Bye Bye Benny - Francesco Filippi

 

I read this (e)book because I liked its exhuberant cover and the fact that it called the petty (and terrifingly reckless) dictator that defined the Italian 20th century "Benny". 

This book is obviously little more than a cute story for children (or at most young adults), still, in a continent that is experiencing some rather significant democratic backsliding and with a drought of readable books around, it still serves a purpose. 

It won't (and it really shouldn't) shake the world, but it might help a few people who read this think that perhaps we ought to defend democratic values and that strongmen (and women!) might not always be the best answer to socio-political stagnation. Actually, they are never the best answer to socio-political stagnation. 

A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court - Mark Twain

 

Another one of those books left on the doorstep of a Rotherhithe apartment block. 

Of the three Mark Twain novels I read, this was by far the least interesting. Not as funny as Tom Sawyer, not as thoguht-provoking at Huckleberry Finn. 

And while Mark Twain also has problematic elements (race, colonialism, politics - you name it!) this one almost had me scream "stop patronizing the rest of the world and other eras, you self-indulgent, self-absorbed and self-centred American bore". 

Paradise Sky - Joe R. Lansdale

 

The first Lansdale book I read, and it was actually one of those great 30p buys from the Barbican Library overstock titles. 

Partly Cormac McCarthy, partly Little Big Man, partly self-aggrandising tall tale, this was a truly compelling read. 

It does, however, also raise a significant question: is it better for a great white writer to tell the story of a black cowboy, or should we wait for a black writer to do that, however long it might take (considering that there isn't a queue of black authors waiting to write about Nat Love, as far as I know)? I tend to prefer the first option, but I'd be very happy to be proven wrong. 

Sátántangó - László Krasznahorkai

 

Maybe my desire to read some Hungarian books became excessive. And maybe the Nobel committee goes out of its way to award prizes to authors that are simply too highbrow for even reasonably seasoned readers. 

But seriously, what was this?!? I understand that experimenting with literary forms can be a sign of genius, but I ultimately begin my writing advice sessions by jokingly telling my students that "sentence, paragraph and essay" should not be treated as synonyms (seriously, some of them love 800-word paragraphs on the Schlieffen Plan), and this is exactly what Krasznahorkai does. 

I honestly didn't understand anything of this book (and as a result, didn't understand its supposed greatness). It all blurred into one, interminable, sentence and I felt that I had to finish this only because the Nobel committee said so. 

Destinazione Errata - Domenico Starnone

 

A book by a reasonably popular Italian contemporary author that I was completely unfamiliar with. 

It's very well-written, and the self-destructive web of deceipts and half-truths that the main character weaves around himself as he tries to tell a colleague that he doesn't love her before trying to persuade himself that he does actually love her is, at the very least, fascinating. 

Still, all the characters in the novel are supposed to be highly educated and emotionally intelligent. How is it even remotely possible that a love declaration coming via text from a married man is not questioned at least a little bit more by the recipient?!?

The Time of the Hero - Mario Vargas Llosa

 

Another book that I got from Olio. Oh, how nice it would have been to get more than my "allocated" 10 books from that guy...

The Time of the Hero started off poorly for me. Very poorly. Life in army barracks and "boys will be boys" acts of violence and bullying are really not my idea of an interesting (let alone a pleasant) read. 

Still, after a few chapters, and when the drama truly unfolds (despite the fact that the book's cover already announced from the start what the drama would be...) the characters actually become well-rounded and one and I started to become invested in their lives. While not fully expecting complete justice, I would have still liked at least something more than "the army will take care of itself". 

Still, it remains a book about something that I find at best uninteresting, and at worst borderline repulsive. 

Sharon and My Mother-in-Law - Suad Amiry

 

This was a book that I stumbled upon by chance. And, I have to admit, I was attracted first of all by the title (and I might or might not have thought it was a reference to Sharon Stone) before reading what the book was about. 

Obviously, the titular Sharon was Ariel Sharon after all, and I thought this was a good book in "general" literary terms and an excellent one considering the topic and the viewpoint. It offers a very insightful overview of the Palestinian situation and life in Ramallah (and the borderline hopelessness of the idea of a two-state solution, even before the latest bouts of this never-ending conflict). 

And yet, as one reads this book one also has to remember that someone like Suad Amiry is (and she does recognize it herself) a privileged Palestinian - highly educated, living in Ramallah, with international links, financial stability, and an ability to find ways to get her voice heard. Millions of people are in even more precarious positions. 

The Short End of Sonnenallee - Thomas Brussig

 

Cute. In the same way that Goodbye, Lenin is cute. 

This book mixes a healthy element of nostalgia - for decades past, for lives past - with a predictable critique of the Soviet bloc. The one thing that I found particularly endearing is that it shows how the memories of a child, or a young adult (or perhaps anyone?!?) will always assume almost mythical traits. And it's also a demonstration of how children, in whatever kind of situation, are often able to find a positive spin in their microcosm even when the world of the grown-ups around them goes through seismic shifts. 

