February Wrap Up

The books I read in February

Another month, another wrap up. Throughout February I finished 11 books, bringing my total for the year so far up to 21. Here are some brief thoughts on each of them. If you’d like to know more, simply click on a title and it will take you to my full review.

How Much the Heart Can Hold by various

[ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ] A mixed bag of stories by eight different authors, each one focussing on a different kind of love (unrequited, familial, obsessive, etc.). It was a worthwhile read, but I found most stronger in concept than execution.

Mary, Who Wrote Frankenstein by Linda Bailey, illustrated by Júlia Sardà

[ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ] A short and accessible biography of Mary Shelley, suitable for any age. The real highlight here is the gorgeous artwork, which is suitably gothic and enchanting.

House of Glass by Susan Fletcher

[ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ] At once a haunting, gothic mystery, and a poignant piece of historical fiction about the destructive power of hearsay. The heroine is fantastically well realised, the setting utterly transporting, and the writing rich and evocative. I was completely enthralled.

The Best Awful by Carrie Fisher

[ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ] Fisher’s debut novel is a raw and candid exploration of a mental breakdown; life with bipolar; and the struggles of recovery. Suzanne is a complex, frustrating, and endearing heroine you can’t help but root for.

Mary Ventura and the Ninth Kingdom by Sylvia Plath

[ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ] Short but very effective, this allegorical tale is about finding the will to live; to defy a seemingly unavoidable fate. Plath creates a number of beautiful images, and a tone of quiet menace that I really enjoyed.

Justine by Alice Thompson

[ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ] A strange and hallucinogenic look at the destructive power of obsession; the pursuit of physical beauty; and women as dehumanized objects of desire. It’s full of literary references and intricate layers of thematic depth.

Furiously Happy by Jenny Lawson

[ ⭐ ⭐ ] When this quasi-memoir focuses on the realities of life with mental health struggles, it is relatable and hugely worthwhile. For me, however, it was too bogged down by forced humour and extraneous tangents.

Murder at the Vicarage by Agatha Christie

[ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ] Another highly readable yet deceptively intricate yarn from the queen of mystery. The reveal was as surprising and satisfying as I’ve come to expect, but there was also some very well executed social commentary, and wry humour.

Miss Brill by Katherine Mansfield

[ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ] Three understated yet shrewdly observant short stories that capture moments of loneliness and painful realisation. This made for a nice introduction to Mansfield’s work.

Enduring Love by Ian McEwan

[ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ] A psychological literary thriller that is as thematically engaging as it is compulsively readable. I loved its look at obsession, psychosis, coping with trauma, and a relationship stretched to breaking point.

The House on the Strand by Daphne du Maurier

[ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ] A unique blend of sci-fi and du Maurier’s gothic prowess. This was a great romp, with some very effective allegory about the perils of living a double life, and the struggles of addiction.

***

There we have it! If any of the books I mentioned caught your eye, you can find them with free shipping over on Book Depository. If you’ve already read any, I’d love to hear your thoughts on them below.

My favourite read of the month was House of Glass. What was yours?

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The House on the Strand by Daphne du Maurier | Book Review

The House on the Strand by Daphne du Maurier
Published by Virago, 2003 (first published in 1969)
My rating: ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐

It’s such a nice feeling to return to a favourite author after a while, and to instantly be reminded why you fell in love with their work in the first place. From the very first paragraph of this book, I was transported once again by du Maurier’s lush, descriptive prose. It captures such a wonderful sense of time, place, and atmosphere, and is just a delight to read.

Initially, the story feels like a radical departure for du Maurier, given that this is ostensibly a book about time travel. And whilst it does stand out as unique amongst her work for that reason, rest assured that the hallmarks of her style (grand settings, gothic undertones, interesting characters, a touch of the sinister, and an air of mystery) are all still present. It’s also worth pointing out that her take on the time travel trope is fascinating and wholly unique in its own right.

Magnus Lane is a chemical researcher. On the quiet, he has been experimenting with a strange potion that seems to send the drinker’s mind back to the 14^th century. Able to act only as a silent observer, however, the person’s body is left behind, the two moving in tandem across the span of time. It seems Lane has cracked the secret to moving between parallel timelines. And so, he enlists his long-time friend, Richard, to serve as a guinea pig. But as Richard gets increasingly involved in the lives of those he observes in the past, and addicted to the high of the potion itself, the line between the two times begins to blur, leading to potentially devastating consequences.

