindle of the brevity of the book, I made the mistake of reading too fast, rather than savour the striking prose and non sequiturs which hit home if you spend a little time on them.

This book is an acquired taste, but, although it might now seem too dated to do so, I can well understand why it won the Booker Prize in 1979.

⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ 5 Stars

This is my review of For Whom The Bell Tolls by Ernest Hemingway.

Idealistic American Robert Jordan has joined an International Brigade fighting the fascists in 1930s Spain, although this means accepting orders from Russian Communists. He is ordered to destroy a bridge in the mountains, despite the lack of resources and an effective communication system. Can he trust Pablo, the brutal, now disillusioned leader of the republican guerrilla group on whom he must rely?

Although Hemingway was clearly excited by the risk-taking and violence of battle and bullfighting, and there are many tense moments in this novel, you may be disappointed if a pure action thriller is what you have in mind. The density of the prose, with the constant switches of thought, new ideas and unusual modes of expression slow the reader down, even at the moments when the suspense drives you to keep turning the pages.

Drawing on his first-hand experience as a journalist covering the Spanish Civil War, Hemingway was keen to explore it from many angles, such as the incompetence of officers at all levels, or the fact that committing atrocities was not confined to the fascists. The female guerrilla Pilar (who, despite being tough, takes on the cooking), describes in vivid detail how all the men of property in a captured town were assumed to be fascist and forced across the square over a precipice: it is a shock to learn that this was based on real events in the now picturesque tourist centre of Ronda. Hemingway attributes Spanish violence to the fact `this was the only country the reformation never reached…Forgiveness is a Christian idea and Spain has never been a Christian country'.

Hemingway also takes Robert into repetitious stream-of-consciousness reveries over the meaning of life, and how best to spend what may be one's last three days. My idea of Hemingway as the master of the minimalist, pared-down style was shattered by the wearisome detail of many descriptions, from eating a sandwich with onions to constructing a makeshift bed or loading a gun. I grew tired of Robert running his hand through the `wheatfield' of his lover Maria's cropped hair. The frequent references to drinking wine, whisky and absinthe are also a bit repetitive, perhaps reflecting Hemingway's own reputation as a heavy drinker. Sometimes, the great outpouring of words, in particular hyphenated adjectives like `empty-calm' reminds me of Dylan Thomas and is perhaps the product of a creativity loosened by alcohol.

In a dialogue that is often amusing, the speech of the guerrillas is very odd, a stilted style of remarkable sophistication, peppered with `thees' and `thous'. Can you imagine a gypsy saying, `Thou art a veritable phenomenon'? Then there is the exaggerated blasphemy, `I obscenity in the milk of my shame', oaths at times shortened to `Thy mother!'

This is a masterpiece, if a little dated, as in the submissive character of Maria, and despite passages of violence which are hard to stomach. Most poignant of all is the knowledge that all this courage and sacrifice were in vain since the republicans lost.

⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ 5 Stars

This is my review of The Lie by Helen Dunmore.

For the centenary marking the outbreak of the Great War, Helen Dunmore has developed one of the few remaining neglected themes: the aftermath of the return from the trenches. Bright working class Cornishman Daniel is already an outsider in that he has spent his childhood playing with the children of a local landowner. Too poor to attend grammar school, he is self taught from secretly borrowing books from the wealthy man's library. Outwardly uninjured but destitute, he is allowed to squat on the neglected land of the elderly Mary Paxton. In his rural solitude, Daniel is continually haunted by the presence of his childhood friend Frederick, killed at the Front, and he is prey to the panic attacks and irrational urges to commit acts of violence that inevitably arouse fear and rejection in those ignorant of either traumatic stress disorder or the sheer hell of trench warfare, that is, virtually everyone. What could be an unbearably sad story is transformed by the writer's skill in enabling the reader to feel a strong empathy with Daniel and to understand his attitude to life and the behaviour that deviates from the norms of his society, because of what he has experienced.

For me, this is a near perfect novel in style, structure, pace and meaning. My only slight reservation is that I think Dunmore goes on a bit about the central heating system – I suppose meant to be analogous to underground military tunnels.

Deceptively simple with a strong narrative drive and tight structure, the tale is interwoven skilfully with frequent flashbacks to Daniel's childhood and life as a soldier. I was also very taken by the tragically ludicrous bits of advice for soldiers culled from old army training manuals (I believe) for insertion at the start of each chapter. For instance, measures to prevent the disease of "trench foot" caused by standing in cold water and mud include: "taking every opportunity to have.. the feet dried, well rubbed and dry socks (of which each man should carry a pair) put on".

