Chris Cleave’s The Other Hand  was shortlisted for the 2008 Costa Novel Award and follows on from his earlier first novel Incendiary, which I have not read but will.  Incendiary was published just at the time of the July 07 attacks in London and is about an al-Qa’ida suicide attack. 

The Other Hand is about two women, one an English editor and the other a girl refugee from Nigeria.  Their stories alternate and slowly the reason for their interaction unravels.  The book is both funny and desperately tragic, it is written in a way that you don’t stop to think about it but simply accept that this is how it is: life in all its cruelty and brightness, always two sides to one story.  Sarah is the editor who seemingly has it all and has nothing, she muddles through.  Little Bee is the girl who loses everything and yet, in her naivety and understanding seems at times the wiser of the two, brought about by horrors lived through in Nigeria.

The book points at the cynicism of the English immigration rules and procedures, its self righteous callousness.  The opening sentence is a memorable one:

Most days I wish I was a British pound coin instead of an African girl.

It sums up the indifference with which refugees are treated: better to be a coin and being able to slip through borders and from one place to another, unnoticed, valued, than to be a refugee when borders are closed and you are treated with suspicion. 

Little Bee accidentally escapes from the immigration centre, due to a mix up created by one of the girls and gets in touch with Andrew O’Rourke.  She met with Andrew and his wife Sarah on a beach in Nigeria and the consequences are chilling and reverberate to this new meeting she is trying to set up.  Andrew is depressed and Sarah has an affair, their son Charlie is a batman fan.

The story is narrated alternately by Little Bee and Sarah, each giving her own perspective, each needing the other.  It’s about how each of them remembers what happened and how each struggles now to cope with the consequences.   It’s chilling, haunting and as I said before, extremely funny in places because of its constant reality check; neither Little Bee nor Sarah are heroes , nor does Cleave judge them for what they are. 

The writing is excellent and this is another book that I think everyone should read, for its honesty and realism – neither Little Bee nor Sarah are perfect, there is no condemnation or cynicism about either of them.  They are two people caught up in a melodrama that is far beyond what they bargained for.  Go and read it, if you have not read it yet.  I’m going to get Incendiary.

Here’s how to do it:   Write that novel that is lurking around in your head, somewhere.  Me?  I haven’t got the time.  I don’t even have time to blog book reviews that I have already written.  Shame.

I know, I haven’t been very communicative these days, weeks, months, but not because I have lost interest in my blog or in reading or in commenting on the world at large.  Like everyone else I suffer from time-deficiency, almost inbuilt into my constitution nowadays.  I work, try and fit in a bit of reading here and there but when additional necessities such as keeping up your garden or your house rear their heads then I’ve had it, then there’s simply no time or space left for some of your favourite pasttimes: reading, writing about reading, writing about writing, reading about writing, etc.  All that simply gets pushed to the back, or carries on like a kind of subcurrent, hidden.  Until you realise that you have actually managed to read a number of books, only you haven’t got the energy to write about it or to tell others about it.

I do read newspapers, almost as a force of habit, partly because I rarely manage to catch anything on tv, partly because I enjoy holding this thing every day and see it as a kind of connection piece to the big wide world when I’m coped up with yet another report on skills, training, education and public sector programmes on education. 

So today I came across this piece by George Monbiot in the Guardian: Clive James isn’t a climate change sceptic, he’s a sucker – but this may be the reason.  The title alone is quite provocative and because I am reading (well, picking up the odd essay rather) Clive James’ Cultural Amnesia and am extremely impressed by his wide-ranging intellect and immensely clever and skillful writing about everything and everyone that has contributed anything at all to world culture, I was intrigued.   

Monbiot, writing about the increasing scepticism about the reality of climate change being due to human activities, expressed in books and on websites writes:

An American scientist I know suggests that these books and websites cater to a new literary market: people with room-temperature IQs. He didn’t say whether he meant fahrenheit or centigrade. But this can’t be the whole story. Plenty of intelligent people have also declared themselves sceptics.

