I see that Jon Ronson has got a new book out: The Psychopath Test. I like Jon Ronson’s writing, so I think I should add his new book to my wishlist. There’s also a very positive review of the book in today’s Guardian, by Will Self. Check it out.
Category: Books
-
Favourite Does Not Necessarily Equal Best
To celebrate the opening of an exhibition (Out of this World) at the British Library later this month, today’s Guardian has asked leading SF writers to pick their favourite novel or author in the genre. However, the Guardian’s sub-editors have given the piece the title: The stars of modern SF pick the best science fiction. That adjective “best” doesn’t quite ring true for me. I’m always wary of lists that claim to be a compilation of the “best”: best books, best films, best paintings and so on. “Personal favourites” is a much better description, and makes no claims for absolute rankings, which is, to my mind, quite impossible for art.
I’m pleased to see that some of my own personal favourites appear in the list, and many more are popping up in the lots of comments from people adding their suggestions.
-
A Frame of Groans
Some time ago, I wrote about George R. R. Martin’s epic fantasy books “A Game Of Thrones” in these terms:
In my old age, I’m getting a bit tired of epic fantasy. I was recently recommended A Game of Thrones by George R. R. Martin (what is it about these R.R. initials, anyway?). It wasn’t bad, but halfway through the second book I came down with fantasy fatigue. Endless pages of characters discussing their lineage, forsooth, doth not a gripping yarn make. Still, I battled on, and yes, there were places where my interest quickened. But what came as a really cold shower was the realisation that the author was churning out these books like there was no tomorrow (What! will the line stretch out to the crack of doom?). There are at least six books in the projected series, and I’m exhausted after three.
I see that HBO has now brought the series to the small screen with much blood and gore and the resolutely anti-metrosexual Sean Bean. While I’m sure it has been lovingly done, I think I’ll wait until the DVDs reach the bargain bin before I might invest. Ask me again in about five years whether I thought it was worth it.
-
Wise Words
Christopher Hitchens was due to address the American Atheist Convention, but had to cancel because of illness. So he wrote them a letter instead. Hitchens writes like an angel wielding a flaming sword, and the letter is an excellent example of his way with words. Example:
Our weapons are the ironic mind against the literal: the open mind against the credulous; the courageous pursuit of truth against the fearful and abject forces who would set limits to investigation (and who stupidly claim that we already have all the truth we need). Perhaps above all, we affirm life over the cults of death and human sacrifice and are afraid, not of inevitable death, but rather of a human life that is cramped and distorted by the pathetic need to offer mindless adulation, or the dismal belief that the laws of nature respond to wailings and incantations.
Do go and read the rest. By coincidence, his friend, Martin Amis has a biographical sketch of him in today’s Observer. Also worth reading to catch a flavour of the man.
-
Frankenstein
The UK’s National Theatre in London has a new production: Frankenstein. It’s based on Mary Shelley’s book, and sticks more closely to the themes of the original work than Hollywood’s many films (wonderful though some of them are).
The NT’s production has garnered rave reviews – it’s currently the hottest theatre ticket in town, and all performances are sold out. If you want to see it, then probably your best bet is to see one of the live relays of a performance to a cinema near you.
That’s precisely what I did last night. I drove to Ede (45 minutes away) and watched yesterday’s performance of Frankenstein in the Olivier Theatre in London relayed live to a screen in Cinemec. I was worried whether this would work as an experience, but I needn’t have feared. The sound and vision were top-notch, and the use of multiple cameras allowed us to catch things that would be lost if you were sitting at the back of the Olivier. Yes, OK, it’s not like actually being there, but it is a very acceptable substitute, and for those of us who don’t live in London, it’s a great way to see the NT’s productions.
The production and performance were every bit as good as the reviews are saying. Stunningly mounted, using the facilities of the Olivier stage with its giant revolve and lifts to great effect. During the two hour performance (no interval), the stage was transformed into a woodland, the lake at Geneva, the interiors of an elegant country house and a Scottish croft, and the Arctic wasteland. We saw a locomotive roar onto stage and stop at the footlights, and the destruction of a farmhouse by fire.
The cast do not let all this theatre magic overwhelm them. The two central performances of the Creature and Victor Frankenstein are brilliantly handled by Benedict Cumberbatch and Jonny Lee Miller. Last night I saw the Creature played by Cumberbatch, and Frankenstein played by Miller. They switch roles on successive nights.
