Lost In A Good Book, Jasper Fforde

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The second book in Fforde’s Thursday Next series picks up soon after book one, The Eyre Affair, finished. Thursday is uncomfortably in the spotlight after her adventures in Jane Eyre, with her boss constantly trying to push more publicity work on her. She is happily married to Landen and generally keeping herself out of books. That is until the Goliath Corporation eradicates Landen and threatens that it will be permanent if she doesn’t go into The Raven to save Jack Schitt. Goliath can’t be trusted, and even regular book jumpers refuse to go into Edgar Allan Poe works, but if she is to have any hope of seeing her husband again in the flesh she must find a way. In attempting to save her husband she joins forces with Jurisfiction, an organisation which polices the literary world, and is apprenticed to Miss Havisham. Without access to the Prose Portal which allowed her to jump into Jane Eyre, she must learn to read herself into the books she needs to access, something which doesn’t come particularly naturally.

If all that sounds quite wild, then this is exactly the sense of the novel. Puns and literary allusions come thick and fast and you feel yourself in a farcical world while having a great time. Undoubtedly these books will appeal to avid readers with a chance to hop into novels and see your favourite characters through a different lens. Despite all the craziness of the novel there is still a human heart to it. Thursday has lost her husband, forgotten by all around her, and only accessible through her memories. Her own mother is able to relate, having lost her husband in similar circumstances. We do see Thursday interact with her father throughout the novel, but are constantly aware that he is only a fleeting figure in her life, she’s never sure when she’ll be able to see him again, and she fears the loss of Landen permanently. 

We see characters both within their literary setting, and without. Miss Havisham roams the Library where the Cheshire Cat presides, and we hear of Heathcliff’s brief Hollywood career. Miss Havisham and the Red Queen have a brutal rivalry and a book sale becomes very violent as they fight to get their hands on a rare bargain. Jurisfiction meetings are held in the world of Sense and Sensibility and we have the unusual pleasure of seeing characters who are used to book wanderers appearing in their stories interacting. The considerations that need to be made about exactly when to appear in the novel for maximum impact, or minimum detection are made frequently, and we wonder at length how Thursday will ever succeed in what feels like an impossible mission. This is a fun book, best read with expectations left at the door.

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The Princes of Pauper’s Pond, Lars Elling (translated by Don Bartlett)

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This post is part of a blog tour. Thank you to Random Things Tours and Orenda Books for providing me with a copy of the book in exchange for an honest review.

As children, Arnstein and Truls were incredibly close. Their father, aware of the impending war that was coming, was keen that they learn survival skills and would leave them to fend for themselves in the forest for weeks at a time, never too far from home that they wouldn’t be able to seek help if they really needed it. Seventy years later and the brothers barely speak. They live directly next to each other, and silently argue every year when the apples drop, sweeping them from one side to the other. Arnstein’s grandson Filip is intrigued by what caused the rift and as the story unfolds gradually we are always aware that tragedy is not far off.

The narrative is split between 1912 and 1985 and we feel the shift in time. Arnstein and Truls grew up with the threat of war hanging over them but oblivious in their childhood of the horrors that lay ahead. They enjoy their time in the Norwegian forest, claiming their little kingdom and learning about the natural world. There are some quite grizzly scenes of animals being killed, and the horror of the boys when their traps work a little too well. There is an innocence and naivety about them, always tinged with a sadness, knowing that their closeness will be broken.

Through Filip’s eyes we see the strain of their estrangement, the stubbornness of both men to heal the rift. He is a teenager, on the cusp of leaving school and trying to work out the world for himself. An aspiring artist, we see his struggles as he strives for improvement, and the blunt honesty he receives from his elders. He must also come to terms with the realisation that his grandparents were once young and full of hopes and dreams themselves. Can he learn from their paths to find a more harmonious route through his own life?

Elling’s debut novel is frequently beautifully written, gently paced and meditative. It didn’t have me rushing back to it but it’s enjoyable once you have picked it up (except perhaps some of the more gruesome scenes, depending on your squeamishness). A thoughtful examination of family dynamics, trauma, and generational impact.

