This is my review of Stone’s Fall by Iain Pears.

This evokes memories of Wilkie Collins (insanity and opium) and Daphne Du Maurier's "Don't Look Now" (hints of the supernatural in decaying Venice) although I have to say that both of these authors "did it better". The apparently well-researched and intricate plot contains many sinuous twists with some melodramatic scenes which sit rather oddly between rather dry explanations of the role of the banking system in the survival of late C19 societies – quite prescient since the book was first published in 2008! The structure is also unusual: three separate sections, successively set further back in time, with a different narrator and location, but serving to fill in further gaps to explain the life and death of the financier John Stone. This "back-to-front" approach inevitably saps some of the potential tension and suspense.

Although I understand why this book has been so highly praised, it does not work for me. This is not because many of the characters are not very likeable, and tend to be snobbish, class-conscious and anti-semitic – this is all part of the period covered. One reservation is that the large number of characters paraded before us tend to merge together – it is hard to relate to most of them, and to identify and recall the significant "clues" they may drop. Too much of the tale is reported via these characters, often in implausibly fluent speech. This brings me to the point that, despite their ( I think we are meant to find) very different personalities, the three narrators all use the same "voice": a very articulate, rather cynical, for the most part bloodlessly objective, tone – the author's? And although I think I was meant to be captivated by Stone's wife Elizabeth, I found both her and Louise Cort to be thoroughly unconvincing. Whenever the plot takes a romantic turn, the at other times erudite writing becomes squirmingly Mills and Boonish. Although the plot does hang together, the "denouement" at the end of Part 1 is a bit rushed and confusing (all that stuff about Bob, I mean Jan the Builder). In general, every section seems to have a long, slow, wordy build up to an unduly compressed finale.

I think it would have benefited from a ruthless pruning and editing. Perhaps the huge success of earlier work places the author above the requirement to do this.

⭐⭐⭐ 3 Stars

This is my review of Instruments of Darkness by Imogen Robertson.

The pace and confident development of the plot in short scenes alternating between the two main locations of London and the countryside suggest the author's familiarity with working on film and radio scripts. I was encouraged to obtain this book by a positive review in "The Guardian", but very soon became uneasy – this seemed a reworking of the murder mystery in an aristocratic household which I have met so many times in a long reading life. Was it really worth reading? The prose seemed to attempt a vaguely Austenish style in keeping with the late C18 setting at the time of the American War of Independence (although the story is set largely in England) but too often the attitudes and speech of the characters and the narrator jarred in sounding too modern. The prose was by turns leaden or purple when it attempted high drama and deeper emotion, and generally clunky, in need of a good edit. The characters were somewhat two dimensional – either cringe-makingly good and noble on one hand, or too obviously branded with a villainous "v" for viper. The key points of the plot were, contrary to the cover blurb, all too predictable, and the climax of the book, again unsurprisingly, over-melodramatic. Romantic relationships and those involving children were saccharine and sentimental. All this was quite frustrating because the story had the potential to succeed as more than a Mills and Boon pot boiler.

I quite liked the rare touches of realism- as when the "good guys" casually sacrificed a dog to test a drink for suspected arsenic, an action which has clearly shocked the sensitivities of some modern readers. Similarly, in the C18 world people could kill others in self defence and then dispose of the bodies in the interests of anatomical studies without involving the police! Some of the best writing was of the horror of the battle scenes. I also thought the epilogue was effective in striking a poignant note, reminding us of how a character who has hovered on the cusp between good and evil thinks he has achieved salvation through the love of a good woman, only to be sucked down by the inevitable reappearance of a blackmailer.

⭐⭐⭐ 3 Stars

This is my review of Trespass by Rose Tremain.

Tightly plotted and well-written as you would expect of the work of a prize-winning author, this is part thriller, part pyschological study of a disparate group of characters in late middle age. The short chapters, which switch between the viewpoints of the main characters seem to lend themselves to the film script which will no doubt follow in due course. The "trespass" can be taken on two levels, the most obvious being the encroachment of middle-class expats on the remote rural area of the Cevennes, drawn by its wild beauty and peace but oblivious to the feeligs of the displaced local people. On a subtler note, the "trespass" is also the unintentional harm caused by parents who ride roughshod over their children's needs, leaving their adult lives blighted – in this unremittingly sad book, this damage applies to all the characters.

