The Waterfall – Margaret Drabble (1969)

Many of you will remember that I pledged to read Margaret Drabble novels during 2024 – hoping for at least one a month. The Waterfall is my fifth Drabble of the year. I’m sorry to see that this one seems to be currently out of print, and wasn’t among those that Canongate reissued a couple of years ago. My blogging has been so erratic that I haven’t even reviewed all of them, however although I have really enjoyed them all, the book I read last month, Jerusalem, the Golden, was the one I have enjoyed least. Still I am constantly impressed by Drabble’s skill as a writer, her narrators are realistic, though not always likeable – and in this case not entirely reliable. 

The Waterfall is described as one of her most experimental novels – it is a literary novel of course, and quite a slow read, although I didn’t find it difficult. I found Drabble’s prose immersive and her narrator quite compelling – though typically she is a flawed and sometimes irritating character. The novel is told in both the first and third person, the point of view is always that of Jane Grey – the central character – but the switching from first to third person perhaps allows Drabble to play with the reliability of the narrator. 

“Learning was so dangerous: for how could one tell in advance, while still ignorant, whether a thing could ever be unlearned or forgotten, or if, once known and named, it would invalidate by its significance the whole of one’s former life, all of those years wiped out, convicted at one blow, retrospectively darkened by one sudden light?”

This is a novel about love – the love a woman, Jane feels is such a necessity it becomes all consuming. The novel opens just as Jane is about to give birth to her second child, shortly after having been left by her husband. Jane’s marriage to Malcolm has not been happy, and she is quite glad to see the back of him. She has a small son Laurie and within the first few pages, gives birth to Bianca.  While Jane is in bed recovering from the birth of her daughter, she is cared for by her cousin Lucy and her husband James. They take it in turns to stay with Jane, as they themselves have three young children. Very quickly an intimacy develops between Jane and James that considering she has just given birth feels rather inappropriate, in more ways than one.  

“She was prepared to spend all the rest of the evenings of her life alone, but the next night, after the midwife and Lucy had left, she was surprised to hear a knock on the door. She had to get up and go down to open it, and she found James standing there on the step. She was weak with relief at the sight of him: she had been afraid as she descended the stairs that it might have been her husband. She tried to conceal her relief, but she was so overcome that she could hardly stand.”

James continues to spend time with Jane and the children, long after she has ceased needing support, the two locked in a passionate affair – which Jane seems to have convinced herself that Lucy knows all about somehow. Drabble portrays this relationship wholly from Jane’s point of view and reveals how for Jane there is an intense sexuality in her feelings for James – which are so very different to how she had felt about Malcolm. Jane is a poet, though she hasn’t published anything recently, she is often crippled by self doubt and feelings of inadequacy. Her love for James is transcendent in how it makes her feel – she shrugs off any lingering feelings of guilt, convinced she is right, putting any negative feelings right away from her. It is interesting in how there are subtle differences in aspects of the first and third person narratives, as if the truth is told from the third person perspective, while Jane, in her first person narrative is more protective of herself and less honest about what is going on, and who James really is. He fixes a couple of simple things in the house for Jane and promptly acquires almost legendary status – while gradually the reader begins to see him as more feckless. There are references to Jane Eyre and Rochester – as Jane insists on seeing James as her romantic lead.  

“She felt she was taking part in some elaborate delicate ritual, and that if she broke some small unknown rule of it, by a false word or touch, by a treacherous mention of Lucy or Malcolm, by a murmur of indignation at his leaving, by a too willing acceptance of that same leaving, then he would be taken from her, she would forfeit him for her unwitting transgression.” 

Along with her powerful depiction of a love affair – and Jane’s love for James is wholly convincing at least. Drabble is realistic about the daily minutiae of motherhood and modern life. The atmosphere she creates between Jane and James in the early pages of the book is beautifully done. Again we see a beautifully crafted and realistic relationship between a young mother and her tiny children. We know a crisis must come, and it is well highlighted in some blurbs. An accident – occurring a good way through the novel – forces their affair into the open, and the consequences have to be faced. 

I thought this was an enormously impressive novel about love and obsession, it is a shame that Canongate didn’t reissue this one – I see from Goodreads that it has divided some readers, but perhaps that is the sign of a good book.

The Citadel – A J Cronin (1937)

The 1937 club started this week, hosted by Karen at Kaggsy’s bookish ramblings and Simon from Stuck in a book. I very much like books from the 1930s so I was delighted when this year was chosen, it was the year my dad was born. I had a couple of books I could have chosen to read but the first one I settled on was one I first had to buy for my Kindle. 

