A Book for Every Occasion - that's me. This year, I've followed all the big celebrations.
The 100th Anniversary of the death of Scott in the Antarctic - I own a dozen books on this subject, the latest being the newest, published late last year in time for the Xmas market: "The Last Photographs of Captain Scott", a Christmas gift from elder daughter. The author is David Wilson, great-nephew of Edward Wilson, Scott's close friend and fellow explorer. So poignant.
The 200th Anniversary of the birth of Charles Dickens - yes, I own most of the novels, and the latest biography, "Charles Dickens, A Life", by Claire Tomalin. Again a timely publication ready for this anniversary.
I've been to two Dickens exhibitions and two Scott of the Antarctic exhibitions.
Then it was the Queen's Diamond Jubilee. Never one to do things by halves, I bought six Jubilee mugs and two Jubilee tea caddies. I've also been to Sandringham twice and last week, (courtesy of darling elder daughter once more), to Buckingham Palace. Darling daughter is an actuary and earns more than her father, although only 27. She has bucked the trend of the Generation Y-ers as being lamented in the press this week and last. She presented us with vouchers for Buckingham Palace and Windsor Castle as Christmas presents. Windsor coming up.
So I dug out my maroon-coloured dog-eared hardback, "A King's Story" by the late Duke of Windsor. The book is dedicated "To Wallis", but the late Duchess doesn't appear much. When the book was written in 1950, it would have been highly inappropriate to detail the progression of the relationship from initial meeting to sexual obsession.
What is really interesting is the first two-thirds of the book, where we are given an intimate insider's view of life growing up in the Royal Family. Having been to Sandringham, it was lovely to read of the author's childhood spent largely in that rural residence, whilst waiting for his father, George V, to inherit the crown and thus move to Buckingham Palace.
Another fascinating insight is the royal protocols and fancy dress parades, which really don't seem to have changed at all since Queen Victoria's time. Not that I'm complaining, mind you. I see absolutely nothing wrong with spending some of the nation's cash on things which will entertain and bring a smile and a diversion to our boring mundane lives.
Which brings me to the Olympics. Marvellous spectacle, and didn't we do well! A big hand for Great Britain, and let's hope that now we can stop being so miserable all the time, stop downplaying our achievements and instead celebrate our strengths. The organisation was absolutely impeccable, and that alone is a skill we should be marketing around the world. I haven't seen any books about the Olympics yet, but will keep a look out. Bradley Wiggins is due to bring a book out in October, I believe).
So, there is only one more anniversary this year that I am aware of. This will be the 100th anniversary of the death of Emma Hardy, the first wife of Thomas. As she inspired many of his greatest poems, I hope that we will be treated to some celebration of her otherwise quiet and unremarkable life.
Am keeping a look out.
Showing posts with label Dickens. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Dickens. Show all posts
Wednesday, 15 August 2012
Tuesday, 20 March 2012
"A Week in December" by Sebastian Faulks
Three years ago I wrote a blistering criticism of Faulks' "Engleby". I posted it on a private blog, so could SF have read it? Who knows. My central criticism of "Engleby" was that it was formulaic. To write a novel, I surmised, you just think of an event and work backwards.
Now whether Faulks ever knew of my criticism or not, he certainly answered it. This book thinks of a non-event and works forwards.
The non-event is a terrorist attack on the London Underground. The book takes you two-thirds of the way before revealing that the attack target is not the tube, but then the ending is different anyway.
The working forwards is in the title. The week works as a time device unfolding a series of characters,each of whom is moving towards the end of the week and the non-event referred to above.
I didn't much enjoy "Engleby" because in that book the main character is a deeply repellant person. Not everyone in "W I D" is repellant, only the bankers. Faulks certainly nails the bankers and their role in the world financial crisis. He has some witty faux banks to offer: "Lemon Brothers", "Bare Stern", "Goldbag" and "Moregain Sucks". These are cleverly done.
Other characters are actually sympathetic, notably the impoverished lawer (I know, an oxymoron), Gabriel Northwood. I was particularly intrigued by the failed novelist, R. Tranter. Is this SF's alter ego, I wonder?
