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 story 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. 

Nutshell - Ian McEwan

 

Oh, McEwan can write. And oh, as of late I've become increasingly fond of well-written adaptation of historical works (in this case, yet again, Hamlet). 

This is a book that I thoroughly enjoyed, also because of its setting in a London that is ultimately home for me. Perhaps not a full return to form (it's a novella after all, and the plot is quite clearly derivative) but this book did keep me thoroughly entertained for a weekend. 

The ending is somewhat predictable, with a deus ex machina that has been there all along (or at least for 40 weeks or so), but that doesn't take away from the overall pleasure of the read. 

Under the Volcano - Malcolm Lowry

 

One of those books that I read because I felt I had to. 

Also, one of those books that with hindsight I don't know if I really had to read. 

Dysfunctional couples, self-destructive machos, impotent lovers and rivers of alcohol in exotic settings. Hemingway also had them all. And Hemingway also had me when I was a teenager. I'm now much older, and feel like I have no time for this (despite the fact that, speaking of time, a lot of mine went into reading Under the Volcano). 

Money - Martin Amis

 

London Fields, I was fully behind. Witty, engaging, "reasonably excessive". 

Money, on the other hand, was for me a completely pointless exercise. Its vitriolic portrayal of the excesses of the 1980s didn't read particularly vitriolic; just boring. And its depictions of the dodgy minor characters that populate the book are as lazily caricatural as their own names. 

I found this book to be as devoid of meaning as Wall Street with Michael Douglas. The biggest difference is that Wall Street made me lose a couple of hours, Money is a book that I dragged along for a good couple of weeks...

The New Life - Tom Crewe

 

A novel I literally just stumbled upon by coincidence, as I was looking for something at least somewhat inspiring in the catalogue of my Italian e-library (and yes, I did read this in translation - shame on me, the things I do for convenience...). What attracted me of this book was its title, its cover (yes, I do judge books by their cover!) and the fact that the author and I came very close to studying together. 

It took me two weeks to read this book, but really only because life got in the way in a pretty major way and we moved to a new house (a whole 200 mt down the road, but the move felt transatlantic). 

I appreciated this book for a variety of reasons. Its didactic nature when tackling the theme - and the acts - of homosexuality (in a way that wasn't too dissimilar from some of the works of David Leavitt), its ability to re-visit, re-shape and re-create history (and here the most immediate comparison for me would be Pat Barker, most likely because I've just finished reading her), and the degree of honesty with which it discusses the double-standards that queer men and women had to deal with in the late 19th century, much like in the early 21st. 

That said, in a way that is typical of many first novels, I also felt that the author didn't quite know how to wrap up his book, and the last couple of chapters feel abruptly squeezed in at the very least. 

The Regeneration Trilogy - Pat Barker

 

What an absolute work of art! And to think that Pat Barker studied history (what I teach...) at the university where I work, and I actually had to discover her because my auntie told my mom about her. In my defence, she did graduate a few decades before my arrival at least...

The Regeneration Trilogy is possibly the best WWI book(s) I have ever read. Barker has a truly unique way of describing, through her characters, the ugly beauty of war, how it plays with the minds of soldiers who can never leave war behind and are often attracted to it for various reasons even when given a chance to leave. 

Her ability to weave real history and fiction together in an inextricable mix is also remarkable, and the last few chapters of The Ghost Road are an agony to read, as the reader clearly knows how things are going to end for Billy Prior, the beautifully troubled and scarred main fictional character of the trilogy. 

Silverview - John le Carrè

 

Only picked up this book because of the dearth of remotely readable titles in the Southwark e-library, but I really didn't feel the need for a half-finished le Carrè novel that had been left behind until after his death. 

I do understand that le Carrè had four children and they might have to find a way to live off their father's royalties, but I was assuming they would have enough of the money coming in from his 454078 bestsellers and respective movie rights. 

Besides questioning the decision to publish (and edit on behalf of a deceased author) this novel, I must admit that the book is actually OK, and I do enjoy the late le Carrè's faith in the - often excessively idealistic - younger generations. Yet, I felt that Agent Running in the Field or A Legacy of Spies would have been much more fitting final novels for one of Britain's greatest authors of the last century or so. 

