Forfatter: Mirthful

In which we find that you shouldn’t judge a book by its cover.

The clothes do make a man. I picked The Memory of All That up in a charity shop in Prestwick because I found the cover attractive. That was probably related to me and Linda having spent a lot of time talking about Audrey Hepburn lately.

Well, they do say not to judge a book by it’s cover, and maybe they’re right. This was a very readable novel, no doubt about that, and the main character (who is also the narrator) definitely holds the reader’s attention while the novel lasts. However, once I’d turned the last page yesterday and shut the book, it seemed to fade very quickly from my mind. I can remember the plot all right, it just doesn’t seem to have any significance whatsoever beyond entertainment value for a few hours. I don’t know.

In which we wonder: What’s with the realism?

The good ladies at Pemberley have talked so much about I Capture the Castle that when I found it at Waterstone’s 3 for 2 sale, I obviously jumped at the chance to finally read it. I’d like to say I was not disappointed, unfortunately that would not be entirely true.

All they have said about the story is correct. The narrator is captivating. The characters deliciously eccentric and real. The story flows along and drags you ever onwards – it’s not a book you want to put down.

And then it ends. Realistically ambigiously, no doubt about that, but not on the ‘they lived happily ever after’ note that I was hoping for. Hang realism, I like ‘they lived happily ever after’.

If this continues I am going to have to start reading Mills&Boons.

In which we are delighted and annoyed, but mostly annoyed.

I found Mrs P’s Journey: The Remarkable Story of the Woman Who Created the A-Z Map by Sarah Hartley in a charity shop somewhere along the way. I must admit I had never heard of Phyllis Pearsall before, and neither had it really occurred to me that the A-Z is something that must have been «created» at some point – it seems like such a fixture – though on reflection it’s pretty obvious that it hasn’t always been around… This, of course, was motivation enough to make the book an interesting purchase.

«Remarkable story» is right, Phyllis Pearsall was some lady, and her life seems to have contained enough events to fill more than the one little volume this book is. However, I found Hartley’s style increasingly annoying, which did detract a lot from the pleasure of reading about Mrs. P. «Disorganised and haphazard» are words that come to mind. An example: Phyllis is living in Paris, having a hard time making ends meet, she hears of an English-language magazine and thinks «I could write for that», she sits at a table writing an article when she first lays eyes on Vladimir Nabokov, she goes to visit the magazine in question to ask if she may write for them and is told to submit an article which she sits down to do a few days later… The article she is writing when she first sees Nabokov. That is the exact order in which the events are related, and Nabokov is only mentioned in passing to surface again three pages later once the whole visiting-the-magazine-and-settling-down-to-write episode is over.

Maybe I’m easily annoyed. Whatever. I still decided to bring the book home with me once I’d finished rather than leave it, so I guess that means I’m planning on reading it again one day.

In which we feel pointlessness.

Still not sated with all things Irish (probably because the trip was looming large in my mind) I decided to pop down to Tanum and see if I could find a suitable book to bring to read while on the road, preferably one I could easily dump once I’d done with it. I picked up No News at Throat Lake by Lawrence Donegan, and it pretty much fulfilled the purpose.

Donegan escapes city life and goes to live in rural north of Ireland, and relates his trials with humour. However, as the whole thing ends with him chucking it and moving back to the big city, I was left with a feeling that the whole thing was somewhat pointless, and though I’m sure he’d learnt a thing or two about himself, he didn’t really relate it effectively enough for me to feel that the whole experience wasn’t just a complete waste of time.

Luckily, that meant I was not tempted to carry the book home with me – finished it while in Ennis, and left it there, with a bookcrossing label inside.