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Fluke: Chance, Chaos, and Why Everything We Do Matters, Brian Klaas

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In this very readable book Klaas takes us through theories that may shift the way you think about the world. It starts quite heavily with a tale about how the target for the first atomic bomb was chosen, and with a personal story from the author’s own family, involving a horrible mass murder, without which he wouldn’t exist. This idea that everything that’s happened before leads us to where we are now is repeated throughout, possibly leaving the reader to struggle with a sense that they have no control over the events of their own life, while simultaneously having a huge impact on the world around us and the events of both our own and other people’s lives.

Klaas references the idea of the ‘Garden of the Forking Paths’, as explored in Jorge Luis Borges’ story of the same name. In it, the thought is that each step we take opens some routes and closes others to us. Similarly, other people’s decisions may also be closing off possibilities for us which we will never know about. Klaas recounts some incredible stories where people’s actions change the course of another’s life, from a lost toy at sea saving someone’s life, to the simple gift of a tie doing the same. Klaas’ argument is that these things aren’t actually as rare and unlikely as we imagine, that because of the nature of how events unfold it is inevitable that these flukes of luck will happen.

On the topic of luck, he also explores the idea of genius, and the misconception that those who are most wealthy should also be the most intelligent or hard working, where in fact the number of extremely intelligent people is so small that the likelihood is that the ultra-wealthy will more often than not come from the mass of people with middle level intelligence. He points to the fact there is a lot of luck involved in being very successful. 

If you’re feeling a little disheartened and insignificant from this line of thinking, rest assured that Klaas also believes that the person carrying out the actions are important. He gives the example of Charles Darwin. He came up with the theory of evolution around the same time as Alfred Russel Wallace was exploring similar ideas. Not only was there some chance involved in Darwin being on the Beagle, allowing him to have the experiences he needed to develop his ideas, but Klaas believes it’s possible that if Wallace had published the ideas he may not have been taken seriously for a number of reasons. Yes, it is often true that inventions and new ideas are developed by multiple people almost simultaneously, but Klaas’ argument is that it is contingent on who it is that shares their findings to have them accepted and popularised.

Toward the end of the book Klaas also looks inward at the study of social sciences and discusses the problems inherent in research. Ten different researchers can be carrying out experiments on a particular hypothesis, but only the one whose results prove it are likely to publish, thus ignoring the failed attempts of others and giving a skewed version of reality. Even when results are peer reviewed and validated, repeating them and gaining the same results can be challenging. Further still, he discusses a study which showed that if you give the same data to many groups of researchers the way they work with the data will mean that different conclusions are drawn. 

An interesting book with plenty of fascinating examples of the strangeness of life. Even as a lay reader some of the anecdotes and studies were familiar, but a refresher is no bad thing. It didn’t completely blow my mind or change the way I think about life but it did make me think. A very accessible look at some big, complex ideas. 

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The Pirate Queen, Ariel Lawhon

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This post is part of a blog tour. Thank you to Random Things Tours and Swift Press for providing me with a copy of the book in exchange for an honest review.

In this exhilarating new historical fiction Lawhon takes us through Grace O’Malley’s/Grainné Ní Mháille’s eventful life in a non-linear narrative showing her at different stages of life - Mistress, Mother, and Matriarch. Grace is drawn to the sea from a young age and longs to spend her days sailing, seeing other countries, and generally ignoring gender expectations. Unfortunately, living in the sixteenth century, she cannot be her father’s official heir, and is expected to marry strategically. The shifting narrative variously gives us glimpses into her future or shows us how she got to the place we meet her. She is a young girl learning to fight with a knife, a mother with a husband she hates, and a prisoner of her lifetime enemy, Richard Bingham. We can see from the start that her life will not be calm or peaceful.

