In which we revert to childhood, briefly.
Theresa forced (ok, so I didn’t exactly protest loudly, I think my response to «You really must borrow..» was «Yes, please!») a couple of American classics on me the last time I visited and I’ve just finished two. The first was Charlotte’s Web, which was sweet and touching and that’s pretty much all I have to say about it.
In which we are enchanted in a soberly fashion.
Waiting for Snow in Havana: Confessions of a Cuban Boy had to wait, half-read, on the shelf while I made my way through Hobb and Fforde. This was an unwarranted slight on my part, and I apologise. Eire describes his childhood in Cuba in vivid detail and on occasion you almost feel the sun on your face as you watch him and his brother blow up lizards. From his father – who thinks he is the reincarnation of a French king – to the tiny figure of Castro as he addresses the people, the book invokes a magical – though by no means problem-free – childhood turned upside down because of a revolution.
In which we start waiting.
So that’s it. That’s The Well of Lost Plots finished and all I can do now is sit down and wait for the next book to appear. Anyone know when this is likely to happen?
In which we’re delighted.
Jasper Fforde has to be the best thing that’s happened to book-freaks in recent years. Not only are his novels «ripping good yarns» of the sort that you really can’t put down, but the way he weaves his way through literary history is fascinating to watch and also makes for laugh-out-loud moments too frequently to make this safe reading on the bus (that is, if you care when people stare at you, which I, personally, don’t).
Lost in a Good Book is every bit as good as The Eyre Affair, which means I’m now dreading coming to the end of The Well of Lost Plots – currently the last book in the series. I could always hang around thursdaynext.com for a bit, but waiting for another book is going to be just as bas as it usually is. Well, we’re not quite there yet – a few more hours of enjoyment before we arrive in waiting hell.
In which we get to read Robin Hobb’s latest trilogy at last.
Shortly after I finished Cullimore, the last book in Robin Hobb‘s trilogy The Tawny Man – Fool’s Fate – arrived, and I could finally start reading it. I’ve been pre-ordering the books from amazon as they’ve been published, which means I’ve had the first one – Fool’s Errand – since November 2001 and the second – The Golden Fool – since November last year. I learnt my lesson when reading The Liveship Traders trilogy, though – starting on a Robin Hobb trilogy without having all the books available is (emphatically) not a Good Idea.
Normally, I’d have devoured this series in a weekend or so, but I seem to have had little time to read of late (a lot of it being a certain person‘s fault), so it’s taken me about a month to finish all three books.
And how were they? Well, brilliant, of course.
We’re back to Fitz, the hero of the Assassin trilogy – and I was pleased to have some of my suspicions regarding links between the Assassin and Liveship Traders plots confirmed (especially regarding the time-scale and the identity of Amber, my theories having been loudly disputed by another Hobb-fan recently – I like being right…). Further links also become apparent now, and I have to hope Hobb keeps going and lets us know what happens next. Fitz, and the Fool, are off to save the world again – this time with less regard for the Farseer reign, though that cannot be ignored, obviously. Hobb still writes with the same flair for creating characters – even very minor ones – that become real people while you read.
So, when’s the next book coming?
In which we become clairvoyant.
Claudine Cullimore’s Small-Town Girl is a pleasant read. There is really not much more to be said about it.
Oh, go on then. It’s got the right mix of romance, friendship, character growth and serves-you-right-ness. The language is flawless, and never intrudes upon the flow of the story with odd springs (whether on purpose or mistakenly). The only negative thing about it is the predictability (I guessed all the major twists of plot way in advance of the «reveal»), but what can you expect?
Perhaps I should have left it at «a pleasant read» after all.
In which we ramble through Africa.
I picked up Peter Moore’s Swahili for the Broken-Hearted in the aforementioned 3 for 2 sale at Waterstone’s in Brighton, and started it shortly after finishing Fforde back in July. So why haven’t I reviewed before now? Well, things have been happening and book reviews haven’t exactly been my top priority.
Anyway. It’s pretty good. Nothing spectacular, but a decent, mildly entertaining read. I won’t ruch out to buy any more of Moore’s books, but if I come across one of them in another three-for-two sale, I might just buy it.
In which we shout Eureka! (A good book at last!)
I had been intrigued by the titles of Jasper Fforde’s books before, so when I was at a loose end for something to read while waiting to see a doctor the other day, I picked up The Eyre Affair. This is just great! Finally another series of ‘sci-fi’ books that I can really get into! And how – just need to go buy the two other ones, now. The only problem with The Eyre Affair was I found myself wishing I lived in that world – especially when Thursday (the main character’s called Thursday Next, and even that makes my day) and Landen go to a performance of Richard III. It’s a bit like The Rocky Horror Show in our world. Don’t get me wrong, there’s nothing wrong with Rocky Horror, but Richard III it ain’t. Suffering from Thursday-envy.
Oh, and best of all: I finally got a happy ending. (Except, of course, it’s not really an ending as the story continues, but still, I’m happy.)
There’s even a website, in case the novels leave you wanting more (which they probably will).
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.