Category: Books

That’s the title of the next book in Armistead Maupin’s Tales of the City series. It follows the last book after a break of almost twenty years. The world it will describe has changed utterly, and I can’t wait to read it. If you don’t know Maupin’s or the Tales’ background, there’s a good article in today’s Guardian Review.

 

Update: Oh dear, Philip Hensher gives it a stinking review in today’s Observer. Perhaps the love affair is over…

Orac has a book recommendation.

Just a reminder to say that the Hay Festival is once again in full swing. Thankfully, I shall be able to make a vicarious attendance by going to the audio/video library web page.

I mentioned, back in February, that a new biography of Alice B. Sheldon had been published. I’ve just finished it, and can heartily recommend it. Alice Sheldon/James Tiptree Jr. has found a most sensitive biographer in Julie Phillips, and James Tiptree, Jr. is a triumph of the biographer’s art. Very, very good indeed.

 

I see, from the dustjacket blurb, that Julie Phillips may be living in Amsterdam at the moment. Here’s an interview with her from last year that confirms it. Perhaps I may even bump into her one day and be able to say in person that her biography of the human known as Alice/James/Racoona was simply stunning.

I mentioned, back in January, that Douglas Hofstadter had a new book coming out: I Am A Strange Loop. My copy arrived last month, and I immediately fell to reading it. It is, of course, a fascinating read, even though at times I felt I was only dimly understanding the points being made. Hofstadter has a knack, though, of being able to present some pretty abstruse material in an understandable way by means of analogies or thought experiments.

 

One thing that surprised me somewhat was that nowhere, in this whole book devoted to the nature of consciousness, was there any reference to the work being done by researchers such as V. S. Ramachandran (Phantoms In The Brain). Indeed, he seems to dismiss neuroscience as incapable of giving insight into the mechanisms of consciousness at all, instead preferring a more abstract, philosophical approach to the topic. That, I think, is a shame and a missed opportunity. I think that a conversation between Hofstadter and Ramachandran would be something that would create some sparks of illumination.

 

In the meantime, here’s a link to a recent interview with Hofstadter that is worth reading. 

While I’m on the subject of graphic novels, I must mention Bryan Talbot’s Alice In Sunderland. Its subtitle is "An Entertainment" – and what an entertainment it is! A great fireworks display of a book – fizzing with ideas and connections over the history of Sunderland and the people who have strutted on its stage. If you’ve never dipped into a graphic novel, thinking that you left comic books behind with your childhood, then I do urge you to take a look at this. It will open your eyes and create sparks in your brain. Wonderful, wonderful stuff.

I mentioned Alison Bechdel’s biography of her family, and her father in particular, some while back. Now, Amanda Marcotte writes a review of the book (Fun Home) that is worth reading in itself.

The BBC recently had a short series of excellent documentaries on British Science Fiction: The Martians and Us. Here’s an extract devoted to the work of J. G. Ballard. It makes me want to re-read The Drowned World onceagain.

 

 

(hat tip to Ballardian for the link) 

That’s the title of the posthumous novel written by J. R. R. Tolkien, and now completed by his son, Christopher Tolkien. I’m uncertain whether to take the plunge and get it. On the one hand, we have a strong recommendation from Nicholas Whyte, but on the other, we have the digested read that appears in today’s Guardian. I suspect that the latter is probably closer to how I will find it.

 

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.

 

Which makes me a trifle nervous about investing in the latest product from the Tolkien family.

I mentioned a little while back that Neil Bartlett had a new book out, Skin Lane, and that the reviews sounded good.

 

Well, I’m here to tell you that the reviews were right. The story is simply superb. It grips from the opening prologue and never lets go. A retelling of the Beauty and the Beast fairytale, it is set in London in 1967 and observes the events centred around a certain Mr. Freeman (known to his colleagues as Mr F). Mr F works as a cutter in London’s fur trade, and in that year of 1967 – a year that has a special significance for those of us who grew up gay in Britain at the time – he becomes possessed of an obsession that will irrevocably change his life, and the life of those around him. 

 

The whole novel reads as though you are caught in a dream (or nightmare) helplessly watching the events play out. I was reminded of the writings of Angela Carter at times. Almost as important as the players in the story is the setting. London itself becomes another character, through the descriptions of the places and the times. Bartlett’s descriptions of the fur trade are convincing – Skin Lane itself is actually Skinners Lane, which was indeed the centre of the fur trade in London. 

 

Highly, highly recommended.

 

Ps – for Chris and Ed: Bartlett will be reading from Skin Lane at the Brighton Festival on May 18…

 

Damn. And double damn.

Neil Bartlett has a new book out: Skin Lane. And it sounds good.

Thanks to the wonders of the Web, the Bodleian Library has made available online the Kitāb Gharāʾib al-funūn wa-mulaḥ al-ʿuyūn, otherwise known as the Book of Curiosities. Simply wonderful.

 

(hat tip to BibliOdyssey for the link)

I’ve just found out that the Gays The Word bookshop in London’s Bloomsbury is struggling to survive in the face of rising rents and falling sales.

When I lived in London I would often visit it. It was a great place – and felt at times like a tiny community centre.

 

I see that Jeanette Winterson thinks that perhaps its work is done, but when I read that the bookshop’s owner says that they still get “a brick through the window once a year and twice a week people spit on the windows”, then I have to wonder…

 

If you live in London, or are visiting, please pop in. You can also sponsor a bookshelf – visit the web site for more information. 

These little beauties make me feel quite queasy:

 

 

Shudder. I’m really pleased that I grew up instead with the Brothers Grimm, Shahrazad (Scheherazade) and Rupert Bear.

 

The author, Hans Wilhelm, writes other books for children too. Here’s one: The Boy Who Wasn’t There. It opens with a foreword that reads:

And there – the older I get, the more I begin to trust the things which cannot always be explained – I think is the key difference between Wilhelm and myself. As far as I am concerned, it’s patent nonsense. The day I begin to "trust the things which cannot always be explained" is the day I begin to slip into senile dementia.

That’s the title of a book by Mike Davis. There’s an interesting interview with him over on BLDBLOG about some of the themes of the book. While it has certainly piqued my interest in reading the book, I see that Amazon reviewers have given it a mixed blessing; for example: Relentless, Nihilistic, Compelling… Hmm, not a cheery fireside read, then, I take it?

That’s the title of a book of short stories by Kelly Link. It has a glowing review in today’s Guardian, which is sufficiently enthusiastic and makes the book sound inviting enough that I’ve just ordered it. I look forward to reading it – although my pile of unread books is starting to grow again as I wrestle to find enough time to do all the things that need doing…

Another book for the library, I think.

Oooh – I see that there’s a new biography of the science fiction author James Tiptree Jr. – who turned out to be, in real life, not a man at all, but Alice B. Sheldon. She was a fascinating woman, who wrote extraordinary stories. The biography gets a thumbs-up from Nicholas Whyte, so I’ve just ordered it with confidence.

Here’s something quite bizarre – a perfume called "In The Library". It smells, well, like old books. While I love musty old bookshops, I don’t think I’d really like to smell like one…