London Observed - Doris Lessing

And this was the first book I read after we left the hospital with our baby daughter. 

It was ideal, London-based, touching and not dated at all despite being made up of stories published over a number of years (for that, I guess you have to thank London and it's ability to remain true to itself even in moments of dramatic change). 

A perfect read for a hectic time in my life, and one of the few collections of short stories to make it onto my bookshelf. 

Love, etc - Julian Barnes

A very solid 30p buy from the Barbican's library. Shame they only appear to have gigantic hardbacks on sale these days...

As a demonstration of the fact that I read (and buy) books more or less at random, I read LOVE, etc without having read its predecessor (Talking It Over). In spite of that, I really rather enjoyed it - the story is very easy to pick up (to be fair, Barnes does offer what I believe is a pretty substantial recap through the words of the three main characters), and the London setting is, as usual, very appealing to me. 

The biggest selling point for me was the decision to allow the characters to "speak for themselves" in an almost theatrical way, something that appears so smart and so simple, and something that surprisingly other authors (to my very limited knowledge!) haven't decided to imitate. 

The Long Goodbye - Raymond Chandler

In all honesty I was biased against this novel before even starting it: after reading quite a lot of Chandler, I had had enough of him and with how cool Marlowe finds himself, but I did like the movie (though many didn't!) and needed something reasonably long and reasonably light to carry with me to the hospital as my wife delivered baby numero dos. Yes, because that happened too...

Unsurprisingly, I didn't particularly like the book, but the setting remains one that I enjoy (though I'd pick an LA novel by Ellroy any day over this one!). The biggest surprises were in the differences with the movie, but I never really got into the plot, and that's partly due to the little time that I have for Marlowe and to the fact that I was quite on the sleep-deprived side of things those days!
 

All in all, though, it was oddly enough the perfect read for uncomfortable nights on uncomfortable hospital chairs!

A Long Way from Home - Peter Carey

Possibly the best book I've read this year (then again, I probably have a handful of books I can say the same for if I go through the list). I've read reviews saying that Carey was back to the level of Oscar and Lucinda, but I liked this book so much more. 

What I liked about it is its soft and subtle approach to issues of race and repression in Australia. He surely gets plenty of things wrong, but he appears to me one of those white men who at least make an effort, and obviously that's something that resonates with me. 

And, despite not being into any sort of motorsport, I have to say the idea of a car race across an almost uncharted Australia is absolutely fascinating. On top of that, the switch of focus from Irene to Willie works surprisingly well, as the reader grows truly fond of both of them.

Purity - Jonathan Franzen

 

And I actually liked it. I liked it better than Freedom, the book it displaced on my bookshelf. Granted, I might be biased as a big chunk of it is set in my wife's hometown (Santa Cruz de la Sierra, Bolivia, is not exactly the most literarily visited of places, the only author I know that has written about it was Mario Vargas Llosa, but that doesn't count as he lived right next door!). 

I don't think anything will ever come close to The Corrections, but Purity has enough flashes of genius to remind the reader of how amazing a writer Franzen can be. Said flashes of genius (first among them Andreas Wolf's first TV interview outside the Stasi archives) are enough to make one overlook some unpredictable turns of events that are actually not so unpredictable. 

The penultimate chapter (The Killer) felt absolutely eternal, and I do think Franzen could have shaved a fair few pages from the 563 of the book, but it remained a great read to end 2019. Also, this book is so very reflective of his disdain and disregard for a number of contemporary developments and trends, and to me it appears clear that Tom Aberant is in the end his favourite character. 

Eileen - Ottessa Moshfegh

Had it not been for a former student, I never would have known who Ottessa Moshfegh was. Instead I saw this book selling for 50p at the local farm, and immediately made it mine. Now it has been sold to Skoob (the secondhand bookshop in Russell Square) for 50p as it didn't quite make it as one of the 283 novels I have space for in my living room. The circle of life applied to books!

This was one of the most disturbing (if not the single most disturbing) reads of the year, one in which you know from the start that things are going to go so darkly wrong. Kind of like watching Fargo. 

I can absolutely see why Moshfegh is hailed as one of the best young American novelists, though I think that My Year of Rest and Relaxation deserves more praise, but that may have to do with the even more bizarre plot.

Go Tell It on the Mountain - James Baldwin

 

Oh, the haunting beauty of James Baldwin's writing! In a year that saw the release of the wonderful If Beale Street Could Talk (which I unfortunately went to see with a friend who failed to appreciate it, probably due to its lack of car chases and superheroes) I thought it was fitting to finally read this book. 

