Kategori: Authors

Shantaram – Gregory David Roberts

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«The International Bestseller», the front cover proclaims. That always makes me slightly wary. Well, Shantaram actually turned out to be the most fanatastic book. It’s certainly the best book I’ve read by an author new to me since Never Let Me Go. I know a few people have issues with the autobiographical aspect, especially as regards the criminal subject matter, but it didn’t bother me at all. I read it as fiction, and thus as truth. Not as in «this actually happened this way» truth – that would be non-fiction, but as in «this could happen in this way» truth, which is quite frequently much better at making you feel what you are reading (well, making me feel it, anyway).

Despite its 900-odd pages, reading Shantaram was in no way a chore. As far as life has recently allowed, I basically tore though it. Except when I got about 60 pages from the end and seriously considered putting it down and not finishing. Not because it was bad, mind you, but because it was so good I wanted to stay with the feeling of not having finished it for a while. In the end I decided I was being silly and finished, but it says something about how involved I got. I also wanted to start right back on page one when I finished the last page, which puts it up there with only ten or so other books.

One fundamentally annoying thing about my copy – which I borrowed from my dad, though he might not get it back… – is a quote from Time Out on the back which subs for a synopsis by the publishers. It includes the line: «Amazingly Roberts wrote Shantaram three times after prison guards trashed the first two versions.» It made me think he had to end up in prison towards the end of the book somehow. He doesn’t. I don’t know when those first two drafts were trashed, but it’s not part of the present version. A spoiler on the cover would be bad enough (actually, the rest of the quote contains several spoilers), but a false spoiler? Seriously bad form.

I have seen complaints that Roberts’ language varies from the divine to cliché. Well, I noticed the former but not the latter, so I’ll stick to praising his turn of phrase myself. My (dad’s) copy is currently littered with post it markers to mark outstanding passages, but the whole thing read beautifully to my ears. I’ll leave you with a quote, and an admonition: Go read the book!

Now you will see the really city. Usually, I am never taking the tourists to these places. They are not liking it, and I am not liking their not liking. Or maybe sometimes they are liking it too much, in these places, and I am liking that even less, isn’t it? You must have it a good heads, to like these things, and you must be having a good hearts, to not like them too much.

— Prabaker

The Private Patient – P.D. James

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I don’t exactly rush to buy any new P.D. James, as I am perfectly able to wait until I find it in paperback. Once I do. however, it tends to move very rapidly up my to-read list. I picked The Private Patient up in Oslo on the last weekend of November, and started it as soon as I finished the book I was in just then.

What to say? Well, it’s just as good as one would expect from James. Dalgliesh is his endearing self, Kate is still taking a lot of attention, which is all good, the characters involved in the actual crime are just the right blend of insufferable and adorable to make them human enough.

The Comfort of Saturdays – Alexander McCall Smith

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We’re actually getting to the point where we’re wondering if Alexander McCall Smith isn’t just TOO prolific. Here we were thinking we need to get hold of The Lost Art of Gratitude after seeing it in hardback earlier, and then I discover we’ve actually completely missed The Comfort of Saturdays! Really, the speed that man writes at! How are we supposed to keep up?

All is forgiven, though, the moment I start the first paragraph. As always, Smith amazes me with his ability to make me feel like I’m strolling along at a comfortable, sedate and philosophical pace while what I’m really doing is turning the pages as fast as is humanly possible. Or thereabouts.

Isabel Dalhousie is a lovable lady and her tendency to overthink achingly familiar in many ways. And her wry observations make me laugh:

The modern world was a tolerant place: even murderers brazened it out these days: they wrote their memoirs, telling all, and publishers fell upon them with delight. There was no shame there, she thought, unless the memoirs included an apology to the victims, which they usually did not; on the contrary, they sometimes blamed the victims, or the police, or their mothers, or even, in the case of one set of memoirs, the mothers of the police.

What could be better?