The rest of the cast are strong as well. I particularly liked Karl Johnson as the blind De Lacey, Naomie Harris as Elizabeth, Victor’s fiancée, and Ella Smith as Clarice, Elizabeth’s maid. There are moments of broad comedy, notably between the Scottish crofter Rab and his uncle, and of course there are moments of high drama and tragedy. But underpinning the whole play is the exploration of the theme of what it means to be human. I think it’s safe to say that the Creature is more sympathetic than Victor, and he gives voice to both the pain and the glory of humanity. Victor seems to be the one who is less than human – a sociopath who lives only for seizing the secrets of life from Nature. And the one person who is portrayed as a fully rounded human being is Elizabeth, and she is ultimately betrayed by Victor and destroyed by Victor’s creation.
All in all, this was a wonderful experience. I’m going again next week, this time to see Miller as the Creature and Cumberbatch as Frankenstein, and I’ll have downloaded the digital programme beforehand…
-
Michael Moorcock, At Home In Texas
Somehow, the words “Michael Moorcock” and “Texas” seem strange bedfellows. But this interview, by Hari Kunzru of the author Michael Moorcock starts to make some sense of it.
Moorcock is a brilliant author. Whether he’s producing pulp or great literature, or both simultaneously, doesn’t really matter. His voice is worth harking to. To me, his name is a bell that instantly starts my soul ringing to a certain time, place and ethos in my mind. A place that is dear to me, but one that causes frissons as well. It’s the shiver of fear that runs up your back mixed with eroticism at the same time.
-
The Value of Libraries
A couple of days ago I mentioned someone’s idiotic idea to stop funding the UK’s libraries and use the money to give everyone Kindles. The idea came about because local government in the UK is looking to close many public libraries in a desperate attempt to save money. Philip Pullman gave a brilliant speech on the subject a few days ago, in which he defended the libraries from the bean-counters:
I still remember the first library ticket I ever had. It must have been about 1957. My mother took me to the public library just off Battersea Park Road and enrolled me. I was thrilled. All those books, and I was allowed to borrow whichever I wanted! And I remember some of the first books I borrowed and fell in love with: the Moomin books by Tove Jansson; a French novel for children called A Hundred Million Francs; why did I like that? Why did I read it over and over again, and borrow it many times? I don’t know. But what a gift to give a child, this chance to discover that you can love a book and the characters in it, you can become their friend and share their adventures in your own imagination.
And the secrecy of it! The blessed privacy! No-one else can get in the way, no-one else can invade it, no-one else even knows what’s going on in that wonderful space that opens up between the reader and the book. That open democratic space full of thrills, full of excitement and fear, full of astonishment, where your own emotions and ideas are given back to you clarified, magnified, purified, valued. You’re a citizen of that great democratic space that opens up between you and the book. And the body that gave it to you is the public library. Can I possibly convey the magnitude of that gift?
Somewhere in Blackbird Leys, somewhere in Berinsfield, somewhere in Botley, somewhere in Benson or in Bampton, to name only the communities beginning with B whose libraries are going to be abolished, somewhere in each of them there is a child right now, there are children, just like me at that age in Battersea, children who only need to make that discovery to learn that they too are citizens of the republic of reading. Only the public library can give them that gift.
Go and read the whole thing – it’s worth it.
-
Libraries Versus Kindles
There’s an interesting post over at Stumbling and Mumbling that asks the question whether it would be more cost effective to stop funding the UK’s public Libraries, and to use the money to buy everyone a Kindle instead.
My immediate reaction was that this was yet another example of someone knowing the cost of everything, and the value of nothing. However, I recognise that the question was asked with an air of enquiry. So it’s good to see that most commenters on the post are shooting down the premise, and that, at its most basic: “Public Libraries” do not equal “Kindles”.
I’m a member of the public library in our local little town. I’ve never actually borrowed anything from it, but I continue to support it, because it’s a community resource.
-
Hitchens and Paxman
Last night, BBC Two had a terrific interview of Christopher Hitchens conducted by Jeremy Paxman. It was a joy to listen to Hitchens laying out his ideas and thoughts on his life and politics. What was not a joy was to look at him and realise that he is not long for this world. He has a particularly virulent cancer that gives its hosts only a 5% chance of pulling through more than five years.
Still, at least we will have the record of his work to remind us of the need to keep fighting for reason and the Enlightenment against the forces of superstition and theocracy. And for the moment, at least, we still have Hitch.
…and here’s to KBO…
-
How Much???
I thought that I’d invest in a copy of Geoffrey Robertson QC’s new book The Case of the Pope: Vatican Accountability for Human Rights Abuse. I see that Amazon UK have it listed for £4.49. Not bad, but I always check out Amazon Marketplace in the hope of a better deal.
