BookChat
We have our own Company of Books recommendation section, but we’d also love to hear what you think of the books you’re reading, whether good or bad, new releases or ancient tomes. Here is the place to expose hidden gems to the light, or to shout ‘The emperor has no clothes!’ if there’s something you think is overrated.
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Having been inspired by the new arrival ‘Puzzled’ (a great read for crossword fans), and having always believed that a name can hide a truth, I did a quick anagram check on ‘the company of books’. ‘Fancy tome bookshop’ is quite apt, or even ‘fancy tome, posh book’. Though some might argue in favour of ‘tome fan, book psycho’ . . .
Having a look at the new arrivals this morning I made the mistake of leafing through ‘The Book of Irish Mammies’ before picking up Colm Toibin’s ‘Testament of Mary’. Now I find I’m reading that in a Quiet Man begob-and-begorrah type of voice, which really isn’t doing anything to endear it to me. I’ll have to leave it aside and come back to it when my palate has been cleansed, so I’m off to find the written equivalent of a nice sharp lemon sorbet . . .
The equivalent of a lemon sorbet? What did you choose? May I suggest something by John Berger. Beautiful lucid prose with poetry at its core. But I really came on to ask if you have heard or read anything about Silent House by Orhan Pamuk? It sounds interesting but I tried to read him before and failed.
Would that be ‘My Name is Red’ by any chance? If so, you’re not the only one who failed. ‘Silent House’ is on my to-do list, but in the meantime there was an interview with Pamuk on Radio 4 that might be of interest:
http://downloads.bbc.co.uk/podcasts/radio4/frontrow/frontrow_20121101-1955a.mp3
Yes it was My Name is Red? How did you know. Thanks for the link. Will try to listen at the weekend.
Though legally entitled to see, handle – nay, sell – the new JK Rowling book from 8am today, unfortunately we in COB won’t get our JKs until this afternoon, but I’m managing to entertain the masses who have been sleeping on the path outside overnight by reading them snippets from some of the author’s previous great works. My Lady Macbeth and Cleopatra are going down particularly well.
Seriously, I know we in COB are supposed to be leaping on the hype wagon, but really. I was attending an event at the fantastic Ranelagh Arts Festival last night so I had to tape the Culture Show special with JK Rowling and only managed to watch twenty minutes this morning. Both the author and the interviewer looked faintly embarrassed by the whole business (I use the word deliberately). I think when she was asked if she was going into ‘the heart of social darkness’ all attempts to take this hype seriously were damaged beyond repair. It may be a fabulous piece of writing – though from the passages she read out this seems unlikely – but from the way the whole thing is being presented, one would think that no one in the history of literature had ever before investigated the chasm between haves and have-nots, or societal attitudes to various forms of addiction. I was trying to keep the cat out of my cereal bowl so was a bit distracted at one point, but I thought I heard her say that there were characters in there addicted to alcohol, to food, to drugs, a whole gamut it seemed. (Her husband is a doctor who has worked in the field of addiction, so obviously the research is impeccable . . . ) Anyway, I look forward to watching the end of the programme later. I feel sure that at some point it’s going to turn out that the whole thing is actually an experiment to prove the power of hype. JK Rowling seems like a decent woman and I wish her well, but let’s try not to get too carried away and pretend that she’s invented literature. Oh hang on – sorry, have to go. Someone at the window wants me to give my ‘Out, out, damned spot’ again. I’ll be back, as a great actor once said.
I finally got to watch the second half of the programme, this time alas without interference from the cat, which, as it turned out, would have been a welcome addition of a little unpredictability. By the time we reached the end, I had the distinct feeling that the interview had probably done more to put people off than attract them to the book. Having given a poor impression throughout of someone who really cared about getting answers to his questions, the interviewer showed his true colours at the end when he said to her that she might be in for a bumpy ride when the book came out. She, however, showed hers in return: ‘I’ve been a fortunate woman. If a bumpy ride is all there is, it’s not the worst thing’. I almost liked her enough to want to read the book. But not quite.
