Audiobook review – “Misery” by Stephen King

Whether or not you have read any of his work, most people will have heard of Stephen King and could probably name one or two of his books. And anyone who dabbles in writing, whether or not they have actually read any of his books, will have some admiration for the American author, a man committed to his craft, who shares his insights humbly and widely, and who is both prolific and highly regarded. Surely a giant of American letters.

In a writing career spanning half a century, King has published more than sixty-five novels (that’s more than one a year!), several non-fiction books, hundreds of short stories, screenplays, and even graphic novels. His first novel, Carrie (published in 1974), sold a million copies in paperback and became a bestseller when it was adapted for the screen in 1976, launching the career of Sissy Spacek in the title role. His next two novels, published in 1975 and 1977 are also seminal works – Salem’s Lot and The Shining. Both won awards and both were made into highly successful screen adaptations, the latter starring Jack Nicholson, of course, in what is arguably one of his finest performances. 

All of this and I have never picked up a Stephen King book. My first boyfriend when I was a teenager was a huge Stephen King fan and I never much cared for his literary tastes, being much more into the classics at that stage in my life! I’ve also largely avoided the horror genre, disliking the films (I can barely watch most of them) and therefore assuming the books would not be for me. There is however, horror, and there is horror. So, I was open-minded when I suggested to my book club that we tackle a Stephen King. We picked Misery because we could watch the film as well, and it secured an Oscar in 1990 for Kathy Bates in the role of Annie Wilkes – its funny how I have a memory of her acceptance speech. We listened on audio, because that is our thing, and we all agreed it was read brilliantly by Lindsay Crouse. 

The plot of the novel is simple: Paul Sheldon is a successful author who, after completing the draft of his latest, and what he believes to be his best, novel, Fast Cars, decides to drive from the remote hotel where he normally likes to write, to Los Angeles. It is winter, the weather is poor and he has a serious accident, crashing his car in Colorado near the small town of Sidewinder. His upturned vehicle is discovered by local woman Annie Wilkes, who lives alone on her small isolated farm. Annie retrieves the badly injured Paul from the wreckage of his car and takes him to her house. She is a qualified nurse and keeps a wide range of medications at home. Paul wakes up to find himself in her spare bedroom, his broken legs splinted and his wounds treated. He is initially grateful to her for saving his life, a fact which she reminds him of frequently, and is only slightly curious as to why she has not taken him to hospital or brought in a doctor.

During his unconscious phase, it is clear that Annie searched his belongings and discovered his identity. She knows him well because she is his “number one fan” – an avid reader of the historical novels featuring a Victorian orphan Misery Chastain, which have been responsible for bringing Paul fame and fortune, but which he has grown to loathe because of their lack of literary merit. The latest novel in the series is about to be published, which means Annie is in an excited frenzy, and it will be the last because Misery dies, although Annie does not yet know this.

As the days pass and Paul’s condition improves he becomes increasingly concerned as to why Annie will not let him notify his friends and family and his agent of his whereabouts, or why she will not let him see a doctor. He begins to doubt her excuses about the severity of the weather. Things take a dramatic turn for the worse when Annie gets hold of the newly-published book Misery’s Child. She is enraged to find that her heroine dies, accusing Paul of murdering her. To make matters worse, she reads the manuscript of Fast Cars and considers it worthless filth. Her reaction finally convinces Paul that he is her prisoner and Annie’s behaviour becomes increasingly unpredictable and violent. Annie acquires an ancient typewriter from the thrift shop in town and sets Paul the task of writing another manuscript in which Misery is restored to life, though she insists that the story must be “fair” – credible and not by magic. Most distressingly, she also makes Paul burn the manuscript (the only one) of Fast Cars, page by page on a barbecue. 

The rest of the novel concerns the psychological battle of wills going on between Annie and Paul. He is vulnerable, weak and disabled and she exercises power over him, not least actually locking him up. She also gets him hooked on opiate painkillers, effectively enslaving him. Annie is prone to bouts of deep depression, perhaps she is bipolar, and occasionally disappears for days at a time, sometimes leaving him without food or pain relief. Paul plots escape and sabotage but his efforts are mostly unsuccessful and simply make Annie worse. There are moments of extreme violence in the book, but not as much as you would expect for a horror novel – the horror here is mainly psychological. But the threat of horror is ever-present. King gets us into the mind of the prisoner, not knowing from one day to the next whether his captor will kill or torture him, or whether today she might be nice and bring him ice cream. The reader is kept in a constant state of alert. In some ways it is exhausting, but is definitely utterly compelling. 