In many ways, reminded me of Secrets and Lies transposed in a racially turbulent American East Coast. All the characters appear like good people at heart, but broken (to different extents) but the drama of daily life. The reader wishes them to have good lives, but knows that in most cases there are simply too many hurdles. It is heartbreaking, but it has love in it and, ultimately, hope. 

And, much like with Coates below, I am afraid that it still does not get read by the people who really should, like my friend with his car chases and superheroes.

Between the World and Me - Ta-Nehisi Coates

 

A book that was given to me by two good friends before they moved all the way to Australia. A book I had unsurprisingly never heard of (which happens with plenty of works of fiction, but with the very vast majority of the works of non-fiction). 

This was a painful read, and not a cathartic one. It makes the reader think deeply about the plague that is discrimination (racial or of any kind), and also about the role of parents as educators. Yet, for all the reflections that this book causes, I don't think it will result in me taking any drastic action to change my behaviour or, worse, others'. And that is a big problem. Much like the fact that the audiences who would benefit the most from reading this book and entering the discussion are probably not going to read it.

4 3 2 1 - Paul Auster

 

Self-indulging. Obscenely long. Repetitive. 

And yet. 

Beautiful. (Not overly) ambitious. Surprisingly readable. 

After investing the classic £2.50 at Fopp, this book was used to stop any door in the flat (even the heaviest ones) from slamming. Then I was left with only this and some other long-unread tomes, and decided to give it a chance. 

Sure, 4321 is a stylstic exercise if there ever was one, but because Auster is such a superb writer, and because he has so much to write about, the countless pages actually flow quite seamlessly. The reader actually grows to like every single one of the Archies, and actually fall in love with every single version of Amy. 

If this was anybody without Auster's skills (or without the life-experience that he can draw upon for the autobiographical passages) this book would be absolutely unreadable. Or, actually, it just wouldn't get published. But it did, and hopefully enough readers have decided to give it a chance rather than using it as a door-stopper.

Zero K - Don DeLillo

 

It might be that I've read way too many of DeLillo's books, or it might simply be that, having just had my second child, I am not quite ready for anything too deep, but Zero K didn't quite do it for me. 

I understand why plenty of critics found this to be a fine book, but I couldn't bring myself to love it. The scientific/futuristic dynamics are not particularly exciting for me (then again, he probably is miles ahead of everyone and foreseeing things like he did with Cosmopolis) and the bodies with severed cryogenically heads just remind me of Futurama...

Like all of DeLillo's books, I'm really glad I've read it. And, like most of his books since Underworld, it is a quick read (but not a light one by any means!).

The Plot Against America - Philip Roth

Another book that my mom insisted I read for a long, long time. And this time around one that I was keen to read (both Jewish and suburban, yay!) but I just didn't get around to buying it for a long time...

Besides liking it for the obvious reasons (Roth's writing, the story of the Jewish people of Newark, etc.) it's one of those fictional accounts that actually made me learn things about history. While I'm acutely aware of the fact that Lindberg was never the president of the US, there were plenty of things I didn't know about him, or Henry Ford, for instance.

Obviously the book is relevant and current, but I feel like I would have enjoyed this thoroughly regardless of the historical period we live in. And why Roth never won the Nobel prize is beyond me, though getting a Pulitzer is not exactly easy (or shabby)...

Down and Out in Paris and London - George Orwell

And to think that there was a time when I thought very little of Orwell. That was because I had only read Animal Farm (and didn't exactly love it) and heard an old member of the International Brigades fighting in the Spanish Civil War label him a "fucking tourist" when asked about Orwell's contribution to the war (an absolutely priceless moment!).

Much like everyone, I'm not quite sure how much of what Orwell tells in this fictional work of non-fiction actually happened or not, but it surely is thought-provoking and compelling. It is also probably one of those books that won't leave a permanent mark on me, but one whose overall sense will remain memorable.

And I don't know why, but I have the feeling it will remain on my shelf for longer than the very similar The Road by Jack London will (disclaimer: I did like The Road, but it's now with a pile of other books parked in my wardrobe as they are looking for a new home - with the second child coming around I'm now more determined than ever to have books only on my IKEA Billy and nowhere else in the flat!)



London Fields - Martin Amis

Another of those books that remained on my bookshelf for century because of their intimidating size. And another that I thoroughly enjoyed in the end.