I can only see one drawback to this series so far and that is that it makes me devastated for a second every time I emerge from the books and realise I’m not actually in Scotland. But they are worth it.

The Ladies of Grace Adieu – Susanna Clarke

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The Ladies of Grace Adieu by Susanna Clarke has been on my to-read list for quite some time, basically since I discovered it was out, I suppose. I did rather love Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell, and was eager for more. From that point of view, The ladies of Grace Adieu was a little disappointing.

My first objection is hardly Clarke’s fault: I really do not like short stories. As usual, just as I was getting really interested in a story, it was over. I like a book I can really get my teeth into and which takes days, even weeks to finish unless you are in the happy position of being able to drop everything else for 10 hours upwards. So though the stories were good, they were too short.

Other than that, well, I guess I’m not so much interested in fairie- lore as just appreciative of «magical» plot devices. Had I been really into fairies and magic in a of its own, I suppose I would have been more interested, but I’m not.

Saying that, the book is still pretty great, just not quite I’d hoped for. Clarke handles language beautifully, changing tone, syntax and spelling to suit the supposed time of the narrative, and held me transfixed for minutes (until I got to the end of the story and had to start again with a different set of characters).

Ok, so I really don’t like short stories. Why do I keep reading them, I wonder?

Summarising again

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Really, where does the time go? Recent (well, since may…) reads in no particular order (and probably missing a few):

The series that will no longer be named. All in a row. Lovely. I am still pretty happy with the ending, but noticed a few minor inconsistencies along the way this time.

Lessons from the Land of Pork Scratchings by Greg Gutfeld. Abysmal. Didn’t finish it. I’ll be writing more about it at some point, because, really! But, you know, take this as a warning to stay WELL away.

Packaging Girlhood. Quite illuminating. Meant to write more on this, too. Ah well.

Consumer Kids. Followed naturally. Very informative on how kids are not only inundated with ads, but used to advertise to friends and provide market research, quite frequently unknowingly. Should probably be read by every parent.

Tea Time for the Traditionally Built by Alexander McCall Smith. Perfection, as usual.

This Charming Man by Marian Keyes. Keyes back on great form and with a serious theme this time, which she excels at treating.

The Brontes Went to Woolworth by Rachel Ferguson. Reread because I had to take it down to copy out one of my favourite quotes ever:

A woman at one of mother’s parties once said to me, «Do you like reading?» which smote us all to silence, for how could one tell her that books are like having a bath or sleeping, or eating bread – absolute necessities which one never thinks of in terms of appreciation.

Paths of Glory by Jeffrey Archer. As usual Archer spins a pretty – and gripping – tale. However, knowing how it all ends spoiled it a bit for me. Not that I know all that much about Mount Everest climbs and such, but I do know a little, and the prologue reveals what I didn’t. I suppose part of it is knowing it doesn’t end in «they lived happily ever after», which I’m a sucker for and which Archer frequently delivers with aplomb. Still, exceedingly readable.

And that made me realise I’ve forgotten to note reading A Prisoner of Birth, also by Archer, which was REALLY good, just what the doctor ordered, and Archer – to me – at his best. I happen to love courtroom dramas, too, so this had pretty much everything. No idea when I read it, though, so I popped it in here… Probably shortly after the paperback was issued, but I’m not sure.

Until I Find You – John Irving

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I brought Until I Find You by John Irving along to The Gambia in February, despite being in the middle of Aubrey/Maturin. I thought it would be a good idea to bring a book I could leave behind. Which it would have been, of course, if I’d had more time to read so that I had actually finished it, or if it had been uninteresting enough to dump half-finished. I didn’t and it wasn’t, so it came back home again, and having (finally) finished O’Brian last week I picked up Irving again.