I quite often buy books from Aphrohead Books, because usually their prices are pretty competitive with Amazon, and often come in cheaper. Not in this case though. Erm, £1,176.64 for the book? Some mistake, surely? Or has the Vatican nobbled them?
-
Short Story
Paul Burston, over at his blog, pens an (autobiographical?) short story about a mother and son. In just a page of short sentences and short paragraphs, a whole life is conjured up. That’s talent.
-
“I Believe in Wallace Stevens”
I didn’t know who Wallace Stevens was until I listened to A. S. Byatt. In this interview, her thoughts and ideas are simply scintillating. Well worth watching. What I want to know is, what is the significance of the roll of sellotape?
-
A Message That’s Missing A Word
Someone with more time on his hands than sense decided to use a GPS logger to spell out the message “Read Ayn Rand” in letters that cover the whole of the USA. As someone else comments on the story, we just need someone with more sense to spell out the word “Don’t” in Canada.
My favourite quote about Rand is the one coined by John Rogers:
“There are two novels that can change a bookish fourteen-year old’s life: The Lord of the Rings and Atlas Shrugged. One is a childish fantasy that often engenders a lifelong obsession with its unbelievable heroes, leading to an emotionally stunted, socially crippled adulthood, unable to deal with the real world. The other, of course, involves orcs.”
-
A Monstrous Carbuncle
I see that BBC Four have set aside two hours tonight to transmit a two–part televisual biography of Bruce Chatwin, done by Nicholas Shakespeare. This should be worth watching. Shakespeare wrote what must surely be the definitive biography of Bruce Chatwin, who, it must be said, was something of a monster.
I thought Shakespeare’s biography of Chatwin was masterful and said so:
I recently purchased this biography of Bruce Chatwin written by Nicholas Shakespeare. I probably did it to confirm my own prejudices (the sneaking suspicion that Chatwin was ‘not a nice man’) and on that level it delivered in spades. Shakespeare gives a magnificent warts-and-all portrait. Chatwin’s friends and his apparently long-suffering wife could obviously see beyond the warts – all I saw was a monstrous egotistical carbuncle called Bruce Chatwin. I am pleased to have made his acquaintance via this biography; I would never have wanted to meet him in real life. I would have viewed him as a black hole – always taking, never giving.
I am very much looking forward to seeing Shakespeare’s TV program tonight – all the more so because some of the real people that Chatwin interacted with are going to be featured. I am curious to hear what they have to say.
-
Through A Glass, Darkly
A web site that I often visit is Golden Age Comic Book Stories. The curator (Mr. Door Tree) often amazes me with visual treasures from comic book art and book illustrations. Today, I see that he has another serving of the seemingly inexhaustible, and brilliant, illustrations from N. C. Wyeth. However, there is also an entry showing the work of an artist called Blom. He is new to me. This is, as it turns out, Gerald Blom, and his images. made me want to find out more.
I found his web site, and almost immediately found an image of Peter Pan that is closer to the darkness of J. M. Barrie’s novel than Disney’s saccharine cuteness could ever be. I remember seeing the National Theatre’s production of Peter Pan in 1999 that, for the first time, brought home to me how dark the tale is. I sat shaking in my seat at the final moments. Barrie’s tale had a similar effect on Blom:
Here is a quote from the original Peter Pan: “The boys on the island vary, of course, in numbers, according as they get killed and so on; and when they seem to be growing up, which is against the rules, Peter thins them out; but at this time there were six of them, counting the twins as two.”
Thins them out? Huh? What does that mean? Does Peter kill them, like culling a herd? Does he send them away somewhere? If so, where? Or does Peter just put them in such peril that the crop is in need of constant replenishing?
That one paragraph forever changed my perception of Peter Pan from that of a high-spirited rascal to something far more sinister. “Thins them out,” the words kept repeating in my head. How many children had Peter stolen, how many had died, how many had been thinned out? Peter himself said, “To die will be an awfully big adventure.”
The Child Thief, indeed.
-
Kindling My Interest
I see that Amazon have announced the next generation of the Kindle eBook reader, and its availability in the UK. I must admit that I am somewhat tempted by the Wi-Fi model at £109. Reading the pro and con comments on the Guardian story, I can sympathise with both points of view.
I think that means I’m going to sit on the fence until at least the next generation of devices, and possibly more importantly, of the business model that lurks behind them.
Update: I’m going to be sitting on the fence, whether I like it or not, because bloody Amazon.co.uk won’t (a) ship the Kindle to Europe and (b) won’t allow me to purchase Kindle ebooks from the UK store.
-
Modified Rapture
I see that the “Game of Thrones” by George R. R. Martin is being made into a TV series. I’ve got a bad feeling about this.