At first I was irritated by the contrived opening chapter which seemed to be an exercise in creative writing (a child's eye view of the world – not very relevant to what follows) culminating in a horrific but unexplained incident, clearly intended to retain the reader through the following somewhat unexciting scene-setting chapters. The main characters seemed stereotyped: arrogant gay art dealer obsessed with his mother, horsy lesbian sister, dreamy sensitive French peasant given to epileptic fits and boorish,drunken brother, etc. Gradually, my interest was caught by the interplay between the characters, their different takes on the same situation, etc. All of them, even those who seemed wholly bad or unsympathetic at the outset, revealed redeeming features and some clear development in their outlook by the end of the book.

Although the language occasionally disappoints by touching on the cheesy, I was impressed by some imaginative phrases such as for two drinkers who "sat face to face across a choppy sea of glassware" and by insightful comments about, for instance, memory, growing old, being lonely, and all the characters' changing perception of events.

Although I guessed the climax of the story long before it came, there was a sadly ironic twist at the end. The most poignant aspect was the lack of communication between the ill-used Audrun and her brother Aramon, driven to drown his guilt in alcohol

I have enjoyed other books by Rose Tremain more – The Road Home, The Colour, Restoration etc – I think because they are all more original and probably more ambitious in their scope. They also, as I recall, have a single main character with whom one can more clearly identify. The quality of the writing saves "The Trespass" from being as depressing as it might sound and overall it is a successful example of what you might call accessible literary fiction.

⭐⭐⭐⭐ 4 Stars

This is my review of Home by Marilynne Robinson.

"Home" is a subtle and moving exploration of relationships between parents and siblings, and the deeply embedded nostalgic memories of one's childhood which return in adult life, perhaps particularly for those who are "less successful", with too much time on their hands. It is written from the viewpoint of Glory, the oversensitive and unworldly youngest daughter of the retired Reverend Boughton, for whom she has returned to care in his old age after the collapse of her long, clearly doomed engagement. Unexpectedly, after an absence of twenty years, her brother Jack also returns home, an outsider, an alcoholic drifter from his youth, yet still retaining the power to attract people with his charm and flashes of perceptiveness. The human flaws and contradictions in the main characters held my interest – not least the pious yet manipulative old father, who in some distorted way loved his most wayward son the most, because he provided a "real cross to bear". There was also the inference that Jack's questioning agnostic spirit had somehow been crushed by the stifling religion of his upbringing. I enjoyed the implication that Jack, concerned about the race riots in the south, was less prejudiced than his godly father who had not thought to question the bigotry in which he had been raised.

Although this book could have been unbearably sad, this was countered by the wry humour of Glory's private thoughts, and by some drily witty dialogue.

I sympathise with some of the reservations of other readers. Having made its point, the book did "go on a bit" although you could argue that it reflected the slow rhythm of life in rural Iowa. In the same vein, the focus on the minute details of living – cooking, cleaning and maintaining clothes when one is very poor, gave the book realism. I also liked the way in which some key facts are touched upon so delicately that you could miss them if you tried to read too fast, or did not trouble to "tune in" to the wording, which is quite convoluted at times, almost "nineteenth century" in style yet very lucid at other points.

It is true that the self-absorption of the three main characters was wearing at times. There were a few practical queries. Wouldn't Jack's sudden appearance after twenty years have created more of an impact? Surely the siblings would have come flooding back to see him? If their respected old father was fading into senility wouldn't that have brought them back as well?

The book dragged somewhat in the middle for me. As relations between Glory and Jack improved I feared I was reading a kind of Polyanna-cum-Little Women for adults. Jack's reputation for being an alcoholic and a thief seemed a little exaggerated. But the tension from Glory's ongoing dread over her brother's imminent downfall was proved justified. The pace improved towards the end with an effective final twist, although I felt that Glory's final observations were a little schmalzy.

This is a well-written and thought-provoking book which encourages me to read "Gilead" although on a superficial view the latter appeals to me less. Although "Home" can be enjoyed by an agnostic/atheist I am not sure the same can be said for Gilead…..

⭐⭐⭐⭐ 4 Stars

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