The thing I enjoyed most about this was how successfully it draws parallels with the struggles of addiction. Richard becomes more and more dependant on the potion, despite the obvious danger involved, and the increasingly debilitating physical and mental side effects. With each exposure, the dose required is higher, and though he promises each time will be his last, he is repeatedly drawn back in, no matter the trouble it causes him or those around him. This was cleverly done, and very effective.

There is also some commentary on the risks of trying to live a double life. Unhappy in his marriage, the trips into the past serve as a form of escape for Richard, who becomes emotionally attached to the people he observes, particularly the beautiful Isolda. The more he is drawn into the high-stakes drama of the 14^th century, however, the duller his own life seems. His wife, Vita, suspects these absences are a sign of infidelity. With Richard finding it increasingly difficult to keep the two halves of his existence apart, the pressure begins to take its toll on both his body and mind.

I will say, since Richard is unable to directly interact with those in the past, there is an inherent sense of detachment where those characters are concerned. As such, it did take me a while to get to grips with who everyone was, and to feel any kind of investment in them. Though these sections are evocative, I was always far more interested in Richard’s struggles, and his attempts to deal with the fallout of the experiments back in the present day.

That said, the book was still a damn good romp throughout, with some skilfully implemented allegory. I mustn’t leave it so long until I pick up another du Maurier.

***

You can pick up a copy of The House on the Strand from Book Depository by clicking here. If you’ve already read it, I’d love to hear your thoughts!

Enduring Love by Ian McEwan | Book Review

Enduring Love by Ian McEwan
Published by Vintage, 2016 (first published in 1997)
My rating: ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐

Enduring Love is a psychological literary thriller, in the truest sense of the words. The skill that evidently went into crafting this book is phenomenal; its balance of page-turning tension, eloquent prose, and thought-provoking thematic nuance so exact it’s like a masterclass of the genre.

The plot follows Joe Rose. Whilst enjoying a picnic with his wife, Clarissa, they become involved in a freak accident that ends in tragedy. Jed Parry, a fellow witness to the incident, becomes instantly and inexplicably obsessed with Joe from that moment. He begins to stalk him, testing Joe’s mental stamina, calling into question his rational outlook on life, and threatening to tear apart his relationship with Clarissa; all the while convincing him that Jed poses a serious threat to their safety.

What’s interesting from the off is the undercurrent of science versus religion. Our protagonist is a freelance scientific journalist. By contrast, his stalker is a religious fanatic, adamant that God has willed them together, and determined to convert Joe to the same line of thought. The dichotomy between Joe’s meticulous and rational approach to life, and Jed’s blind, overwhelming faith is stark, and serves as a major source of conflict and uncomfortable tension between the two. There’s also undoubtedly a note of critique in the way Joe’s harassment is handled, with the police uninterested given the initial lack of physical violence.

It becomes increasingly clear throughout the narrative that Joe is struggling to accept the role he played in the tragic event that began his ordeal, and to make peace with his sense of survivor’s guilt. As such, coping with trauma is another notable theme. It’s also true, however, that we can’t necessarily trust Joe as a narrator. He is telling us his story in first-person, after the fact, analysing events even as he describes them. Given that he frequently muses on the unreliability of memory, and how often people question his version of events with regards to his interactions with Jed, McEwan is clear that we shouldn’t necessarily take everything he says as gospel. This adds another interesting dynamic to the reading experience, and is represented well by this passage, which also shows McEwan’s prose at the height of its power:

‘No one could agree on anything. We lived in a mist of half-shared, unreliable perception, and our sense data came warped by a prism of desire and belief, which tilted our memories too. We saw and remembered in our own favour and we persuaded ourselves along the way. Pitiless objectivity, especially about ourselves, was always a doomed social strategy. We’re descended from the indignant, passionate tellers of half truths who in order to convince others, simultaneously convinced themselves. Over generations success had winnowed us out, and with success came our defect, carved deep in the genes like ruts in a cart track – when it didn’t suit us, we couldn’t agree on what was in front of us.’

How much is genuine harassment, and how much is self-projected victimhood, brought on to distract from latent guilt? This is the question central to Joe’s development as a character, our perception of him, and his interactions with those around him.

My only real criticism came at the end, where there is a brief section presented as an academic psychology essay, using the events of the novel as a case study. Though this is interestingly meta, given Joe’s line of work, I did find it a somewhat dry note to end on, and I can’t say it added much from a narrative standpoint.