I was surprised at just how much I enjoyed this book. We enjoyed the film less, although it is a very good effort and well-acted, mainly I think because it is just too short, leaves out too much, and brings in additional characters who do not feature in the novel. I fear I might have started with the best of King by reading Misery, but I will definitely read more. 

Highly recommended. 

Exhibition Review – Blake’s Universe at the Fitzwilliam Museum, Cambridge

I had the very good fortune a couple of weeks ago to be in Cambridge visiting my daughter when a new exhibition, Blake’s Universe, opened at the city’s famous Fitzwilliam Museum. I think I’d had some vague awareness of it, probably from one of the artsy newsletters that I have subscribed to at some point over the years, which I usually merely scan through to see what’s local to me. Even better, I happened to be there on the opening day so there was a palpable sense of excitement, and a scarcity of tickets. 

William Blake the poet has always been on the periphery of my literary attention. He lived from 1757-1827, which was not the period of literature I found most interesting when I was at university. Ironically, it is the period of European history that I find MOST interesting; the French revolution, American revolution, the Napoleonic wars, the beginnings of industrialisation, etc. 

Blake is one of the foremost figures in British cultural history, however, though he was revered more after his death than during his lifetime, even considered eccentric by his contemporaries. He was a deeply spiritual man but distrusted organised religion, preferring more mystical ideas, which are reflected both in his poetry and his art work. He is considered a poet of the Romantic school and he has influenced the likes of Dante Gabriel Rossetti and WB Yeats, as well as composers such as Britten and Vaughan Williams, and, latterly, Philip Pullman who acknowledged his debt to Blake in his His Dark Materials trilogy. Perhaps most famously, the text of the famous British hymn Jerusalem, adopted as an anthem by many political groups, is taken from Blake’s Milton, A Poem (not, ironically, from his poem of the same name), and was set to music by Sir Hubert Parry in the early 20th century. 

The Fitzwilliam Museum exhibition brought together much of Blake’s fascinating artwork and set it in the context of a European-wide movement which sought to challenge the established Church, its power and its religious norms. Other artists whose work has been set beside Blake’s at the exhibition include German painters Philipp Otto Runge and Caspar David Friedrich. 

Blake’s haunting image of dying people entitled Plague, referring to the Great Plague of the 1660s

I had never seen Blake’s art work up close before I attended this exhibition. It is extraordinary. And when you think that he was working in the late 18th and early 19th centuries it is even more so. He presented many of his poems in the most beautiful engravings and in booklets with a series of plates for different stanzas. The detail, the colours, the vision of the work, jump out at you. 

The exhibition is open until 19th May and I recommend it highly.

Finish a book challenge #3 – “Burning Questions” by Margaret Atwood

This might just be the book I am proudest to have finished in my ‘finish a book’ challenge! I am ashamed to say that I bought it when it was first published in summer 2022 (a signed hardback copy no less!), began reading it almost immediately, when I went on holiday I think, set it to one side when life got a bit busy again and then never seemed to get around to finishing it, despite a second and third wind each time I went on holiday thereafter. It’s not even a difficult book to read; it’s divided up into highly readable chunks (the sub-title of the book is “Essays and occasional pieces 2004-21”), the kind you can read in ten to fifteen minutes between chores and deadlines, so I have no absolutely no excuse or explanation.

I determined to finish this one though, not least because it is big and is taking up a substantial amount of the space on my bedside pile, and I have loved it. I’ve read just over half of it in the last couple of weeks and it has been a joy. Margaret Atwood is truly an international treasure. She must surely be one of the world’s finest living writers. I cannot believe she hasn’t won a Nobel Prize for The Handmaid’s Tale at the very least. Many of the pieces in this book are speeches she has given at various conferences, symposia or charitable events. Her wit is sharp and acerbic and she has an eye for the absurd that is unmatched in my opinion. Reflecting in 2015 on the tepid reception of The Handmaid’s Tale when it was first published, she writes of one New York Times reviewer:

Being dissed in the Times invariably causes your publishers to cross to the other side of the street when they see you and then run away very fast and hide under a rock. The reviewer was the eminent American novelist and essayist Mary McCarthy, and she was not amused. (She was not amused in general, so I was not alone in failing to amuse her.)

