O Caledonia, Elspeth Barker

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O Caledonia opens with an atmospheric description of the place of sixteen year old Janet’s recent death. She has been laid to rest away from the family plot in the local graveyard, a fact they are not entirely unhappy about, fearing ‘Her restless spirit might wish to engage with theirs in eternal self-justifying conversation or, worse still, accusation. She had blighted their lives; let her not also blight their deaths.’ It becomes clear in this opening chapter that Janet was not well loved, except by her bird, Claws, who committed suicide after her loss. Her family no longer talk about her, and the gossip of locals soon moves on. The rest of the novel takes us back through Janet’s short life, where we will discover that she did not deserve the disdain she received merely for not fitting in with convention.

Living in a remote castle in Scotland, Janet enjoys the space and the animals, but when her parents turn it into a boys school she finds herself under constant threat of harassment. An outcast for her gender, she attempts to show that she is as courageous as any boy, with limited success. She also develops tactics to avoid the unwanted advances of the others students. This danger from boys is present at multiple times throughout the novel, and feels like something her inattentive parents should have taken into consideration when filling her home with adolescent boys. 

Gender roles are a recurring theme. We learn early on that her father believes girls to be an inferior form of boy, but that this unfortunate circumstance can be improved with education. Janet is intelligent and curious, but her bright spark is ignored. People are confused by her disinterest in babies and playing with dolls. She is equally as confused as to why it should be expected she should be just because she is a girl. Her own mother is no great advert for motherhood - Janet overhears her telling a friend she only really likes babies and finds children annoying, that it’s possible to not like your own child. Janet’s response? To feel that she has no need for a mother. And yet, there is a longing within Janet to fit in. Part of this manifests itself in a desire to be able to talk to other girls who are interested in completely different things. We see this desire reflected by her mother as they prepare for a party, wishing she could share the excitement of getting ready with Janet, that they would bond over the choosing of their outfits. Janet, naturally, does not opt for an outfit which her mother approves of, and in her resplendent purple dress she certainly stands out. She does exhibit a desire to be found attractive however - her mother once reports in astonishment that a friend has commented that Janet has a lovely face. She is flattered but instantly worries that if she ever sees her again she will change her mind so resolves to make sure she never does.

The opening chapter suggests that Janet will be difficult and objectionable, but we see throughout that she is merely a young girl doing her best. Often she is in trouble simply because she has misunderstood instructions, at other times because her passions lie in different areas. She loves animals and keeps Claws with her in her bedroom, where he protects her, but also, unfortunately, makes quite a mess. She feels deeply when animals are hurt and avoids the kitchen as there are more often than not animal corpses being prepared for food. You can see how some of her behaviours would be challenging for her parents, but she is kind and thoughtful, and her family do not give her the time or attention to really understand where she is coming from. Her closest human ally in the castle, for a time at least, is Lila. A relative by marriage, Lila’s presence in the castle was one of the terms of her father receiving it, and she largely keeps to herself. She enjoys drinking whiskey, painting, and foraging, and although they don’t necessarily talk much Janet finds comfort in her presence. 

I had saved this book for the darker months, thinking it would suit the season. It undoubtedly has touches of the gothic, but it is a much lighter book than I expected. It has been likened to a mix between We Have Always Lived in the Castle and I Capture the Castle, and I can certainly see the resemblances. You feel for Janet as she tries to navigate family life, and then boarding school, an even more challenging environment. I became so involved in her life that I would find myself forgetting that we were heading toward a bloody ending. When we do circle back to her murder it feels shocking. I went back and read the first chapter after finishing it to compare how expectations had been set and how they compared. I found Janet much more sympathetic than might have been expected. There is much in here that young adults will relate to, as well as anyone who has ever felt out of place. A wonderful, richly evocative read with an enigmatic, oft-misunderstood protagonist.