The Citadel by A J Cronin is a book I have been dimly aware of for many years, at least I think I can remember seeing some old paperbacks of his novels on my parents bookshelves back in the day. The tagline on the cover of this Bello books Kindle version – ‘the classic novel that inspired the NHS’ is quite the claim, how true that is I don’t know, although Wikipedia seems to suggest the same and it’s conceivable that the politicians involved in the push for the establishment of the NHS might have read it. A J Cronin was himself a doctor, and he used his experiences to write his best selling novels. Funnily enough a character in my current read, also for the 1937 club, is struggling to read another Cronin novel, The Stars Look Down. The Citadel was a marvellous read, a real saga – and enormously compelling.  

The novel opens in 1924 as newly qualified Scottish doctor Andrew Manson arrives in a small Welsh mining town to take up a position as assistant doctor with a Dr Page. This fictitious town is realistically portrayed by Cronin, who himself had worked in Welsh mining towns. Andrew arrives to discover Dr Page is severely disabled by a stroke, cared for by his sister who runs the house and insists her brother will be up and about soon. Andrew realises that isn’t the case, but he gets down to work, and all the work of Dr Page’s practice falls to him. It’s a massive learning curve – and Andrew is naturally nervous of making a mistake with his first patients. 

“All at once, with a quick pang, he was conscious of his nervousness, his inexperience, his complete unpreparedness, for such a task.”

There is a lot of poverty in the town, many miners suffering from lung diseases and a huge amount for Andrew still to learn. Another doctor in the town is Philip Denny, a hard drinking cynic, who had previously worked as a surgeon before falling foul of colleagues and ending up as an assistant doctor like Andrew. It is with Dr Denny that Andrew conspires to blow up a sewer in order to force the council to rebuild it – as nobody will listen to their concerns of its effects on public health. 

Andrew begins to see how the system really doesn’t help the people it should. He is keen, hardworking and idealistic, he won’t just prescribe unnecessary medicine to patients (which costs them money) even when they think they want it, and he won’t just keep signing men off work when they are capable of returning to their jobs. Some doctors lack the competence they should have – others are too concerned with making money from private patients.  

“…But Bramwell was not inexperienced and because of that his ignorance was inexcusable. Unconsciously Andrew’s thoughts returned to Denny who never failed in his derision towards this profession to which they belonged. Denny at first had aggravated him intensely by his weary contention that all over Britain there were thousands of incompetent doctors distinguished for nothing but their sheer stupidity and an acquired capacity for bluffing their patients.”

Andrew is outspoken and principled – and there are those who don’t like that. Everywhere he goes he makes both friends and enemies. Having fallen foul of Dr Page’s rather unpleasant and difficult sister, Andrew decides to leave and takes a position in another mining town in South Wales. His new job is as an assistant in a miners’ medical aid scheme and it comes with a house. The committee wants a married man, which delights Andrew as it means he can now marry the woman he loves, Christine, a young school teacher. 

Andrew and Christine are happy, they don’t have much money but Andrew is busy and continually excited by his work. He enlists the help of Christine to carry out his research into lung disorders. He studies for his MRCP, to make him a more attractive candidate in the future and publishes a paper about his research. 

Andrew is ambitious – and soon London beckons – and with it the lure of private practice, wealthy patients. Andrew has his head turned – Christine is dismayed to see his ideals falter – their lives begin to change. 

What Cronin does brilliantly is to show the huge inequalities and corruption that existed within the medical profession. There are many ups and downs for Andrew and his wife over the course of a few short years, but it makes for a brilliant immersive read. 

Three Women and a Boat – Anne Youngson (2020)

Last Friday I returned home after a short break in Devon with my family. It was nice to get a complete change of scene – no cooking or food preparation, we stayed half board in a hotel and to spend time with the family. I was only away four nights, and the book that kept me company was Three Women and a Boat by Anne Youngson which I was reading for my second book group. This second book group has only recently come into my life, after I joined a virtual WI group. We will be meeting this Thursday afternoon to discuss it. My other book group, the little feminist book group which is also now virtual, meets tonight to discuss The Millstone by Margaret Drabble. I do like a virtual book group, with my mobility the way it is, it means I get to join in easily, without the trouble of getting ready and out the house on a dark cold evening. 

On with the book:

Three Women and a Boat is a lovely gentle read, not fluffy or silly but light enough for reading in a busy hotel lounge or in short bursts in the car when travelling. Anne Youngson’s characters are engaging and sympathetic, and not millennials which is a massive plus for me. Three women all complete strangers to one another meet rather randomly and decide to throw their lot in together. 

Sally and Eve are unknowingly walking toward each other along a canal towpath on what is for both of them a fairly momentous day. Eve has just left her high flying job after something like thirty years – she was very much pushed – and Sally has decided to walk away from her life, husband and grown up children for something else. 

“As they approach the moored boat, the sun inserts a finger of light between the clouds and it is all at once a lovely day, at that moment, on that towpath. At almost the same instant, when the two women are close enough to each other for a nod and a smile of greeting, if either or both of them thought that was appropriate – they are complete strangers, so it seems unlikely – at that precise moment, the narrowboat begins to howl. It howls as if it were a mezzo-soprano in mid-aria spotting her husband committing adultery in the stalls while being impaled from behind by a careless spear carrier. Both women stop walking.”

