Browsing the Bookshelves

A quirky short story - just 80 pages or so - which starts off rooted in the earthy reality of football, adultery and jealousy but becomes increasingly bizarre as the narrative progresses. Leo and Trevor are twins. Separated shortly after birth, they were unaware of each others' inexistence until a chance encounter led to their reunion.  Augustus relates in direct and dramatic style how that reunion affects their lives and ultimately comes full circle, accounting for manipulation and human weakness which led to their separation. This is gritty humanity unwritten with emotion; its family dynamics interlaced with spirituality; it’s the south London immigrant community meets psycho. Patrick's style is forthright, choppy, and very funny in places, which keeps the narrative moving along at a cracking pace. In the end though, although I thoroughly enjoyed Don’t' Make Me Laugh, I found it a little unsatisfying. I wanted to know more of the brothers, more of their mother who abandoned them, and more of their father and more of how the pain and betrayal that each has inflicted on the others affects their lives.

Charlotte Perkins Gilman provides a stunning and disturbing account of a women's decline into madness.   Margaret Atwood comments in the Blind Assassin that life little more than a period of waiting interspersed with a few significant moments. For the nameless women in The Yellow Wallpaper, this is one of those moments. Over a three moment period we see in acute and distressingly real detail how her inability to match her identity with the role of submissive wife that late Victorian society demanded leads to a steady, inexorable descent from sagacity to despair. Suffering from some unnamed illness - which modern readers might relate to post-natal depression, she is confined to a room for rest and sleep. Unable to find any outlet for emotion or intellect, she becomes obsessed with the room's wallpaper - it's complex and endless pattern of pointless swirls. At first she just dislikes it, then hatred bordering on fear follows, to be usurped by a semi-dependent fascination and ultimately total identity: she becomes, not so much the wallpaper, but the embodiment of the creeping women who dwell, reluctantly, behind the pattern.

It is a picture of personal despair, of desperate attempts to retain sanity and ultimately of failure.  On one level it's a chilling horror tale reminiscent of Edgar Allan Poe. On another it is a clinically precise picture of a mental aberration. But it is more than that.  A powerful indictment of the institution of marriage, of the social mores and misguided kindliness of late Victorian middle-class America, and of the treatment of women, Gilman's story is as timeless as it is authentic.

for the absence of posts recently. In part it's just bad organisation and laziness on my behalf. But I've also has a short spell in hospital and have struggled to catch with life in almost every sphere.  But I'm still blogging, still reading, still wild releasing books and still working. So that's all good I guess. And here's to keep this up-to-date a little more frequently.  And for starters:

This is what bank holidays are for - doing nothing much and having great fun at the same time. A guilty conscience about a missed deadline dragged my into the office for a couple of hours this morning. The sun creeping out and burning off the earlier rain tempted me out again. Wild releasing a book or two on my way home, I had one of those great drives that gives you a real kick: 9 sets of lights on the run all in my favour and very little traffic. Office to home in 22 minutes flat. Sometimes it's hard to believe that this is London!

A leisurely afternoon mouching around on the PC and a short novel promising to be finished in time for tea. And then I get to dress up in new clothes before heading off to see Paul Anka in concert at the Albert Hall. Even better, Rod's driving so I'll get to have a glass or two of something good!

This novel is, quite simply, gorgeous. In elegant yet accessible prose, Atwood relates the compelling, intriguing and thought-provoking story of Iris and her younger sister Laura growing up isolated in small town, war-torn Canada in the early part of the 20th century. Intertwined is a story of unnamed lovers whose experiences and emotions alternatively match and juxtaposition the story of the sisters. And further intertwined is a third story, set on a planet far, far way of a mute girl destined to be sacrificed for the glory of nothing and a blind assassin set to kill her.

Iris, the eldest, is the dominant character and for the most part the novel is told through her voice. Unsophisticated and humanly flawed, Iris struggles to make sense of the world around her while Laura remains vaguely drawn and a little ethereal.  Their mother dies giving birth leaving the children to the care of their distant and disturbed father, Norval. Iris agrees to marry nouveau-riche Richard Chase in an attempt to save her father's business and to protect her sister. But Richard betrays Iris and Norval dies. Leaving Iris, ill-prepared and unsupported, to look after her wayward sister. Thus is the scene is set for an intriguing mystery and a touching, devastating account of young - and lifelong - love. You're just never sure whose love, until the very end.

The premise may sound complicated, but don't be put off. Atwood guides the reader so well, so gently, that the action moves effortless between the nested narratives, leaving the reader riveted but not confused.  Atwood's prize winning novel is at once a masterpiece, a great read, a good mystery and by far the best book I've read so far this read.