My Family and Other Animals - Gerald Durrell

Not really a book I would have ever picked, but hey, we went to a wedding in Corfu and the reception was held in the location that had been used to film the TV series about the Durrells, so why not...

I do understand that lazy days on the Mediterranean and expat family life can be very appealing to certain readers, but this really isn't for me. I just didn't have much time for the explorations of local mountains and bushes, or for the poetically stereotypical Greek characters on the island. And the lives of very wealthy and entitled Brits hasn't been interestingly dissected since E.M. Forster. 

Also, for a book of this length and levity, it took me a surprisingly long time to finish it, which really can't be a good sign. 

The Man in the Red Coat - Julian Barnes

Ok. This one is on me. The other week - short of ideas - I picked the first Julian Barnes book that was available in my Italian e-library. 

I read it was about the life of a doctor (Pozzi) whose portrait had been painted by Sargent and I mistakenly assumed this would be a work of fiction along the lines of Flaubert's Parrot. 

Instead it was a couple of hundred pages of pedantically detailed accounts of the lives of Pozzi, his family, and his circle of posh friends. Even the occasional humorous remarks by Barnes didn't hit the mark with me as I read this book while on auto-pilot, having lost all interest in it after a dozen pages. 

Reminder: maybe don't read reviews beforehand, but at least read a book's synopsis next time...

Elizabeth Finch - Julian Barnes

In a desperate effort to read recent books, I borrow the latest novel by Julian Barnes. 

At first I thought it was a notion-filled hodgepodge of notes that Barnes had lying around and decided to put together in a book (similar to how I felt about Paul Auster's Baugmartner). 

By the end I actually found it a pathetic novel, somehow obsessed with the legacy of Julian the Apostate yet not even coming remotely close to the level of Gore Vidal's Julian (which - despite a literary review spanning centuries and including pretty much anyone who ever thought of Julian - is briefly hinted at and then completely overlooked). 

On the plus side, I finished it in a day (though it's a day-worth of reading that I won't get back). 

Something to Tell You - Hanif Kureishi

 

Like most of Kureishi's books, this was a pleasant read, in particular as it felt like an indirect reflection on his pretty unique life and relationships. 

Yet, the autobiographical and self-referential tones are also one of the book's main weaknesses, as I read it shortly after reading his short-story collection Midnight All Day, which already contained a number of the stories and plotlines developed in this book. 

All in all, though, this was one of the best recent works by Kureishi that I read as it gave me a sense of peace for characters - and authors - finally being at peace with themselves and with their own idiosyncrasies. 

Murder Before Evensong - Richard Coles

 

Well, I guess that if I must read a run-of-the-mill crime novel every now and again (and whether I like it or not, every now and again I do have to do that...), I might as well read something by an author that I find to be at least an interesting person.

Murder Before Evensong is a well-mannered novel by someone who comes across as a well-mannered clergyman and decades ago came across as a well-mannered pop musician. It's not going to rock anyone's world, but at the very least it did not upset me as much as John Banville's crime stories mixing rural life, religion and aristocracy. 

Also, obviously, being Richard Coles, his treatment of marginalized groups (being them queer or gypsies) is really rather delicate. And the novel has enough references to pop culture to be palatable for me. 

A Legacy of Spies - John le Carré

 

And after complaining about Jonathan Coe, Ali Smith and Ian McEwan for their attempts to either bring their sagas full circle, or to write omni-comprehensive books to capture decades' worth of British history, here comes le Carré and swiftly succeeds where so many of my favourite contemporary British authors failed. 

Granted, it may be an easy exercise for a brilliant writer to play on his readers' nostalgia, to largely repeat plot devices that worked for literally dozens of his novels before, and to essentially spend half of his time making reference to his previous novels. 

Yet, this is a superb way to settle the unanswered questions from The Spy Who Came from the Cold and to add another further layer to George Smiley while painting him as considerably less unblemished than in Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy

Red Pill - Hari Kunzru

 

For once, I actually picked up a hard copy book from the Southwark Library (mostly out of surprise for seeing a couple of Kunzru titles in a library that is otherwise not crazily well-stocked, and that's obviously an understatement). 

Unfortunately this was my least-favourite Hari Kunzru novel. The dystopian present setting plus mental breakdown reminded me a bit too much of a relatively disappointing Paul Auster novel. 