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City of Wonders, Eduardo Mendoza (translated by Nick Caistor)

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The year is 1887 and a young Onofre Bouvila has just arrived in Barcelona with enough money in his pocket to pay for one week of rent. He needs to find a job quickly or risk being thrown out onto the streets. As the city prepares for its first World Fair there are more opportunities, and he soon finds himself handing out anarchist leaflets to workers, surprising himself by how convincing he can be on a topic he’s only just learnt about. We watch as his star rises through immoral means. The city is on the cusp of huge expansion, and he takes advantage of this to make his fortune. It is an interesting period not just for Barcelona but for Europe more widely as new inventions such as cinema and flying machines come to the fore, bewildering and beguiling audiences. We learn a lot about the history of Barcelona throughout the novel, and Onofre’s story feels very rooted in reality. 

In the early chapters Onofre is somewhat sympathetic, a young man eager to work and build a life for himself, but as the novel progresses you don’t particularly root for him. There is so much detail about the political and economic landscape that his story feels almost lost in it. To begin with I enjoyed these diversions, but some were less engaging and became a distraction. His behaviour is not often admirable and sympathy for him wanes as the novel progresses, with only moments here and there where he captures the reader’s heart once more.

Onofre’s approach to romantic relationships also leaves something to be desired. His infatuation as a young man is probably one of the times where you feel most connected to him, but ultimately he takes what he wants and leaves women with experiences that change them for life seemingly without a second thought on his part. One of the women in his life becomes central to his work in the film industry, but her relationship with him does not seem to serve her well, and his attraction to her fades quickly. Ultimately he is a man who goes after what he wants without too much thought to the consequences for others.

I had really been looking forward to reading this book, and although I did enjoy the historic detail, to a point, it didn’t grip me. If you enjoy books that show the whole sweep of a life, protagonists without much of a moral compass, and a solid dose of contextual information, this might be the book for you. Sadly, it didn’t quite hit the mark for me.

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Wonderful Winter Reads

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As the nights draw in and the temperature drops, it feels like the perfect time to curl up with a good book and a nice hot drink. Especially in the lead up to Christmas I find myself craving books with a touch of magic and which evoke the beauty of the season. Here are a few I’ve enjoyed in years past. Let me know what I should be reading next.

The Toymakers, Robert Dinsdale

This book transports you to the early twentieth century and a truly magical toyshop which delights all those who visit. Papa Jack and his sons work tirelessly to create new marvels for the opening with the first frost of each winter, and although there’s sibling rivalry and the realities of living through a very difficult period in history, it is infused with a sense of wonder. Read my full review here.

Midnight in Everwood, M. A. Kuzniar

Taking The Nutcracker as its inspiration, this book will delight ballet fans, and those who love a modern fairytale with magic and decadent worlds aplenty. It is in many ways quite a dark read with controlling characters and suffering just outside of view from the luxurious castle our heroine finds herself in. I’ve got Kuzniar’s 2023 Upon A Frosted Star, her take on Swan Lake, waiting for me at the library, and I hope it will provide a similarly evocative magical world. Read my full review of Midnight in Everwood here.

The Winter Garden, Alexandra Bell

As with many on this list, this book deals with difficult topics. Beatrice loses her mother at a young age, and struggles with the guilt of not having had the chance to say goodbye. She is also plagued by societal expectations - she remains single in a world where women’s main motivation in life is meant to be making a good marriage. Unfortunately, her best friend Rosa’s life shows this isn’t the dream it’s sold as. As a child, Beatrice experienced a magical winter garden which she longs to find her way back to. Soon her and Rosa are embroiled in a competition to create the most magical pleasure garden in order to win one wish. The descriptions of the gardens are rich and tempting, making you want to create your own land of wonder. An enchanting read with a dark side. Read my full review here.

A Midwinter’s Tail, Lili Hayward

Perhaps the most stereotypical Christmas read on the list. Mina must leave her London life behind to go to Morgelyn, a small Cornish island, to look after her godfather’s cat Murr while he is absent. It takes time for her to settle into the close-knit island community, but she loves Murr, and has strong memories of a feeling of safety from her time on the island as a child. Murr is steeped in folklore, with people suspecting a centuries old spirit lives within her. With time, she comes to feel at home once more on the island and has to fight to save it. There is some romance in the book but it’s not the main focus. A lovely festive read which I’m quite tempted to re-read. Check out my full review here.