Despite knowing that I should be taking my time over the author's telling insights and striking descriptions, sparely poetic, of the Cornish landscape, I felt an exorable drive on to the ending, knowing that "the lie" Daniel has told to satisfy the narrow conventions of his society must be exposed: "The man has penance done, and penance more will do". There is of course another lie in the false or confused basis on which so many young men went to die in the first place.

⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ 5 Stars

This is my review of An Officer and a Spy by Robert Harris.

Robert Harris is a past master at historical fiction based on dramatic political situations: in this case the notorious Dreyfus case in which an uptight Jewish Major in the French army was framed for a minor act of espionage, for which relatively minor offence, blown up out of all proportion, he was transported to the remote former leper colony of Devil's island. Just when you might expect the passage of time to erode interest, it has been revived in a recent crop of books including this novel which follows historical evidence closely. Harris focuses on Colonel Picquart, the mildly anti-semitic officer whose realisation that the evidence has been trumped up in a "dodgy dossier" leads him to sacrifice his reputation, even his freedom to obtain justice for Dreyfus, since his sense of honour and conscience will not allow him to do otherwise.

This is a gripping version with well-developed characters and some tense or moving scenes. Harris digests a mountain of detail to present the tortuous process of court martials and trials in clear and easily digestible terms. If it all gets a bit exhausting towards the end, that only conveys the feelings of déjà vue which the protagonists must have suffered. Harris succeeds in conveying Picquart's growing frustration, his sense of foreboding changing to moments of fear, anger and resignation, as he realises the extent to which his enemies are prepared to restrict his activities and twist events, rather than see the public lose confidence in the army's integrity.

I could not help thinking that, good though this novel may be, truth is stranger than fiction, so that the non-fiction "The Dreyfus Affair" by Piers Paul Read, for instance, which I read first, actually proved more shocking, moving and informative as regards: the personality of Dreyfus; his brother's impressive events to prove his innocence; the background forces such as the divisions between traditional Catholic society and the Republican movement accused of working with influential Jewish financiers who attracted so much suspicion and hatred; last but not least, the inflated degree to which the French split into opposing camps over the case, with the "Dreyfusards" eventually gaining enough support from abroad to turn the tide.

⭐⭐⭐⭐ 4 Stars

This is my review of Rogue Male by Geoffrey Household.

⭐⭐⭐ 3 Stars

In this celebrated classic yarn, considered groundbreaking by some, an unnamed big game hunter gets arrested on the point of taking a pot shot at a character who is probably Hitler, it being 1939, miraculously escapes death after horrible torture and spends the rest of the novel evading recapture.

So much anonymity combining with the stiff upper lip of the “anarchical aristocrat” narrator, the story often has a clinical and detached quality. Although there are some nail-biting moments, the potential drama of the tensest scenes is often reduced by the use of reported speech. The minute details in which the narrator’s somewhat implausible projects are described also become tedious. I realise that this view may enrage those identifying with Robert Macfarlane who wrote the introduction for this edition, and clearly retains a nostalgic love for a tale which he lapped up when an imaginative schoolboy hungry for adventurous fantasy.

For pages, all that kept my interest was spotting how the world has changed socially since 1939. Our forerunner of James Bond felt that man was not intended to travel at above 40 miles per hour, and was troubled by the litter from paper bags. What would he have made of plastic rubbish? His casual snobbery is jarring, as revealed in his complacent membership of “Class X” which he cannot quite define, because presumably it’s beneath a gentleman to do that. The helpful young man who belongs to “this new generation of craftsmen… definitely belongs in Class X ….but must learn to speak the part before being recognised by so conservative a nation”.

I had just decided to give up and skip the next book group meeting when, on page 126, our hero hits rock bottom with a striking description of the state to which he has been reduced: “Living as a beast, I had become as a beast”. The subsequent verbal sparring between the narrator and his pursuer not only proves that Household could do dialogue (so perhaps it’s a pity there isn’t more of it) but also clarifies the characters’ motivations.

Yes, it’s well-written with an eye for scenery, an evocation of a lost, unspoilt English countryside, conveys vividly the sense of being hunted, but is too dated and ludicrous for my taste.