One such is the critic Clive James. You could accuse him of purveying trite received wisdom, but not of being dumb. On Radio 4 a few days ago he delivered an essay about the importance of scepticism, during which he maintained that “the number of scientists who voice scepticism [about climate change] has lately been increasing”. He presented no evidence to support this statement and, as far as I can tell, none exists. But he used this contention to argue that “either side might well be right, but I think that if you have a division on that scale, you can’t call it a consensus. Nobody can meaningfully say that the science is in.”

Monbiot continues and accuses in particuar anyone over 60 of being the most vociferous deniers of climate change, even though science, in his view, shows quite clearly that the there is convincing evidence that climate change is man-made.

Anyway, read the piece and in particular the comments (already running into close to 800 and the day is not at an end yet). 

You see, this is why it’s really worth while reading news papers – it’s made me think how even people you greatly admire for what and how they write, at times seem to be getting things completely wrong.  Yes, I mean Clive James, at least if George has quoted him correctly!

Nevertheless, I will continue my enjoyment of Cultural Amnesia.

Michael Chabon is a Pulitzer Prize winner.  I cannot remember now how  Wonder Boys got onto my tbr pile, but there it was in my suitcase, so long ago now, and although it got pushed away at the time when, in the airport, I got my hands on a copy of Stieg Larsson’s The Girl who kicked the Hornets’ Nest, it was there waiting for me once I found out what had happened to Salander. 

Wonder Boys is a good read, this story about a writer and university teacher, Grady Tripp, who attempts to write the follow up novel to his first award winning one.  He’s had the advance from his editor, has worked on the book for years, only he somehow or other cannot finish it.  Sounds familiar?

Grady Tripp has stopped drinking, but does drugs, long evenings and nights full of drugs, and when smoking pot he manages to convince himself that he is now writing the definitive end to the book, only to discover the next morning that  it is just absolutely wrong again and won’t do. 

When his editor, Crabtree, turns up for the ‘Wordfest’, a week’s festival of literary greats, speeches and seminars by writers, editors and university staff, Tripp needs to convince Crabtree that he really is finishing the book. 

Whatever can go wrong, does go wrong, almost as a matter of fact.  Tripp’s wife Emily leaves him, nevertheless, his father in law suggests he comes and celebrates Passover with the family which results in a number of disasters, when he does turn up with his star pupil James.  The only admirer of his book is also his lodger who wants to sleep with him.  Crabtree becomes embroiled with a cross dresser, but he in fact fancies James, who, as it turns out, is a much better (aspiring) writer than Tripp.

All of this makes for hilarious scenario’s which nevertheless have very serious undercurrents.  There is a search for the past and for purpose, and it is not until the very end, just when it all seems to have definitely and irrevocably gone wrong that Tripp realises what a fool he is, and with ‘maturity’ he begins to take responsibility for his actions.  At the same time, writing becomes a job that is taken for what it is, hard work.   He knows he can no longer fool himself.

The story is told from Tripp’s perspective, he relates in first person what is happening and so does not always have insight into other people’s views or reactions.  He guesses and tries to respond accordingly, he does not know what happens behind closed doors, but surmises and often unwittingly lands himself into one bizarre situation after another.

Meanwhile he battles with his book, his 2000 pages masterpiece called ‘Wonder Boys’.  They are all imaginary wonder boys, the characters in this book, until the manuscript in another bizarre twist is blown away and all is lost, the whole charade of what is supposed to be a masterpiece.

The book is  full of pace and is interlaced with references to films and stars, fights, misunderstanding, sexual innuendos  and literary gems; funny and weird, yet believable despite its craziness.

 If you have ambition and despair at ever writing ‘that book’ then read this, and realise how unbelievably hard it is to finish, how many things can get in the way, and do get in the way, and that somehow or other you have to pull through all that and then just maybe you will finish….

The writing is brilliant.  Conversations are interspersed with narratives that show the what where and  when, in a whirlwind fashion.  There is not much time for reflection, not for the reader, nor for the wonder boys in his book.  The characters are well drawn, from the crazy Crabtree to the shy and gifted James and the Jewish father in law and many more.  Even the dog has character, however scary and only until his untimely death!