Grace is an impressive, commanding figure, the de facto leader of the clan, but we do see a softer side of her at times. Her longterm love of Richard Bourke, reciprocated strongly, leads to some of the most touching passages in the novel. Having glimpses into her future also allows us to know when certain things are not going to work out for her, and it’s interesting to see how all the pieces fall into place. Unfortunately, her first marriage is not a happy one. Her husband is unkind and violent and we see how little power she has when those around her refuse to concede to her. The experience makes her wary and determined never to find herself in such a position again. We see time and again throughout that she is more than able to hold her own, and by her teenage years has developed skills in physically protecting herself. 

With a character such as Grace it would be easy for her to become unrelatable, untouchable and distant, but Lawhon keeps her rooted in family, relationships, frustrations, and hopes, making her feel very real and believable. Her parents are kind and affectionate, but make decisions she regrets. She also feels regret at some of the decisions she has been forced to make in the raising of her own children. Her relationship with her half-brother Donal is a close one and we see them grow together. Richard is shown to be there for her from a young age, stepping in to protect her when he can. Quietly attempting to make her life easier without expecting much in return. 

Of course, there is also much swashbuckling action. Ships are boarded, captains killed, and lands change hands at sword point. The politics of Ireland, England, and Spain are examined. A complex story is woven skilfully so you don’t feel lost even if you go in with no prior knowledge. Lawhon maintains a strong mix of action, violence, and more human stories. There are scenes depicting attempted sexual assault, and references to attacks, as is common in historical fiction, but Lawhon does not dwell unnecessarily. We are aware of the danger to women in this period without gratuitous descriptions. A thoroughly enjoyable book about a historical figure I knew nothing about before reading it, but who I came to care for throughout.

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The Unconsoled, Kazuo Ishiguro

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Mr Ryder arrives in an unspecified European city, one in which the inhabitants are despairing. Mr Brodsky, the local star conductor, has fallen to alcoholism and Mr Christoff, a once popular cellist, has fallen out of favour. They feel a desperation that culture is crumbling around them and that Ryder’s presence and imminent performance will help rectify this. The novel proceeds to take us through Ryder’s time in the city, pulled from one obligation to another, aware that his schedule is very full but unsure of what exactly it entails. The novel starts slowly and seems to shift reality. He goes to meet people he doesn’t know only for them to seemingly be his intimates. He is not from this city but continually bumps into people from his past with unusual regularity. Reality is never quite what it seems. He doesn’t know his way around, unable to find his way to apartments he should be familiar with, and distance and time bend, making him travel long distances only to find himself just around the corner from the hotel in which he is staying. This can be quite disorienting but seems to settle somewhat as the novel progresses, or perhaps you merely become accustomed to the unruliness of reality.

Ryder is an intriguing character. We hear from others that he is an unpleasant, demanding man, but for the most part we don’t see him acting as such, although there are glimmers, and toward the end they become more frequent. He will be within earshot of people planning unfortunate events for him and insulting his personality and yet appears not to hear or care. Every time he tries to rest he is interrupted and sent on another errand, and while he attempts to keep his obligations he is so easily swayed into a new task that he is constantly letting people down. As the performance edges closer he becomes increasingly anxious that he hasn’t had time to practice, and that he hasn’t even settled on which piece he will play. His attempts to reclaim his time are largely unsuccessful as the climax of other character’s stories come to a head and Ryder is always at least partially involved.

Ishiguro does a good job of drawing the characters and their situations in such a way that you feel for them despite only quite brief passages devoted to them. Some characters are fleeting, others repeating. Mr Brodsky is a constant throughout, as is Mr Hoffman, the manager of the hotel. In the final fifth or so we see the realities of their lives unfold, often learning of tragic backstories while they scramble to find a way to make their present and future more satisfying. Relationships are fraught, well worn lies are confronted, and we see how expectations build up unfairly on younger members of families. There are some truly upsetting passages as well as some farce, creating a strange mix of humour and emotion. 