The noise is coming from a dog – Noah – who is no way distressed in reality but likes to make himself heard on occasions. As the two women begin to investigate the noise coming from the narrow boat, they encounter the dog’s owner, the elderly narrowboat dweller, Anastasia. 

The three women quickly start to bond – Anastasia is a bit spikey, but there is something about Eve and Sally she instantly likes and trusts. Anastasia barely knows these women but she decides to enlist their help. Perhaps that is the one unlikely part of the book, but it doesn’t really matter how the three women come together. Anastasia has been a narrow boat dweller for many years, she is a well known figure along the canal network, she, her boat: Number One and dog Noah are known to pretty much everyone who spends the majority of their time living on the canal. Anastasia is a feisty no nonsense old warrior but now she is in need of some help. She is ill, she might be dying, but maybe not – it all depends really on having treatment and the success of that treatment. Both Sally and Eve are at a crossroads in their lives, Sally realising she isn’t happy in her marriage and her life at 42 Beech Grove, where there isn’t a beech tree in sight, and Eve so used to being in control, having got to a senior position in a male dominated engineering company she is now at a loss as to what to do next. 

“‘Does being grown up mean we are all doomed to be ordinary?’ ‘No,’ said Anastasia. ‘It means accepting we are all extraordinary in ordinary ways.’”

Anastasia needs to take her narrowboat to Chester – she can’t afford the cost of mooring to stay where she is in Uxbridge – if she keeps moving she hasn’t the strength at the moment to manage the locks on her own. She also needs to get the engine serviced and boat bottom blacked – which is why she must get to Chester, where someone called Owen is waiting for her boat. Her illness requires her to stay put within reach of one hospital and one doctor so she can undergo the operation and after care and treatment she requires if she isn’t going to die after all. Sally and Eve, despite their lack of canal experience, offer to take Anastsia’s boat to Chester for her, while Anastasia stays in Eve’s flat, and undergoes the treatment necessary. They undergo a few lessons from Anastasia then having helped her move into Eve’s flat, they take charge of Number One and Noah and set off. It takes a long time to travel at narrow boat speed to travel from Uxbridge to Chester – especially when you’re inexperienced. 

Initially they make slow progress – not managing to make the heady speeds of 4 mph for a while, but they do have a lot to learn. As the women make their way through the canal network of England they start to learn things about themselves and what it is they might want for the future. The two women develop a caring friendship, keeping in touch with Anastasia by phone, who is often scathing about their amount of progress. From time to time one of the women gets off Number One and takes a train to visit Anastasia, bringing her into their orbit of friendship, even enlisting the help of Eve’s neighbours to keep an eye on her. Anastasia has her own challenge and she faces it with her custom spirit. As their journey progresses the two women meet a host of other wonderful characters who drift in and out of the story. There is Trompette, nineteen year old knitter and wearer of vintage fashions, her boyfriend Billy, drug taker, existing on the fringes of criminality and an amazing storyteller, the mysterious Arthur, and Owen who fixes narrowboats. 

This is a lovely novel about friendship and meeting challenges head on, a novel that celebrates the beauty of the canal network in England, portraying a rather different way of life. A life lived at a slower pace, which did seem very attractive indeed.

Photo of Babbacombe Bay South Devon April 2nd 2024

Tales from my Reading Chair, March in review and #ReadingIrelandmonth24

March has seen me slump, I have been reading – fairly slowly – but the blog has been ignored more than I would like. I have again really struggled to engage with blogs and social media. I have days when I try to claw it back, post something on social media, read a few blog posts, but it’s been a real struggle even to do that. I think there are a lot of people feeling like this these days, looking outwards the world is not a very happy place and even when we try to protect ourselves a little from it – it seeps in. Added to that, I have been very fatigued, generally unmotivated and down. 

Life never really gets any easier – but spring is here, sort of – and I have joined a virtual WI group, to meet other people. I bought a new power chair this week, which should make getting out easier, as I won’t need people to push me about. I am away for a few days with family next week. A change of scene will be a real boost, I think, and I hope it will buoy me up going forward. 

Back to the books!

I have been reading, though I realise now that it’s been a fairly slow reading month which probably fits in with how I have been feeling around everything else. Posting this a couple of days before the end of the month, as I know I will finish my last book by the 31st, but do not have time for another one. So far this month I haven’t felt as if I wanted to write about anything that I have read in March. That is no reflection on the books though, I enjoyed all of them, I can only blame my mood. 

Seven books read in March, three of those on Kindle, hence the small pile of books in the photo. 

I started the month with my next Margaret Drabble novel, Jerusalem, the Golden (1967), my fourth one of the year, though I have only reviewed two of them. Clara has left her suffocating home in a small northern town for life and university in London. Here she becomes great friends with Clelia and her excitingly different bohemian family.

