BOOKS 2011: June
Not such a good month this month as last. I blame Springwatch, which I became suddenly and pleasingly addicted to after a few years of forgetting to watch it, and now I've just discovered Horrible Histories on my OD channels which it turns out is far funnier than anything post-watershed on the BBC and is getting its ass watched. I've just watched an episode while editing this list (the one with the Adam Ant-style telling of the Dick Turpin story, in fact), so if the typos and grammar in this are truly dreadful you may blame that. Lots of nostalgia and me rabbiting on about kid's books in this. Oh and I did the film thing again too.
1. Titus Groan - Mervyn Peake
(960 pages)
Another of my occasional bashes at hard classic fantasy here. It seems against my nature, but I find fantasy really rather difficult to get into, especially of the horses and knights and magic variety. Quests do very little for me. Magical items are dull. Entirely-caucasian worlds give me the creeps. That said, I enjoyed this. I don't really know why. It was often tedious, Peake apparently needing to fill you in on every detail of the architecture of Gormenghast. I might have given up on the first few pages. Yet I'm glad I persevered because there was ultimately something charming about the thing. The characters are all wonderfully perverse, nearly all of them grotesque in some way. I found the twins in particular very sinister. I enjoyed Fuschia and the massive bird-laden Lady Groan, and Steerpike's purposeless evil. There was a very tongue-in-cheek tone to the writing, a dry humour that I often find lacking in hard fantasy. There were moments I actually laughed, though I couldn't tell you now what those jokes were. The "building" of Gormenghast was impressive in itself; I especially liked the attention to art - something about it gave the castle, very isolated and almost a country itself, a culture that might otherwise have been lacking. Yes, I think I liked this, though I struggle to explain it.
2. Hunter's Moon - Garry Kilworth
(330 pages)
My sixty-fourth book of the year, and my first re-read. Not bad. I picked up this book from a charity shop as a child, and treasured it. It was in a moment of madness than I returned it to charity, and immediately regretted it. It has taken me five years to replace it. Reading it again has been like meeting up with an old friend. As a kid and an wildlife nut one at that, I loved animal stories and stories about my favourite animal, red foxes, were invariably my most loved: The Animals of Farthing Wood, Torn Ear, and of course Hunter's Moon. In my later years I am fussier, but these book still have a power over me that I can never shake off. I was a little worried reading this one again because it meant so much to me as a kid. (Anyone who read my Pokémon fiction will attest to that - I stole so many of my ideas from this!) However, it did not disappoint. I felt that old flame rekindled as I was introduced to these characters I'd loved so much. Personification is a tricky business, and here it occasionally teeters on the fantastic, especially in regards to the characters of the cubs which are deliberate and tongue-in-cheek reflections of teenagers in human society (the cocky, independent girl; the religious zealot; the slightly stupid bit nice all-rounder); but yet it somehow works. There's a lovely twist of fantasy in it as well, rather like Watership Down but a little heavier, yet Kilworth never takes us too far from the real creature, and you actually stand to learn something about foxes from this book. A lovely book, if one I cannot write subjectively about.
3. Roll of Thunder, Hear My Cry - Mildred Taylor
(224 pages)
This was one of those books that, as a child, I really wanted to read but was unable to find it in the library. I think it was advertised in the back of my copy of Goodnight Mister Tom (one of the greatest children's books of all time), but this was back in the day when I had no money and no resources such as the internet to buy books with. So finding a copy of this in the library and bringing it home was me living the dream. Now, I know I've spent a lot of time on these reviews basically slagging off children's literature like it was meant to be judged by people in my age bracket (turns out it isn't), but I stand by those harsh words. Children's literature need not be patronising or lacking in seriousness, it can be like this! What an excellent book. I'm sorry for my younger self for not reading it then, because I think I would have loved it. I thoroughly enjoyed it as an adult, but in that sort of aloof way adults often appreciate books for children: recognising it is good and enjoying it, but sort of holding back. (Books read as a child and then again in adulthood don't count; they have the power of nostalgia.) I don't know if this was intended to be the "black" answer to To Kill A Mockingbird but that's how it felt to me, having many of the same themes. (The American South, racism and injustice, a proud, admirable father...) For that reason it felt good to read. I've read articles recently about how To Kill a Mockingbird can be perceived as racist, and whereas it didn't stop me loving that book (I love Gone with the Wind and that is profoundly, disturbingly, proudly racist) I did understand the argument that why should it once again be a white man standing up for blacks? where are the black heroes? For that reason this book felt, to me, like a small levelling of the playing field, some of that ground taken back. There are good white people in this book but the heroes are black, and that feels like something children - not just black, either - need to be shown, before we have them inundated with fiction where, once again, a white person saves the day. A sad and profound book, this was also fun and refreshing, and the sort of thing I'll give to my kids do I ever have any. They'll love it better than I can.