I also thought that the autobiographical writing was one of the great problems with wanna-be writers, but ultimately there are too many aspects of Red Pill that appear too reflective of Kunrzu's life. I just hope for his own sake he's a bit happier than this literary alter-ego of his. 

The Night Manager - John le Carré

Like with a little black dress, I guess you can never go wrong with a vintage le Carré. And to think of the snobbish look of our librarian when I donated my copy of The Russia House...

For me The Night Manager ranks a bit below Tinker, Tailor, Soldier Spy and Agent Running in the Field, but it remains a heck of a story. The troubled Pine is one of the most entertaining spies (well, is he a spy or a volunteer?!?) that I've ever come across, and seeing him struggle with his own conscience is absolutely gripping. 

Yet, it's Roper that steals the show. A villain who is always in plain sight and at the centre of the action, not a Palpatine-like figure in the hazy background, he undoubtedly elevates the novel. 

And one is left to marvel at how well some of  le Carré's books - including this - have aged. 

The Emperor's Babe - Bernardine Evaristo

Well, if you want to (re)write history, might as well go all the way. Seriously. 

I'm still not a major fan of Evaristo, but it is undeniable that she does breathe fresh air in contemporary literature. It's obviously not just the way in which she tackles race (in this case with a plot that is ultimately not so hard to believe as I initially envisaged), but also the panache and style (pulling off a verse novel is not exactly easy, I'd assume). 

So while she might not be my favourite contemporary British writer, I will most likely keep on reading her books as and when they become available at the Southwark library. 

The Biographer's Tale - Antonia S. Byatt

 

The grass is always greener on the other side, and the books left behind in the lobby of the next door building are always better than the ones left in our lobby. Luckily, every now and again I go and check what the neighbours' stock is like, and a couple of weeks ago there I found this book. 

Most of the time, Byatt would be quite low on my priority list, but I wanted to read a hard copy book for once and this looked like the most approachable out of the pile I had on my bedside table. 

And what a surprising pleasure this was. Having just gone to a - mediocre - Tate exhibition of the Rossettis I was prepared for a deep-dive into the life stories of 19th century figures that I didn't really like interlinked with contemporary life stories of fictional characters that I didn't find too interesting, much like in Possession. 

Instead, what I got was a deep-dive into the life stories of 19th century figures that I liked, interlinked with contemporary life stories of fictional characters that I found very interesting. And that made me happy. 

Public Library and Other Stories - Ali Smith

 

This book made me realize that, perhaps, I should reduce my consumption of Ali Smith books (something that was bound to happen sooner or later anyway, as I've read most of them by now). 

The wordplay and critical observations that would have blown me away a couple of years ago have now lost their spark. 

And this short story collection to me felt haphazardly put together, while the idea of alternating the stories with short personal recollections of (often nostalgically long gone) libraries was probably one of the least original that Smith ever came up with. 

Still, we agree that libraries should play a crucial role in our society, but - having worked in one for the last six years - I definitely believe we should really revolutionize how we think of the spaces and their purpose. 

The Noise of Time - Julian Barnes

 

Of all the "pet topics" that authors have, I find Barnes's interest in the idiosyncrasies of the Soviet system to be particularly compelling. 

Yet, unlike the reviewers of The Observer I didn't find The Noise of Time to be a masterpiece, but merely a good book. While the first few pages, with Shostakovich waiting for his arrest by spending the night next to the lift by his flat, blew me away, the rest of the book felt relatively flat. 

Perhaps Soviet Russia was just not the best setting for Barnes to showcase his brilliant humour?

Blonde Roots - Bernardine Evaristo

 

In all honesty, I wouldn't have read this book had it not been for the fact that the Southwark libraries app grants access to many of Evaristo's books since she won the Booker Prize. 

On the plus side, it made me realize that the "good" but not "one in a generation" kind of authors very rarely invent something from scratch and that, in this case, Colson Whitehead must have borrowed quite a bit from Blonde Roots for his The Underground Railroad (or maybe it's an incredible coincidence that both main characters take an actual underground railroad to try to escape slavery?). 

On the down side, I never really found myself gripped by this book. 

One interesting thing though: despite the frequent reminders that the slaves are white and the slave-owners black, I struggled to picture them as such and my mental image of Doris often switched between that of a white and a black woman. Talk about the power of ingrained perceptions and experience...