Murder While You Work by Susan Scarlett (1944) (aka Noel Streatfeild) was a lovely fun read and the first of two DSP books this month. Despite the title it’s not a typical mystery novel – it was this writer’s only attempt at the genre and I found it a compelling read. Set against the backdrop of a munitions factory, there is a mystery at the centre of the house where new recruit Judy is billeted, and the handsome Nick, himself engaged in important secret work, is determined to help her and make sure she comes to no harm. 

My third read was inspired by the reviews of other bloggers. Blessings by Chukwuebuka Ibeh (2024) a coming of age novel from Nigeria. It’s a beautiful, heartbreaking piece about a young gay man. Having witnessed an intimate moment between his son and his new apprentice, Obiefuna’s father sends him to a harsh Christian boarding school. With chapters alternating between Obiefuna and his mother, Ibeh tells the story of this young man’s self-discovery and his mother’s pain over the loss of her son. 

My next two reads were for Cathy’s Reading Ireland month. The Silence in the Garden by William Trevor (1988) was just a beautifully subtle novel. All the ingredients I associate with the best of William Trevor. In 1904, clergyman’s daughter Sarah Pollenfax arrived in Carriglas an island off the coast of Cork to act as governess to distant relatives. It is a magical time for Sarah, a wonderful time in an unforgettable place, which she returns to in her mind long afterwards. Thirty years later, after the First World War and the Irish Civil War have taken their toll, Sarah returns to Carriglas, and finds that there were things going on during those far off golden days of which she was completely unaware. 

Old God’s Time by Sebastian Barry (2023) longlisted for the Booker Prize in 2023, is something of a slow burn. An intensely introspective, literary novel with some tough themes. Tom Kettle is a retired police officer now living in a lean-to flat annexed to a Victorian castle overlooking the Irish sea. When two former colleagues turn up at his door asking questions about a decades old case, Tom is pulled back into the past, his present life and the losses he has suffered are all tangled up with his memories of the past. Tom is quite an unreliable narrator and nothing is ever quite what it seems. A very impressive novel, beautifully written. 

I thought a BLCC would be a good fit after the rigours of my previous read. Impact of Evidence by Carol Carnac (1954) was sent to me quite recently and I had thoroughly enjoyed Crossed Skis by Carol Carnac and some of the novels she wrote under the name E C R Lorac, this one I found a bit more plodding however. Carnac/Lorac is good at setting and atmosphere, and certainly that is one of the best things about this novel but some parts of the novel I felt were a bit padded out and I got a bit fed up with it at times. Set in the rural community of the Welsh borders which has been isolated for days by heavy snow and flooding. Old Dr Robinson is known as something of a menace on the roads, so when he collides with a jeep at a particularly dangerous junction it is almost as if it were an accident everyone had been waiting to happen. However, when the body of an unknown man is found in the back of the doctor’s car, who no one recognises and was clearly dead before the collision the police are called to investigate. It isn’t long before Chief Inspector Julian Rivers, ably assisted by Detective Inspector Lancing is on the case.

Smouldering Fire by D E Stevenson (1935) my second lovely DSP read of the month was an easy choice, as I needed something to sooth my weary soul. Set in the Scottish highlands, where Iain MacAslan has been forced to let his vast property to wealthy Londoner Mr Hetherington Smith for the hunting season. He is a self made man, whose wife was much happier when they were poor. Despite his heartbreak at having to see strangers in his house and on his land MacAslan elects to stay in a small cottage on the shores of the loch aided by his loyal keeper Donald and his wife Morag. The Hetherington Smiths bring quite a mixed group of guests with them, but it is to Linda Medworth and her young son that Iain finds himself drawn. I am still reading this, so I can’t yet comment on what is supposed to be a ‘shocking conclusion’ but I am certainly enjoying this slice of DES very much. 

Looking ahead, I am planning on some Kindle reading next week while I am away, and I plan on reading another Margaret Drabble at some point. I shall probably be reading The Waterfall. I hope to join in with Karen and Simon’s 1937 club, the year my dad was born, but I don’t have any firm plans on what I’ll read yet. 

In the meantime I hope all of you in the UK have a restful bank holiday weekend, happy Easter if you celebrate and let’s cross our fingers for some spring sunshine. 

As ever I would love to hear what you have been reading. 

Sofia Petrovna – Lydia Chukovskaya (1965)

Translated from Russian by Aline Werth

I can’t quite believe we are halfway through March already. I have been struggling to engage with blogs and social media this month, and this week have tried to claw my back with a couple of tweets (or whatever we call them now) at least. So here I am popping up with a review of a novel I read weeks ago. I think I read it about halfway through February, but have been meaning to write about it ever since. 