I’m getting fed up listening to John Banville peddling his ‘it doesn’t matter what people are reading as long as they’re using their imaginations’ line whenever he’s asked about a certain bit of dross currently selling well around the English-speaking world. It does matter, and someone of his calibre should acknowledge that. That ‘using their imaginations’ thing is applicable to children, not adults.
As co-owner of COB, I feel I must maintain an objective silence on that comment, Sazerac. Suffice to say that I very much enjoy your input on the board.
Anthony Horowitz failed to be Conan Doyle; Jeffrey Deaver failed to be Ian Fleming; now we have John Banville aka Benjamin Black about to try to be Raymond Chandler. When you look more closely at homage you find ego and ham.
Oh surely not, Sazerac! But yes, I wonder why – apart from the lure of filthy lucre (oh, once more, surely not) writers who are well respected in their own right feel that they either can or should attempt to emulate their, let us say, equals. It’s like those unnecessary remakes of classic films that were perfect first time round. If the film industry is so imaginatively bankrupt that it can’t come up with new ideas why not at least remake something that should have been better in its original state and improve it? But I digress. I actually popped by to say that the new ‘must-read’ book for book clubs is ‘The Dinner’ by Herman Koch. Very engrossing (to the half way point at least, which is where I am at present) and offering a lot of – dare I say it – food for thought.
The Man Booker longlist has been announced. I think the ‘readability’ desideratum is off the agenda this year, but that’s just a preliminary impression. I’ll have to investigate further – when they’ve all actually been published . . .
Bit of a shame that a book as lauded and hyped as Richard Ford’s ‘Canada’ should have such a badly-written blurb on the back.
Can the Jo Nesbo book ‘Headhunters’ be as dreadful as its film version which I saw last night? I mean, the sight of a man covered in excrement driving a fork-lift truck on which a dog is impaled shouldn’t be funny – should it?
No, you wouldn’t think so, Sazerac. Mind you, there was a customer in COB the other day who thought the film was “brilliant”. However, when this was teased out a bit, it turned out that she thought it was brilliant because it was so hilarious. Nowhere in any of the promos or blurbs did the words ‘hilarious’ or even ‘funny’ appear, so I think we have to assume that it was unintentionally so. I don’t know how true to the book the film is, but I don’t really feel much like finding out based on what I’ve heard about it.
A customer was in COB yesterday who said that scene is in the book and she thought the film was great. It lived up to her expectations, particularly with regard to the small husband and the tall beautiful wife. She heard that Marky Mark will play the husband in the US version.
I think Danny DeVito might be a better choice. And for the wife, Brigitte Nielsen.
A bit too comic (Danny) and too scary (Brigitte). I’d say Tom Cruise (short, smooth) and Nicole Kidman (tall, glam). Oh wait, didn’t that happen in real life? Or in their heyday, Michael J. Fox and Daryl Hannah.
Just finished reading a proof copy of Franco-Swiss writer Noelle Revaz’s ‘With the Animals’, due out June/July. Will be recommending it heartily. All I’ll say here is congratulations to the translator, W. Donald Wilson, for rising so well to what must have been a challenging task, given the idiosyncratic voice of the narrator.
The Bellwether Revivals, Benjamin Wood
Having just finished the fresh and uncontrived gem that is The Snow Child by Eowyn Ivey, I have embarked upon the latest ‘hot thing’ – The Bellwether Revivals by Benjamin Wood. Apparently it’s the new Secret History, but based in Cambridge, England. If it’s only half as self-absorbed and airless as that tome was that will be a blessing of some sort, but I’m fearful.
