The Almost Moon – Alice Sebold

A book that my mum bought for 1£ at the Red House in Bexleyheath, I’m so very proud of her…

Like most critics, I found the novel’s opening sentence to be nothing short of awesome. Unlike a number of critics, however, I did think the novel was really good. As far as I could see, the portrayal of Helen, the main character (and parricide), was criticized for being morally and intellectually incoherent – but that’s what I thought was great, as I suppose the mind of a daughter who has just killed her mother must be at least slightly shaken.

I also found the characterization of the love-hate relationship between daughter and mother to be rather believable (and, I assume, accurate), and, in all honesty, I sort of justified Helen (does that make me an awful person or a psychopath? I hope not, and I actually think I’m rather sane, much like Helen’s former husband thinks of her).

Most of all, the novel raises all sorts of questions about the need in our society to work so terribly hard to keep the elderly alive – I wish we could just let them go (although if we think they need a push, admittedly this can be done in a better way!). 

The Paper Men – William Golding

I thought that Golding had essentially only written The Lord of the Flies. Turns out I was wrong (and, as a matter of fact, I ended up enjoying The Paper Men a lot more than his supposed masterpiece).

At times the novel is almost an early and less polished version of Barney’s Version (apologies for the multiple “versions” there) – the same kind of rant given by a very interesting man clearly not in full control of his mind. Being old, rude, and blunt the narrator also doesn’t have an idyllic view of Italy, something that, needless to say, feels like a welcome departure from the delightful picture painted by so many writers since, well, since forever…

The figure of Rick Tucker is so very sad to me. I’m not quite sure whether my mental picture of him is even more miserable than the one most readers must have because of my own struggles with(in) the academic world. But, hey, at least I’m really glad that he ends the story the way he does…

One thing, though, remains ultimately unclear to me: why would anyone care that much about the biography of a writer? I mean, it’s not like writers are important figures in today’s world, or that a book like that is likely to sell. If I was as rich as Tucker’s “benefactor”, I would just buy the author and force him to tell me the story of his life rather than hiring someone else to do try to do that for me…