(From “Reflections on The Handmaid’s Tale”, 2015, pp 245-258

She is profoundly intellectual, awesomely clever and well-read, and yet she has a kind of down to earth common sense that must have come from her unremarkable upbringing, much of which was spent in the deeply rural settings in Canada where her scientist father worked. She is as comfortable writing about Shakespeare, the classics and the ancients, philosophy, as she is about day to day life and can be laugh-out-loud funny about both. Have a look at the following two excerpts. The first is a comment on the English syllabus she studied at school, the second on the battles of the sexes:

There was a set curriculum for all five years of all high schools in the province of Ontario, Canada. We Canadians are residing within the mindset of the British Empire – to which we had belonged for a couple of centuries –  and thus, for English Literature, the curriculum featured some things you most likely wouldn’t be able to drag the kids through today. Two novels by Thomas Hardy in five years? Good luck with that! And The Mill on the Floss, a serious-business novel by George Eliot. There was a lot of nineteenth century literature because there was no sex in it, or not right there on the page, though some of the books had some hot action in the margins.

(From “Shakespeare and Me: a tempestuous love story”, 2016, pp 293-305)

And that is why men do not pick up their socks from the floor once they have taken them off: men simply do not see these socks, having evolved to notice only animals that are moving. Whereas women can easily distinguish the socks from the background of floor carpet, having evolved to gather mushrooms – which the discarded socks closely resemble in form, and sometimes in texture and aroma…..If the socks could be equipped with tiny solar lights that would flash on and off, the men would be able to see them, and of course – being unselfish and altruistic – would scoop them off the floor and put them into the laundry basket, and one more major cause of human unhappiness would be eliminated!

(From “Greetings Earthlings! What Are These Human Rights of Which You Speak”, 2018, pp368-379)

Two of her major preoccupations, particularly towards the end of the book concern the rise of misogyny and hate, and particularly in America at the time of the 2016 election, and the speeding up of climate change and the threat to life on earth as we know it. In a speech given just before the 2016 election entitled “We Hang by a Thread” she said:

During the campaign we have seen an outpouring of misogyny not witnessed since the witchcraft trials of the seventeenth century…..This is a reminder to us that the hard-won rights for women and girls that many of us now take for granted could be snatched away at any moment. Culturally, those rights are very shallowly embedded – by which I mean they haven’t been around that long, historically, and that they are not fervently believed in by everyone in the culture. It seems that the male candidate for president of the United States, for one, does not believe in them. That’s a pretty interesting role model for boys and men.

Some of the most moving pieces in the final years covered by the book are about her late husband Graeme Gibson who died from vascular dementia in 2019. They clearly had a very happy marriage and shared many passions, mainly art, literature and the natural world, and her fond tributes to his work and acknowledgement of the impact he had on hers are both loving and generous. 

Part of me is sorry that it took me so long to finish this book, but I have enjoyed it so much these last few weeks that I am also glad to have come back to it. The reflections on the election of Donald Trump and the precariousness of human and particularly women’s rights, seem particularly prescient right now as we face another US election in which he seems likely to be a candidate, and the world faces what must surely be a tipping point. It is not a book that will leave you feeling optimistic, but it is definitely one that will make you smile and laugh at a time when things do seem rather bleak.

Finish a book challenge #2 – “Venice: the lion, the city and the water” by Cees Nooteboom

Venice has to be one of the most enigmatic, captivating cities in Europe, and possibly one of the most painted and written about. For a small place it seems always to have punched above its weight. The entire metropolitan area of Venice (which is spread over more than a hundred islands) is around a quarter of the size of Greater London, with a fraction of the population. The central area of the city, to which most of its 30 million visitors a year will be drawn, is even smaller. It is considered to be a victim of over-tourism and has for many decades been “sinking” into the lagoon that surrounds it.

I have twice in my life been one of those tourists. The first time was in 1986 when as an 18 year old I “inter-railed” around Europe. It was July and it was jam-packed. The youth hostel was full and so I was sent to a convent on one of the other islands which took in female travellers in the summer months. It was so clean and peaceful, a world away from the crowds of Piazza San Marco. The second time was in August 2012, when my children were young. We were on a family holiday in Italy and went to Venice for the day (as ninety per cent of tourists do). I’m afraid we went on a gondola and bought glass souvenirs. Again, it was jam-packed and I came away feeling somewhat tarnished. 