Recommended – enjoy.

’10 years that changed everything’ is the headline of the Guardian weekend 17.10.09.  This is a special issue about ‘The noughties’,  that ponders the decade.  What interests me  in this issue  are the sections on communication – nothing is as it was,  the headlines proclaim, can you imagine a world without Google, Wikipedia and Facebook?

Well, I’m not too much into Facebook but I do use Wikipedia and I google all the time, for this, that and the other.   I’m blogging, downloading podcasts, have linked up to BBC iPlayer (although I rarely watch anything) and am a fan of iTunes.  However, my life changes have not included Twitter (I am just not interested in whenever someone else is parking a car, or making a cup of coffee, but then I probably don’t get it!), Comment is Free, the iPhone (although I am the proud owner of a blackberry, does that count?), Craigslist (I’d never heard of this until I read the articles), Spotify (which apparently is ‘more lifechanging than iTunes, with a library of six million tracks, including a remarkable amount of really quite esoteric classical music’ – I must definitely find out what this is about). 

Are you all avid followers of all, or any of the above?  Where do people find the time?  I know, all these are supposed to safe time, but we know what that means.

My most life changing things over the last 10 years  include:

• More and longer hours working than ever before
• My satnav (how would I be able to find all these places I have to get to, without a satvnav?)
• My smartphones, now including the blackberry (I’m still not sure whether these gadgets are progress or whether they simply make you feel even more paranoid about keeping in touch with clients, jobs, family, the latest news, etc.)
• Being able to order any book, whatever I want and whenever I want it, on-line and having it delivered the next day, or at most two days later
• MY BLOG – who would have thought ten years ago that I’d be happily posting my thoughts on books, the world, and anything else that comes into my mind, on a regular basis for everyone to read?

However,  definitely the most life changing part has been the birth of my granddaughter – amazing how life just carries on, regardless.  Whilst I’m growing older and getting used to new technology, inventions, this fast changing world of ours, there she is, born right in the middle of  it and able to take for granted all these amazing gadgets.  How am I going to explain to her that when I was her age, telephone was something that you did via landlines (and, yes, operators if you wanted to telephone someone in another country) and when I was a bit older and on holiday in say Spain, I would have to queue for the one telephone box round the corner of our accommodation in order to let my family know that I was ok?  Sometimes, the queue was some 20 people long!  Now she and I speak to each other via Skype and I can see her, even though she lives across the Channel, talk to her on a regular basis.  Well, that surely is progress and quite amazing.

On top of all this, today’s Sunday Times has an article that claims that for silver  surfers the net could actually be quite life enhancing, and that time spent googling the web is even better for grandparents than reading.  Tests have been carried out that apparently show that brain activity needs extra oxygen and nutrients so more blood flows to areas involved in internet surfing.  In fact, ’searching the internet appears to engage a greater extent of neural circuitry that is not activated during reading.’    Furthermore, this is linked to brain activity of the elderly (not that I would classify myself as yet as elderly!) , potentially slowing or even reversing the age-related declines that can end in dementia.  Well, if that is not a good excuse to carry on googling and blogging then I don’t know what is.  So, granddaughter, as well as being part of all this progress it is actually good for me!

I swept up the leaves in the garden today, it was chilly but windstill.  The bright summer colours are fading fast, with green turning yellow and brown.  Was it only last week that this was my view?

Balmy Cyprus.

And then, at night, the sun setting after a hot day, the heat melting into a comfortable and pleasant evening,

During the day I read 

All gone now, it’s chilly in England and the evenings are drawing in earlier and earlier.  The central heating is on.  I am wistful and unable to write reviews, after a week of catching up with work and reports.  No you’ll just have to wait until I come out of this sense of remoteness, as if it does not matter, none of it.

Already the fourth day in…. on Cyprus.