That said, I thought this was an excellent book. I was gripped from the off by its almost unbearably drawn out recounting of the accident. This in itself was a stroke of tonal genius, perfectly capturing the sense of a horrific event playing out as though in slow motion. From there on, its look at psychosis; a relationship pushed to breaking point; and a man’s attempts to process a traumatising ordeal was utterly compelling. It reaffirmed for me how much I can enjoy McEwan’s work, and fuelled a desire to explore more of his back catalogue.

***

You can pick up a copy of Enduring Love from Book Depository by clicking here. If you’ve already read it, I’d love to hear your thoughts!

Agatha Christie and Katherine Mansfield | Two Mini Reviews

Here are some brief thoughts on a couple of recent reads that didn’t necessitate full posts of their own, but which I enjoyed reading nonetheless.

***

Murder at the Vicarage by Agatha Christie
Published by Harper, 2016 (first published in 1930)
My rating: ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐

Another thoroughly readable yet deceptively intricate yarn from the queen of mystery. This one captures the gossip fuelled nature of life in small, rural towns with characteristically wry humour and whip-sharp dialogue. I also enjoyed the brief though interesting commentary on society’s dismissiveness of older people’s worth, and the psychology of criminals (with characters questioning whether illicit behaviour is learned or inherited; free choice or an affliction of the mind).

With Christie always one step ahead, and everything planned out with meticulous care, she managed once again to bring her many plot threads together in a satisfactory and surprising way.

You can pick up a copy of Murder at the Vicarage by clicking here.

***

Miss Brill by Katherine Mansfield
Published by Penguin, 2015 (first published in 1922)
My rating: ⭐ ⭐ ⭐

One of Penguin’s Little Black Classics, this slim volume brings together three short stories by Katherine Mansfield, who is often considered a master of the form. The selected stories compliment each other well in both theme and tone. Each captures a character’s sense of loneliness and longing, and a quiet moment of realisation which sees their illusion of contentment shattered. There’s a couple who realise they have drifted apart; a woman who spends her Sundays people watching in the park; and a man who craves his wife’s exclusive attention.

They’re definitely understated, but shrewdly observant. And though there’s nothing earth shattering about them, they are united by an effective air of melancholy, and some lovely prose. It made for a nice taster of Mansfield’s style, and I would certainly be open to trying more of her work.

You can pick up the full collection the stories were taken from by clicking here.

***

Have you read either of these? If so, I’d love to hear your thoughts.

Favourite Book Quotes Tag

I was kindly tagged by Rachel (who you should definitely be following) to do the Favourite Book Quotes Tag.

Rules:
1. Mention the creator of the tag (Celine @Celinelingg).
2. Mention the blogger who tagged you.
3. List down 5 of your favourite book quotes along with the reasons.
4. Spread the love and tag some people to participate and connect! (There’s no limit in number, so have some fun and just tag!).

Being tagged for this made me realise how bad I actually am at keeping track of quotes I love, which is a shame. That said, here is a random selection of a few that have stayed with me, in no particular order. There are 6, because I had already picked them out before I realised we were supposed to choose 5, and I couldn’t decide which one to cut!  😛

1. The Lightkeepers by Abby Geni

“To remember is to rewrite. To photograph is to replace. The only reliable memories, I suppose, are the ones that have been forgotten. They are the dark rooms of the mind. Unopened, untouched, and uncorrupted.”

I love this because it’s a very interesting take on the notion of memory. Geni repeatedly likens it to her heroine’s work as a photographer, drawing parallels between retelling a story, and choosing what to frame when setting up a picture – both being valid means of altering the truth. It’s thus vitally important in understanding the character’s reliability as a narrator, with much of the book exploring the idea that storytelling is used as a means of protection from trauma.

2. All We Shall Know by Donal Ryan

“Martin Toppy is the son of a famous Traveller and the father of my unborn child. He’s seventeen, I’m thirty-three. I was his teacher. I’d have killed myself by now if I was brave enough. I don’t think it would hurt the baby. His little heart would stop with mine. He wouldn’t feel himself leaving one world of darkness for another, his spirit untangling itself from me.”

Talk about powerful opening lines that hook you straight away. This paragraph sets the tone perfectly for Ryan’s exhilaratingly stressful story about a brilliant and morally complex heroine.

3. Frankenstein by Mary Shelley

“I have love in me the likes of which you can scarcely imagine, and rage the likes of which you would not believe. If I cannot satisfy the one, I will indulge the other.”