4. A Mind of its Own: How Your Brain Distorts and Deceives - Cordelia Fine
(256 pages)
Between this and Delusions of Gender I think Cordelia Fine is a writer I'm going to have to keep my eyes on. Admittedly I didn't love this book as much as Delusions, but that isn't to say I didn't really like it because I did. Rather slimmer than the subsequent book, A Mind of its Own reveals to us how little control over our brain we actually have - and it's damn fascinating. Fine has a keen wit that she injects into her books without ever demeaning the seriousness of her subject, and her talent for anecdotes adds a playful, human edge that drier texts lack. There are very important and little understood issues brought up in this book that I feel need to be made more known: the penultimate chapter on "The Bigoted Brain" is particularly important. In this chapter it is, amongst other things, revealed to us that due to the way our brain develops "schemas" - which are kind of like word-association games that help the mind work faster -, we (and that includes us who consider ourselves good egalitarians) automatically and unconsiously associate a stereotype with [race/ethnicity/sex/sexuality/etc.] So for example, if you are a white person living in a society that stereotypes black men as being aggressive, when you meet a black person not only is the "black person" patch of neurons in your brain lit up, but all those within the "black person" schema - which could be "good at sport", "aggressive", or whatever other pleasantries your society offers. This, in turn, influences your own behaviour. You'll not notice this alteration in your behaviour, but the person you are interacting with will, and in turn their own behaviour will alter - perhaps becoming aggressive, thus becoming a self-fulfilling prophecy. It's a scary, awful thought and really rather depressing, but Fine is quick to point out that experiments into this phenomenon have revealed people who, by training their conscious mind and thereby eventually the unconscious, have managed to overcome this reaction. Indeed, it is Fine's dedication to her primary sources that rather warms me to her. The reference list at the back of the book is hefty but promises a great deal of interesting reading to those with more time on their hands (and more dedication) than I. It is also somewhat to do with this that I didn't fall in love with this book like I did Delusions. This is an excellent book for a layman, which I consider myself to be, but it almost feels too brief at just 200 pages. (The final fifth of the book is the reference list and index.) It could have gone much deeper into this important subject and I was rather disappointed that it didn't. That said, it remains an excellent introduction to the subject. If your interest is piqued, well, there are always other books.
5. Tongues of Serpents - Naomi Novik
(352 pages)
So, I love the Temeraire series but it's taken me forever to get to this one for the simple reason that I was waiting for the paperback. I like things to match. Turns out that was a waste of time because they've ever-so-slightly altered the covers, so it sticks out like a sore thumb anyway. For someone who almost exclusively buys secondhand you'd think I'd be a little more leniant on the state of my books, but fact is when I fork out the money for a new book - and especially if it is part of a series - I want them looking their best. Grump. Now to the real whining. I felt the last book of the series, Victory of Eagles, was not so good as the rest of the series. I love them, but that one felt it was losing its steam rather. I can't say I was holding much hope for this one either because I'd seen the star rating on Amazon (two, as it currently stands), and it's a good job really otherwise I'd have been very disappointed by this showing. I enjoy these books because they're good yarns: fun romps through age-of-sail history, but with the added benefit of dragons, and moreover human-dragon bromance which is curiously appealing as it turns out. When I start reading them, it takes some persuading to have me put them down - I just about manage when I have to return to my job. With this one I put it down thirty or so pages from the ending so I could make my tea: I'd been watching the clock, no less. I'm sorry to say this but this book was tedious. Not always: there was still the friendship between Temeraire and Laurence, which is the series' lifeblood, and some genuinely amusing moments, and the permanent thread of Temeraire's social conscience which I always appreciate; but the plot itself just draaagged. I didn't believe it for a start - why would anyone risk two critical and rare dragons and two unhatched eggs for the single egg of a common breed, for one? It's illogical. I found myself not caring, and feeling bad for not caring because I really like this series. Another annoyance was how the book dropped you straight into the story: I've not read the other books in well over a year, and given I forget what happened in books I read a fortnight ago I was scrambling to remember who some characters were, and why certain things were happening. A quick reminder would have been appreciated. Even the ending felt like a sad anticlimax, though I do find the sea-serpents wonderfully scary. I'll be buying the next book of course, poor Amazon reviews or no, dodgy spine and all. I just hope it'll be a bit better than this one.
6. Song of Solomon - Toni Morrison
(338 pages)
This is the third Toni Morrison book I have read, after The Bluest Eye and Beloved (many moons ago), and the one everyone bangs on about. I've got to say I didn't get out of it what other people seem to. Ordinarily I'd have no problems with blaming this on the author or simply on a lack of connection with the subject matter, but in this case I'm just going to place the blame square on my own shoulders. I think I'm just not bright enough for this book. There were points I really enjoyed, the points at which the mystery flared up and always, that bright, quicksilver language, sensual and delicious, peachsoft. You want to read aloud when you read Morrison's books. However, when I was not focused on those aspects I had to face up to the fact that I wasn't really understanding what I was meant to be learning from this book. I understand that there is something in there about a certain sort of black person almost turning his back on his race in order to become "better" in his own eyes, and as such inviting elements into his, or his childrens', lives that are extreme and that they are ill-prepared for. But most of the time I felt at a complete loss. For all its good elements, a book that makes you feel stupid and like you need someone to explain it to you is not an enjoyable one. I'd like to recommend this but in good faith I can't, because I don't know what I think of it. It's a good book, I think, but I'm not sure because I'm just not of that mindset that can naturally dissect and tease out the strands of meaning like so many seem to be able to do without thinking. I need someone to hold my hand through this sort of thing and point me in the right direction. I need a teacher :(
7. A Great and Terrible Beauty - Libba Bray
(416 pages)
I've been whinging a lot about young adult fiction lately but this was not bad. It wasn't without its faults, of course. I found at the beginning the characters were a little unsteady, like the author couldn't quite decide what or how they were, but that soon settled and their personalities were allowed to surface. There were a few irritating moments where the Britpicker in my brain winced - I'm not an expert on the story's period, but modern British people are somewhat reluctant to use the (very American) phrase "no fair!" and I seriously doubt good Victorian ladies would have been any more inclined. And then there were just silly mistakes, such as describing a deer's eyes as "sloe brown". Sloes are the berries of the blackthorn. They are a milky-blue colour. "Sloe-eyed" describes blue eyes, and blue eyes only. Complaining (almost) over I thought this was decent. The plot needed a boot up the arse occasionally and never really grabbed me when it did, but what I did like was the themes of the thing. Far too many YA books aimed at teenage girls rely on awkward love stories, and whereas this didn't lack a love story it never seemed the crux of the thing. I'll say it outright - the crux of this book was the relationships between women. The main character's relationship (good and bad) with her mother, and then her rivalry and eventual friendship with the girls in the school. The friendship is the central force of this book, and it is so pleasant to finally read something where that is the case. In books like Twilight, friendships with girls (and friendships in general) were disregarded as unimportant and annoying in favour of *~boyfriends~*, which is one of the reasons I hated that series so much. I'm so glad there are still alternative series out there, series that write about one of the most important relationships you'll ever have (and, at school, probably the most important): those with your friends.