First of all because, frankly, I’m not a fan of the original books, so that’s already one strike against it.
Secondly, the series is being made by the same team that were responsible for Rome, which I found (admittedly on the basis of just one episode, which was all I could stomach) trite and shallow. So the omens are not good… Still, we will see…
-
Jacob de Zoet
The Thousand Autumns of Jacob de Zoet is the new novel by David Mitchell. It is set at the end of the 18th Century, mainly in the Dutch trading post on the artificial island of Dejima in the bay of Nagasaki. It deals with both the clash of civilisations (European and Japanese) and the interconnected lives of a vast range of characters. It seems to have had a mixed reception from newspaper reviewers, which rather surprised me – I think it’s a masterpiece. I took a little while to settle into it, but once it grabbed me, there was no release. It was often a struggle between savouring the phrases and quickly turning the page to see what happens next. The novel often slips into a prose poem:
Night insects trill, tick, bore, ring; drill prick, saw, sting…
or:
Nagasaki itself, wood-grey and mud-brown, looks oozed from between the verdant mountains’ splayed toes.
And there is a quite spectacular page and a half of rhythm-driven prose describing the start of a day in Nagasaki’s life that opens a climactic chapter late in the book. Sorry for the long extract, but I hope it whets your appetite:
Gulls wheel through spokes of sunlight over gracious roofs and dowdy thatch, snatching entrails at the marketplace and escaping over cloistered gardens, spike topped walls and treble-bolted doors. Gulls alight on whitewashed gables, creaking pagodas and dung-ripe stables; circle over towers and cavernous bells and over hidden squares where urns of urine sit by covered wells, watched by mule-drivers, mules and wolf-snouted dogs, ignored by hunch-backed makers of clogs; gather speed up the stoned-in Nakashima River and fly beneath the arches of its bridges, glimpsed from kitchen doors, watched by farmers walking high, stony ridges. Gulls fly through clouds of steam from laundries’ vats; over kites unthreading corpses of cats; over scholars glimpsing truth in fragile patterns; over bath-house adulterers, heartbroken slatterns; fishwives dismembering lobsters and crabs; their husbands gutting mackerel on slabs; woodcutters’ sons sharpening axes; candle-makers, rolling waxes; flint-eyed officials milking taxes; etiolated lacquerers; mottle-skinned dyers; imprecise soothsayers; unblinking liars; weavers of mats; cutters of rushes; ink-lipped calligraphers dipping brushes; booksellers ruined by unsold books; ladies-in-waiting; tasters; dressers; filching page-boys; runny-nosed cooks; sunless attic nooks where seamstresses prick calloused fingers; limping malingerers; swineherds; swindlers; lip-chewed debtors rich in excuses; heard-it-all creditors tightening nooses; prisoners haunted by happier lives and ageing rakes by other men’s wives; skeletal tutors goaded to fits; firemen-turned-looters when occasion permits; tongue-tied witnesses; purchased judges; mothers-in-law nurturing briars and grudges; apothecaries grinding powders with mortars,; palanquins carrying not-yet-wed daughters; silent nuns; nine-year-old whores; the once-were-beautiful gnawed by sores; statues of Jizo anointed with posies; syphilitics sneezing through rotted-off noses; potters; barbers; hawkers of oil; tanners; cutlers; carters of night-soil; gate-keepers; bee-keepers; blacksmiths and drapers; torturers; wet-nurses; perjurers; cut-purses; the newborn; the growing; the strong-willed and pliant; the ailing; the dying; the weak and defiant; over the roof of a painter withdrawn first from the world, then his family, and down into a masterpiece that has, in the end, withdrawn from its creator; and around again, where their flight began, over the balcony of the Room of Last Chrysanthemum, where a puddle from last night’s rain is evaporating; a puddle in which Magistrate Shiroyama observes the blurred reflections of gulls wheeling through spokes of sunlight. This world, he thinks, contains just one masterpiece, and that is itself.
I see that there’s a Dutch translation of the book. I’m curious to see how that has worked, particularly with these prose poem aspects. It’s perhaps not a good sign that the very title of the book has been changed: De niet verhoorde gebeden van Jacob de Zoet translates as the unheard prayers of Jacob de Zoet, which gives it a slant that I don’t think is quite right for de Zoet’s character as depicted in the book.