Sofia Petrovna by Lydia Chukovskaya is one of the most recent offerings from Persephone books, and it was a present from Liz at Christmas. Described on the Persephone books website as a book about ‘a world gone mad’ it is an unforgettable account of Stalin’s Great Purge. It is a beautiful but incredibly sad, and intense novel. Written in secret in a school notebook in the winter of 1939-1940, it was eventually published in France in Russian in 1965, translated into English a couple of years later. It wasn’t available in the Soviet Union (as it was) until 1988. 

Sofia Petrovna is the central character and she is so beautifully written by Chukovskaya that the reader’s heart really does break for her. Sofia is an ordinary woman, and for me, it is her very ordinariness that makes her so memorable and real – it is these kinds of characters that work best for me. Sofia could almost be any middle aged woman anywhere at any time in history. She is a doctor’s widow, she remembers her husband with pride and fondness, often wondering what he would say about things. She has one son, who is finishing his education as the novel opens, she adores him, anticipating great success for him. Life in the newly created Soviet Union has brought changes to Sofia’s life – her and her son have one room within the apartment that used to be all theirs, other parts of the apartment have been given to other families – and Sofia accepts that fairly happily, although she wishes her son had his own room now. Sofia is very loyal to the Soviet Union, she believes in everything she is told, accepting Stalin as a benevolent figure taking care of all Russian citizens. 

At the beginning of the novel Sofia takes up an office job, to continue supporting herself and her son. 

The job is in a publishing house and Sofia loves her job. She befriends Natasha at work, a younger woman, who is a bit of a loner. Most people have now joined the communist party, but Natasha has not been allowed to, despite her eagerness to do so, this is because her parents were landowners (before the Soviet Union), and as such she is regarded with a degree of suspicion. Sofia often confides her concerns about her son Nikolai to Natasha and gradually the two become unlikely friends. 

“‘I’ve been dismissed,’ Natasha said, when they got out into the street. Sofia stopped short. “Erna Semyonovna showed the Party organiser the piece I typed yesterday. You remember, the long article about the Red Army? I had written in one place Rad Army, instead of Red.”

“But for heaven’s sake,’ Sofia Petrovna expostulated, “that’s just a typing mistake. Why imagine you’ll be dismissed tomorrow? Everyone knows you’re the best typist in the pool.”

“He said you’ll be dismissed for lack of vigilance.” Natasha walked straight ahead. The sun was shining in her face, but she didn’t lower her eyes.”

When newspaper reports start appearing of spies and potential terrorists threatening the Soviet Union, Sofia is horrified that such people should be out there. More and more disappearances and arrests happen every day and Sofia is bewildered, her faith in the Soviet Union such that when people she knows are arrested she assumes it is a mistake that will soon be put right. Even when her own beloved son is arrested she is convinced it is a mistake and that it will be all sorted out soon. She starts to join the long queues of people who daily gather to try and find out information about what has happened to their loved ones, and Sofia assumes, with an almost childlike wide eyed simplicity that their loved ones must all be guilty, but of course her Nikolai is innocent and will soon be freed. Bit by bit we see Sofia’s confusion escalate and gradually give way to fear as the situation causes her to completely break down. 

Despite the obvious sadness to this story, I didn’t find this a depressing read at all. It is surprisingly compelling, and very readable in the way a beautifully written novel can be, especially when depicting such extraordinary events.

February in review

February was a whole day longer this year, which was perfect for finishing off my final book of the month and for the #ReadIndies reading challenge. I haven’t been blogging much the last few weeks but I did manage to read nine books in February, eight of them for #ReadIndies, which is a challenge I particularly enjoy. 

I posted some mini reviews of my first three February reads earlier this month as well as a review of my latest Margaret Drabble, but that was all. I am hoping to write more fully about one or two of my other February reads, but as usual I can’t be relied upon to do that. 

I started the month reading Someone from the Past (1958) by Margot Bennett, published by the British Library. Unfortunately, it didn’t completely hit the spot. The characters are all generally awful – and I just didn’t believe in the central character, and narrator, who in her desperation to save someone from being implicated in the murder continually implicates herself. 

I was on firmer ground with Muriel Spark The Public Image (1968) published by Polygon, this edition bought second hand helped to complete my set of Spark centenary editions. I am trying to ignore the awful white sticker on the spine, which can’t be removed without tearing the cover, but it does slightly upset me. It is a wonderfully Sparkian satire on celebrity culture, as relevant now as it ever was.  

Published by Handheld Press, Army without Banners (1942) by Ann Stafford, is an autobiographical novel about a middle aged woman driving ambulances through the Blitz. There is tragedy and pathos but also humour and Ann Stafford who was one half of the writing duo who gave us Business as Usual, balances these differing moods perfectly. There are also some lovely illustrations. 

The Millstone (1965) by Margaret Drabble was easily my book of the month. I found it ended far too quickly, every word was just superb. I also found it surprisingly moving in places. It is a beautifully tender novel of feminism and motherhood, set and written in the 60s, it does feel very rooted in the period.