I hesitated early on in the proceedings when the captivating blonde (Cambridge student) called Iris (“after the genus”) appeared, reading Descartes by the “second hand light of the vestibule” outside the college chapel; I faltered when her is-he-mad-or-is-he-a-genius? (Cambridge double scholarship student) brother, Eden, entered with his “wreath of curls” and patronising manner; I positively stumbled when we were told that our hero Oscar (alas, uneducated) is from – horrible dictu – Watford, and that, thanks to his parents’ belief that books were unnecessary things, he trained himself early on not to read. However, he is now working in a care home, and as luck would have it, one of the residents is a crotchety old professor, and guess what? ? he likes Oscar, and lets him borrow his books. So now Oscar has read lots of worthies, including Aristotle, Plato and Pythagoras, which means that he is fortunately able to understand some of the loftier references made at various social gatherings by his new friends. I limped past the aside on the art of punting. I have now come to the point where Oscar has been taken by the siblings Bellwether to their ancestral pile to meet the parents, and I’ve hobbled to a complete halt in front of the following: “They were all holding their sherry glasses the same way, with one hand pinching at the neck of the crystal, the other cupped underneath the base. It reminded Oscar of the way his father used his free hand as an ashtray when he smoked indoors.”
Oh dear.
There are undoubtedly interesting ideas under all this – far more than there were in the dreary Tartt offering – but if I wish to be enlightened on the finer points of cognitivism, Cartesian dualism or the philosophy of music, there are less irritating ways than by means of hackneyed characters and contrived conversations over the sherry. Of interest, this book, mainly to those who have been there, got the boater.
Sometimes the book of the year appears as early as February. Allan Wolf’s ‘The Watch that Ends the Night’ looks set to be the COB pick for 2012 . . .
The Map And The Territory, Michel Houellebecq
Currently reading one of the aforementioned interesting-looking tomes, the new Michel Houellebecq novel, The Map and the Territory. The word that springs to mind at this point is ‘mischievous’. The central character is an artist called Jed, who is currently working on a painting entitled Damien Hirst and Jeff Koons Dividing Up the Art Market. On the opening page of the novel we are told that “Hirst was basically easy to capture: you could make him brutal, cynical in an ‘I shit on you from the top of my pile of dosh’ kind of way; you could also make him a rebel artist (but rich all the same) pursuing an anguished work on death; finally, there was in his face something ruddy and heavy, typically English, which made him look like a rank-and-file Arsenal supporter.”
I’m about 100 pages in and Jed has just arrived in Shannon to meet the famous author Michel Houellebecq, who lives there for part of the year, to try to persuade him to write the catalogue for his latest exhibition (“It was public knowledge that Houellebecq was a loner with strong misanthropic tendencies: it was rare even for him to say a word to his dog”). Thus far it’s a witty and sharp novel, which underneath the playful (or are they?) barbs is asking some interesting questions about the nature, purpose and/or point of art and literature. The one very slight negative is that on occasion the translation seems to falter slightly in a way almost impossible to pinpoint, except to say that it reads more like French than English in construction. Still, it’s a very minor detail in what is so far an otherwise highly enjoyable reading experience.
It’s becoming more irritating. Up to page 150 now and so far there have been two sentences that don’t appear to make sense, possibly due to missing clauses, and there is an obvious word missing from another. I doubt this is some authorial device. Even if the overall translation is on the weak side, the proof-reader should have picked up the individual technical problems. A shame that a novel that won the Prix Goncourt should be so ill served in its English edition.
Re Booker Shortlist: Snowdrops – AD Miller
Anyone read this debut novel which somehow got to the shortlist? Graham Greene on steroids pronounces the jacket. I’d say Mr Greene would turn in his proverbial if he heard that. It’s a thriller alright, it fairly boots along and gives great Moscuvite in snow scenes. I know there’s been a lot of talk about the ‘easy reading’ Booker shortlists and I suppose that falls into this category. Some of the writing I honestly thought was just bad. The plot is so loudly signposted all the way through, so it drifts to a close rather than there being any big reveal or such. Still entertaining read for these autumn nights.
What’s anyone else think?
I just finished this book. I enjoyed it for its “easy reading” and snowy Moscow setting. About a third of the way in, you do begin to suspect what’s happened. I suppose in a way it’s written as a confession to his fiancée on the part of the narrator, so perhaps you don’t expect a sudden reveal at the end, but the gradual unfolding of what went on. I was a little bit disappointed with the last sentences of the book, though was left wondering about their impact on his fiancée. Too light to win the Booker, but just right for a gusty autumn night.