Mr Loverman - Bernardine Evaristo

 

The good times when I could use my job's yearly book allowance to buy novels I enjoy rather than boring books about study skills are probably gone, but with my last work-approved trip to Waterstones I did buy this beauty of a book. 

I loved reading how the novel's main character always finds ways to justify himself and his actions, and enjoyed his very belated but still somewhat plausible redemption arc. His take on English, and being allowed to experiment (and butcher) it once you have understood its rules is also something that I very much relate to. 

And once I finished it, it actually gave me and my wife a lovely excuse to watch a (mini) TV series together. 

What We Can Know - Ian McEwan

 

I feel like I should write about this book, which I've read more than a year ago, as my parents appear to misremember my impressions (they seem to think that I liked it a lot, when in reality my reaction was more muted) and my colleagues are now passing it among themselves. 

While the book does have a number of interesting takes (chief among all a dystopian future that feels rather realistic, in which humans have learned to adapt to changes and a number of technological developments of the late 20th/early 21st century have disappeared) it essentially deals with something (the construction and reconstruction of (hi)stories) that I unfortunately already have to deal with on a dialy basis as part of my job. 

So, while on the one hand I can see this being a very compelling read for many, for me it's just not quite interesting or novel enough. I know for a fact that, as a historian, most of my guesses about the past are wrong. I don't need McEwan to reiterate that for me. 

Hamnet - Maggie O'Farrell

 

Raise your hand up if you've heard of this book, or watched the movie. Yup, I thought so...

For me the pros are that Hamnet will have something for everyone - the Shakespeare lovers, those interested in family relations, those who want to explore how people elaborate loss, and those who want to be transported to the past qutie effortlessly (O' Farrell is a really remarkable writer). It will also appeal to those who like to smugly say "Nope, that's not a true account of the creation of Hamlet" (as if that was ever the point). 

Yet, for me the book does have one huge con: I couldn't help but feel that it exploited the suffering and grieving of a family, and I'm not quite sure how (or if) that could be addressed - after all, it's most likely better to talk about this kind of loss (even if it is in part to sell copies of a book) than not talk about it at all. 

Waiting for the Barbarians - J. M. Coetzee

 

One of the many books I picked up from a table on Rotherhithe Street a year or so ago. And like pretty much all of Coetzee's books I've read (minus perhaps the Jesus series) a really interesting read. 

Still, for much that it explored the futility of war and orders coming from above that are completely out of touch with reality, our lack of empathy and our inability to understand (and fight) a hypothetical enemy, I struggled to see this as an equal to the book it is quite openly inspired by (Buzzati's Il Deserto dei Tartari). 

The Confidential Agent - Graham Greene

 

A book that I found, alongside many that I'm currently reading, on Olio, the (mostly) food-sharing app. A local guy was trying to donate the books of his step-father, and I grabbed a few, though I wish the limit wasn't just 10 at a time as I would have most likely taken the whole lot!

The decision to pick this one up was partly determined by my passion for Greene, partly by the fact that I loved the old Penguin edition, partly by the assumption that it would have a kind of Third Man feeling. And I was unsurprisingly correct about the last assumption. 

The Confidential Agent is beautiful yet heartbreaking (regardless of whether you know the history of the Spanish Civil War or not, or even whether you associate this book with that particular conflict and not another unnamed one, you know from the start that the protagonist's cause is ultimately hopeless). Still, it is both compelling and, for want of a better term, inspirational to see someone fight for a lost - if morally irreprehebsible - cause. 

The environment the characters move in also reminded me of Simenon, though the one thing I could have done without (as I felt it was a move aimed at a movie adaptation, as the book ended up having) was the romantic love story on the fringes. 

Two Besides - Alan Bennett

 

One always needs a bit of Alan Bennett in life. And there is nothing more useful (and simultaneously easy to read while remaining meaningful) than his talking heads. 

I read this book a few months ago, and unsurprisingly I have forgotten about the plot of the two monologues, but I do remember the feelings: looking at people in their daily lives, reading about the objectionable things they do, seeing how they justify and absolve themselves, and then wondering whether I should cast some sort of judgement on them or not. 

Oddly enough, what I do remember best is the preface written by one of Bennett's longest serving collaborators (Nicholas Hytner). That was one of the most beautiful accounts of the impact of COVID-19 and how some people in the entertainment industry did their utmost best to keep on doing their jobs, in one way or another, in the face of unprecedented adversity. 

Yellow Dog - Martin Amis

 

Wow. Just wow. Not a good wow. A bad wow. This book is definitely a worthy candidate for worst book I've ever read. 

It was bought for 50p at the local farm years ago, but we definitely overpaid for it. 

It's disjointed, deeply unfunny, seriously self-absorbed and simply, quite frankly, uninteresting. Perhaps Amis was trying to be clever and put together a bunch of odd bits that he had flying around his office, or maybe he thought that his fame would allow him to publish anything, but wow (again) this book was bad.