The book certainly crystallises a view of London during the late noughties, after the world banking crisis, and encapsulates many of its problems - psychotic drug use by neglected rich kids, the parallel world of the internet, and yummy mummies all get a look in. It is enjoyable to recognize these pictures of life as we know it.
The book is let down by the author's inability to resist the opportunity to lecture. He lectures (as in Engleby) on the failures of the education system. If it were really as bad as he satirises, no one would read his books. They would only read the £1 offerings that top the best-seller listings around World Book Day.
He lectures on the religion of Islam. After taking time and a sympathetic approach to get inside the head of a would-be suicide bomber, he then uses Gabriel's visit to his psychotic brother in a mental hospital to draw parallels between paranoid schizoprhenia and the origin of the prophet's teachings of Islam.
Finally, the ending is a damp squib. It's interesting how many writers fail to deliver a resounding ending, after painstakingly building up a convincing world view.
Sharp and unforeseeable plot twists, and a satisfying ending, as exemplified by the works of Dickens, mark out the truly great from the work of the merely talented writer.
Now whether Faulks ever knew of my criticism or not, he certainly answered it. This book thinks of a non-event and works forwards.
The non-event is a terrorist attack on the London Underground. The book takes you two-thirds of the way before revealing that the attack target is not the tube, but then the ending is different anyway.
The working forwards is in the title. The week works as a time device unfolding a series of characters,each of whom is moving towards the end of the week and the non-event referred to above.
I didn't much enjoy "Engleby" because in that book the main character is a deeply repellant person. Not everyone in "W I D" is repellant, only the bankers. Faulks certainly nails the bankers and their role in the world financial crisis. He has some witty faux banks to offer: "Lemon Brothers", "Bare Stern", "Goldbag" and "Moregain Sucks". These are cleverly done.
Other characters are actually sympathetic, notably the impoverished lawer (I know, an oxymoron), Gabriel Northwood. I was particularly intrigued by the failed novelist, R. Tranter. Is this SF's alter ego, I wonder?
The book certainly crystallises a view of London during the late noughties, after the world banking crisis, and encapsulates many of its problems - psychotic drug use by neglected rich kids, the parallel world of the internet, and yummy mummies all get a look in. It is enjoyable to recognize these pictures of life as we know it.
The book is let down by the author's inability to resist the opportunity to lecture. He lectures (as in Engleby) on the failures of the education system. If it were really as bad as he satirises, no one would read his books. They would only read the £1 offerings that top the best-seller listings around World Book Day.
He lectures on the religion of Islam. After taking time and a sympathetic approach to get inside the head of a would-be suicide bomber, he then uses Gabriel's visit to his psychotic brother in a mental hospital to draw parallels between paranoid schizoprhenia and the origin of the prophet's teachings of Islam.
Finally, the ending is a damp squib. It's interesting how many writers fail to deliver a resounding ending, after painstakingly building up a convincing world view.
Sharp and unforeseeable plot twists, and a satisfying ending, as exemplified by the works of Dickens, mark out the truly great from the work of the merely talented writer.
Sunday, 26 February 2012
Bad Books
Yes, I am in bad books at present, because I suggested that, as an alternative to spending so much money, we save more. Thus we can plan to retire before we are too worn out to enjoy it. Hubby discussed this idea with his golfing partner, (also his business partner, one and the same man). Predictably the advice was to "Do what you like". Which is, in both their cases, to enjoy expensive hobbies and meals out, and carry right on moaning about how stressful their business is.
That's not what this post is about, however.
I rarely pick up a bad book. I can tell by the covers whether I am going to enjoy a book or not. Anything that looks like mass-produced science fiction or detective stories or chick-lit or Mills and Boon just screams out what is inside, and is easy to avoid. Misery memoirs - you don't even have to look at the cover design - it's all in the title. I have never read a misery memoir and never intend to do so.
Occasionally, however, I am deceived. I've been noticing a book coming beneath my radar three times over recent months. It is called "The Last Dickens", by Matthew Pearl. I've considered buying it both new and second-hand, but in the end got it out of the local library. That's not something I do often, either. I prefer to own a good book. Something must have told my instincts that it was not a book I would want to keep.