A Christmas Carol, Charles Dickens

The classic Christmas story, you’ll likely have seen some version of this, but it’s worth reading the original short story. Dickens employs his talents at drawing characters that inspire emotion to make the case for a kinder, more compassionate world. Read my full review here.

The Mad Women’s Ball, Victoria Mas (translated by Frank Wynne)

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‘The Salpêtrière is a dumping ground for women who disturb the peace. An asylum for those whose sensitivities do not tally with what is expected of them. A prison for women guilty of possessing an opinion.’

Nineteenth century Paris, and the inmates of the infamous Salpêtrière asylum are eagerly preparing for the Lenten Ball, a highlight of Paris’ social calendar. Wealthy citizens covet tickets to this event, a chance to enter the asylum and see the ‘madwomen’, each hoping to see them have a fit, to require treatment. For the women it is a chance to dress up, to mix with the elite, to dream of a life outside the walls of the asylum. Outside of the preparations for the ball we see how the women are treated day to day. Dr. Charcot has allegedly made conditions better for them, but they are still wheeled out in front of roomfuls of men to demonstrate their hysteria and his treatments, sometimes with quite ghastly outcomes. A particular favourite is Louise, locked up after having been raped by a man who was meant to be caring for her, she is pretty and compliant. She looks forward to the ball, believing her love will release her from her confinement.  Eugénie is the asylum’s newest resident, locked up by her brother and father for having admitted to her grandmother that she can see and hear ghosts. Intelligent and stubborn, the staff comment that she does not demonstrate signs of madness, but once admitted it is hard to ever escape. Geneviève is a long-standing member of staff, there to look after the women. Eugénie’s arrival blows up her carefully created life, with consequences that will impact the rest of her life.

Throughout we are reminded that it is men who hold the power. In the vast majority of cases it is male relatives who bring the patients in, often simply because the women have become  inconvenient. It soon becomes clear that it is the men who have behaved badly and the women who suffer doubly as a result. There are chilling scenes where characters see their loved ones turn on them, the coldness in their gaze demonstrating that they will never see them as a full human again, all affection drained. The ease with which they will condemn them to a life of imprisonment and experimentation is truly disturbing, and more so as this fiction is rooted in fact. The women are always in a vulnerable position. They live their lives with the threat of committal hanging over them if they step out of line. Once committed they are treated as spectacles to be enjoyed. Men watch dispassionately as they are triggered into hysteria, are hypnotised, as their bodies are abused in the name of science. The reader feels the powerlessness. This is further emphasised by the fact some of the women prefer to stay, feeling safer inside than in the cruel world outside the gates, not that they are likely to ever have the choice to leave.

None of their stories are happy ones. Geneviève has created a stable life for herself but she is wracked by grief at the loss of her sister, who she continues to write letters to long after her passing. She rarely sees her father, and although she has a vaguely kind relationship with the women, she is in a position of power over them. She advocates for them and tries to keep them safe but she is the one who delivers them to Charcot and the other doctors. Louise’s story is tragic. She retains some youthful optimism and dreams of a different life, yet the world repeatedly punishes her for this. There are devastating scenes where her complete vulnerability is abused, and you are furious at the men who have wronged her throughout her young life. Eugénie’s story is one of betrayal. She is curious and strong-willed, hoping to join a group looking in to spiritualism before she is incarcerated. The asylum attempts to break her will - she arrives strong and angry but soon fades. Her ‘gift’ of speaking to the dead is not one she ever asked for but she tries to use the knowledge it gives her for good. The world does not want to allow it. 