8. A Planet of Viruses - Carl Zimmer
(128 pages)
I read and loved Carl Zimmer's Parasite Rex last year so was looking forward to this, a divine, slim little book with wonderful colour. I've got to admit I was a little disappointed. Don't get me wrong, it's perfectly well written and worthy, but - for me at least - it just wasn't detailed enough. I know I can't really accuse a 100-page book of introductory virology essays as being not detailed enough but here I am, doing it anyway. The topics were so exciting: HIV, haemorrhagic fever, pandemic influenza, marine viruses - but they always seemed to end just as they were getting into real detail. I felt I already knew most of it. It is often a pleasure to re-read what you already know, or knew, and refresh the old neurons; but when you're a writer like Zimmer with a real talent for making things more exciting then you don't want an essay, you want a whole book, you want reams and reams of information about these wonderful, tiny life/nonlife forms. Whinge over, I would absolutely recommend this to anyone interested in virology but lacking in the fundamentals. The book is concise, clear and introduces the amateur to the basics. For people more familiar, I would suggest looking for something more thorough.
9. Midnight's Sun - Garry Kilworth
(320 pages)
Earlier this month I read a childhood favourite, Hunter's Moon. Had I known about this book by the same author as a kid I'd have wet myself with excitement. This is the reason I bought it, and another of his animal stories, Frost Dancers, about hares. It's got to be said, I don't read books like this the same way I did as a child. Had I read this as the wee wildlife nerd I was at 10 I'd have loved it. As an adult I'm rather snobbier, and am all too aware of the flaws of this book. That the dialogue is awkward, that it never seems to decide what sort of story it wants to be and therefore seems sort of aimless, that the characters are all a bit bland and the tendency to tell rather than show. It's disappointing, but I still managed to gain some residual enjoyment, a vicarious thrill, the inner child showing herself and thinking wolves.
10. Gormenghast - Mervyn Peake
(--- pages)
The second of the Gormenghast trilogy, I had the same reservations and same positive reactions to this book as the first, except I liked it more. Like the first it was too verbose for its own good, making it a difficult read at points, but then resolving itself to some rather lovely scenes. I read in fits and bursts depending on the sort of scene I was on, right until the end hundred pages or so when suddenly the book found a pace I appreciated, and the plot was catapulted into a genuine tense excitement. Once again I loved the characters even if rather too many of them died: the macabre cast is really what has prevented me giving up on these books at their more difficult moments, these strange gruesome gargoyles populating this sprawling decaying castle. The tone of the book was at points very grim, with lots of death. The fate of the creepy twins in particular had my skin crawling, the maniacal laughter coming through the walls. At other times, a strange, sly humour. I'm not an expert in fantasy given my adverseness to so much of it, but this seems a strange sort of series. There seems to be nothing to separate this world from ours other than this made-up place - even the birdlife is British. It never seems as though Peake is delivering some sort of wish fulfilment: if anything, Gormenghast is depressing and oppressive, a fact reinforced by its protaganist, Titus, doing everything he can to get away from it. The thread of tongue-in-cheek humour is another aspect that sets it apart from more derivative fantasies, where everything seems dreadfully serious. It was not something I expected when I started the series, but I'm very pleased it is there. I kind of like the fact that Steerpike is unashamedly purposeless in his evil: I thought we might get an explanation other than his vague ambitions, but we don't; he remains this sort of character who crept up from nowhere and ultimately end the book knowing very little about, other than the fact he really likes killing. It's almost refreshing: here's a villain who kills because he likes it, not because daddy hit him or whatever. All in all, it's a shame about this book's meandering verbosity because had it been just that slight bit easier to read, I'd have enjoyed the experience much more, rather than just "liked it, but too scared to try again, probably."