This, in part, is representative of my love for Frankenstein in general. But I think it also establishes the often-overlooked complexity of the eponymous doctor’s creation, in a suitably eloquent and unsettling manner. It’s one of many instances in which Shelley asks us to ponder what really makes a monster.

4. The Gracekeepers by Kirsty Logan

“When people are cruel it’s often said that they have no heart, only a cold space or lump of ice in their chest. This was never true of Avalon. She had no heart, everyone knew, but there was nothing cold about her. In her chest burned an enormous coal, white-hot, brighter than the North Star. North knew the truth about Avalon: she was made of fire, and she would burn them all.”

I’ve always loved this. It’s one of the most evocative descriptions of an antagonist I’ve read.

5. Rebecca by Daphne du Maurier

“The road to Manderley lay ahead. There was no moon. The sky above our heads was inky black. But the sky on the horizon was not dark at all. It was shot with crimson, like a splash of blood. And the ashes blew towards us with the salt wind from the sea.”

Daphne du Maurier, queen of atmosphere, doing what she does best. This is one of my favourite books of all time, so it had to feature on here in some shape or form.

6. The Strange and Beautiful Sorrows of Ava Lavender by Leslye Walton

“To many, I was myth incarnate, the embodiment of a most superb legend, a fairy tale. Some considered me a monster, a mutation. To my great misfortune, I was once mistaken for an angel. To my mother, I was everything. To my father, nothing at all. To my grandmother, I was a daily reminder of loves long lost. But I knew the truth—deep down, I always did. I was just a girl.”

I think this quote perfectly captures the dreamlike beauty and off-kilter magic of the novel, with its tone of wonder and pathos. Featured at the start of the book, it is also a good indicator of what lies ahead; a multi-generational family saga, plagued by loss, yet tinged with hope. I’m not a re-reader, but something about this book has really stayed with me, and I often feel compelled to return to it. Perhaps this is the year I will finally do so.

***

I’ll stop there, as I’ve already surpassed the required number of 5, and I could easily get carried away. Thanks again to Rachel for tagging me! Since it’s taken me a while to get to it, and I’ve done a few tags recently, I’ll once again leave this open for anyone who hasn’t yet been tagged, but would like to get involved. Let me know if you do it so I can check out your chosen quotes!

Furiously Happy by Jenny Lawson | Book Review

Furiously Happy by Jenny Lawson
Published by Flatiron Books, 2015
My rating: ⭐ ⭐

Jenny Lawson writes about mental health in a candid, warm, and conversational way. This works wonders to draw readers in, helping to spark dialogue, and chip away at lingering stigma. The way she normalises the validity of medication and therapy as treatment is particularly praiseworthy. As such, I’m not at all surprised or disappointed to see how popular her work has become. To help people feel seen, and to encourage others to laugh at the absurdities of life, and find joy throughout their struggles is a wonderful thing.

However, the book sets out to be funny first and foremost, and for me, it fell largely flat on that front. The humour (the recounting of dialogue, in particular) was so obviously exaggerated that I found it all a bit forced and cringey. There were certainly some mildly amusing moments, but whilst my sense of humour favours a faster pace (think cutting sarcasm, zingy word play, and punchy one-liners), Lawson’s favours bizarre analogies and nonsensical tangents that are latched onto and stretched beyond their limits. In short, I like humour that feels effortless, but I could always see how hard Lawson was working to prove her quirkiness. This is obviously personal preference and entirely subjective, but if you have to tell us when you’ve made a joke (which Lawson does a lot), repeat the same joke (which she does a lot), or admit that a joke you’ve made isn’t even funny (which she also does a lot), I would suggest that said jokes aren’t really working.

I feel icky about this next part, but it would be remiss of me not to flag it up given how much it bothered me. I wholeheartedly acknowledge that someone’s personal relationship is no one else’s business. Also, let’s keep in mind that we’re only hearing one side of things, and that certain anecdotes have clearly been exaggerated for comedic effect. That said, the way Lawson’s partner treated her often made me uncomfortable. Though her behaviour is intentionally juvenile and undoubtedly infuriating at times, even when she’s in the grips of a genuine, full-blown anxiety attack, he’s either dismissive and embarrassed of her, or else he shouts at her in a blunt and condescending manner; repeatedly calling her ‘crazy’ and telling her to shut up. Obviously, her life is hers to do with what she wants, and if a ‘tough love’ dynamic works for them, that’s totally fine. I just don’t want people with mental health problems to read this book and think that’s how they should always expect to be treated; as though it’s what they deserve. Just know that what works for everyone is different, and if what you need is a gentler approach of patience, understanding, and compassion, you are more than entitled to precisely that.