This is an interesting book which inspires further research into the grisly history of the Salpêtrière. It will both make you sad for the women who lived under such a regime, but also consider the state of gender politics today. Some of the techniques may have moved on, but the power imbalance and attempts at control are all too familiar. Mixing fact with fiction, Mas shines a light on a dark aspect of history. She explores the position of women in nineteenth century France, medicine on the cusp of the invention of psychology, and the sense of sisterhood among those living within the asylum. Family dynamics and obligation are vital, with a distinct lack of care shown to many of these young women. Atmospheric, upsetting, and endlessly intriguing.

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Made In America, Bill Bryson

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Bryson’s Made In America is a history of the English language in the United States, but in exploring this topic we get a potted history of everything from immigration to shopping centres, McDonald’s to film stars. Coming to this book as someone with very limited knowledge of American history, it was a fascinating romp through hundreds of years of history, and provides many interesting tidbits. In it, Bryson disabuses the reader of many commonly held misconceptions. Right from the off we learn that many Europeans had arrived in the ‘New World’ before the Mayflower set sail, as far back as the Vikings, and indeed that due to the number of fishing fleets that had been so common along the north-east coast, some English was already spoken on land when the settlers arrived. Another is that Germany’s autobahnen were inspired by America’s superhighways, not the other way round, and that LA once had the finest public transport network in America, if not the world.

We see throughout how many endeavours started with noble ambitions but were corrupted by a desire for more money. Indeed, the demise of LA’s public transport network was engineered by a State Senator who continually blocked investment in them while promoting the construction of freeways, forcing everyone on to the roads. We also learn about the utopian dream of early shopping centres, envisioned to be places where people would enjoy rest and relaxation, sitting talking to neighbours, enjoying a game of chess or a leisurely lunch. Soon they were corrupted into places to keep visitors moving, removing back rests from seats to make them uncomfortable to use for any length of time and designing foodcourts to be deliberately uncomfortable to encourage speed. 

We gain snippets of history from other countries in the process of learning more about the US. For example, in talking about the huge boom in migration in the long nineteenth century Bryson mentions that in 1807 Ireland was the most densely populated country in Europe yet by the 1860s it was one of the least. People across the globe were taking part in mass migration, and for the US this meant that between 1830 and 1850 the proportion of foreign born immigrants rose from one in a hundred to one in ten. We see the unfortunate discrimination that many were on the receiving end of, but also the way these newly arrived residents benefited the country, bringing with them new ideas and innovation. Many of the main players in Hollywood were not American-born, changing their names to sound more naturalised. This influx of migrants naturally had an impact with many languages being spoken across the country. Indeed, a form of German known as Pennsylvania German, quite distinct from mainstream German now, retains a low number of native speakers. 

We see also how many place names were changed over the years from their Indigenous names or those from Spanish and French-speaking colonists to names more easily pronounced by the English speakers. Some names were changed because words included became rude with time, or unfortunate for other reasons, e.g. Swastika. Others were changed merely because real estate developers were keen to make areas sound more appealing. What we see through the book is the way language develops and absorbs different influences. 

An enjoyable read in Bryson’s signature accessible and entertaining style. Occasionally lists of words feel a little tedious but for the most part it is an enjoyable read which taught me much beyond the changing uses of English in America. 

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Astonish Me, Maggie Shipstead

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1970s New York and Joan Joyce, a corps de ballet member, is watching her ex-lover Arslan Rusakov dance the star role with his new girlfriend. Joan is heartbroken, disillusioned with a life of striving for perfection and never attaining it. The baby growing in her is making her dance like never before but also rings the end of her life as a professional ballerina. We soon find her living a quiet life in Chicago with Jacob, a man who was devoted to her as a teen but whose affection she didn’t entirely return. Loyal Jacob was there for her through heartbreak and a demanding career, but now that he finally has her something feels off. He feels somewhat like she trapped him with the pregnancy, and he wonders at how his 20s could have gone without the commitment. They move to California and Joan teaches ballet. As their son Harry grows, he becomes obsessed with ballet (and, unfortunately, Arslan) and soon shows himself to have an innate talent for the art form. Joan engineered this life for him, but when it looks like her dreams for him might come true, is she ready to cede control of her son’s life to a career that spat her out?