11. How To Be a Woman - Caitlin Moran
(320 pages)
This is one of those books you should probably not read on buses. I did, and found myself doing the shoulder-shaking surpressed giggles thing, which on public transport invariably makes you look like the sort of person people don't want to sit next to - another of its qualities, in fact! Needless to say I enjoyed this. The start is shaky, I have to say, with the sort of amateurish this-is-my-first-book sprawl you might expect from any author writing her first book, or perhaps one of my reviews. It quickly settles however into what is a very funny and rather poignant semi-biography, feminist text. I'm no expert in the field but this is quite apart from the other feminist books I have read. That isn't to say the ideas in it are new - they're not - but the approach to them is. Caitlin Moran uses her life, from 13 to mid-thirties, to explore feminist themes as they happened to her, from being fat and "falling in love", to marriage and childbirth and abortion. This approach means that not all of the major themes are there: rape is distinctly lacking (though mentioned), and other issues such as FGM. Presumably this is because they have not happened to Moran herself, or in any case she doesn't want to talk about her experience with them. Instead, the book focuses on what at first appears to be smaller issues - high heels, and waxing, and celebrity role models. These might seem shallow, but Moran states at the beginning that she believes in the "broken windows" policy in things such as feminism: if you don't fix that first smashed window, then the next thing is they're all broken, and you have squatters in your vagina. This is a very funny book - the chapter on what to call your ladyparts (and the fact for a time she and her husband referred to their baby daughter's bits as her "baby gap") had me squeaking in breathless, anguished laughter. But that does not prevent a tone of seriousness entering. Indeed, as the book progresses and we enter Moran's adult life, so the themes seem to increase in poignancy. The story of the birth of her first child is genuinely harrowing; I've never read such a horrifying account of a birth as this one, though admittedly I don't seek them out - avoid them, in fact. Another chapter deals with the abortion she had in her thirties, as a mother of two, the stigma attached to this in particular (as a mother having an abortion, you are the lowest of the low), and how she has never felt she made the wrong decision. I've read some rather salty comments recently about "amateur" feminists and about this book in particular, and have to say that it annoys me. There appears to be this sort of elitism in the community, this idea almost that in order to qualify as a feminist (that is, a person who believes in women having the same rights that men enjoy) you need to have a fucking degree or something, and have meditated and debated and soapboxed for years on the subject. What utter nonsense. If there is something we need to be encouraging our young people - girls and boys alike - to get interested in, this is it. Sure, they're going to get it wrong occasionally, but what they need is a guiding hand and perhaps a stern talking to, not some sneering supercilious wanker telling them to come back when they have a Ph.D and "experience", whatever the fuck the definition of that is. Feminism is not some highbrow club with an age restriction. I'm speaking from the perspective of someone in their mid-twenties, someone who would probably be considered by these stuffed-shirts (male tailoring or otherwise) as being "too young" and without the relevent life experience to really know what the patriarchy is doing to us. Frankly I tell those sorts to shove it up their arses, providing they can prise apart those pinched little cheeks first. I'm not going to be put off by them, but I worry a lot of girls are. That's what this book feels like to me - the story of a girl, then a woman, discovering sexism and feminism in her daily life and learning to respond to it. Moran is not claiming she's the sole discoverer of these things, she's just showing us how they appeared in her (and probably many readers') life. The strength of this book lies in Moran's normality and humour, a combination that will appeal to the feminist-curious and the non-academic, the people who need the carrot and not the stick. This is not an academically rigorous book, no, but it is a good book, and a funny book, and a book I'd happily recommend. Thumbs up, and all that.
Total books so far: 73
Total pages so far: 22,515
A Single Man: I'd been told that this was pretty but boring, so went into it expecting that. Pretty it most certainly is. I'd have to disagree with boring though. It's quiet and not exactly action packed, yes, but I found myself drawn to it regardless. Part of it must be Colin Firth's charm: he has this reserved likability about him that I've come to regard, especially since The King's Speech, as very appealing. I also found the story more convincing than I was expecting to. So many studies of grief fall into the trap of melodrama, and whereas this did teeter on the edge once or twice, it always shied, remembering to inject a little humour while retaining its subtle, sad poignancy. I won't be buying this but I'll certainly give it a recommendation.
Splice: SPOILERS: I was expecting this to suck but hoped it would do so in a fun way that hit my science kinks. As it was it just sucked. I'm bored of movie scientists who do not bother wearing lab coats - especially when they work in cloning! It's no pissing wonder that thing, despite its supposed mish-mash of DNA, turned out looking more human than anything else: it probably had a bit of the whole lab and anyone they're slept with in there. Contamination, people! Jesus. And that's without addressing all the ethics (that's right, movie people, ethics, not morals) because that was kind of the point but christ, how did these psychos get hired? There was some gender stuff that really bothered me too: the female main character's mother being what the creators of this dreck would probably term a "feminazi", not letting her daughter play with Barbies or wear makeup, boohoo. Which in turn makes the female character crazy, of course, when confronted with her own "daughter." It's not only women who are insulted, mind. Like most sexist crap it manages to depreciate both sexes. As a female Dren (IT'S NERD BACKWARDS HURHUR) is twittering, sweet, weeps in corners and fucks like a nympho. When she spontaneously changes sex, she becomes a savage, murdering psychopath with none of her previous feeling for her creators. It is this twist that reveals the secret heart of this film: wish fulfilment, of the creepiest sort, in which a male character gets to have freaky hot sex* with weirdly attractive, prehensile-tailed chick, and the woman gets to get raped. And pregnant. Yay progress! Seriously, what a shitty film. And Adrien Brody didn't even have the decency to look hot in it.
*Actually, not that freaky. You'd think they'd have her take him up to the rafters or something; but no, she'd just on top. Boring.
The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo: This was better in film form, like I expected, yet I couldn't quite get into it. Perhaps my irritation with the novel ruined it for me, but I never became fully immersed. I thought the changes they made were good ones, and certain moments were filmed very well: the collection of photos by the murderer were especially effective, yet curiously restrained. A decent film but nothing special, a little cold in fact. That said, not a sandwich in sight.
Legend of the Guardians: The Owls of Ga'Hoole: When I saw the trailer for this at the pictures I thought it looked crap, but pretty, and due to that (that and a certain predilection for birdlife) I borrowed it. Turns out it's not that crap! It's derivative, of course it is, and there were points where I was like "those are the Elves from Lord of the Rings! but being owls!!" and the story is obvious as hell, but oh, I really enjoyed. Mainly because they're owls doing the fantasy, owls wearing helmets and fighting with talon-sheaths. And oh god, I wasn't wrong about the pretty. This was sumptuous. The detailing of the feathers in flight, that sort of powderpuff ruffle of the barn owl's plumage, was so gorgeous I wanted to reach into the screen and touch it. The flying sequences, they made me want to fly, that awful sickening jealousy I feel in my chest when that impossible dream is reawoken in me (I dreamt incessant flying dreams as a child, and they're still a frequent part of the nocturnal repetoire). I even liked the cheesy slow motion which allowed you to capture the owls in their mid-air battles. Not a great film by any means, but so beautiful and mesmerising I kind of want to put a baby in me just so I can get her to watch it and go "here! enjoy it like I would have as a kid because man, I'd have eaten this shit up like icecream!"