It’s slipped a bit down my ‘to read’ pile as this week has seen the publication of some interesting-looking tomes, so I may be leaving it for a gusty winter night at this rate. But on the subject of the ‘easy reading’ Booker, I’m kind of of the school of thought that says there are enough prizes out there for easy reads, and the Booker should stick to trying to bring other types of work to a wider audience (à la Hilary Mantel). It seems the shortlist sales are up this year, but it could just be that these books, by their very nature, would have sold anyway, especially since a couple of them have already gone into the cheap format. As to how ‘Snowdrops’ ended up on the list – I’d say you’d have take into account the former occupation of the chief Booker judge to explain that one.
As usual, I have left reading other reviews until such time as I had read and reviewed the book myself. I have just this minute checked out a review from the Observer newspaper and find that the word ‘baggily’ has been used therein. While it’s interesting to see that we both went for the same word, I would like to reassure all COB patrons that, in every case, any resemblance to prior reviews is purely coincidental . . .
‘The Night Circus’, Erin Morgenstern
I was very enthused by the opening pages of this book, the latest publishing sensation by all accounts. Shades of ‘Le Grand Meaulnes’, hints of ‘Steppenwolf’. Short-lived, alas. Ultimately it has neither the charm of the former, nor the depth of the latter. It isn’t bad as such. If it has one major fault it’s that it’s about twice as long as it needs to be. Like her two main characters, the author keeps inventing ever more spectacles, so that the whole thing becomes somewhat repetitious and baggy, and the denouement when it finally comes, does not have the same illuminating impact on the reader as it seems to do on the Cirque des Reves. The female character at the heart of the book performs real magic; her skill is that she can disguise it as mere illusion to protect her audience from a truth they might not be able to handle. Unfortunately the author herself works only in the mundane realm of illusion, and too often, despite the many flourishes, there is nothing to pull from the hat.
Has anyone read Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy as I have seen the film twice now, deciding not to read the book first. The film is brilliant, successfully conjuring up the tension of being a spy in the Cold War era and the disenchantment that that very profession brought to those who chose or were chosen to enter the world of espionage.
Is the book to be recommended now or will my viewings spoil the read?
I can’t help you there, Sorcha, unfortunately, as I too saw the film without having read the book. I flicked through it in COB yesterday and it looked like there was quite a bit that hadn’t made it to the screen, so it probably offers a much fuller experience than the film could. I’ve heard that le Carre books take a bit of getting into, but that once you’re in, you’re hooked. While we’re on that subject, I have to confess a guilty secret: ‘The Spy who Came In from the Cold’, which appears on so many must-read lists of books, left me cold. I was about thirty pages from the end when I put it aside for something else and then just forgot to go back to it. When I did remember it, I found I just couldn’t be bothered. I have felt guilty about this for a long time, until a few days ago a customer confessed to the same feeling. So – ‘My name is Anne, and I didn’t like ‘The Spy who Came In from the Cold’.’
Update, Sorcha – I listened today to a radio discussion on ‘Tinker Tailor’, and the consensus among the three participants was that the film does as well as it can in compressing the complexity of the book, but the inevitable result of that is that the various relationships are not sufficiently developed in the film for the revelation at the end to make much of an emotional impact. I got the distinct impression that the book would not be spoiled by having seen the film, unless all you’re interested in is the actual identity of the mole.
Hello COB and Fans of COB
I’m wondering if anyone has read Anne Enright’s book, The Forgotten Waltz? If so, would welcome an opinion – or several. Perhaps I’m old fashioned, but I am finding the Raunch level a bit over the top. I recall the reviews all commented on this, and she herself was aware that it would cause a stir. But there’s a lot of heaving trysts and not a huge amount else in between. Some lovely writing on her relationship with her mother (the narrator’s), something like loathing of the other characters by the narrator – of the Other wife, the sister, the brother-in-law, the unfortunate husband. Seems a bad-tempered book really. But would love to hear some other thoughts.
