The House of Mirth, Edith Wharton

Edith Wharton is perhaps most well known for her novella Ethan Frome, but here in The Company of Books we urge The House of Mirth on anyone who breathes the word ‘classic’. The story of Lily Bart, 29 and still unmarried though beautiful and possessed of charm and wit (alas, however, unpossessed of a fortune) this novel exemplifies what what is meant by the expression ‘biting satire’. Mixing in a society where position and appearance are all that matter, Lily struggles to maintain her footing, and we watch as she makes a series of wrong decisions, sometimes for the right reasons, and suffers the escalating consequences. I once saw an online review of this where the reader rather resentfully complained about the misleading nature of the title: ‘There was no mirth in it at all’. The full quotation, however, comes from the Bible: ‘The heart of fools is in the house of mirth’ – which alters expectations somewhat. It is not a joyful read, but this is a book that stays with you, partly for the story itself, but partly too because it really does pull no punches about the vacuousness and cruelty of the society it depicts.

The Snow Child, Eowyn Ivey

Wolverine River, Alaska, 1920. Jack and Mabel, a childless couple in their middle age, have moved to a homestead in the Alaskan wilderness to start a new life and try to bury the grief they have carried for years. As the book opens, it seems as though Mabel at least has given up hope of achieving their aim. When she steps out onto the ice-covered river, peering down at the frozen bubbles and large cracks beneath, we hold our breath.

From the opening lines of this novel we are held, not only by the character of Mabel, and then of Jack, but by what is, in effect, the main character in the story – the place itself:

this strange wilderness – guarded and naked, violent and meek, tremulous in its greatness”.

Raw and unforgiving, it is also a place of great beauty, and we watch as each of the characters in his or her own way battles to an understanding of that paradox.

There is magic here (the story is based on an old Russian fairytale), but magic that seems possible; a child living in the woods, a snowflake that doesn’t melt. And there is silence, everywhere silence; the silence of a snowfall, silence full of small unfamiliar sounds, silence filled with absence. This is a truly lovely book, a hymn to a place and way of life by a writer who knows and loves them. There is an old-fashioned charm about the tale, which is told in a simple, beautiful prose. Pared clean, honest, and unpretentious, this is how to make an impression on your debut.

Highly recommended.

Beware of Pity, Stefan Zweig

Before we get to the contents of the book, it must be said that the recent Pushkin Press edition is a satisfying object, reassuringly chunky with a nice clear font and an invitingly smooth cover.  The cover blurb (where did this need for celebrity guidance spring from?) informs us that Colin Firth was “riveted” by it. And well he might be. From an embarrassing but ultimately minor faux pas (pun intended) a series of events ensues, the outcome of which is infinitely greater than the sum of its parts: in 1913 a young Austrian cavalry officer, Anton Hofmiller, asks a girl to dance, unaware that she is lame.  Enter the ‘pity’ of the title. It’s not a particularly short novel at 450 pages, but – I dislike quoting from other people, however the Preface puts it well – “it zips along almost effortlessly, like a clear-running stream”. Such is the power of the writing that as we read we are fully persuaded of the moral dilemma of the young officer and we literally cringe at the decisions he makes – or fails to make – as the situation develops. To quote again from the Preface: “Beware of Pity has moments of high melodrama that, over seventy years on, still have the power to make one put one’s free hand over one’s mouth as one reads”.  And seventy years on, the nature, purpose and point of pity still give pause for thought.

Me and You, Niccolo Ammaniti

Fourteen-year-old Lorenzo Cuni hates people. Having seen a documentary about a type of fly that makes itself look like a wasp in order to protect itself, he has learned how to fit in by appearing to be like those around him. In order to stop his mother in particular by turns nagging at him and worrying about him, he has told her he is off skiing for a week with some classmates. In fact, he heads down to the cellar with his headphones, his Playstation, some tins of tuna, and a fake tan spray. He hasn’t counted on his half sister Olivia turning up  . . .

The setting is ripe for comedy, and there are amusing moments in this short but thoughtful book. However, taken as a whole there is more here that is sad than funny. The larger picture is painted in apparently simple brush strokes but, looked at closely, reveals telling details of a broken family and some damaged people. At times the narrative threatens to veer slightly into soft terrain, but manages to stay the right side of schmaltz.  The ‘me and you’ of the title, for example, becomes a poignant refrain when Olivia recounts an incident from Lorenzo’s childhood that he himself has forgotten, and he is patently struck by the idea that at one moment at least he was not alone:

‘Then the motorboat took off. And me and you, we stayed down in the cabin where it smelled of bilge and everything was shaking and rocking.’

‘Me and you?’

‘Yes.’ She took a drag of her cigarette. ‘Me and you.’

A one-sitting read that will repay a second visit.

The Watch That Ends The Night, Allan Wolf

From the ship’s rat, scurrying between the pages (‘follow the food, follow the food’) to the businessman Bruce Ismay (‘Why clutter a ship’s deck with lifeboats? / First-class passengers would rather see the sunrise’); from Harold Bride, the Spark, overjoyed to be appointed to Titanic’s message room with her new technology (‘For the next six days, we will be Titanic’s only ears / Titanic’s only voice’) to Captain E. J. Smith (‘My career has been uneventful. I am content / to run the straightest line between the two coordinates’), Allan Wolf has conjured twenty-four voices from the Titanic and taken a fresh and very different approach to the events surrounding the sinking of the ship in April 1912. The novel moves back and forth between short monologues, drawing you in from the opening page. The various portraits are sensitively imagined.  The research is here, unobtrusively. (All the people named were actually on board the vessel.  The sources are presented at the back of the book.) Where facts are scarce, Wolf has filled in the outlines plausibly; where they are known, they are presented by the by, discreetly.  Yes, we know what happens in the end. But these pieces with their touching human details bring you on board with the various ‘characters’ and make you hope that somehow it won’t. And throughout the whole thing whispers the most compelling voice of all – that of The Iceberg, a villain of decidedly Shakespearean cast:

‘Within my frozen mass I cannot find / an equal to the heart of humankind. / I’ll have my heart when ship and ice align. . . . The ice will have his pick of human hearts / as soon as fair Titanic plays her part.’

If you’re a Titanic buff, this is a creative new angle on familiar material; if you’re someone who wants a gripping story that happens to be true, it’s a moving, memorable and, yes, respectful piece of work.

The Woman In Black, Susan Hill

Susan Hill was one of the 2011 Booker judges whose priority for prizeworthiness was “readability”. It has to be said that the woman practises what she preaches. The Woman in Black is hugely readable, atmospheric, absorbing and subtle. Read it before the big screen ramps up the melodrama and adds a soundtrack that the eerie stillness of the book really doesn’t require.