1. Titus Groan - Mervyn Peake
(960 pages)
Another of my occasional bashes at hard classic fantasy here. It seems against my nature, but I find fantasy really rather difficult to get into, especially of the horses and knights and magic variety. Quests do very little for me. Magical items are dull. Entirely-caucasian worlds give me the creeps. That said, I enjoyed this. I don't really know why. It was often tedious, Peake apparently needing to fill you in on every detail of the architecture of Gormenghast. I might have given up on the first few pages. Yet I'm glad I persevered because there was ultimately something charming about the thing. The characters are all wonderfully perverse, nearly all of them grotesque in some way. I found the twins in particular very sinister. I enjoyed Fuschia and the massive bird-laden Lady Groan, and Steerpike's purposeless evil. There was a very tongue-in-cheek tone to the writing, a dry humour that I often find lacking in hard fantasy. There were moments I actually laughed, though I couldn't tell you now what those jokes were. The "building" of Gormenghast was impressive in itself; I especially liked the attention to art - something about it gave the castle, very isolated and almost a country itself, a culture that might otherwise have been lacking. Yes, I think I liked this, though I struggle to explain it.
2. Hunter's Moon - Garry Kilworth
(330 pages)
My sixty-fourth book of the year, and my first re-read. Not bad. I picked up this book from a charity shop as a child, and treasured it. It was in a moment of madness than I returned it to charity, and immediately regretted it. It has taken me five years to replace it. Reading it again has been like meeting up with an old friend. As a kid and an wildlife nut one at that, I loved animal stories and stories about my favourite animal, red foxes, were invariably my most loved: The Animals of Farthing Wood, Torn Ear, and of course Hunter's Moon. In my later years I am fussier, but these book still have a power over me that I can never shake off. I was a little worried reading this one again because it meant so much to me as a kid. (Anyone who read my Pokémon fiction will attest to that - I stole so many of my ideas from this!) However, it did not disappoint. I felt that old flame rekindled as I was introduced to these characters I'd loved so much. Personification is a tricky business, and here it occasionally teeters on the fantastic, especially in regards to the characters of the cubs which are deliberate and tongue-in-cheek reflections of teenagers in human society (the cocky, independent girl; the religious zealot; the slightly stupid bit nice all-rounder); but yet it somehow works. There's a lovely twist of fantasy in it as well, rather like Watership Down but a little heavier, yet Kilworth never takes us too far from the real creature, and you actually stand to learn something about foxes from this book. A lovely book, if one I cannot write subjectively about.
3. Roll of Thunder, Hear My Cry - Mildred Taylor
(224 pages)
This was one of those books that, as a child, I really wanted to read but was unable to find it in the library. I think it was advertised in the back of my copy of Goodnight Mister Tom (one of the greatest children's books of all time), but this was back in the day when I had no money and no resources such as the internet to buy books with. So finding a copy of this in the library and bringing it home was me living the dream. Now, I know I've spent a lot of time on these reviews basically slagging off children's literature like it was meant to be judged by people in my age bracket (turns out it isn't), but I stand by those harsh words. Children's literature need not be patronising or lacking in seriousness, it can be like this! What an excellent book. I'm sorry for my younger self for not reading it then, because I think I would have loved it. I thoroughly enjoyed it as an adult, but in that sort of aloof way adults often appreciate books for children: recognising it is good and enjoying it, but sort of holding back. (Books read as a child and then again in adulthood don't count; they have the power of nostalgia.) I don't know if this was intended to be the "black" answer to To Kill A Mockingbird but that's how it felt to me, having many of the same themes. (The American South, racism and injustice, a proud, admirable father...) For that reason it felt good to read. I've read articles recently about how To Kill a Mockingbird can be perceived as racist, and whereas it didn't stop me loving that book (I love Gone with the Wind and that is profoundly, disturbingly, proudly racist) I did understand the argument that why should it once again be a white man standing up for blacks? where are the black heroes? For that reason this book felt, to me, like a small levelling of the playing field, some of that ground taken back. There are good white people in this book but the heroes are black, and that feels like something children - not just black, either - need to be shown, before we have them inundated with fiction where, once again, a white person saves the day. A sad and profound book, this was also fun and refreshing, and the sort of thing I'll give to my kids do I ever have any. They'll love it better than I can.
4. A Mind of its Own: How Your Brain Distorts and Deceives - Cordelia Fine
(256 pages)
Between this and Delusions of Gender I think Cordelia Fine is a writer I'm going to have to keep my eyes on. Admittedly I didn't love this book as much as Delusions, but that isn't to say I didn't really like it because I did. Rather slimmer than the subsequent book, A Mind of its Own reveals to us how little control over our brain we actually have - and it's damn fascinating. Fine has a keen wit that she injects into her books without ever demeaning the seriousness of her subject, and her talent for anecdotes adds a playful, human edge that drier texts lack. There are very important and little understood issues brought up in this book that I feel need to be made more known: the penultimate chapter on "The Bigoted Brain" is particularly important. In this chapter it is, amongst other things, revealed to us that due to the way our brain develops "schemas" - which are kind of like word-association games that help the mind work faster -, we (and that includes us who consider ourselves good egalitarians) automatically and unconsiously associate a stereotype with [race/ethnicity/sex/sexuality/etc.] So for example, if you are a white person living in a society that stereotypes black men as being aggressive, when you meet a black person not only is the "black person" patch of neurons in your brain lit up, but all those within the "black person" schema - which could be "good at sport", "aggressive", or whatever other pleasantries your society offers. This, in turn, influences your own behaviour. You'll not notice this alteration in your behaviour, but the person you are interacting with will, and in turn their own behaviour will alter - perhaps becoming aggressive, thus becoming a self-fulfilling prophecy. It's a scary, awful thought and really rather depressing, but Fine is quick to point out that experiments into this phenomenon have revealed people who, by training their conscious mind and thereby eventually the unconscious, have managed to overcome this reaction. Indeed, it is Fine's dedication to her primary sources that rather warms me to her. The reference list at the back of the book is hefty but promises a great deal of interesting reading to those with more time on their hands (and more dedication) than I. It is also somewhat to do with this that I didn't fall in love with this book like I did Delusions. This is an excellent book for a layman, which I consider myself to be, but it almost feels too brief at just 200 pages. (The final fifth of the book is the reference list and index.) It could have gone much deeper into this important subject and I was rather disappointed that it didn't. That said, it remains an excellent introduction to the subject. If your interest is piqued, well, there are always other books.