But Venice has always had something of a resonance for me. I studied German at ‘A’ level and read Thomas Mann’s Der Tod in Venedig (Death in Venice). The 1971 Luchino Visconti film adaptation starring Dirk Bogarde is one of my all-time favourites. And one of my husband’s all-time favourite films is Nicholas Roeg’s Don’t Look Now starring Donald Sutherland and Julie Christie (which, incidentally, was on television recently, to mark its 50th anniversary). It is about a couple who, after the death of their young daughter, spend the winter in Venice while the Donald Sutherland character is on a commission to restore an ancient church. I remember when we first watched it together I fantasised about visiting the city in the winter – it seemed so empty! I imagine now though that even in the winter it remains a very busy destination, though I hope sometime in the not too distant future to go there, perhaps in January!

I spotted this book on the city in my local bookshop recently  and my darling daughters picked up my hints and got it for me for Christmas! The author is the acclaimed Dutch writer Cees Nooteboom, who comes from Amsterdam, another watery city. The book recounts a life-long love affair with Venice and oozes with the author’s affection. Like me, and no doubt many other visitors, he laments how the city has become overwhelmed by visitors (not unlike his home town of Amsterdam), and only a few thousand permanent residents can now call Venice home. He is also aware that he may also be part of the problem. 

Venice has…already been more than sold. Within the area of San Marco, 90 per cent of the restaurants are run by Chinese, Albanians and people from the Middle East…..I know the stories about the other tourists, and I also know the strategies Venetians have come up with to deny the plague, to ignore it…..In these ice-cold weeks of February and March, the great flood has ebbed away a little. Venetians do not have to contend with the foreigners who have taken their usual seat at their favourite cafe, and as I am writing this I am aware that I too am a tourist.

The above quote comes at the end of the book, but most of it concerns lesser-known Venice, where it remains just about possible to find the secret places and avoid the crowds, like a Jewish cemetery, less esteemed churches, some disused, and a once-impressive garden that is only accessible by appointment and whose guardians are somewhat surprised to welcome a visitor. It is a book to help you get to know another Venice. Perhaps something rather like the little convent that accommodated me in 1986. 

Who knows if I will ever get to see Venice in the winter or if it will be as empty as I want it to be, as in Don’t Look Now. If I do, I will be sure to have this book as my companion. It is translated from the original Dutch by Laura Watkinson and is wonderfully illustrated with photos by the author’s partner Simone Sassen (and in which there are hardly any humans). 

Finish a book challenge #1 – “Emergent Srategy” by Adrienne Maree Brown

Is it harder to read non-fiction? I note that all the books I challenged myself to complete (because they have been languishing on my Goodreads “currently reading” profile for such a long time that it’s frankly embarrassing) in January are non-fiction. In contrast, I have just completed a fairly long book. Stephen King’s Misery on audio in less than a week. It was compelling, un-put-downable and I loved it. Amazingly, it’s the first Stephen King novel I have ever read, horror being a genre that I have always eschewed, but of course, that is a very limited and naive view of King, which I now humbly admit. More of Misery for a future blog. 

I should turn to the topic in hand, the fact that I have completed a book that it appears I have been “currently reading” since September 2022! To be fair I have dipped in and out. I have gone through periods, between other books, where I have read quite big chunks of it, and times when I have not gone near it for weeks, or probably months. I was inspired to read it on the recommendation of a work colleague after a professional development event. She spoke of the book’s tremendous impact on her practice (we work in the charitable sector), encouraging her to see her work more positively when at times it can feel like you are getting nowhere, having very little impact, wading through treacle. 

At first I found the book made a lot of sense and the messages struck a strong chord with me. Adrienne Maree Brown is a black, American, Queer woman who describes herself as “fat” and is a campaigner for social justice and equality for all, particularly those in marginalised communities who face prejudice, discrimination, cruelty and are misunderstood. She has every right to be very angry, but she has come to approach her work, her practice, from a place of love, growth, and a belief in the positive power of human connection and community action. She has reached her belief in the rightness of this approach through her own personal growth and journey of self-love. 

Brown is an extremely thoughtful, articulate and intelligent activist and writer. The book is extensively researched and in many ways more of an academic text than a ‘non-fiction’ book. I listened to it on audio and it was lovely to hear the author’s words spoken in her own voice, in the way she wanted to express herself, but sometimes this also made it difficult to follow, especially as there are extensive footnotes. There are times when I wanted to go back and ‘re-read’ sections, which is less easy with audio, but, honestly, I doubt that I would have finished it at all if I’d read a paper copy of the book. It was quite hard work!

