Kategori: Aardwolf – one hit wonders

The Thirteenth Tale – Diane Setterfield

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The Thirteenth Tale by Diane Setterfield was passed on to me from my mother, who thought I’d like it. And I did, sort of. After all it’s hard not to like a story where books are so much the be all and end all.

It’s a hard book to put down, and the tale was gripping enough, but once I had read the last page I was left feeling somewhat unsatisfied. Though the plot is clever and the booklore abundant I missed some sort of deeper connection with the story. None of the characters really stayed with me past the last page, and they shoukd have.

Anyway, here’s one of the passages on reading to which I cried «Oh, sister!» (well, not really, but I certainly felt recognition):

I have always been a reader; I have read at every stage of my life, and there has never been a time when reading was not my greatest joy. And yet I cannot pretend that the reading I have done in my adult years matches in its impact on my soul the reading I did as a child. I still believe in stories. I still forget myself when I am in the middle of a good book. Yet it is not the same. Books are, for me, it must be said, the most important thing; what I cannot forget is that there was a time when they were at once more banal and more essential than that. When I was a child, books were everything. And so there is in me, always, a nostalgic yearning for the lost pleasure of books. It is not a yearning that one ever expects to be fulfilled.

Lessons from the Land of Pork Scratchings – Greg Gutfeld

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I bought Lessons from the Land of Pork Scratchings by Greg Gutfeld in London in July, partly because, well «A Miserable Yank Finds Happiness in the UK» appealed to me as an anglophile, partly because I like books about Britain, and partly because it says

«A Bill Bryson for the noughties» – Daily Mirror

on the front. I guess I should have known not to trust a quote from the Daily Mirror. Shame on me.

Well, I can tell you, a Bill Bryson he ain’t.

AND, and I can’t believe the first time I ever feel the need to say this in a blog post it’s for a review of a «travel book» on Britain: Trigger warning. Really.

I have an admission to make, I didn’t finish the book. I almost stopped reading at around page 20 and kept going partly because I was horribly fascinated and partly because I thought «someone really ought to point a few things out as regards this book». I made it to page 138 out of 239 before finally giving in.

The blurb on the back starts out cheerily «Battered sausages. Warm beer. Earl Grey tea in chipped mug. Morris dancers. Pub dogs. Car boot sales.» Which sounded good to me. I wish they’d added «Misogynist jokes» to the list, and I might have known to stay clear.

I would need to reread the first 20 or so pages to find the first place where my inner editor went «Strike this!», but the first instance that compelled me to mark the page for future reference was this:

Why do girls with backpacks always seem so tempting? I think it’s because if a week goes by and nobody has heard from them, it’s OK. (p. 22)

You what?

WHAT?

And so it went on. And on. Be wiser than me, don’t try to read this book.

Non-fiction

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Twenty Chickens for a Saddle – Robyn Scott
Since I finished Beadle the Bard during the flight to Oslo for a course and I hadn’t brought another book (I wasn’t expecting any reading time, actually), I swooped down on the non-fiction shelves at Tanum at OSL, and managed to pick this up and pay for it and still run to catch an earlier flight that my colleague had just realised we were in time for. (Yay for run-on sentences!) I don’t normally pay much attention to the blurbs on the cover of books, but in this case they had me even before I’d read the book’s title. The top of the cover reads: «A wonderful memoir of an exotic childhood. – Alexander McCall Smith». Sold! And he’s right, too. Robyn Scott grew up in Botswana with an, uhm, excentric collection of relatives and the book is full of wonderful detail and hilarious anecdotes, as well as some more serious topics, amongst them perfectly heartbreaking illumination of the emergence of HIV/AIDS in Botswana. One for your mnt tbr, dear reader.

Martha Jane & Me: A girlhood in Wales – Mavis Nicholson
I’ve never seen Mavis Nicholson on tv, as far as I know, and certainly had no idea who she was when I picked up this book second-hand on one of our pilgrimages to Britain. But then, this book does not really demand any prior knowledge of the writer, and though if you were a fan you’d find it an interesting read, I found it interesting enough in its own right. I’m not really a great one for biographies and memoirs as such, I’m not all that interested in how a great man or woman became great. What I am interested in is stories. That they happen to be non-fiction is fine with me, were they all fiction that would be fine, too.

All autumn

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I have been slacking. In my reading, yes, but obviously even more so in my blogging. Anyway, here is a – I believe – complete list of what’s been «going down»:

Sahara – Michael Palin
Pretty good. Informative, evocative, serious and occasionally laugh-out-loud-funny. Reminded me that I need to get hold of the follow-up to Travels with a Tangerine.

The Unbearable Lightness of Scones – Alexander McCall Smith
Quite delightful, as always.