5. Tongues of Serpents - Naomi Novik
(352 pages)
So, I love the Temeraire series but it's taken me forever to get to this one for the simple reason that I was waiting for the paperback. I like things to match. Turns out that was a waste of time because they've ever-so-slightly altered the covers, so it sticks out like a sore thumb anyway. For someone who almost exclusively buys secondhand you'd think I'd be a little more leniant on the state of my books, but fact is when I fork out the money for a new book - and especially if it is part of a series - I want them looking their best. Grump. Now to the real whining. I felt the last book of the series, Victory of Eagles, was not so good as the rest of the series. I love them, but that one felt it was losing its steam rather. I can't say I was holding much hope for this one either because I'd seen the star rating on Amazon (two, as it currently stands), and it's a good job really otherwise I'd have been very disappointed by this showing. I enjoy these books because they're good yarns: fun romps through age-of-sail history, but with the added benefit of dragons, and moreover human-dragon bromance which is curiously appealing as it turns out. When I start reading them, it takes some persuading to have me put them down - I just about manage when I have to return to my job. With this one I put it down thirty or so pages from the ending so I could make my tea: I'd been watching the clock, no less. I'm sorry to say this but this book was tedious. Not always: there was still the friendship between Temeraire and Laurence, which is the series' lifeblood, and some genuinely amusing moments, and the permanent thread of Temeraire's social conscience which I always appreciate; but the plot itself just draaagged. I didn't believe it for a start - why would anyone risk two critical and rare dragons and two unhatched eggs for the single egg of a common breed, for one? It's illogical. I found myself not caring, and feeling bad for not caring because I really like this series. Another annoyance was how the book dropped you straight into the story: I've not read the other books in well over a year, and given I forget what happened in books I read a fortnight ago I was scrambling to remember who some characters were, and why certain things were happening. A quick reminder would have been appreciated. Even the ending felt like a sad anticlimax, though I do find the sea-serpents wonderfully scary. I'll be buying the next book of course, poor Amazon reviews or no, dodgy spine and all. I just hope it'll be a bit better than this one.
6. Song of Solomon - Toni Morrison
(338 pages)
This is the third Toni Morrison book I have read, after The Bluest Eye and Beloved (many moons ago), and the one everyone bangs on about. I've got to say I didn't get out of it what other people seem to. Ordinarily I'd have no problems with blaming this on the author or simply on a lack of connection with the subject matter, but in this case I'm just going to place the blame square on my own shoulders. I think I'm just not bright enough for this book. There were points I really enjoyed, the points at which the mystery flared up and always, that bright, quicksilver language, sensual and delicious, peachsoft. You want to read aloud when you read Morrison's books. However, when I was not focused on those aspects I had to face up to the fact that I wasn't really understanding what I was meant to be learning from this book. I understand that there is something in there about a certain sort of black person almost turning his back on his race in order to become "better" in his own eyes, and as such inviting elements into his, or his childrens', lives that are extreme and that they are ill-prepared for. But most of the time I felt at a complete loss. For all its good elements, a book that makes you feel stupid and like you need someone to explain it to you is not an enjoyable one. I'd like to recommend this but in good faith I can't, because I don't know what I think of it. It's a good book, I think, but I'm not sure because I'm just not of that mindset that can naturally dissect and tease out the strands of meaning like so many seem to be able to do without thinking. I need someone to hold my hand through this sort of thing and point me in the right direction. I need a teacher :(
7. A Great and Terrible Beauty - Libba Bray
(416 pages)
I've been whinging a lot about young adult fiction lately but this was not bad. It wasn't without its faults, of course. I found at the beginning the characters were a little unsteady, like the author couldn't quite decide what or how they were, but that soon settled and their personalities were allowed to surface. There were a few irritating moments where the Britpicker in my brain winced - I'm not an expert on the story's period, but modern British people are somewhat reluctant to use the (very American) phrase "no fair!" and I seriously doubt good Victorian ladies would have been any more inclined. And then there were just silly mistakes, such as describing a deer's eyes as "sloe brown". Sloes are the berries of the blackthorn. They are a milky-blue colour. "Sloe-eyed" describes blue eyes, and blue eyes only. Complaining (almost) over I thought this was decent. The plot needed a boot up the arse occasionally and never really grabbed me when it did, but what I did like was the themes of the thing. Far too many YA books aimed at teenage girls rely on awkward love stories, and whereas this didn't lack a love story it never seemed the crux of the thing. I'll say it outright - the crux of this book was the relationships between women. The main character's relationship (good and bad) with her mother, and then her rivalry and eventual friendship with the girls in the school. The friendship is the central force of this book, and it is so pleasant to finally read something where that is the case. In books like Twilight, friendships with girls (and friendships in general) were disregarded as unimportant and annoying in favour of *~boyfriends~*, which is one of the reasons I hated that series so much. I'm so glad there are still alternative series out there, series that write about one of the most important relationships you'll ever have (and, at school, probably the most important): those with your friends.