This is something we just are not used to in England: hot days, sharp sunshine in October and yes, I totally miscalculated the fierceness of the sun this time of the year.  I’d be wrapping up in cardigans, long trousers, even socks, in England, but here it’s swimming pool, beach and a burnt skin.  My own fault for thinking it would not affect me as much, after having been exposed for a full summer to the English sunshine.  It does not work that way: I am red in the face, literally.

Never mind, I have not had time to think about any of this as I have been completely and utterly taken up by Stieg Larsson’s third novel in the series: The girl who kicked the hornets’ nest.  I was not going to  buy it until it comes out in a paperback of manageable weight but when I passed by a whole heap of them in the airport I just had to have  a copy.  Never mind that I had four other paperbacks in my suitcase.  I started reading on the plane, woke up the next morning, continued on the beach, at the side of the swimming pool and continued the next day, same routine.  Yes, I did some vigorous swimming in between, even a session in the gym and had lots of good food and nice wine to go with it.  But nothing was going to keep me away from this book for long. 

It is definitely as good as the previous two, and the English translation is superb, again.  Reg Keeland is doing a really superb job there.  

Don’t read it yet if you haven’t read the other two (remember: The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo and the Girl who Played with Fire…  reviewed here) you really want to enjoy them all.   I think you can read this one separately, enough is being explained as you go along, however, it seems a shame and I don’t think you would get as good a feeling for who Salander is, what the various relationships are about and how they came to be this way.  Moreover, you will deny yourself the sheer pleasure of reading the books one after the other.

The plot unravels and there is plenty of explanation of the workings of the Swedish secret service, the bungling and the conspiracies, and it all seems quite believable: the obsession with power and with keeping things as they are, being in full control, such that unforgivable trespasses into human rights are made.  This third and final volume in the trilogy is as intelligent and as well written as the previous two, and I think the reason for being so much more than a ‘political thriller’ or a ‘political crime fiction’ novel is that there is a sharpness and control of language that makes you want to read every sentence and every paragraph.  For me, Niels Larsson is definitely on a par with Le Carre,  set in Sweden and in the world as it is today. 

In addition, these are books that portray women as genuinely equal to men, in their jobs and in their social lives.   There is presumption of real equality and pornography, women trafficking, wife beating and other ills in society are exposed for what they are, without sensationalism but with concern and real condemnation.    However, don’t think that this is about the ills of society, first and foremost it’s a marvellous story about a girl who is a computer hacker, and who is accused of being a whore, a Satanist, mentally ill and everything else under the sun, partly because she is considered ‘strange’ and partly because of who her father is,  and who nevertheless manages to come up swimming.

And now?  Well, I’ve got a few more days to go, here in Cyprus, and so I will start tackling these other books that I have in my suitcase.  Not without a certain regret , however – I just wish I had some  more of the Stieg Larsson books to come!

I love these style books, you know the ones, they are variously called ‘Bryson’s Dictionary for Witers and Editors’, ‘How to Write’ (the Guardian) and ‘Guardian Style Guide’.  I have them lying around the house, on my table in my workroom, in the bathroom and sometimes in the kitchen.  Then, I just open one and look at what I find and there is always something that is interesting.

What’s the difference between elegy and eulogy, of course you know, but it does make you think for a minute.  Then the words ‘embarrass’ and ‘embarrassment’ – ‘both are misspelled more often than they should be,’ says Bryson. 

‘How to write’ a book with advice from the Guardian - in six short chapters it advises you how to write fiction, books for children, memoir and biography, journalism, plays and screenplays and comedy.  If only it was so easy! 

But having these books around is comforting, they give you the illussion that not all is lost , there is so much help around and as long as I keep these books within reach then I’m moving forward…  Mind you, they are fun.  Did you know that the Thai name for Bangkok is Krung Thep?  Or that an incunabulum is a book printed at an early date (before 1501)?  I did not.   But now I do.