I have some issues with Irving. This is only the second Irving I have actually managed to finish (the first being A Widow for One Year), and it’s a question of circumstance rather than of them being essentially different to the ones I tried and failed with. In both cases I have brought them along for travel reading, so that in both cases there haven’t been all that many other options beckoning me. This is to Irving’s benefit, because I find his novels really slow to start with. In the case of A Widow for One Year I positively disliked the first part, getting more interested once Ruth-as-adult entered the scene, and it wasn’t until two-thirds of the way through that it acquired the can’t-put-it-down-quality of a really good read. Until I Find You similarly drags at the beginning, and though I found Jack and Alice more interesting all the way through, I probably wouldn’t have persisted if I hadn’t already read A Widow for One Year and known Irving to be a slow starter (unlike the Vienna trip, I did bring other books to The Gambia, so I had a choice).

That said, once the pace picks up after a twist in the tale, it really picks up, and I resented having to put the book down for any reason throughout the last 200 or so pages. I felt a little let down by the ending when I read it, but only a little, and it’s growing on me.

At it again

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I succumbed. I realised a little while back that one of the reasons Fiction and I were at odds was that whatever I tried to read had one major fault: It was not Patrick O’Brian. I tried to resist starting another reread because, really, there are so many books in mnt tbr and a reread takes two months at least, two months when I don’t get to reduce the mnt at all. So I read some non-fiction, which kept me amused, but then decided that O’Brian was worth it, and now I’m half-way into Master & Commander.

I’m not given to envy, but oh, how I envy those lucky people who get to read the Aubrey/Maturin saga for the first time. I even envy my past self. Had I realised what was going on I would have savoured it more. However, a reread is no bad thing, either, I still discover new treasures (and smile in recognition at old).

The 20-book set must be one of my best book-puchases ever. Talk about value for money. I bought most of them at «3 for 2» in Worthing, and at least one second-hand – in the Oxfam bookshop i Oxford, in fact. And I read them when I first bought them in 2000 (pre-blog days), and again in 2002, 2003, 2005 and 2007. And my father has read them once. So with this reread we’re up to 7 reads. See why I buy books rather than borrow them?

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.

Never Let Me Go – Kazuo Ishiguro

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I found Never Let Me Go in a basket full of paperbacks at Fretex in Ullevålsveien and thought «Surely that’s one of the 1001 books? Well, even if not it’s probably worth 10 kroner.» It was. Both.

Having seen the film Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and Anthony Hopkins, based on Ishiguro’s novel by the same name, I guess I was expecting a similar sort of plot. You know, English realism or whatever one should call it. That is hardly how you’d describe Never Let Me Go, though. It’s another kettle of fish entirely. Very English, yes, and set in an England of sorts, but in a parallell universe (thanks be). It is going to be hard to say much about it, as if you are going to read it – and you really should – you should be allowed to unfold the premises of the setting with no spoilers from me (or anyone else). In fact, go read it now, then come back and read the rest of this post. I will try not to give too much away, but I cannot promise to succeed if I am to say anything at all meaningful.

Beautifully written, Never Let Me Go captured my attention in a way no contemporary novel has done for oh such a long time. Very, very hard to put down.

For me, Ishiguro’s greatest triumph is making Kathy, the narrator, so very loveable and human while also, somehow, subtly «other». Whether nature or nurture is the cause, one can only guess. Very sneaky (Ishiguro’s achievement, that is) in a good way.

As it is, the novel is a chilling argument, one might almost say body of evidence, in the (still) current debate.

Still reading this post? Go read the novel. I will say no more.

Ut å stjæle hester – Per Petterson

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Blogging med tilbakevirkende kraft, april 2010.

Jeg fikk Ut å stjæle hester i en bokring på Bookcrossing og leste den sommeren 2008, på bokens bookcrossingside hadde jeg følgende å si:

Jeg ble nok en gang minnet om hvorfor jeg leser så lite norsk samtidslitteratur. Synes slett ikke dette var dårlig, men det var liksom ikke helt den store opplevelsen heller.