8. A Planet of Viruses - Carl Zimmer
(128 pages)
I read and loved Carl Zimmer's Parasite Rex last year so was looking forward to this, a divine, slim little book with wonderful colour. I've got to admit I was a little disappointed. Don't get me wrong, it's perfectly well written and worthy, but - for me at least - it just wasn't detailed enough. I know I can't really accuse a 100-page book of introductory virology essays as being not detailed enough but here I am, doing it anyway. The topics were so exciting: HIV, haemorrhagic fever, pandemic influenza, marine viruses - but they always seemed to end just as they were getting into real detail. I felt I already knew most of it. It is often a pleasure to re-read what you already know, or knew, and refresh the old neurons; but when you're a writer like Zimmer with a real talent for making things more exciting then you don't want an essay, you want a whole book, you want reams and reams of information about these wonderful, tiny life/nonlife forms. Whinge over, I would absolutely recommend this to anyone interested in virology but lacking in the fundamentals. The book is concise, clear and introduces the amateur to the basics. For people more familiar, I would suggest looking for something more thorough.
9. Midnight's Sun - Garry Kilworth
(320 pages)
Earlier this month I read a childhood favourite, Hunter's Moon. Had I known about this book by the same author as a kid I'd have wet myself with excitement. This is the reason I bought it, and another of his animal stories, Frost Dancers, about hares. It's got to be said, I don't read books like this the same way I did as a child. Had I read this as the wee wildlife nerd I was at 10 I'd have loved it. As an adult I'm rather snobbier, and am all too aware of the flaws of this book. That the dialogue is awkward, that it never seems to decide what sort of story it wants to be and therefore seems sort of aimless, that the characters are all a bit bland and the tendency to tell rather than show. It's disappointing, but I still managed to gain some residual enjoyment, a vicarious thrill, the inner child showing herself and thinking wolves.
10. Gormenghast - Mervyn Peake
(--- pages)
The second of the Gormenghast trilogy, I had the same reservations and same positive reactions to this book as the first, except I liked it more. Like the first it was too verbose for its own good, making it a difficult read at points, but then resolving itself to some rather lovely scenes. I read in fits and bursts depending on the sort of scene I was on, right until the end hundred pages or so when suddenly the book found a pace I appreciated, and the plot was catapulted into a genuine tense excitement. Once again I loved the characters even if rather too many of them died: the macabre cast is really what has prevented me giving up on these books at their more difficult moments, these strange gruesome gargoyles populating this sprawling decaying castle. The tone of the book was at points very grim, with lots of death. The fate of the creepy twins in particular had my skin crawling, the maniacal laughter coming through the walls. At other times, a strange, sly humour. I'm not an expert in fantasy given my adverseness to so much of it, but this seems a strange sort of series. There seems to be nothing to separate this world from ours other than this made-up place - even the birdlife is British. It never seems as though Peake is delivering some sort of wish fulfilment: if anything, Gormenghast is depressing and oppressive, a fact reinforced by its protaganist, Titus, doing everything he can to get away from it. The thread of tongue-in-cheek humour is another aspect that sets it apart from more derivative fantasies, where everything seems dreadfully serious. It was not something I expected when I started the series, but I'm very pleased it is there. I kind of like the fact that Steerpike is unashamedly purposeless in his evil: I thought we might get an explanation other than his vague ambitions, but we don't; he remains this sort of character who crept up from nowhere and ultimately end the book knowing very little about, other than the fact he really likes killing. It's almost refreshing: here's a villain who kills because he likes it, not because daddy hit him or whatever. All in all, it's a shame about this book's meandering verbosity because had it been just that slight bit easier to read, I'd have enjoyed the experience much more, rather than just "liked it, but too scared to try again, probably."