Pipers and a Dancer (1924) by Stella Benson published by Michael Walmer is a slightly unusual but very entertaining novel about Ispsie, a young woman who travels to China to join her fiance, a British customs official. On the ship she meets an American, who will be taking over her fiance’s post. Her fiance, Jacob is a terribly dull, pompous young man, who has a certain view of Ipsie, which is totally at odds with how Ipsie sees herself. While staying with Jacob’s awful sister, news is received that Jacob has been kidnapped by brigands. A strangely witty novel, with what would probably have been an unconventional ending for the time. I thoroughly enjoyed my first Stella Benson novel.  

My slowest read of the month was The Sanity Inspectors (1955) by Friedrich Deich translated from the German by Robert Kee, published by Boiler House Press. I enjoyed the novel, but it is a slow read, quite wordy and full of complex ideas. It is a fascinating historical piece I suppose but there is little in the way of plot. It tells the slightly disjointed but often compelling story of Dr Robert Vossmenge’s career in Psychiatry. As the 1930s progress Vossmenge finds his work increasingly influenced with the Nazi regime, during WW2 he tries to keep a low profile while serving as a Luftwaffe doctor. It is friendship with a Lutheran pastor however that makes him question what constitutes insanity in a world truly gone mad. 

One of the Persephone books Liz bought me for Christmas was Sofia Petrovna by Lydia Chukovskaya (1965) translated from the Russian by Aline Werth. Sofia is an ordinary woman, a doctor’s widow, with one son who is leaving school around the time the novel starts. She starts work as a typist in an office, a job she loves, but when not working, she focuses everything on her son. These are difficult times in Russia, and as Sofia’s son finishes his studies and embarks on a career, the newspapers begin to be filled with stories of arrests, Sofia is shocked to learn of all these people who are conspiring against the Soviet regime. It is though only the start of what becomes known as Stalin’s Great Purge, and poor Sofia, a good honest soviet woman, believes everything she is told. When her son is arrested however she is thrown into a nightmare world of Soviet bureaucracy as she tries to find out what has happened to him. 

Brian (2023) by Jeremy Cooper published by Fitzcarraldo was a novel I appreciated more than I enjoyed. I really like the character of Brian and the writing is certainly good, however I think I might have been the wrong audience. Brian is a man who has struggled all his life to fit in, a man without friends, who has lunch at the same place every day. He joins the British Film Institute in London, which brings film back into his life. Every evening he visits the cinema on London’s South Bank, joining a group of like minded individuals, who eventually become familiar, and in time one of them, Jack, becomes a friend. Unfortunately, an awful lot of the film stuff left me a bit cold. I enjoy films, but not to this degree and not such obscure stuff that is talked about here. There were a handful of films discussed that I knew, and had seen, but I think readers with a BFI subscription, who enjoy obscure and classic cinema might get more out of this than I did. The ending is very poignant however and beautifully done. I was disappointed not to have liked it more. 

The British Library will be publishing Forest Silver (1941) by E M Ward at the end of March, and I was delighted to get a proof copy for review. Set in Grasmere in the Lake District in the early years of the war. The descriptions of the Lake district through the changing seasons are lovely, and as someone who has spent happy days in Grasmere I could see a lot of it in my mind’s eye. Richard Blunt has come to Grasmere after being invalided out of the air force, and breaking off his engagement. He becomes involved with the Bainrigg family, the young daughter Corys is almost seventeen when they first meet, living with her mother and grandmother, her father away in London, she has been left the estate to manage by her grandfather’s will. Her love of the land is almost obsessional, but she has a lot of growing up to do, so much still to be negotiated. Richard is drawn to her in a way I wasn’t entirely happy with but he helps her negotiate her way through various difficult situations. Corys is a wonderfully drawn, complex character – and the setting is of course wonderful. 

Well I have started this new month reading another Margaret Drabble novel, Jerusalem, the Golden which I am enjoying so far. As for the rest of the month I don’t have any particular plans. I am aware of Read Ireland month but I’m not sure if I have anything suitable or not but I will have a good look. Apart from that I shall go with my mood which is very fickle at the moment. 

What books did February bring you?

The Millstone – Margaret Drabble (1965)

Having decided to read Margaret Drabble novels in 2024, I have already failed to review one of them. In January I read A Summer Bird Cage and The Garrick Year, but I didn’t manage to get anything written about The Garrick Year, even though I really loved it. I plan to read at least one Drabble book a month – but more is permitted – and of course I am also allowed to stop whenever I want, the only rule I have applied to this really, is that there are no rules. So I pulled a few thoughts together about The Garrick Year for my month in review post, and that had to suffice. 

So, I recently pulled The Millstone from my shelves, a slim little old penguin I have had for years. I read it quickly over a couple of days, the kind of book you don’t want to finish. I thought it was absolutely brilliant, surprisingly poignant without resorting to sentimentality or stereotyping. I was determined to find something to say about this novel, I know it’s one many other readers have enjoyed. 