We jump around in time throughout the novel, from the 1970s to the early 2000s. We see the fall out of Joan’s relationship with Arslan and later witness her role in his defection to the USA. The story feels rooted in true ballet history, and those familiar with it will note the similarities between some of the characters and real figures, but it feels as though you could enjoy it just as much without. Arslan’s defection and those of other dancers who follow suit are dealt with interestingly. From a relationship perspective we see how entwined Joan was with his initial escape, how essential she was to finding him somewhere to live and protecting him from the press, patiently conversing with him in English with the assistance of a dictionary. It doesn’t take too long for her to begin to feel sidelined. He takes other lovers, and she fears that perhaps seeing her dance, knowing she will never be a star, lessens her in his eyes. We never see events through his eyes but he tries to explain to her the enormity of his decision to leave the Soviet Union, the danger those he left behind would be in as a result of his escape. Joan never seems to fully comprehend this, always obsessed with their passion, his perceived rejection of her. Later in the novel we see yet more vulnerability in him behind the public facade, the dreams that never came true.

Relationships are the heart of the story. Their new neighbour in California, Sandy, befriends Joan but also doesn’t really like her, something she wishes weren’t true. She is jealous of Joan for having kept her figure after having a baby, of being the one who draws the attention of men, for the strange exercises she sees her doing in the garden. Jealousy is no stranger to Joan, who has often felt it herself toward more skilled dancers. It seems inherent in her chosen profession, the constant comparisons, the competition, the endless striving. We don’t see all that much of Sandy’s relationship with her husband directly, but we do see how she responds to the attention of others, how he is out of work but sees it as a bad thing if she works, and their eventual sad ending. It doesn’t feel like a fulfilling marriage for either of them. Jacob and Joan also don’t exude happiness. Joan expresses the feeling that she can sense Jacob falling out of love with her, while he has patiently waited for her to really love him. Their disagreement over having a second baby doesn’t help, nor does their son’s obsession with her former lover. For a relationship he felt so certain would be the one for him, believing always that eventually they would be together, it feels sad to see how unsatisfying the reality is. There is a discomfort that comes from reading these relationships, a reality to them that is not romantic but steeped in truth.

The next generation seems to repeat some of the same stories as Harry falls for Sandy’s daughter Chloe. She is very happy to spend time with him outside of school and at ballet, but as soon as they are around others she pretends they don’t know each other. He finds it fascinating to see how the other boys react to her, how they don’t really feel anything for her, just want to see how far she’ll let them go, to explore their sexuality. He also notes how her lithe body shaped by ballet makes her popular and desirable, yet for him it is a point of derision by his peers. He spends so much time with her, touching her in their dances, yet lacks of a different kind of intimacy. Their story may not be destined to play out as Jacob and Joan’s did however, as his talents at ballet may give him more opportunities, and boosts his confidence beyond what their local school has taught him to feel.

This is an interesting read with a tangle of romantic and platonic relationships. We see the tougher side of ballet and what it does to those in that world. It feels dysfunctional and harsh, yet causes obsession for many of the characters. Shipstead explores how the decisions we make impact not just our lives but those around us, and at what point our responsibility for others starts and ends. There are some genuinely moving passages, and although there are some slightly questionable plot points, overall it is an enjoyable read which brings to life the passion which makes great art at the expense of all else. A brilliant read for fans of ballet, but one that anyone could get a lot out of. 

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Voyager, Diana Gabaldon

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This is a review of book three in the Outlander series. This review may therefore contain some spoilers for earlier novels in the series.

In this third book in the Outlander series, readers are thrown back into the world of Jamie and Claire, separated by hundreds of years, but holding on to the love they have for each other. As the novel develops the focus shifts into a high seas adventure, with pirates, shipwreck, and some supernatural goings on to keep the reader hooked. We meet new characters, catch up with old ones, and watch as Jamie and Claire come to know each other again.