There are many examples of bad parenting in this novel. We learn early on that the friendly hotel porter Gustav continues to have a relationship with his daughter Sophie but that he let her down emotionally while she was young and she hasn’t said a word to him since. Ryder, in his sometimes role as father/guardian of Sophie’s son Boris, upsets her by similarly sitting by while Boris suffers. The Hoffmans treat their son Stephan with surface level politeness and feigned support, while completely dismissing his dreams and abilities. Ryder’s own parents, who he has been so eager to ensure are well looked after, don’t show up for him time and again. There are reflections of situations in different characters leading some to suggest they are versions of Ryder at different stages of his life.

In all a very curious novel. It’s a book that demands your attention and reflection but manages to be very readable nonetheless. Many have described it as like reading a long anxiety dream, and although I completely understand this interpretation, I didn’t feel the anxiety transferring to me in the same way as it did in Ducks, Newburyport, for example. My first Ishiguro and I’m well aware it wasn’t an easy one to begin with, but I enjoyed the writing and would be interested to read more of his work.

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The Haunted Wood: A History of Childhood Reading, Sam Leith

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Leith takes us on a journey through childhood reading, and by association, attitudes to childhood, from Aesop to Philip Pullman with many a firm favourite in between. This isn’t a small book at just shy of six hundred pages, but it is very easy to read and will fill you with the magic and joy of childhood reading. The idea of children’s publishing didn’t really come into existence until the Edwardian period, so many of the books we think of as children’s literature before then wouldn’t have been considered as such at the time, but it has absolutely thrived since. Although initially children’s books were designed to morally guide the reader, as children increasingly played a role in choosing their reading material it has shifted into focussing more on entertainment for them, often with a good dose of naughtiness involved.

In taking us through some of the best beloved British children’s stories (with some American publications thrown in for their undeniable impact on the genre) we also learn much of their authors. Leith points to the fact children’s books are often nostalgic, being rooted in the time their authors remember from their own youth, even if they update the setting with modern touches such as computers and smart phones. In exploring the lives of the authors we see how often they suffered trauma in their childhoods or young adult lives. Often those traumas are steadfastly absent from their books, instead choosing to create a comforting world where the darkness doesn’t enter, or in which evil is always overcome by the final pages. He tackles the less savoury aspects of some beloved authors’ personalities, a difficult thing to come to terms with sometimes when their creations were so central to your imaginative life as a child. And yes, he does also address the controversy around JK Rowling, offering the kinder suggestion that perhaps the reason her readers have turned so vehemently against her because of her views is that they learnt great empathy in reading her books in their youth.

At the heart of the book is the magic of children’s literature which stirs up nostalgic feelings of wonder in the reader. Leith examines some books in more detail and it’s interesting to consider books I loved as a child in more depth, placing them in the great traditions of children’s writing, exploring ways they challenge ideas and offer children insights into other lives, helping them develop empathy. It was quite delightful to return to favourite books and authors, but also to discover ones that passed me by and which I’m keen to read in the future. 

A great read which makes you question things you took at face value as a child reader (why do the animals in Beatrix Potter’s books sometimes act as if they were humans, at others as animals, while varying greatly in realistic size to ones more akin to humans?). The mini biographies of the authors are fascinating and reveal much about the origins of some of our longest surviving tales, as well as discussing the power of more recent authors such as Malorie Blackman and Jacqueline Wilson doing a huge amount to increase representation in children’s books and the life-changing impact this has on readers. A warm hug of a book, I’ll leave you with a quote from toward the end, which is a reminder of why reading may just be the cure to some of the world’s current problems. ‘The paradox of social media is that it places you in a crowd of millions and makes you feel alone. Storybooks are paradoxical in the opposite way: you consume them alone, but the act of consuming them makes you feel less alone.’

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The Story of the Lost Child, Elena Ferrante (translated by Ann Goldstein)

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The compelling conclusion to Ferrante’s stunning Neapolitan Quartet picks up where the previous book left off. Elena and Nino are in the midst of an affair and on the cusp of taking steps that make their relationship their primary one, leaving their spouses and children. The first sections of the novel are focused on this relationship and its implications, for Elena specifically. Eventually she moves back to the old neighbourhood in Naples and Lila becomes ever more present in her life. When they both fall pregnant around the same time their bond grows closer as they face the challenges of being mothers again at a later stage in life. Will the devastating loss of the eponymous child shake them beyond repair, and will we finally learn the reason for Lila’s disappearance as laid out in the first novel by Elena looking back on their lives?