Of course, there are as many genres of non-fiction as there are fiction and this book is as different as it’s possible to be from, say, Venice, another of my “finish a book challenge” titles that I plan to review later this week. Travel writing, creative non-fiction can be as much about story-telling as the finest examples of the art of the novel. Emergent Strategy is a powerful book for activists, campaigners, people like me working in the charity sector, trying to get a message out there and make a difference, and offers an alternative approach that might well be more effective and less stressful. It encourages us to see the best in people, to focus on micro-changes as steps towards success and frames the work as an organic process. Brown draws heavily on examples from the natural world, the value of diversity, symbiosis and slow movement, for inspiration. 

I found this book mostly enjoyable and though it’s appeal may well be limited it is also possible that it provides a manifesto for change and growth that could be our best hope for a peaceful and healthy future on earth.

Can I stay ‘Wintering’ for a bit longer please?

A light smattering of snow here in Manchester in January

Every day I am hearing people around me expressing with some relief that the bulbs in their garden are starting to appear and marvelling at how the days are lengthening. I am sure we are all looking forward to lower heating bills and the return of a little more light, but a part of me regrets the wishing away of our lives, the constant looking forward as a way of escaping the here and now. I had a birthday this week so perhaps I am just feeling somewhat reflective. It was on Monday – for some the worst day of the week, but my personal favourite; it’s like we get a new chance to start again, every seven days!

My family and friends were lovely with their gifts, their love and their good wishes, but my birthday present to me was a whole day free of obligations and to-do lists. I pleased myself for a whole 24 hours and it was bliss! I went for a swim, had a coffee at my favourite cafe and watched Saltburn in the evening (my kids have all watched it and thought it was “weird” so I had to check it out). I loved the film actually, a definite Recommend from me if you’re looking for something to watch. Superb performances all round.

I also treated myself to a couple of books. I have been very restrained for a while now; my ‘off the shelf’ reading challenge of last year (which I’m continuing this year) made me browse my own bookcases and read titles that have been languishing unread for, in some cases, years! It’s hard to resist a sale, however, especially on your birthday, so I bought myself a cookery book I had been drooling over before Christmas, and The Wheel of the Year by Rebecca Beattie, both of which seemed to speak to where I am at right now.

Roast Figs, Sugar Snow: food to warm the soul is a beautiful book with the most sumptuous design and photography and the recipes inside make me want to spend days in the kitchen. My younger daughter and I have also been on a ‘gut health journey’ (her words!) since Christmas and this book certainly helps to resist the temptation to go for the easy junk food option and instead embrace winter’s treasures while still supporting our health and wellbeing.

The Wheel of the Year is an eight chapter book, with each stage of the year (approximately six week chunks, as indicated by the position of the stars, the weather and the cycle of nature) explored for its spiritual significance and what this means for us as humans in the world. The first chapter is Yule or Midwinter, and the second (the start date of which is 1 February, ie today!) is Imbolc or Candlemas – I’m already inspired by these beautiful words. Nature at this time is not dead, but simply resting, as I feel we should be, conserving our resources for the growth that will soon come. I already know this book is going to be my companion for the year.

January was going to be a ‘catching up’ time when it came to my reading. I’ve tried to bring a daily reading habit back into my life after a few months when I feel I didn’t read very much at all. I’m pleased with my progress, and have enjoyed it so much, though predictably I haven’t yet completed every book I’ve got ongoing. I’ll be posting reviews of all these in the next couple of weeks and giving myself until half term to completely refresh my Goodreads ‘currently reading’ profile. Trying to string January out just a little longer!

I love how winter exposes the structures of the trees – they are so beautiful. Here is a sunny winter’s day in Cambridge (left) and a rather duller day in Cheshire (right) where the deer at the National Trust’s Dunham Massey are oblivious to the paparazzi.

Enjoy the rest of winter, or summer if you are in the southern hemisphere. To winterers everywhere try and rest and rejuvenate as best you can.