-
Prehistoric Animals
The Public Library in Douglas, the town where I grew up, was hugely important to me during my childhood. I’m sure it helped fashion my love of books. Today, as I was browsing around blogs on the internet, I came across scans of a book on prehistoric animals that was published 50 years ago in 1960.I remember that book! The library had a copy of it and I borrowed it to devour at my leisure. The art by Zdenek Burian was stunning, and some of those images from the book have remained as fresh in my memory as when I first saw them fifty years ago. It gave me quite a shock of recognition when I saw them once again today. -
Books of the Decade
I see that the Guardian has published its list of the 50 “books of the decade” with comments from a variety of authors and critics. It’s worth reading their comments for insight.
Here’s just the list – bolded titles are the ones that I’ve read. Only 15 out of the fifty, not a particularly good score, I’m afraid. However, nothing would ever persuade me to read anything written by Dan Brown – “Bestselling” does not guarantee quality; it’s a logical fallacy. Still, there are definitely some titles here that I would like to add to my reading list; Wolf Hall, for example.
2000
✒ White Teeth, by Zadie Smith (Penguin)
✒ No Logo, by Naomi Klein (Fourth Estate)
✒ The Tipping Point, by Malcolm Gladwell (Little, Brown)
✒ A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius, by Dave Eggers (Picador)
✒ The Amber Spyglass, by Philip Pullman (Scholastic)
✒ How to Be a Domestic Goddess: Baking and the Art of Comfort Cooking, by Nigella Lawson (Chatto & Windus)
✒ Experience, by Martin Amis (Vintage)2001
✒ The Corrections, by Jonathan Franzen (Harper Perennial)
✒ Atonement, by Ian McEwan (Jonathan Cape)
✒ Austerlitz, by WG Sebald (Penguin)
✒ A Life’s Work: On Becoming a Mother, by Rachel Cusk (Fourth Estate)2002
✒ Nickel and Dimed: Undercover in Low-Wage USA, by Barbara Ehrenreich (Granta)
✒ London Orbital: A Year Walking Around the M25, by Iain Sinclair (Penguin)
✒ Fingersmith, by Sarah Waters (Virago)
✒ Persepolis: The Story of a Childhood and the Story of a Return, by Marjane Satrapi (Jonathan Cape)2003
✒ The Da Vinci Code, by Dan Brown (Corgi)
✒ Landing Light, by Don Paterson (Faber)
✒ The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time, by Mark Haddon (Vintage)
✒ The Kite Runner, by Khaled Hosseini (Bloomsbury)
✒ Eats, Shoots & Leaves, by Lynne Truss (Profile)2004
✒ The 9/11 Commission Report: Final Report of the National Commission on Terrorist Attacks upon the United States (WW Norton)
✒ Small Island, by Andrea Levy (Headline)
✒ The Line of Beauty, by Alan Hollinghurst (Picador)
✒ Cloud Atlas, by David Mitchell (Sceptre)
✒ Being Jordan, by Katie Price (John Blake Publishing)
✒ Earth: An Intimate History, by Richard Fortey (Vintage)2005
✒ Freakonomics, by Steven D Levitt & Stephen J Dubner (Penguin)
✒ Untold Stories, by Alan Bennett (Faber)
✒ The Year of Magical Thinking, by Joan Didion (HarperCollins)
✒ Postwar, by Tony Judt (Pimlico)
✒ Saturday, by Ian McEwan (Vintage)2006
✒ The God Delusion, by Richard Dawkins (Black Swan)
✒ The Road, by Cormac McCarthy (Picador)
✒ The Looming Tower, by Lawrence Wright (Penguin)
✒ The Weather Makers, by Tim Flannery (Penguin)
✒ The Revenge of Gaia, by James Lovelock (Penguin)2007
✒ Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, by JK Rowling (Bloomsbury)
✒ The Suspicions of Mr Whicher, by Kate Summerscale (Bloomsbury)
✒ The Blair Years: Extracts from the Alastair Campbell Diaries (Arrow)
✒ Half of a Yellow Sun, by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie (Harper Perennial)
✒ The Reluctant Fundamentalist, by Mohsin Hamid (Penguin)2008
✒ Change We Can Believe In, The Audacity of Hope and Dreams from My Father, by Barack Obama (Canongate)
✒ The Rest Is Noise: Listening to the Twentieth Century, by Alex Ross (Harper Perennial)
✒ Netherland, by Joseph O’Neill (Harper Perennial)
✒ The Forever War, by Dexter Filkins (Vintage)
✒ Home, by Marilynne Robinson (Virago)
✒ The Age of Wonder: How the Romantic Generation Discovered the Beauty and Terror of Science, by Richard Holmes (Harper Press)2009
✒ Wolf Hall, by Hilary Mantel (Fourth Estate)
✒ 2666, by Roberto Bolaño (Picador)
✒ Brooklyn, by Colm Tóibín (Viking)
Geoff Coupe's Blog 