The Millstone is a beautifully tender novel of feminism and motherhood, set and written in the 60s, a time, when so much was changing – but change is slow, and attitudes don’t always keep pace with what is happening in society. The novel is narrated by Rosamund Stacey, a young academic woman who is quite introspective, analysing everything and overthinking things a bit. To her it seems that everyone else is having sex and being rather relaxed about it, but typically she has not been so relaxed, and has somehow managed to give her friends and acquaintances the impression that she is as sexually active as they are, while in reality she just has a series of platonic male friends, who each think she is sleeping with another. 

“I did not realise the dreadful facts of life. I did not know that a pattern forms before we are aware of it, and that what we think we make becomes a rigid prison making us.”

Rosamund is living alone as the novel opens in her parents’ flat, a large flat in a rather nice area of London close to Harley Street and Regents Park – she acknowledges that this makes her appear far richer than she is. Her parents, idealistic, left leaning academic types are away in Africa – they refuse to profit from their empty flat so allow Rosamund to stay there rent free. Rosamund might be unworldly, but she is fiercely intelligent – studying towards a Phd as the novel begins, taking on the tutoring of four students as well, to help make ends meet. Later in the novel there is an acknowledgement from Drabble through the voice of Rosamund that her subsequent experiences differ to those of some other young women in similar positions, due to her address, it gives her an aura of respectability – as does her accent no doubt.

Rosamund meets George, a BBC employee who can be heard regularly on the radio. She likes him, and has a one night stand with him, surprising herself with how intensely she feels about him afterwards. However, she says nothing and lets him walk away from her. 

“I look back now with some anguish to each touch and glance, to every changing conjunction of limbs and heads and hands. I have lived it over every day for so long now that I am in danger of forgetting the true shape of how it was, because each time I go over it I wish that I had given a little more here or there, or at the very least said what was in my heart, so that he could have known how much it meant to me. But I was incapable, even when happy, of exposing myself thus far.”

Soon afterwards Rosamund discovers she is pregnant, she is astonished to find herself in this predicament – and her initial thoughts turn to abortion. With a horror of backstreet abortionists she buys a large bottle of gin and plans a hot bath. Her plans are thwarted when three friends descend on her and proceed to drink the gin, all of which gives Rosamund a chance to think again. Having decided to keep her baby after all, Rosamund confides in a few of her closest friends, who all think she is pretty mad. 

Rosamund continues her studies, and her teaching – eventually she has to consult a doctor, visit the antenatal clinic and decide who to tell. She decides not to contact George, and also decides not to tell her parents, they are out of harm’s way in Africa, she will deal with them later, she waits months to tell her sister and decides not to tell her brother who she rarely sees anyway. This behaviour, all seems typical of Rosamund – she is very independent, but doesn’t go looking for arguments or conflict. 

The majority of the novel charts Rosamund’s pregnancy, and the first nine months or so of her subsequent motherhood. The sexual revolution may well be under way but, as Rosamund is aware, illegitimacy is still very frowned upon. On a couple of occasions she encounters medical professionals who insist upon calling her Mrs Stacey – and when she corrects them is informed, somewhat stiffly, that the title is a courtesy. 

Rosamund is a rather delightful companion, she is witty and intelligent, a little naive, but endearingly so – but it is in the later relationship with her baby that this novel really excels. It is something the novel has in common with The Garrick Year, as in that novel, I noted how beautifully Drabble manages to convey the relationship between a young mother and her tiny children.  Here the child is even younger – but it is in this relationship that Rosamund is to find true joy, a joy that is palpable even to those of us who aren’t mothers. 

The Millstone is a wonderfully touching novel, thought provoking and surprisingly compelling, my book group will also be reading it in April. I am definitely enjoying my Drabble reading so far – and I am forming quite a Drabble tbr – my mum found another three for me the other day in a charity shop. I suspect this one might remain a firm favourite however. 

Tales from my reading chair – #ReadIndies

February is #ReadIndies month, it’s one of my favourite reading events – a chance to read and celebrate the work of independent publishers. I have just started my fifth book of the month, my fourth for #ReadIndies. 

I began with Someone From the Past (1958) by Margot Bennett, a Golden Age mystery from the British Library. I am always especially keen to read those from women writers, and although the British Library has published two others by Bennett this was the first I had read. It was enjoyable enough, I definitely wanted to know what had happened – but if I’m honest it didn’t completely hit the spot. The characters are all generally fairly awful – and I just didn’t believe in the central character, and narrator, who in her desperation to save someone she (stupidly) loves from being implicated in the murder of her close friend she manages to get herself into increasingly hotter water as the novel progresses. Her actions along with the awful men she numbers among her friends annoyed me – and as for the ending, I really was irritated by that.  