Booker shortlist review #6 – “Prophet Song” by Paul Lynch

January has turned into a bit of a rest and recuperate month for me. As I write, there is exactly one week left of the month and after some pretty wild weather in the UK over the last few days, I can report that the sun is shining in Manchester. I have been in my garden this morning assessing the storm damage and putting the covers back over the furniture after the wind had blown them off, and can report that green shoots are peeking out of the ground. I have an ancient nesting box on a wall that was put there by previous owners of our house and I have noticed from my kitchen window that some blue tits have been busy fluttering around it. The afternoons are definitely getting a bit longer and I do feel a slight sense of spring in the air. It feels like the long dark winter is starting to give way. Hmm, does that mean I have to stop resting and recuperating and start doing?!

For me, this month has also been about catching up. On all the things I did not manage to get done in the hectic weeks leading up to Christmas, and on all the unfinished books that have languished in piles for far too long. Perhaps that’s a sign of spring too, wanting to get rid of the old and usher in the new, draw some lines under what has passed. My most delayed unfinished task, certainly as far as this blog is concerned, is completing reviews of the 2023 Booker shortlisted titles. My final review is of the book that actually won, Prophet Song by Paul Lynch. It was widely welcomed as a good winner and the author has certainly done his time as a hard-working writer, so a good choice from the judges in that respect. It wasn’t my favourite book of the six (The Bee Sting was the outstanding one for me), but it was certainly imaginative, well-crafted and had important things to say. 

Set in Dublin in an apparently near-future, Prophet Song  is a story told from the perspective of Eilish Stack, a scientist and mother of four children, her youngest just a baby. Eilish’s husband Larry is a trade unionist, a senior officer in the Teacher’s Union of Ireland, not exactly a militant group, and when he is arrested on vague charges of seditious behaviour and subversive activity, Eilish’s world begins to fall apart. What also falls apart is the society she has known, normal social order, and most frighteningly, the family’s future suddenly seems very unclear. 

Larry is detained indefinitely and neither Eilish nor a lawyer are able to get access to him or any clarity from the authorities on why he remains in detention and what might happen to him. Eilish has to cope alone as a busy mother of three teenagers and a baby, carer for her elderly father whose dementia is beginning to impact significantly on his ability to live safely alone, and working full-time at the lab, the only breadwinner now. There is the sense of her gradually losing her hold on day to day life as well as the emotional and psychological strain of both personal and social events. 

Civil war effectively breaks out in the country. The government becomes increasingly totalitarian and, as is usually the case when democratic society breaks down in this way, for reasons that are quite baffling, a proportion of the society gets brought along, becomes complicit in the crackdowns and persecution. Eventually, Eilish feels she has no choice but to flee the country, to try and cross the border to the north (Northern Ireland), perhaps even try and get to the British mainland on a boat (anyone spot the irony?). Her sister lives in Canada and wants her and the family, including their father, to go there. Eilish’s father won’t, can’t, leave the country of his birth, and where he wants to die. Eilish has to make some terrible choices. 

I was reading this book at the time when hysteria in Britain about refugees crossing the channel in small boats was reaching boiling point. Nothing there is resolved and we seem unable to have a reasoned debate in this country about immigration or about human rights. In 2024, it is said that a staggering forty per cent of the world’s population live in countries that will hold general elections (how many participate is quite a different question), including in the UK of course. Some of these will take place in countries where it is democratic in name only, Russia for example (hmm, who do we think will win?). In others, like the US, the world is frankly holding its breath. The media in many of these countries cannot be said to be unbiassed, objective, representative or fair, and bad actors are capable of de-stabilising democracy through sophisticated technological tools, social media and deep-fakes. Some governments are also destabilising democracy themselves and implementing laws that favour the outcomes they and their supporters desire. By making Eilish so real, so relatable, her life so like ours, Paul Lynch, shows us how close all of us are to the seemingly unthinkable. It is a wake-up call and we all need to pay attention. 

Highly recommended.

BookTrust and the Reading Together campaign

It was a great pleasure to hear Children’s Laureate Sir Michael Morpurgo on the Radio 4 Today programme this morning, talking about the BookTrust’s new Reading Together campaign. He is one of my literary heroes and is always worth listening to. Sadly, the subject of his interview, and the motivation behind the launch of the campaign, is evidence from research that children today are having less and less exposure to books.

Some depressing highlights from the research:

  • One in five children under the age of 4 years have a book read to them less than once a month. (Yes, I double checked my typing and you have read it correctly.)
  • Less than half of children are read a bedtime story.
  • Only half of children between the ages of 1 and 2 from low income families are read to daily.
  • A quarter of parents with children aged 7 and under find reading with them challenging.