11. How To Be a Woman - Caitlin Moran
(320 pages)
This is one of those books you should probably not read on buses. I did, and found myself doing the shoulder-shaking surpressed giggles thing, which on public transport invariably makes you look like the sort of person people don't want to sit next to - another of its qualities, in fact! Needless to say I enjoyed this. The start is shaky, I have to say, with the sort of amateurish this-is-my-first-book sprawl you might expect from any author writing her first book, or perhaps one of my reviews. It quickly settles however into what is a very funny and rather poignant semi-biography, feminist text. I'm no expert in the field but this is quite apart from the other feminist books I have read. That isn't to say the ideas in it are new - they're not - but the approach to them is. Caitlin Moran uses her life, from 13 to mid-thirties, to explore feminist themes as they happened to her, from being fat and "falling in love", to marriage and childbirth and abortion. This approach means that not all of the major themes are there: rape is distinctly lacking (though mentioned), and other issues such as FGM. Presumably this is because they have not happened to Moran herself, or in any case she doesn't want to talk about her experience with them. Instead, the book focuses on what at first appears to be smaller issues - high heels, and waxing, and celebrity role models. These might seem shallow, but Moran states at the beginning that she believes in the "broken windows" policy in things such as feminism: if you don't fix that first smashed window, then the next thing is they're all broken, and you have squatters in your vagina. This is a very funny book - the chapter on what to call your ladyparts (and the fact for a time she and her husband referred to their baby daughter's bits as her "baby gap") had me squeaking in breathless, anguished laughter. But that does not prevent a tone of seriousness entering. Indeed, as the book progresses and we enter Moran's adult life, so the themes seem to increase in poignancy. The story of the birth of her first child is genuinely harrowing; I've never read such a horrifying account of a birth as this one, though admittedly I don't seek them out - avoid them, in fact. Another chapter deals with the abortion she had in her thirties, as a mother of two, the stigma attached to this in particular (as a mother having an abortion, you are the lowest of the low), and how she has never felt she made the wrong decision. I've read some rather salty comments recently about "amateur" feminists and about this book in particular, and have to say that it annoys me. There appears to be this sort of elitism in the community, this idea almost that in order to qualify as a feminist (that is, a person who believes in women having the same rights that men enjoy) you need to have a fucking degree or something, and have meditated and debated and soapboxed for years on the subject. What utter nonsense. If there is something we need to be encouraging our young people - girls and boys alike - to get interested in, this is it. Sure, they're going to get it wrong occasionally, but what they need is a guiding hand and perhaps a stern talking to, not some sneering supercilious wanker telling them to come back when they have a Ph.D and "experience", whatever the fuck the definition of that is. Feminism is not some highbrow club with an age restriction. I'm speaking from the perspective of someone in their mid-twenties, someone who would probably be considered by these stuffed-shirts (male tailoring or otherwise) as being "too young" and without the relevent life experience to really know what the patriarchy is doing to us. Frankly I tell those sorts to shove it up their arses, providing they can prise apart those pinched little cheeks first. I'm not going to be put off by them, but I worry a lot of girls are. That's what this book feels like to me - the story of a girl, then a woman, discovering sexism and feminism in her daily life and learning to respond to it. Moran is not claiming she's the sole discoverer of these things, she's just showing us how they appeared in her (and probably many readers') life. The strength of this book lies in Moran's normality and humour, a combination that will appeal to the feminist-curious and the non-academic, the people who need the carrot and not the stick. This is not an academically rigorous book, no, but it is a good book, and a funny book, and a book I'd happily recommend. Thumbs up, and all that.
Total books so far: 73
Total pages so far: 22,515
A Single Man: I'd been told that this was pretty but boring, so went into it expecting that. Pretty it most certainly is. I'd have to disagree with boring though. It's quiet and not exactly action packed, yes, but I found myself drawn to it regardless. Part of it must be Colin Firth's charm: he has this reserved likability about him that I've come to regard, especially since The King's Speech, as very appealing. I also found the story more convincing than I was expecting to. So many studies of grief fall into the trap of melodrama, and whereas this did teeter on the edge once or twice, it always shied, remembering to inject a little humour while retaining its subtle, sad poignancy. I won't be buying this but I'll certainly give it a recommendation.
Splice: SPOILERS: I was expecting this to suck but hoped it would do so in a fun way that hit my science kinks. As it was it just sucked. I'm bored of movie scientists who do not bother wearing lab coats - especially when they work in cloning! It's no pissing wonder that thing, despite its supposed mish-mash of DNA, turned out looking more human than anything else: it probably had a bit of the whole lab and anyone they're slept with in there. Contamination, people! Jesus. And that's without addressing all the ethics (that's right, movie people, ethics, not morals) because that was kind of the point but christ, how did these psychos get hired? There was some gender stuff that really bothered me too: the female main character's mother being what the creators of this dreck would probably term a "feminazi", not letting her daughter play with Barbies or wear makeup, boohoo. Which in turn makes the female character crazy, of course, when confronted with her own "daughter." It's not only women who are insulted, mind. Like most sexist crap it manages to depreciate both sexes. As a female Dren (IT'S NERD BACKWARDS HURHUR) is twittering, sweet, weeps in corners and fucks like a nympho. When she spontaneously changes sex, she becomes a savage, murdering psychopath with none of her previous feeling for her creators. It is this twist that reveals the secret heart of this film: wish fulfilment, of the creepiest sort, in which a male character gets to have freaky hot sex* with weirdly attractive, prehensile-tailed chick, and the woman gets to get raped. And pregnant. Yay progress! Seriously, what a shitty film. And Adrien Brody didn't even have the decency to look hot in it.
*Actually, not that freaky. You'd think they'd have her take him up to the rafters or something; but no, she'd just on top. Boring.
The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo: This was better in film form, like I expected, yet I couldn't quite get into it. Perhaps my irritation with the novel ruined it for me, but I never became fully immersed. I thought the changes they made were good ones, and certain moments were filmed very well: the collection of photos by the murderer were especially effective, yet curiously restrained. A decent film but nothing special, a little cold in fact. That said, not a sandwich in sight.
Legend of the Guardians: The Owls of Ga'Hoole: When I saw the trailer for this at the pictures I thought it looked crap, but pretty, and due to that (that and a certain predilection for birdlife) I borrowed it. Turns out it's not that crap! It's derivative, of course it is, and there were points where I was like "those are the Elves from Lord of the Rings! but being owls!!" and the story is obvious as hell, but oh, I really enjoyed. Mainly because they're owls doing the fantasy, owls wearing helmets and fighting with talon-sheaths. And oh god, I wasn't wrong about the pretty. This was sumptuous. The detailing of the feathers in flight, that sort of powderpuff ruffle of the barn owl's plumage, was so gorgeous I wanted to reach into the screen and touch it. The flying sequences, they made me want to fly, that awful sickening jealousy I feel in my chest when that impossible dream is reawoken in me (I dreamt incessant flying dreams as a child, and they're still a frequent part of the nocturnal repetoire). I even liked the cheesy slow motion which allowed you to capture the owls in their mid-air battles. Not a great film by any means, but so beautiful and mesmerising I kind of want to put a baby in me just so I can get her to watch it and go "here! enjoy it like I would have as a kid because man, I'd have eaten this shit up like icecream!"