I have to say I was actually kind of happy to find out that London Fields was not actually set in London Fields, as I struggle a fair bit with how fashionable the "hipsterland" between North and East London is.

The premise of the novel (a narrator, a murderer, a murderee and a foil) is genial, at least in my humble opinion. The prose is virtually flawless, and some passages might be among the best in recent British literature.

Sure, Nicola Six is an improbable character (to say the least!), and I could have done without the dystopian elements (not quite sure whether they really need to be there, to be honest), but London Fields remains a great book.



Goodbye to Berlin - Christopher Isherwood

A book that I bought because I still had money to spend from this year's book allowance, and one that I bought only because I had just finished reading A Single Man and loved it.


As I read the first few pages I thought that it was reminding me so much of the movie Cabaret. Clearly the version I read didn't quite have the book cover above otherwise even I would have been able to understand the connection between the two a bit sooner!

Yet, for much that I liked the book (and I really did!), a couple of months have passed and now I can only remember vague passages and sensations, but the actual plot escapes me. And that is either a sign of early-onset dementia (a possibility), a demonstration of how many things I have going on at the moment (more likely, given also that we are expecting a second child in little more than a month by the way!), or it's possibly that the entertainment value of this book doesn't match its literary one.


The Tenth Man - Graham Greene



With the usual thanks to Surrey Docks farm for this solid 50p investment. I bought it thinking it was a joking take on The Third Man, and had it not been for the fact that it wasn't exactly expensive I wouldn't have bought it after reading about its troubled publication history (I mean, the author himself had forgotten about writing it in the first place!).



And I honestly wonder how Graham Greene could have ever forgotten about it. Not remembering bits and pieces, sure, but forgetting about the genius idea (or at least what I think is a genius idea!) of a man buying his way out of an execution and persuading someone else to take his place appears to me to be impossible.

The novel has such a wonderfully French feel, probably a reflection of Greene's unique ability to write books about pretty much any country and making it feel authentic. Much like the reader feels the dilemmas of the main character are authentic, despite the fact that he finds himself in a most unique position.

The Pearl - John Streinbeck

I would probably buy anything written by Steinbeck, and read it quickly, and love it. In the case of The Pearl I bought it, read it quickly, and just didn't love it. Sad, but at least it proves I don't completely lose my objectivity when reading.

It is obviously well-written (it's Steinbeck, duh!), but all the poetry of the plot is lost on me. To me it stands to Steinbeck's other works much like The Old Man and the Sea does to Hemingway's: it's a book that is obviously bound to be popular, but one whose story is rather predictable and, in my opinion, not really engaging.

Or maybe I'm just old and bitter.



London Belongs to Me - Norman Collins

One of the last few novels that I had bought with my job's "book allowance" two years ago. And one that had remained on my bedside table for a long, long time because of its scary size. And yet a novel that, once started, I was able to read in a few days as the prose flows so effortlessly, and the South London setting makes the plot immediately interesting for me.

London Belongs to Me is a wonderfully ordinary story. It tells of the various families inhabiting a house and their daily challenges. It tells, ultimately, of London. There is (British) humour aplenty, there is drama and there is love.

Who knows, maybe if it had been published in 2017 I would have simply written it off as banal, but the WWII aura around London always goes a long way with me, just as it did when I read The End of the Affair.

Falling Man - Don DeLillo

I wonder whether all of Don DeLillo's books get remaindered within 24 hours. Seriously, there's always at least two of his novels at Fopp. Not that I'm complaining though, as ultimately I tend to like most (if not all) of them. 

Falling Man is a typical DeLillo book, with typical troubled characters victims of traumatic events (in this case, 9/11) and struggling to live their lives as the parameters around them are shifting. 

What was good was the idea of the artist (the Falling Man of the title), the fictionalized accounts of the moment in which the planes hit the towers as seen from the inside, and the children looking up at the sky in search of the mysterious "Bill Lawton". 

What was possibly not so good was the bizarre link (through a suitcase) between the two survivors. 

And what was ultimately a bad sign for the book is that, despite having finished it only a couple of weeks ago, I have already forgotten most of it. 

Così Giocano le Bestie Giovani - Davide Longo

A book that I read while on holiday in Italy, and something that I used to break up the never-ending task of reading Paul Auster's "4321" - something that hopefully will end at some point this weekend.

As I said in my last post, Longo's prose remains unparalleled in contemporary Italian literature, and this dark detective story is extremely captivating. There are a couple of characters I could have lived without (the counsellor/psychiatrist/psychologist, and, erm, the dog), but other than that it remained a very enjoyable read.