These statistics should alarm us all. The benefits of reading to young children are well-known and undisputed. Being read to early in life not only has benefits for literacy later on, but it is one of the most effective tools for achieving greater social mobility. What is more it can be free – as long as there is a library within walking or easy travelling distance. There is truly nothing not to like about giving young children access to books, lots of books. And best of all, they love it!

I grew up in a working-class household in a deprived part of London. My mum read for pleasure (she adored the late great Catherine Cookson) and only because we could get a free library card and it was something to do with us kids, did we go to the local library a lot. We did not have many books in the house – my parents could not really have afforded them – but Rectory Library in Dagenham was sacred to me. And, quite literally a lifeline for all of my childhood, right up until I went to university. I am completely convinced that had it not been for that happy accident I would not be where I am today. I dread to think how things might have turned out had I been born into this current age of digital distraction – we only had children’s television for a couple of hours a day, for goodness’ sake!

Not only are the statistics from the BookTrust alarming, they are also heartbreaking. Fellow readers, we come from many varied backgrounds but we all share a joy of reading, a love of books. Children today in the UK are being denied access to a habit, a hobby, a lifestyle choice that will not only enhance their life chances, but will bring them untold pleasures! Books are not cheap, but they can be bought cheaply sometimes (eg in charity shops) or accessed for free (libraries). In the UK, a fifth (almost 800) of our public libraries have closed since 2010 and spending in this area has declined by almost thirty per cent. (See this 2019 article in The Guardian. The figures may be worse now.)

It is up to all of us to arrest this decline in every way we can. If you know a child, give them a book or read to them. Donate books you no longer want to charity shops. Support reading charities. And if you are a parent or grandparent, take your young people to a library, perhaps even join a story circle there. I have just started going back to my local library and borrowing books regularly, even though most of the time I don’t get around to reading them before they have to be returned. Sound crazy? It is, but I figure use it or lose it, and if those of us that can afford to buy lots of books (and I do that too) abandon libraries, they may not be there in the future for the people who need them. It is the very least I can do.

Happy new year and book review – “Yellowface” by RF Kuang

I have been reading and liking a lot of posts from fellow bloggers about their reading year in 2023. I often do such a post myself except that my reading and blogging last year was pretty woeful and I don’t want to depress myself – comparison is never good for self-esteem! Life just got in the way in 2023, but no matter. I’ve also been reading a lot of blogs about, and been receiving a lot of emails from various newsletters and platforms I subscribe to, exhorting me to set my reading goals for the year. I still have a very busy six months ahead of me with education and family commitments so I’m not going to do anything that might make me feel like I’m somehow falling short. Last year, I set myself a challenge to read one long-neglected book from my shelves per month. I was doing pretty well up until the summer…

So, this year, I am going to set myself the same challenge, because I think it’s a good one. Plus my husband has started making noises about thinning out our book collection, not a bad idea in itself, but it does make my blood run a little cold. It is hard to justify buying more books however, when you have very many unread ones lying around. For January, I’m just going to set myself the task of finishing all the books I currently have on the go! If you glance at my Goodreads profile you will note that there are currently SIX(!), and at least three of them have been there for a very long time. So, I am going to try and get these read by the end of the month. A kind of clearing the decks before signs of spring and feelings of fresh starts commence in February. Did you know that in Ireland spring begins officially on the 1st of February? I don’t think it’s any warmer there or anything, but I visited my in-laws in Dublin for new year and I can confirm that daffodils were indeed blooming in their garden! The government has even instituted a new bank holiday in 2023 for St Brigid’s Day, to mark this traditional Gaelic festival welcoming the spring.

So, in the spirit of catching up and clearing out before spring, I want to start my reviewing year with a book that I read some months ago and which I have been meaning to write about ever since, but haven’t quite got around to. Yellowface was one of a few much-hyped novels of last year and I listened to it on audio over the summer. As well as being a great read, it is a complex and brilliantly constructed novel which explores many themes and ideas. 