Freedom’s Landing – Anne McCaffrey
As mentioned here, I got rather annoyed with McCaffrey for using «specimen» for «species» (twice!) and for including a couple of prejudiced, half-witted so-and-sos in order to introduce some conflict. I realise the second gripe is unfair, a conflictless book would, after all, be pretty boring, and so I put that down to my ongoing disagreement with Fiction in general. I rather enjoyed most of the book, and am looking forward to reading the sequel when Fiction and I are reconciled in the hopefully not too distant future.

Nød – Are Kalvø
In truth I only read about 50 pages, then started skimming and then I read the last few pages. I don’t know if it’s Kalvø or me, but it all seemed pretty pointless and tiresome.

Which brings the total tally this year to 45, methinks, and unless I am to fall short of the rather wimpy goal of one-book-a-week (oh, horror) I really need to get in some serious reading time over the holidays. We’ll see.

The Queen of Subtleties – Suzannah Dunn

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The Queen of Subtleties by Suzannah Dunn was found in a big basket of paperbacks in English in a charity shop in June. It happened to be on the top of a precarious pile on our office chair when I was in need of a new book to start reading, and so it got read.

I find I’ve been almost topical, what with the new Boleyn sisters film coming out in theatres over here just at this time. I’m not all that fascinated with the Boleyns as such, but I found this book intriguing mostly because of the other main protagonist, Lucy Cornwallis, the king’s confectioneer. Her story fascinated me, however, in that respect the novel is rather more disappointing than not, since there is less substance than I could have wished. I am asking too much, I suppose, as Dunn herself says nothing is known of Lucy Cornwallis except she is the only woman in an otherwise male-dominated household, and so any further details there might have been about how she ended up in such a position (which is mostly what intrigues me) would be pure speculation on Dunn’s part anyway, and I might as well speculate on my own. Still, quite a charming little book and it certainly left me wanting to read more about this period (just not another Anne Boleyn biography, not just yet, anyway). One of Dunn’s sources, Simon Thurley’s Henry Viii’s Kitchens at Hampton Court, goes straight onto my Mt TBR.

The Secret Life of a Slummy Mummy – Fiona Neill

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The Secret Life of a Slummy Mummy by Fiona Neill turned out to be rather different from what I expected (though I’d be hard put to pinpoint what I expected, so don’t ask), but very engaging, quite charming in it’s way and a bit of a pageturner, really. Not really laugh-out-loud funny, it has its moments, the style is approprately light without being too fluffy, it’s free from cringe-inducing lingustical fudging and I was even quite happy with the plotline and most importantly: How the story ended. A pretty good read, all in all.

Den lille stygge sjokoladeboka – Simen Sætre

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Jeg var litt tvilende til om jeg turte lese denne boka, faktisk. Ignorance is bliss og så videre. Vel, det viste seg at den forsåvidt ikke inneholdt så mye nytt. Jeg følte faktisk at de negative sidene ved sjokoladeproduksjon kunne vært utdypet og illustrert enda bedre. Flere sitater og historier fra kakaoplantasjearbeiderne – både de som er de facto slaver og de som har valgt jobben «frivillig». Fokus på sukkerproduksjon og all utbyttingen og utnyttingen som foregår der kunne kanskje også vært nevnt – det meste av sjokolade som selges i Norge inneholder tross alt en ganske stor andel sukker.

Allikevel, har du ikke lest side opp og side ned om slavearbeid og grunnene til at du bør handle Fair Trade om du kan bør du nok lese denne boka. Har du allerede lest side opp og side ned kan du godt lese boka allikevel, for den er såpass kort at det ikke er allverdens investering av tid, og noe nytt lærer du nok (det gjorde jeg, tross alt). Og den var vel med på å dytte meg over i et standpunkt jeg allikevel var i ferd med å ta, at sjokoladeinnkjøpene heretter bør være Fair Trade i enda større grad de også (kaffe, sukker, ris og bananer er nesten utelukkende det allerede, og vi jobber med andre produkter). Men jeg kommer nok til å kjøpe Freia melkesjokolade også i fremtiden, bare kanskje ikke så ofte. Problemet er nemlig at der Fair Trade kaffen, for eksempel, smaker like bra eller bedre enn alternativene er det ingen annen sjokolade som smaker som Freia melkesjokolade og dermed er det lite poeng i å proppe i seg lassevis med Fair Trade sjokolade i et forsøk på å tilfredstille behovet når det melder seg.

Hvis noen har funnet Fair Trade melkesjokolade som faktisk smaker godt tar jeg gjerne mot tips (når det gjelder mørk sjokolade er vi nemlig også nesten utelukkende på Fair Trade, men jeg sliter med melkesjokoladen).

April, May and much of June

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I swear I meant to write proper posts on some of these. However:

Police at the Funeral – Margery Allingham
Showed up in my mailbox as a sort of birthday present – bookcrossing style. A quirky and charming read and definitely an author to look out for later. I still haven’t quite decided who next to «inflict» this on, I think it takes a certain kind of reader… Hm.

Portnoy’s Complaint – Philip Roth
A little dreary, but good in its way – I think its supposed to be a little dreary, to be honest. Recognisable and not so recognisable themes of guilt and shame, religion and upbringing.