Enjoyable because it's again about Turin, because it's about Italy's dark recent past, and because it made me love the character of Corso Bramard, something that his previous book hadn't managed to do.

A Single Man - Christopher Isherwood

Isherwood is probably, well surely, one of those authors I should have approached way earlier but didn't. Hey, at least I did watch the movie version of A Single Man when it came out and, despite the fact that some critics had their doubts, I found it absolutely masterful (even when some scenes looked like modelling ads).

That said, there were elements in the novel that pleasantly surprised me (first and foremost the fact that the protagonist doesn't have suicidal ideas) and easily made this one of the best books I've read this year. I don't quite know whether that's because of the location, because of the depth of the characters, because of Jim's constant subtle presence, or simply because it's beautifully written.

The Childhood of Jesus and the Schooldays of Jesus - J.M. Coetzee

Two hardcover books from the stock clearance section of the Barbican library bought for a grand total of 50p. That would be a good buy for any author, let alone someone of the calibre of Coetzee.

Both books follow the same story, and while I find certain aspects profoundly fascinating (and eerily current) I was ultimately bothered by the magic undertones of the two novels, particularly the second.

The idea of two migrants who reach the shore of an unknown country, unable to tell (or remember) anything of their previous escape, tied together despite not being father and son is an extremely compelling one. And yet the abstract discussions about letters, numbers and, ultimately, dance, are a bit too much for me to bear. In particular towards the end, where I so wouldn't have wanted to see Simon start to dance.

All the characters are full of mysteries and miseries (not just Simon and David, but everyone else too). I just wish someone was a bit plainer and a bit easier to understand...

Lanzarote - Michel Houellebecq

Ah, Houellebecq - sure, he's an arrogant ass who uses his real or supposed insecurities to spit venom on half of the world, but he writes so very well.

Lanzarote is the sort of book that you read during a single bus ride (or at least that's what I did, the one time I didn't run or cycle back from work this summer). Possibly because of its short size, it has way less nastiness than the other books by the same author that I've read so far. And for once, at least some of the groups that Houellebecq attacks are made up of people that I don't feel the desperate need to defend.

Add to that the fact that I believe Houellebecq picks the perfect location for this book, an almost lunar island that manages to attract hordes of tourists nonetheless, and you have a really good read for an hour or so. It won't take much longer than that, and it won't stay with you for much longer than that either, but it will allow you to overcome the boredom of being stuck on a bus in rush-hour traffic. 

A Pale View of Hills - Kazuo Ishiguro

A very battered copy of this book made its way to me from the Turin airport book-crossing shelves (via my mom). And maybe it could have stayed on those shelves and waited for someone able to better appreciate it.

I absolutely love Ishiguro when he writes about posh British people, or about a dystopian British future, but whenever he writes about Japan he somehow sounds trite to me (and in terms of how he "sounds", well, in interviews he just gives me the impression of being a British aristocrat).

An Artist of the Floating World had virtually the same effect on me - I just find Ishiguro's portraits of Japan quite unimaginative, despite liking his decision to tell the story from a woman's perspective, and despite wondering whether the narrator is telling her own story or that of "a friend".

Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep? - Philip K. Dick

Well, I thought I was going to like the book because of its absolutely amazing title and because, after all, it is the one that inspired Blade Runner (though the decision of the publisher of my edition to even change the title into Blade Runner is just offensive).

But I didn't enjoy it all. I can live with the dramatic differences in Rachael's character and there are plenty of interesting things that the movie does not touch upon (the importance of animals, for instance), but can i say that the book is just not particularly well-written? Do I sound like an obnoxious snob if I say that Dick's prose is underdeveloped?

Expectations were high - despite my lack of interest in sci-fi I was more than happy to give one of its greatest authors a try, but said expectations were not met. Not even remotely.

Girl Meets Boy - Ali Smith

And for the first time since 1927 I am now writing a book that I've literally just finished. This was the usual £2.50 buy from Fopp (promptly refunded by my work-place as it's a book crucial to my personal development - if my line manager happens to read this post, thank you!).

There are times when Girl meets boy is cheesy and relatively predictable. Yet, the book ends up being an overall delight for a variety of reasons:

a) Ali Smith is a uniquely talented writer
b) Her take on gender, but also on any process of personal growth, is eye-opening
c) She manages to tackle emotionally ponderous themes with a wonderful light touch
d) Screw it, it is cheesy but it's also so very heart-warming...