The central character is June Hayward, a writer who is struggling to make her mark and whose agent and publisher are losing patience with her (lack of) output. June has a friend, Athena Liu, whose fortunes are very much in the ascendant. The two women were at Yale together and in her writing career, Athena has achieved everything that June desires, both commercial success and literary acclaim, making her a wealthy writer, a rare thing. To make matters worse (for June), Athena is beautiful, popular and socially skilled. June and Athena do not have a close relationship, rather they share some mutual friends, but on a night out to celebrate Athena having sold the television rights for her latest book, the two women find themselves drunk at Athena’s luxury New York apartment. On a whim, Athena decides to cook pancakes, but in a freak accident, chokes to death in front of June’s very eyes. In the chaotic aftermath of the incident, June finds herself alone in Athena’s apartment. Looking around her study she comes across the completed first draft of another novel, which Athena has produced in her trademark fashion – on a manual typewriter. Thus, no traceable digital copy. 

The temptation is too much for June and after reading it she decides that fate has decreed that she will be the one to knock it into shape, to turn it into a publishable piece. June works on the draft day and night for several weeks and by the end of the process feels the novel is as much hers as Athena’s. She sends it to her agent and the book is eventually published to great acclaim under the pen-name, Juniper Song, distancing it from June’s previous (mediocre) work, and adding an air of authenticity to the subject-matter – the unsung contribution of Chinese prisoners to the first world war effort in Europe. With her Asian heritage this would have been a natural choice of subject for Athena, but less so for June.

June revels in the success of the book and all appears to be going well until she begins to be trolled on social media by someone masquerading as the ghost of Athena Liu claiming that June stole the work, accusing her of cultural appropriation and even suggesting June may have had a hand in Athena’s death. Events quickly spiral out of control and the rest of the novel proceeds at pace as June tries to uncover who is behind the fake social media account. As doubts about her spread she must face into some very public challenges as well as private demons. At first, the accusations against June about cultural appropriation (the ‘yellowface’ of the title) seem pretty clear-cut, but the author is also unafraid of challenging the publishing industry’s fickleness and the rank hypocrisy that can play out in social media.    

There is only really one way this story can end and yet the author still manages to make it quite shocking and twisty. It is a genuine  page-turner and I was on the edge of my metaphorical seat throughout. Rebecca Kuang is an extraordinary young talent; she left China with her parents when she was just four years old, and the family moved to America. She won a scholarship to Cambridge, did an MSc at Oxford, has a PhD from Yale and had already published four novels before Yellowface. She is only 27. Reading her bio you can sort of empathise with June Hayward!

Highly recommended.

Booker shortlist review #5 – “Study for Obedience” by Sarah Bernstein

Study for Obedience was the shortest book on this year’s Booker Prize shortlist. It is an exquisite little piece in many ways, but I have to confess I remain ambivalent about it.

There is not much in the way of a plot. The central character and narrator is a female about which we know very little, apart from what she reveals through the course of the book. She may not be young, but she has certainly led a fairly sheltered, quiet life. We meet her when she is brought by her older brother to his home in order to look after him. He is a fairly dominant and not very pleasant individual whose wife has just left him and taken their children with her. Our narrator provides care and attention to him, keeping the house, feeding him, even reading to him and massaging him while he bathes. 

The place where the narrator and her brother live is unnamed but it is clear they are considered outsiders. The brother, however, has been able to achieve a degree of acceptance, through his wealth, his social status and the self-confident way he puts himself about. The narrator, however, his younger sister, is more timid, prefers to remain below the radar. The townspeople become suspicious of her, particularly when a series of strange events coincides with her arrival – a local dog experiences a phantom pregnancy; a sow crushes her litter of piglets; a herd of normally docile retired dairy cattle goes mad and all have to be destroyed. Our narrator attempts to ingratiate herself with the townspeople but her efforts go unrewarded. 

There are hints of antisemitism in the novel, the prejudice that never seems to go away. The brother and sister seem to be Jewish, different to the townspeople, but even though they are not overt in their faith, the narrator in particular arouses suspicion, hostility and is demonised. Reading the book, I was also reminded of the Salem Witch Trials, where femaleness is distrusted, almost pathologised, something to be held in check. How “obedient” is our narrator really?

What cannot be denied about this book is the quality of the writing and of providing a highly distinctive character perspective. What I am less sure about is, frankly, what the book is about! Perhaps it merits another read – it is certainly short enough to do that quite easily. My first response to it however, has been very much one of “and…?” 

It’s certainly unusual and perhaps that is how it ascended to the shortlist of the prestigious Booker, but I’m afraid it wasn’t a winner for me (or the judges, it seems).