There’s also a chapter which sees Lawson visit Australia, in which she comes across as culturally ignorant and insensitive (confusing the country with New Zealand; asking if there were rhinos near the place they were staying; comparing koalas to people with dwarfism; and referring to Uluru as ‘a big rock’). We all live and learn, but… really?

I found the structure somewhat erratic, too. It’s not linear or comprehensive enough to be a memoir, nor is it thematically focussed enough to be an effective essay collection on mental health. There are many, many chapters about entirely extraneous things (like how she finds people in airports annoying; draft tweets she jotted down late at night; foods she doesn’t like; weird taxidermy; or the time she had her gallbladder removed; to name just a few). These add nothing to the mental health discussion, nor are they insightful or funny enough for their place to really feel justified. Granted, this informality may have been deliberate, to emphasise the conversational tone, and if you enjoy Lawson’s voice, you’ll likely get along fine with these sections. But, for me, the book would have been stronger had it been constructed with a clearer sense of direction.

I’m aware that, the more I got into this review, the more negative it became. So, let me finish by making it clear that I still think this book is worthwhile. When Lawson ditches the meandering tangents in favour of an incisive look at the realities of life with anxiety, depression, and sleep disorders, it’s honest, relatable, and valuable. Indeed, the book has a lot of heart, and is incredibly well intentioned. That Lawson’s style doesn’t gel with me is a shame, but it’s no reflection of the book’s overall impact. Clearly it has provided comfort and relief to many, and for that I’m glad.

***

If you fancy giving Furiously Happy a go, you can find a copy by clicking here.

Sylvia Plath and Alice Thompson | Two Mini Reviews

Here are some thoughts on a couple of recent reads. Coincidentally, though very different, both are mysterious, fascinating looks at facets of the human psyche.

***

Mary Ventura and the Ninth Kingdom by Sylvia Plath
Published by Faber & Faber, 2019
My rating: ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐

I tried some of Plath’s poetry years back and failed to properly connect with it, but if I’ve taken anything from this slim story, it’s that I must give her work another shot.

One of the recently released Faber Stories, Mary Ventura and the Ninth Kingdom is a previously unpublished short story that follows a young woman, forced to board a mysterious train, destination unknown. There’s barely a superfluous word, with Plath creating a number of beautiful images, and a tone of quiet menace that lurks in the background.

Though intentionally vague to a degree, and thus able to be interpreted in a couple of different ways, the allegory at work becomes increasingly clear as the tension builds. The theme of finding the will to live, and the strength to defy a seemingly unavoidable fate shines through; a meaning that takes on an added layer of poignancy when considered within the wider context of Plath’s life.

You can pick up a copy of Mary Ventura and the Ninth Kingdom by clicking here.

***

Justine by Alice Thompson
Published by Salt, 2015 (first published by Canongate Books, 1996)
My rating: ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐

Sometimes, when you love a book, you want to push it into the hands of as many people as possible. Other times, you are well aware that it won’t work for a lot of people. Justine is very much an example of the latter for me. This strange and allegorical novel is a hypnotic look at the destructive power of obsession; the pursuit of physical beauty; and women as dehumanised objects of desire.

The plot follows an unnamed male narrator. He is a collector of art, and a beauty obsessive who becomes enthralled by Justine, a figure within a painting whom he believes he has met in real life. As he pursues Justine, and her twin sister Juliette, things become increasingly dark and disorientating. This creates a haze in which Thompson explores the blurred line between art and artist, whilst casting a quasi-feminist eye on the struggle for control between the sexes.

The evocative, exaggerated imagery of the novel reflects the importance of art and beauty to the narrative, whilst the hallucinogenic tone reflects the opium-fuelled daze and all-consuming obsession of the narrator’s existence. There are also many literary references throughout, notably those that draw parallels with Marquis de Sade’s Justine, Charlotte Perkins Gilman’s The Yellow Wallpaper, and Oscar Wilde’s The Picture of Dorian Gray. These various layers enrich the book’s thematic depth, creating the kind of story that is sure to invite deeper thought, and divide readers. I, for one, was enraptured by its singular surrealism.

You can pick up a copy of Justine by clicking here.