So yeah, after having read a few of her books I can officially say that Ali Smith is now one of my favourite authors.

The Talented Mr Ripley - Patricia Highsmith

The fact that it took me almost a month to read this book is a sad representation of how little I am reading these days. But it will change over the summer, I promise! And then child number 2 will make me nearly completely illiterate, but there's still time for that as the due date is December 5th...

The Talented Mr Ripley is an absolute delight despite the fact that it's quite dated and, can one say "Orientalist" in its depiction of Italy? There are pretty laughable mistakes in the Italian sentences, the stereotypical descriptions are a bit over the top at times, and the depiction of Italian society is a bit superficial at the very least...

Yet the book is compelling, the reader wants Ripley to escape justice and have a half-decent life, and one is bound to think about how easily he would get discovered in the 21st century...

Middle England - Jonathan Coe

A rare Jonathan Coe book that I didn't enjoy, and yet one that I think serves an educational purpose (at least for non-British writers).

The characters that I loved so much in The Rotters' Club, and that I still enjoyed in The Closed Circle are back for a third time and, at this point, it's just a bit much: with age they've lost a lot of their charm and too many of them have turned into allegoric representations of the sections of society they belong to.

While some of the new characters that are introduced are interesting enough, most of them are rather one-dimensional. The themes discussed are so widely covered in the media these days, and in rather similar ways, that they don't really add anything new. And the ending of the book is not one of the typical chaotic and rocambolesque ones that Coe usually goes for, but rather a flat one that reminds the reader of a cheap romance.

Yet, for someone who doesn't live in the UK and knows little about the current political landscape, this book can be a really good introduction to Brexit and the awfulness of the current political discourse in Britain.

My Year of Rest and Relaxation - Ottessa Moshfegh

If only the student who gave me this book as a Christmas present had submitted an essay all year (though he actually was one of the best students I've ever had, and I hope he got his act together for his exam!).

Despite taking place mostly in the narrator's own flat, this book is so clearly a "New York book". The plot is so disturbingly believable that I wondered whether the author hadn't gone through similar periods herself (maybe not quite a year's worth of drugged up oblivion, but a few weeks).

It's very well-written and (in a twisted way, obviously) pleasant. Yet it raises so many questions about our society, access to medicines, self-medication, depression etc., and a number of the answers are fairly cringeworthy...

Summer Crossing - Truman Capote

Apparently Capote was rather unhappy with this novel(la?) and that was one of the reasons why it wasn't published during his lifetime. Man, did he have high standards...

Summer Crossing is not exactly the best book of the 20th century, but that doesn't mean that one cannot spend a couple of enjoyable hours reading it. Again, this is a typical "New York book", inclusive of holidays in the Hamptons, inter-class romance, parties, garages etc.

It's not going to change your life, and it surely didn't change mine, but it can be good company on a lazy (early) summer afternoon.

Persepolis - Marjane Satrapi

Is it bad of me to say that I didn't particularly enjoy this book?

As far as the graphic aspects of graphic novels go, I wasn't blown away by the visual aspects of Persepolis.

And as far as novels go, the personal story of Marjane is extremely interesting (though I suspect not too dissimilar from that of a lot of people in a similar position in the 1980s), but I didn't learn much that I didn't know already about the big historical issues that frame the book.

At times the book appears to me to be a bit too raw, but maybe that's because it is ultimaltely written and drawn through the eyes of a young woman still trying to find her way into the world.

The Girls of Slender Means - Muriel Spark

I struggle to believe I didn't even know who Muriel Spark was until about a year ago (in case anyone needed further proof of how far behind I am in terms of English Literature 101!).

Like the other books by Muriel Spark that I have had the pleasure to read, The Girls of Slender Means is witty, accessible and deep. The fact that the lives of the main characters remind me of my years as a student on a tight budget makes the book even more endearing to me.

As usual, one of the big strengths for me is the way in which Spark paints the lives of common people with an ironic (and at times slightly surreal) take. Because of the size of her books and the themes covered, Spark very much reminds me of Beryl Bainbridge.

The book also achieved something seemingly impossible: it made me like (at least the fictional) West London!

Il Bell'Antonio - Vitaliano Brancati

Further proof that, on occasion, you can get really good books from the book-crossing shelves at Turin airport (though way too often there's nothing at all, or something that looks way too spiritual and in a language I can't understand).