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This is my review of One Summer: America 1927 (Bryson) by Bill Bryson.

At a talk to promote "One Summer", Bill Bryson identified the "twin pillars" of this book as Lindbergh's transatlantic flight in the "Spirit of St Louis", a cue to describe the initial development of US air travel, and "Babe Ruth's" impressive score of home runs in baseball – a perhaps somewhat incomprehensible theme of limited interest for non-Americans readers!

However, his research revealed many other intriguing activities in progress at the time: the controversial executions of Sacco and Vanzetti, who may or may not have been murderous anarchists; botched attempts to enforce prohibition, including the state's instructions for wine meant for industrial use to be "denatured" with poisons like strychnine, leading to the manslaughter of respectable citizens; the carving of presidents' heads in Mount Rushmore, too far from any road to be readily visible; the filming of Al Jolson in "The Jazz Age", the first major "talking picture" that marked the death knell of the silent movie age; the bankers' decision to reduce interest rates, claimed to trigger the 1929 Crash, and so on.

Still on form with his gently mocking humour, Bill Bryson demonstrates again his gift for unearthing quirky details. For instance, he cites an architect's impracticable idea for elevated aircraft landing platforms supported at each corner by a skyscraper. It is salutary to be reminded how dangerous air travel was, with many aviators dying in explosions in failed take-offs or disappearing without trace into sea fogs.

Some disturbing insights into American morality lie beneath the jolly surface, such as the Detroit-based Father Christmas dressed as a Ku Klux Klan member complete with fiery cross, which did not seem to spark violent protests at the time. This foreshadows the bigotry which paved the way for the development of McCarthyism post World War 2. Then there is the ready acceptance of "negative eugenics", queasily apparent in the racial superiority implied by the portrayal of Tarzan in the popular stories of the day.

The text seems padded out to extend rather thin material for one summer to fill 500 pages, as for the rather tedious details of a murder case remarkable only for the extent to which a new mass media managed to create such interest in it. To explain an event in 1927, Bryson often goes back even to the previous century to provide further details. I was irritated by the continual breaking off from say, coverage of Lindbergh, to ramble into a different topic for a while. I would have preferred a more thematic approach to give an appreciation of 1920s America in general.

Also, you would think that Bill Bryson of all people would realise that non-Americans aren't that interested in baseball……

⭐⭐⭐⭐ 4 Stars

This is my review of A Delicate Truth by John Le Carré.

Fergus Quinn, an ambitious New Labour Foreign Office minister, picks a biddable Whitehall bureaucrat to oversee "Wildlife", a sensitive counter-terrorism operation – an odd choice, since "birdwatcher Paul Anderson", does not have a clue what is going on, before, during or after an exercise that goes badly awry. So, after accepting a clearly undeserved promotion into a sinecure followed by lord-of-the-manor retirement in a decaying Cornish mansion, what could induce "Anderson" to become a whistleblower? The same could be asked of the hardbitten commando employed in the secret operation, and of young Private Secretary, Tony Bell, whom Quinn tries to keep out of the loop altogether.

This is the basis for a gripping modern thriller with a mission to arouse our consciences over such issues as the erosion of democracy, the corrupt involvement of corporate power in government e.g. for defence contracts, the frightening power of intelligence organisations to spy on ordinary people in the name of national security.

My problem was an inability to believe in much of the dialogue – artificial, with too many characters speaking in the same upper crusty old Etonian voice, or in some Monty Pythonesque portrayal of "a working man". Le Carré gives the impression of being slightly out of touch, as with the school teacher who talks of teaching "arithmetic up to A Level". Most characters are thinly developed, and heavily stereotyped. Frequent placing of important conversations in flashbacks reduces the potential dramatic tension. There is too much "telling", often repeating what the reader already knows. Plot content is slim, and as other reviewers have said, even the wrong at the heart of the novel, although shocking, seems insufficient to awaken consciences to the extent of creating whistleblowers prepared to stake all. Is Le Carré resting too much on his laurels in this latest work?

Chapter 2 provides a lengthy telling of Tony Bell's rapid rise, mentored and advanced by the caricatured éminence grise mandarin, Giles Oakley. At one point, Tony acts out of character, also giving a hint of things to come, with an inward diatribe against the immorality of the Iraq War, including special condemnation of Tony Blair, whose "public postures are truthless". This sounds like Le Carré indulging in a personal rant of his own. Truth being stranger than fiction, it might have been more effective to produce a non-fiction analysis.

