Bibliography, July 2015

BOTM: Ford, F.M., No More Parades 

Bryson, B., 1927
Bryson, B., Shakespeare
Ford, F.M., Some Do Not ... 
Ford, F.M., A Man Could Stand Up 
Ford, F.M., The Last Post 
Maugham, W. S. The Moon and Sixpence 
Maugham, W. S. The Razor's edge 
Wrangham, R., Catching Fire: how cooking makes us human

Zelazny, R., Nine princes in Amber

It turns out Parade's End isn't about the war at all (well, maybe a bit), it's really about being a Tory. As a result, I enjoyed a lot more than I imagined I would. I even came to like what we might describe as its 'distinctive' style. And the themes are in fact eternal, not limited to the war at all. I'm not sure there's much science behind which volume I've chosen here as a favourite because obviously they only work when taken together. However, this was the most immediate, uncertain and opaque (deliberately) and all the better for it.

Just not cricket

After yesterday, I am longer mentioning international cricket. Unfortunately, because I've been talking about cricket for some weeks, my elder son is now fascinated. He took not coming to Lord's with a good grace (thankfully. He's far too young to be useful and be sent to get the drinks). Instead, I said I'd take him to the Oval to watch Surrey another weekend. This has three major advantages: it's cheap, down the road, and there's a chance they might actually win. I discover today it has one overwhelming disadvantage: there aren't any matches. Not one.

Preposterously, in the week that schools break up, there are now no more weekend fixtures at the Oval - for the entire rest of the year (her's the schedule). In fact, Surrey played on only one weekend day throughout all July (in Leicester). They play most weekends in August, but only one is at home (and that's in Guildford). They don't play a single weekend in September unless they reach a final or two. None of these games are at the Oval. These things aren't relevant to me yet, but that means there is not a single weekend game for the entire school holidays, even if you're working off private education holidays. In the spirit of even-handedness, the early part of the summer was better, but I am unimpressed. 

I know no-one watches county cricket, but I feel they could try a bit harder.

Bibliography, June 2015

BOTM: M. Pollan, Cooked

B. Cunliffe, Facing the Ocean
C. Mieville, The city and the city
M. Robinson, Lila
W. Miller, A Canticle for Leibowitz
E. Zola, Germinal
A. Zamoyski, Poland

It's a sad reflection of living with children, that despite being on holiday for much of June, I still only managed a paltry seven books, albeit a number were long and excellent. Mieville and Zola exceptionally so. As an aside, this means I may attempt the whole Rougon - Macquart sequence. The best of all though was Michael Pollan's book about cooking (and baking and brewing). I was concerned in the first few pages that he may be a too Californian for me, but though there were moments, they were few and mild. Instead, his book manages simultaneously to be both a fascinating discursive ramble through the cooking approaches he explored and a practical call to action to specific cooking techniques. As a result, in my spare time between reading nineteenth century French novels, I am going to bake bread.

Bibliography, May 2015

BOTM: M. Robinson, Gilead

J. Braine, Room at the top
J. Crace, Being dead
E. Crispin, Buried for pleasure
U. Eco, The Prague Cemetery
B. Greene, Liechtenstein: Valley of Peace
A. Huxley, Island
H. Macdonald, H is for hawk
M. Robinson, Home

Gilead - perfect; everything else (and several were outstanding) - not Gilead.

Bibliography, April 2015

BOTM: P. Lively, Moon tiger

J. Barnes, A pedant in the kitchen*
A. Bennett, Clayhanger
W. Golding, Rites of passage
P.H. Newby, Something to answer for

Astute observers will notice that I am filling in the missing Booker winners I've not yet read. I'm getting very close to being able to produce a definitive ranking.  Astute observers will also note that I haven't actually managed to do much reading, but there is much to remark about on these. What I'm most struck by is the fragility of literary reputation. Newby and Bennett are obscure now, yet neither deserve to be - Bennett is particularly marvellous. I'd also comment on the loss of Egypt as a setting in modern fiction. From the 1950s onwards, Egypt crops up again and again. I'm thinking here of Durrell, Olivia Manning, Waugh et cetera - most of course about the war. Lively's, with The English patient five years' later, is really the last hurrah (I am happy to be corrected on this). It's all India now and that's a shame. Anyway, Moon tiger was great. Elegantly written and deeply affecting. Go find it. It's quite short and well worth it.

Bibliography, March 2015

BOTM: P. Barker, The Ghost Road

P. Barker, The Eye in the Door

E.M. Brent-Dyer, A princess at the Chalet School

A.S. Byatt, On histories and stories
T. Capote, Breakfast at Tiffany's
J. Huley, A matter of taste: a history of wine drinking in England
O. Jones, The Establishment

A. Leckie, Ancillary justice

S. Middleton, Holiday
H. Saberi, Tea: A global history

Despite a strong showing from Leckie's multigarlanded science fiction debut, only one author was going to win BOTM. I did have some difficulty choosing which one, but - like the Booker judges - I came down on the final volume of the Regeneration trilogy. It's exquisitely done. I read them at the time, but hadn't remembered very about them. Perhaps I was too young. Nonetheless, they are pretty much pitch perfect in their recreation of a very specific slice of the War, and the real and fictional blending is done very well indeed. It's also much softer on the heartbreak than it could be. The deaths aren't melodramatic, but just sad. I think that makes it a cut above those novels that hammer home the point. It's superior in most other ways too.

Bibliography, February 2015

BOTM: J. Wood, the fun stuff

C. Achebe, Things fall apart
P. Barker, Regeneration*
E.M. Brent Dyer, Jo of the Chalet School*
I. Fleming, From Russia, with Love
U. Le Guin, The left hand of darkness
S. Rushdie, The Moor's Last Sigh*

I note, a) I've begun to really step up the rereading, which may damage my calculations about how many books to retain in the house and b) this has been an exceptional month. I reckon at least three of these would have taken BOTM in January (Wood, Barker, Rushdie). And I could make a case for Le Guin and Achebe. I think this is the last of Rushdie's great works, and it makes painful the decline he has suffered since. Comparing this to The Enchantress of Florence (which has strong echoes of this in it) is painful.

Not though as painful as Paul Auster would find James Wood's essay on his output. It's a savage, and richly deserved, binning. And just one of the succession of gems in his latest collection of essays. It helps of course that I think he's right on most of the authors he discusses, but really it's the penetration and elegance with which he approaches each subject that makes this outstanding. As a bonus, we don't just get literary criticism but an astounding essay on the late Keith Moon, decades after his death. It's been richly lauded, and I heartily concur. Unless of course you're a huge fan of Paul Auster.