The Chronicles of Prydain – Lloyd Alexander
A reread occasioned by finding the first three books in Norwegian second-hand by chance.

Sputnik Sweetheart – Haruki Murakami
Also a bookcrossing copy, my suspicions that I’d like Murakami in novel-form was confirmed. A perfectly beautiful – though quite sinister – book, and very hard to put down once you’ve started.

Under the Duvet, Angels and The Other Side of the Story – Marian Keyes 
A three for one sale on Marian Keyes paperbacks, and these are the ones I came away with. Under the Duvet was entertaining, but possibly a little too light-hearted for my taste (even the pieces dealing with serious issues such as alchoholism somehow felt light-hearted, something Rachel’s Holiday – the novel dealing with the same issue – doesn’t). I realised, shortly after having started it, that I’ve read Angels before. Nevermind, I didn’t remember how it would all end and it was worth a reread (even if I still don’t really like the ending. Bah). The Other Side of the Story was, uhm, not quite up to Keys’ usual standard, I don’t think. I think partly it was the narrative form I didn’t like, it was slightly too disjointed to suit the overall style of the novel (or me, possibly).

The Vanishing Act of Esme Lennox – Maggie O’Farrell
Received from Tonbel, who grabbed the chance to get rid of some books while I was there. Most of them ended up bookcrossed, but this one she suggested I read, and I’m glad she did. The main problem with this book was that it was at least 400 pages too short. I wanted to know more, much more, and it left me (internally, I was on the bus) shouting «But what happened next?» Not that the story is unfinished as such, just that the characters were compelling enough to make me want to read more. I think I will have to put the books O’Farrell mentions as helpful when researching on my tbr list.

I’ve probably forgotten something here, oh well.

Since the middle of February

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The Tale of Desperaux – Di Collofello
Very sweet. Not exceptionally good, though, and with an underlying sort of morality which bothered me. Since I rather like rats I objected to the description of them being so nasty to look at and touch (especially in comparison with mice, which are, apparently, not nasty at all), but I can understand how it might be necessary for the story. However, I can’t quite excuse the idea that a rat is a rat and can never change his nature, it smacks – to me – a little of the I’m-trying-to-be-politically-correct-but-I’m-a-racist-really premise that all, say, negroes are lazy, but it’s in their nature and they can’t really help it. Balderdash.

Small Wars Permitting – Christina Lamb
Very interesting, highly readable. My father just finished this when I was trying to get through Sorting Out Billy (see below) and there was no competition, really, I jumped at the chance to read something else. Lamb manages to be both informative, profound and thought-provoking and at the same time laugh-out-loud funny in places. The book contains both newly written context material and quite a few of Lambs articles from various papers and both are equally readable and absorbing. Highly recommended.

Then, a bit of a Durrell reread going on – in between all the other stuff – if I find the time and energy I might write a more detailed post on Durrell, but for now, here’s a list:
The Bafut Beagles – Gerald Durrell
Fillets of Plaice – Gerald Durrell
The Stationary Ark – Gerald Durrell
A Zoo in my Luggage – Gerald Durrell
Catch me a Colobus – Gerald Durrell
The Dunken Forest – Gerald Durrell
Himself and Other Animals – David Hughes (biography)

Sorting Out Billy – Jo Brand
I read only the first half, or thereabouts and then gave it up in disgust. Abysmally bad, actually.

The Book of Lost Things – John Connolly
Entertaining, slightly scary in parts. Well worth the time.

Anybody Out There? – Marian Keyes
Excellent. I was a little worried, not being a great fan of spiritualism and trying to speak to the dead, however, Keyes managed the issue beautifully, I think, and I didn’t cringe even once.

Slam – Nick Hornby
Hornby’s first «young adult» novel, which probably should be compulsory reading for most British teenagers as a sort of literary contraception. Not Hornby’s best book – by far – from an adult point of view, but then that’s hardly the right point of view for judging it.

American Gods – Neil Gaiman
Superb.

A Ramble Round the Globe – Thomas Dewar
Disappointingly unoccupied with whisky or with advertising, the two main reasons I am interested in Tommy Dewar, but a rather interesting read nonetheless.

The Life and Times of the Thunderbolt Kid – Bill Bryson
Just what you’d expect from Bill Bryson: Very good.

The Undomestic Godess – Sophie Kinsella

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Yet another bookcrossing copy – can you tell I’m trying to work my way through mt tbr? I read this last night – though that’s not entirely true: I read the first and last hundred pages or so, I skipped the middle part once I realised where the story was going – and I guess I was reminded why I concluded a while back that I’ve grown out of chicklit. Parts of the book are certainly very funny, I had enough lol-moments to make the husband accuse me of being drunk, especially concerning **spoiler warning** the media hoo-ha towards the end. However, I didn’t quite believe in the basic premise and felt the conclusion was a bit strained. Still, I’m sure I can find a new reader for this.