This book was billed as an imaginative recreation of the last days of Dickens, an investigation into the "Mystery of Edwin Drood" (Dickens' last and unfinished novel) and maybe an uncovering of the secret of the intended ending of that last book.
This book was truly terrible. I started off by reading every third page, having established before I was half-way through the first chapter that it was unreadable. By about a quarter of the way through, this had given way to only looking at a page which had the word "Dickens" on it, and scanning it for anything of interest. Half way through and I was reading a word or paragraph about every ten pages. By the end I knew that I had not missed anything, but felt that I had not wasted my journey to the library. I had given the book a chance, but it had not lived up to the billing.
The only interesting thing about this book is that the main character is an American publisher called Osgood. The author's note at the end indicates that this man is an actual historical character.
I have an 1895 American first edition of Thomas Hardy's "A Pair of Blue Eyes" (provenance Guildford Oxfam Bookshop). The publisher is Osgood. That made a connection.
That's not what this post is about, however.
I rarely pick up a bad book. I can tell by the covers whether I am going to enjoy a book or not. Anything that looks like mass-produced science fiction or detective stories or chick-lit or Mills and Boon just screams out what is inside, and is easy to avoid. Misery memoirs - you don't even have to look at the cover design - it's all in the title. I have never read a misery memoir and never intend to do so.
Occasionally, however, I am deceived. I've been noticing a book coming beneath my radar three times over recent months. It is called "The Last Dickens", by Matthew Pearl. I've considered buying it both new and second-hand, but in the end got it out of the local library. That's not something I do often, either. I prefer to own a good book. Something must have told my instincts that it was not a book I would want to keep.
This book was billed as an imaginative recreation of the last days of Dickens, an investigation into the "Mystery of Edwin Drood" (Dickens' last and unfinished novel) and maybe an uncovering of the secret of the intended ending of that last book.
This book was truly terrible. I started off by reading every third page, having established before I was half-way through the first chapter that it was unreadable. By about a quarter of the way through, this had given way to only looking at a page which had the word "Dickens" on it, and scanning it for anything of interest. Half way through and I was reading a word or paragraph about every ten pages. By the end I knew that I had not missed anything, but felt that I had not wasted my journey to the library. I had given the book a chance, but it had not lived up to the billing.
The only interesting thing about this book is that the main character is an American publisher called Osgood. The author's note at the end indicates that this man is an actual historical character.
I have an 1895 American first edition of Thomas Hardy's "A Pair of Blue Eyes" (provenance Guildford Oxfam Bookshop). The publisher is Osgood. That made a connection.
Sunday, 29 January 2012
Dickens' House Museum, 48 Doughty Street. WC1
Get down there quick! For some strange reason, the management of the Dickens House Museum has chosen this year, the bicentenary of Dickens' birth (7th February 1812) to close the museum for eight months for a complete refurbishment.
If you want to see the house he lived in with his wife Catherine between 1837 and 1839, almost as he left it, complete with bare wooden floorboards, stone steps to the basement and freezing basic toilet, please do make sure you go before the closure planned for April 2012. After that, it will never be the same again. There will be PC terminals, a lift and modern display boards (taking the place of the simple laminated sheet in each of the rooms open to the public).
I visited yesterday, and was overwhelmed by the lack of pretension and the simple, effective displays, mostly consisting of wooden furniture, nearly all of it owned by Dickens, family portraits, framed copies of original letters, and many, many bookcases full of copies of old editions of the complete works.
A treat for literary types.
If you want to see the house he lived in with his wife Catherine between 1837 and 1839, almost as he left it, complete with bare wooden floorboards, stone steps to the basement and freezing basic toilet, please do make sure you go before the closure planned for April 2012. After that, it will never be the same again. There will be PC terminals, a lift and modern display boards (taking the place of the simple laminated sheet in each of the rooms open to the public).
I visited yesterday, and was overwhelmed by the lack of pretension and the simple, effective displays, mostly consisting of wooden furniture, nearly all of it owned by Dickens, family portraits, framed copies of original letters, and many, many bookcases full of copies of old editions of the complete works.
A treat for literary types.
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