We learnt at the end of book two that Jamie Fraser hadn’t died at Culloden as planned, and Voyager take us to the battlefield to find out exactly what happened. The narrative is then split between the eighteenth and twentieth centuries, Jamie’s escape from slaughter and imprisonment, and Claire’s attempt to find out what happened to him, Brianna coming to terms with the idea of a father lost to her in the past. Covering twenty years in half a book, even in one of this length, means we get the highlights (or, indeed, lowlights, as they often seem to be) but Gabaldon weaves the tale carefully, giving us enough to understand the shifts in character, the choices they were forced to make, their trials and successes. Jamie has by no means had an easy life, for one, he was determined to die at Culloden, and the thought that his beloved wife has travelled away, alive but unreachable, is unbearable. As seems his natural role in life, he frequently becomes a leader in any group he finds himself in. Men look to him for guidance, and his skills, enhanced by some modern knowledge passed on by Claire, helps them through months of malnutrition and suffering. His role as leader also brings him closer to Lord John Grey, with whom he builds a friendship, bonding over the game of chess. This friendship will prove useful many times throughout the course of the novel, and likely beyond. After years of strife and hard work, he settles in Edinburgh as a printer, with a side hustle in printing pamphlets that would get him arrested, and in smuggling, he is never one for a simple life. 

We see Claire both with her grown-up daughter and in flashbacks of her life with Frank after returning through the stones. Their marriage was never a happy one after their period of separation, Frank was not faithful, but would not leave her and Brianna, who he loved dearly. He struggled to understand her desire to train as a doctor, but when it came to it, would support her in her ambitions. We see Claire struggle with motherhood and with her grief over losing Jamie, loving him desperately while married to another, who just so happens to disturbingly resemble a cruel ancestor they had far too many altercations with in the past. The interacting lives and loves between Jamie, Claire, and Frank is one of the most interesting aspects of the series so far, and this book really allows us to delve deep into the mechanics of it. Ultimately, the tale of Claire and Frank is a tragic one, sacrificed at the altar of her love for Jamie. Bringing her back to the modern day, when they have finally pinpointed Jamie and discovered that he might still be alive if Claire travelled back, she has a heartbreaking decision to make - remain separated from her soulmate, or leave her daughter, most likely permanently.

The fact there are six more books in the series after this one would suggest the answer is she chooses Jamie, but this is not without its complications. For all she knows, he could be happily married with a new family, she might not travel back to the right time, or she might not be able to find him. The risk is not insignificant, and having been apart for two decades they have a lot of catching up to do. We do drop right into the action but Gabaldon returns time and again to the fact they need to get to know each other again, to fall in love with the people they have become. Their love is as all consuming as it’s ever been, and Jamie is soon reminded what it’s like to have a wife who constantly seems to find herself in difficult situations, but they don’t fall back to where they were when she left. They have to come to terms with what they’ve done in the interim.

The second half of the novel focuses more on their travels by sea in an attempt to rescue their nephew Ian. Jamie continues to suffer from extreme seasickness and you feel as the reader the claustrophobia of life at sea, willing the journey to go faster so that he can be back on solid ground. This becomes quite a complex part of the novel, with many changes of location, other ships, and new characters introduced. Claire and Jamie are temporarily separated again, and when they come back together they discover an old adversary who seems to have nefarious plans for their family. We are also confronted with the reality of the slave trade, in full swing at this point in history. Claire is naturally horrified but soon realises that her actions, albeit with good intentions, only make those enslaved suffer more. 

An enjoyable read, but with such a huge expanse that the first half almost feels like a completely separate book. There are some uncomfortable racial stereotypes included, and an odd obsession with the expanded weight of one returning character, which is unnecessary, but overall it feels like Gabaldon is growing in her confidence and skills. The action comes quick and fast and as soon as the characters extricate themselves from one sticky situation they seem to find themselves in another. There is further discussion of the mechanics of time travel in the Outlander universe, and a fun theory on how it has helped with the legend of the Loch Ness monster. An engaging read full of emotion, peril, and some swashbuckling adventure. 

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