I should be enjoying a fairly quiet and regular week working from home tidying up some reports, but the gods have decided to bless me with a cold.  Of course, everyone is going to think I have swine flue,  but honestly I don’t – it’s just a nasty cold, one that makes you sneeze all over and hurts your throat (no feever, promise).  My worry is that I won’t be allowed on the plane to my getaway on Saturday, that is, if it does not clear by then.  So it’s early nights, lots of sleep, breathing permitting, and lots of fruit and veg.  What else can a working woman do?  Fortunately my London meetings have been cancelled, at least there are still some angels up there. 

Just wish me a speedy recovery – once I’m away I shall do lots of reading.  Promise.

Yes, the nights are chilly but the daytime is glorious this Sunday, with late September hazy sunshine that makes the clouds evaporate and leaves blue sky for most of the day.  A true day for chilling out after what seems a never ending merry go round of chasing deadlines, catching trains, putting my foot on the accelerator, promises to clients that it will all be done on time; late nights and long weekends of work.  So I’ve not had much opportunity, nor the will, to blog, let alone write book reviews.

It’s not as if I have not read at all, in fact I’ve read an amazing amount given the shortage of time, late at night, on busy trains when trying to do work is hopeless and when I’ve simply wanted to switch off.  Not that all the reading was equally successful.  Perhaps because I have been so preoccupied with work, it has been hard to read some books that did not ‘grab’ immediately, or that did not catch my imagination at the time.

Although Junot Diaz’s ‘The brief and wondrous life of Oscar Wao’ has had raving reviews in certain quarters, I was unable to enter the world, too removed from the innuendo’s, the references to characters and the world of a Dominican family.  I have promised myself I will try again, some other time, when I am less preoccupied with work and myself.

A book that I enjoyed for its mild but very well written story of an ageing and retired professor of linguistics who is going deaf is David Lodge’s ‘Deaf Sentence’.    David Lodge knows how to write and it is clear that going deaf is something he understands and he is able to show the reader what it is like, the bizarre situations the protagonist finds himself in and has difficulty to disentangle himself from.  Lovely book.  One of my sisters has had hearing problems for a long time now and I am much more conscious now that I need to make sure that she can hear me, not be impatient!

Something quite different is ‘The Death of a Mafia Don’ by Michele Giuttari.  I’m sure I picked this up from a recommendation in one of the Sunday reviews, but cannot now remember which paper.  Giuttari is an Italian crime writer and although the story is full of pace, and very enjoyable to read, there is a bit too much ‘narrative’, as if the author is extremely pleased that he can recount exactly what happens in real life police stations, where different parts of the service are at loggerheads.  At some points I lost the thread as to who was in charge of what and who hated who and mistrusted who…  you get the drift.  Nevertheless, it all ends ok-ish and the outcome is a real surprise.  Good for a read on the beach, or for when you are too tired to be bothered too much and simply want to be entertained without too much effort.  I did read it till the end although I must admit I did skip pages here and there, something I don’t usually do.

 I’m not sure if I mentioned having read Mary AnnShaffer & Annie Barrows ‘The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society’.  This book was a bit of a rave over the summer when I noticed many people carrying it around with them.  It’s a nice and gentle read.   The book consists entirely of letters written between the main characters, different ones, not everyone writes to the same person and it gives the authors the opportunity to approach the story from different points of view.  Very readable, well written and kept together, this is the story of a writer, Juliet Ashton who is looking for something to write, just after the second world war.  She starts a correspondence with Dawsey Adams who writes to her about a book that he has found, with her name written inside it.  This leads to Juliet trying to find out what the Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society was all about, during the war,  and thus the story unravels: Juliet travels to Guernsey and engages with all the members of the society.  It’s a lovely story, and has serious as well as funny moments.

I’ve bought a book on Iran (Empire of the Mind), by Michael Axworthy which seems quite apt now that the whole world is once more up in arms and accuses the country of ‘threatening the stability and security of the world’.  Brown (that is, the English Prime Minister Brown) talks about ‘shock and anger’ whilst others hint that there is a secret weapons programme somewhere. 

And then?

Well, there’s a week’s holiday in Cyprus coming up, and I should have lots of time to catch up with myself.  One more week of trying to meet deadlines and then I shall just forget about it all for a whole week.  Bliss.