I honestly thought I had watched the movie version, then two chapters into the book realized that I probably didn't. Like a number of other books by Brancati, it is an "old" story that doesn't look dated (and probably, sadly, is not too far from what still happens in some settings in the 21st century).

It reinforces so many stereotypes about Italian culture. Yet, stereotypes are not always inaccurate (actually, at least in the Italian case, they're very often spot-on despite not being exactly pleasant) and this book says quite a lot about standards of masculinity in my country...

The Blazing World - Siri Hustvedt

Oh, Halcyon books and its wonderful finds...For a change, my mom read this book before I did and liked it despite struggling a bit with it. Possibly because of my greater familiarity with academic writing (sigh?!?) I actually found it really quite accessible.

The book has absolutely everything from my point of view - art, mystery, bizarre love plots, a number of different writing styles and registers, tricky gender dynamics and a wonderful setting in Brooklyn.

Of all the questions the book raised for me, the biggest ones probably regard Siri Hustvedt herself: how does it feel to be considered the wife of a creative genius, when you yourself are an incredibly talented writer (possibly more than your better half)? And is there any chance Siri Hustvedt might have written chapters, if not whole books, for which Paul Auster got credit?

Shroud - John Banville

A book taken from the book-crossing shelves at Turin airport that manages to be so delightfully Turinese (even in its title) despite being written by an Irish author.

I didn't know anything about Banville (bad me, I mean, the guy even won the Booker Prize) and my mom, right as usual, persuaded me to read this book despite not having even read it herself.

The book is beautifully written, though at times it is possibly a bit too deep and ponderous even for me (or maybe I'm just not as good a reader as I think I am!). The shadowy identity twist from the main character's WWII years, and the decadence of the contemporary setting, however, made this an excellent read. Though, after consecutive books with big WWII discoveries, I really needed something solely focused on the contemporary world and without Nazis around!

Everything Is Illuminated - Jonathan Safran Foer

One of the last "big" buys at the local farm - nowadays I'm not 100% sure if most of the half-decent books they sell are old ones of mine, or whether there's simply another reader somewhere in the area with a similar taste in books who discards virtually the same titles.

I went in with big expectations, having watched the movie a few years ago, and it really didn't disappoint. Actually, it was in many ways better than the movie itself - the grandfather an even more complex character, Alex's writing even funnier than his spoken English (and also, Alex himself is quite a lot deeper), and really rather interesting description of Ukraine and its 20th century history.

If not one of my all-time top-10 books, then definitely one of last year's top-10. It now is in the hands of a couple of friends who went to Ukraine for a trip a month or so ago. 20p say the book will never land back on my shelf. Oh well, at least I really like those guys...

Henderson the Rain King - Saul Bellow

Behold, a book by Saul Bellow that I didn't fully and thoroughly adore! And my last acquisition from the £1 Halcyon Books store in Greenwich before its closure.

What I liked were Henderson's back-story, his sheer size, and a number of his inner thoughts and dialogues with himself. Then again, all of these things - except the size! - are the things I normally love in Bellow's books.

What I was far from being comfortable with was him going to Africa and playing (an arguably well-intentioned) god. When he does get things epically wrong and blows up the village's cistern, I wasn't happy that he was being put in his place. I could only think about the lives destroyed by his act and about the (very) rich white man who would then move to the next village (with all the guilt in the world, obviously, but also with his millions).

Had I read this book when it was first published I would have probably reacted differently. But it would have been quite hard, because, well, that was 28 years before I was born...

In Our Mad and Furious City - Guy Gunaratne

I'm kind of surprised I even remember the password to my account. Well, the positive is that, despite the months of hiatus, I don't have a pointlessly crazy amount of books to catch up on because I didn't read that much (not quite sure that's a positive actually, but hey!).

Life, in the shape of an upcoming second child, is getting in the way. And I'm also helping my father-in-law translate his book from Portuguese (a language I don't speak) into English (a language that is not my first).

Anyway, back to a book I remember relatively little about, except that I got it at the IKEA Booker Prize event, and that I thought it was a Northwest London story that was well-written and interesting, but little more than that (if both the plot and the location remind one of Zadie Smith, then your work is really quite likely to pale in comparison). Also, I got it because its author had actually worked at the IKEA in Neasden...

So the overall rating would be "good enough": I liked the kid hoping to turn his life around by running for Brunel (a long shot, but I have great memories of playing basketball there and of their sports centre), and the depiction of the riots in the estate was quite compelling (but even here, nothing too new when one thinks of some of the biggest British books of the last few decades).