Elena’s relationship with Nino is frustrating. He is clearly treating her badly, trying to have the best of both worlds, and yet she can’t make herself leave him for good. It is only quite late in the novel where she sees him clearly for the first time. When their baby is young and Pietro continues to be present in her life, trying to support her, Nino is jealous and makes her send him away. Of course, when Pietro goes Nino does not step up. He is selfish and jealous, self serving, and makes life difficult for her. Thankfully, she has Lila nearby able to help with her daughters, although this can be something of a mixed blessing. 

Her sense of competition with Lila never leaves her. Elena can’t let go of the feeling that Lila is better than her, more intelligent, a better writer. Elena is the successful writer, respected in intellectual circles, and yet that lack of confidence lingers. Lila is no doubt impressive, in this novel running a computer business. She is inquisitive and able to learn seemingly anything if she puts her mind to it. But she is also quick to anger and has been limited by her circumstances. This is perhaps what Elena fears most, the rage that must have built up having such a bright mind but not being allowed to use it to its full potential. Indeed, people in the neighbourhood come to see Lila as an alternative power to the Solaras, such is her influence. 

The neighbourhood remains a dangerous place and Elena uses it to feed her work. When her reflections are published she questions whether she should have taken so much from life. She attempts to obscure the real characters she’s writing about but is unsuccessful, and the publishers relish the look behind the curtain into a very different kind of life, making it central to the publicity around her book in a way that feels uncomfortable. We see also the neighbourhood through the eyes of her daughters, who have experienced the comfort and safety of other parts of Italy. Despite the challenges and her financial position allowing her to move away, she stays. Her and Lila’s lives become closely intertwined as they live in close proximity and their children form tight bonds. 

There are many times throughout the book where family relationships are discussed, Lila and Elena's role as mothers, wives and partners. Their changing approaches to motherhood and the devastation of a lost child, how a moment can change something fundamental in you, is examined. We see how Elena’s daughters react to having absent fathers, and how the involvement of Pietro and Nino seriously impacts their sense of self worth and confidence. We also see how they interact with their elders. Elena’s relationship with her former mother-in-law and her own mother and how their ageing and ill health helps shift her perspective. They may have difficult, sometimes judgmental relationships, but they are important, and when they are gone forever it leaves a hole that can’t be filled. 

At the heart of the novel, as always, is Elena and Lila. We see them at times reflect on their childhood behaviour, and continue to be cruel to each other. Elena makes difficult decisions about what she can and can’t include in her writing, jeopardising relationships with those who have been in her life for as long as she can remember. Lila, in her generosity in looking after Elena’s children to allow her the freedom to pursue her career also seems to use it as a weapon. Theirs is a complex, fraught friendship but one that is ultimately essential to both of them. As they age throughout the novel we see both their insecurities and their sense of how they are perceived by others develop. We see everything through the lens of Elena’s insecurities, or is there some of Lila in the telling of the story? A heightened version of many friendships perhaps, but one that will be familiar to people who have tried to retain friendships throughout their lives. The inherent jealousy and judgment, love and struggle is perhaps something people try not to face in their own relationships but more often than not will be there to some degree.

This is a powerful conclusion to a breathtaking series of books. Ferrante brings to life the Italy of the 1970s and 80s and what it means to be a woman during this period of change. Times may have changed but working mothers are likely to see much of their lives in the struggle Elena has balancing her family and professional life. A broad host of characters are managed skilfully across the four novels, bringing them to a satisfying conclusion without ever feeling tokenistic or overly neat. Terrible things happen and we are told about them in such a matter of fact way it hits hard but takes a moment for the full realisation to kick in. A truly remarkable series, and the final instalment does not disappoint.

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Read my thoughts of the first three books:

My Brilliant Friend

The Story Of A New Name

Those Who Leave And Those Who Stay