I’m not really qualified to comment on this as a reading experience as I cheated a bit with it and listened to it on Radio 4 a few months ago. There certainly wasn’t much indication of a ‘raunch level’ on that, as you can imagine. Also it was read by Niamh Cusack, who I think has quite an annoying voice, and that put me off the narrator for starts. I didn’t find it interesting enough to want to read it afterwards. though now that you say it’s raunchy, I might reconsider. I wonder if it’s in stock in COB?
Indeed it is, Paycock. Perhaps you’ll make the trip to visit us, lured by the promise of some raunch? (Though I’m not sure that’s quite the image we want . . .) On the subject of the book itself, I haven’t read it, but a customer recently said to me, in hushed tones lest she be overheard, ‘It’s really only chick lit’. What would you think to that, Fiery Redhead?
I am alarmed at the attitude towards ‘raunch’. Nothing wrong with a bit of that in a book as long as it’s written with style and isn’t gratuitous. I haven’t read this book but am rushing to COB to purchase a copy!!
Chicklit? mmm. Well funnily enough my mother who is a prime 88 (she doesn’t read blogs so won’t see me declaring her vintage) waded through it and dismissed it as that very thing. In fact when I picked it up to read it, she kept telling me how disappointing she had found it as it was merely ‘chicklit’.
I just finished it last night actually – and take back my ref. to raunch, there’s not much in it. It wasn’t an attitude towards raunch at all, Sorcha, rather that there wasn’t much else in the book at the start. It then turned into something quite different, a downward slump as the relationship took hold ** no spoilers** and other matters took precedence. I suppose I would recommend it as Anne Enright is an important Irish writer but I really don’t think it’s her best. I’m going to hit back at that ‘raunch attitude’ and get Joan Collins’ autobiog. next….
Is she an important Irish writer? Why?
I see where you’re going with this, Sazerac, and I have to say that I’m sure that Sebastian Barry would equally be considered an ‘important Irish writer’, but I can’t hand on heart recommend his book to anyone who asks my opinion in COB, as I think there are just better ways of spending reading time.
I don’t agree. I even wrote on this site that I thought he’d win the booker prize for his book. I thought it was excellent. Almost poetry at times. Like I said, I didn’t find the Anne Enright interesting enough to want to read it after hearing it on the radio, but maybe that was the fault of the abridger or the reader. Of course she’s an important writer. Didn’t she win the booker?
Dear Juno’s Paycock,
Yes Anne Enright won the Booker for The Gathering in 2007. I see The Forgotten Waltz was described as a ‘darkly funny tale of adultery in modern Dublin…’ I must say I am enjoying reading all of your comments about the book, particularly Fiery Redhead’s aversion to it so I may just go and steal my wife’s copy which she has hiding under her side of the bed.
If winning the Booker is an indication of importance then I have just two words: ‘Howard’ and ‘Jacobson’. Could anyone tell me what ‘important’ actually means in this context anyway?
Controversial as ever Sazerac, though the Booker seems to be an award in the vein of the Oscars. Not always handed out for the right piece of work.
Sorry, Gwen, I don’t mean to be controversial, I’m just wondering what ‘important’ means when you talk about someone like Anne Enright. Or Sebastian Barry, or any of them. I was hoping that Fiery Redhead would answer that one since s/he was the person who used the expression. I wouldn’t have thought it’s a particularly controversial topic. I just don’t see that those books have added much to the sum of human understanding. Is an ‘important Irish writer’ different from an ‘important writer’? I suppose I might never know.
No need to apologise, Sazerac. Here at The COB we like, nay relish, plain speaking. Unfortunately I can’t help you with the definition problem, as I think many writers today are more self-important than important. (Not too controversial I hope, my dear colleague, Gwen?)
Hmm, Anne Enright, the chick lit author… That’s an accolade she wasn’t expecting! Must let the publishers know of her change in direction so they can produce her future books with glitzy, bright covers… Make way Jackie Collins!
Not only Anne Enright, but I also heard that debate on whether Colm Toibin’s ‘Brooklyn’ qualified for the accolade. Does this mean that in future the women on those book covers pictured standing on the decks of ships peering wistfully into space as they float off towards America will be dressed in dusty pink coats and spangly headscarves?
Yes, proper order…