I could only cope with the first part of the book by treating it as a parody of upper class, or would-be establishment figures fudging truth and sacrificing principles for the sake of a cushy life.

In the final chapters, where the key players belatedly try to take responsibility and expose the truth, Le Carré creates a real sense of menace and tension. Is struggle futile or will they be able to have the last word? If so, at what personal cost? With the end in sight, the quality of Le Carré's prose improves to what one has hoped for. "What the gods and all reasonable humans fought in vain wasn't stupidity at all. It was sheer, wanton, blood indifference to anybody's interests but their own".

Although style and structure often make for an irritating read, it seems a good choice for a book group, both as regards discussion of issues, and exchange of what are likely to be conflicting opinions on the quality of the writing.

⭐⭐⭐ 3 Stars

This is my review of The Appointment by Herta Müller.

Herta Muller never tells us specifically that the setting is Communist Romania under Ceausescu's brutal dictatorship, so this could be the model for any repressive regime. From the opening words, "I've been summoned" to the concluding "The trick is not to go mad", this novella traces a woman's tram ride, largely given over to her stream of internal thoughts. Her mind flits from the sinister Major Albu who always start his interrogations by giving her hand a wet kiss, to her partner Paul who drinks too much, memories of her childhood, her first marriage, her beautiful friend Lilli who has died and observations of the other passengers. Gradually, we learn the reasons behind recent events.

The rambling quality of her thoughts detracts from their dramatic impact. Some points are a little repetitive, such as the fact that there is a touch of teenage incest in the lives of both Lilli and the narrator. The narrator sometimes seems amoral and calculating, but can you blame her in view of the experiences which have shaped her? The novella is generally bleak and unrelenting, yet it is salutary to be reminded how the lives of an individual and those close to her may be blighted by a single abortive attempt to escape to a freer life abroad.

Although some passages are very powerful, such as the suppression of Paul's attempts to produce aerials, an illegal activity since it assists the forbidden process of free communication with the outside world, I suspect the quality of the writing has suffered a good deal in translation. Also, Muller builds up a sense of anticipation which is not borne out by the ending as is the case with, say, "The Reluctant Fundamentalist".

⭐⭐⭐⭐ 4 Stars

This is my review of American Rust by Philipp Meyer.

This impressive American "debut" novel must have flowered from the diverse influences of growing up with book-loving bohemian parents in a tough working-class suburb, dropping out of school to gain raw experiences but somehow getting to college, avidly reading Joyce, Faulkner and Woolf, and carrying first-hand research to the extent of riding freight trains and interviewing men on trial for murder.

Set against the backdrop of the crumbling American dream, as foreign competition knocks the heart out of once thriving steel-making towns, Meyer explores the drama of an unlikely friendship: on one hand, puny and eccentric but brilliant Isaac English, haunted by his mother's suicide and burdened by the task of caring for his cranky invalid father, on the other athletic but indolent Poe who has thrown away the chance to train as a football champion. Both share a confused desire to escape the depressed backwater of Buell, mixed with inertia and a love of the area's natural beauty. When one commits a serious crime, acting on impulse to save the life of the other, who will be blamed and with what outcomes?

After a dramatic opening, the story slips into a slow-paced cycle round the inner thoughts of six linked characters: Isaac, his favoured sister Lee who has managed to escape to Yale and a wealthy marriage, his crippled father Henry, Poe, his long-suffering mother Grace and Harris, the local police chief who fancies her, himself a survivor of the Vietnam war. Sometimes, Isaac's streams of consciousness become too obscure and tedious, the boozy sex between Grace and Harris a little repetitive, the minor scenes, as when Lee or Harris is socialising, too corny or banal. The strongest charge is that the denouement seems a little rushed and underdeveloped compared with the rest, although I liked the upbeat but open ending. Yet overall, this is gripping, with sufficient tension and unresolved drama to keep you reading in the belief that Meyer is ruthless enough to opt for tragedy, although it will never be unrelieved.

Less ambitious and "epic" than its successor "The Son", for me, "American Rust" is a technically better novel since the structure is tighter and the characters are more fully developed and therefore you care about their fate, with the possible exception of Lee who is the only one who might be regarded as successful, which perhaps is perhaps intentional on Meyer's part.

A good choice for a reading group as there is so much to discuss, it bridges the blurred gap between literary and popular fiction.

⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ 5 Stars