Many of you will remember how I read lots of Muriel Spark for her centenary back in 2018. However, I didn’t get them all read. In December I reread The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie, which helped to remind me that I had two Spark novels left to read and was very overdue in getting around to. The Public Image and Reality and Dreams are the final novels I had left to read having finally tracked down all twenty two novels in the delightful Polygon centenary editions that came out in 2018. 

Read Indies month gave me the perfect opportunity to read The Public Image (1968), which was particularly tricky to track down in this edition and I have had to content myself with an ex-library copy with a small unnecessary white sticker on the spine. 

One of just a few Spark novels set in Italy, Annabel Christopher is an actress with a very carefully constructed public image. The image that she and the people around her have developed is all tied up with her marriage to Frederick, and the Image the couple have has helped Annabel become a certain type of actress playing a certain type of part, despite – as Frederick well knows – her lack of any real talent. 

Yet, it’s all a mirage, the marriage is not happy, even a baby hasn’t helped to bring the couple together. Annabel is quite unconcerned with the situation, although she is frequently irritated by the constant presence of Billy O’Brien, one of Frederick’s friends, a man Annabel once, years earlier slept with. He is one of those characters Spark does so well, blind to the effect he has on others, he is horribly annoying, and only just stops short of sinister. As the novel opens the couple and the baby are moving into a new apartment in an old building in Italy. Frederick however has had enough, he simply can’t stand the hypocrisy any longer. He plans a shocking revenge, a revenge not only extraordinary and typically dark but one designed to shake that carefully managed public image to its core. 

It’s a brilliant novel, typically Sparkian in its dark satire on celebrity culture, which seems as relevant now as it ever was.  

Next I moved on to Army without Banners (1942) by Ann Stafford, published by Handheld Press, an autobiographical novel by one half of the writing duo who gave us the delightful Business as Usual. 

Mildred is a middle aged woman who leaves her comfortable home in the country to work as an ambulance driver in London during the Blitz. Persuaded to do her bit by her cousin Daphne (usually known as Penny) Mildred is absolutely terrified of the Blitz, but she is also determined to do her bit and help the people of London in any way she can.  

Mildred soon finds herself living alongside other women in Daphne’s once gracious home, sleeping on a mattress in her living room, being cooked for by Mrs Dove and working shifts in the ambulance station. She is cheerfully told by her colleagues that she has missed the worst of it by joining them in October 1940 – but what she experiences is certainly bad enough. Nightly, she witnesses the destressing destruction of London, and the injury and death that go with it. 

There’s some brilliant observations here, conversations that feel quite real – the sights and sounds of London in wartime and later the boredom when all is quiet. Stafford depicts women pulling together in extraordinary times, women who would usually be found in entirely different situations, who meet adversity head on and keep ploughing on. Alongside the pathos and tragedy there is humour – and in this Stafford seems to get the balance just right. I also enjoyed the little illustrations that appear throughout – readers of Business as Usual will remember them I am sure and these drawings are every bit as good. 

Having had a quick break from Read Indies to read my next Margaret Drabble novel, The Millstone in an old penguin I have had for years, I have now moved on to my fourth novel for Read Indies month Pipers and a Dancer (1924) by Stella Benson published by Michael Walmer. I haven’t read enough yet to say much about it but I am already drawn in and looking forward to getting back to it.

Back to old habits – January in review

It’s funny how even now, when I am no longer working, January is still the longest month of the year by far. For many it is a time to reset – start things again, take up new challenges or give up bad habits. I never make such resolutions, there would be no point – and the whole New Year thing has always left me a bit cold. One month into a new year and nothing has changed in my more recent blogging habits – that is, I am still not writing as many reviews as I would have done once. Yesterday, WordPress informed me that it was my anniversary – twelve years blogging on WordPress, and I messed around on Live Journal for a few years before that. 

So, I keep on keeping on, even if things aren’t quite the same. I just haven’t the stamina to review everything I read – I can’t cope with too many review copies coming at me and I am always days behind reading other blogs – that’s the way it is now – and I know people have understood that and I am thankful for those of you who continue to support my blog when I do see fit to get a post written. Realistically, I most likely won’t write full reviews of the January books I haven’t reviewed yet, although a couple of them I would like to, so I shall see how things go. Instead as has become traditional I shall give a small flavour of those I haven’t reviewed in this roundup post.

In reading terms January has been a pretty good month – nine books in total – seven physical books and two on Kindle – and each of them very good indeed, a couple of five star books among them. 

Having decided to spend 2024 reading as many Margaret Drabble novels as I could, I began the year with A Summer Bird-Cage (1963) Margaret Drabble’s first novel. It is such an impressive debut novel and got my Drabble reading off to a brilliant start. 

My second read was Statues in the Garden (1964) by Isabel Colegate, an earlier novel to The Shooting Party which ended up being my book of the year for 2023. Although set in the exact same time period, it didn’t have quite the impact that other novel had for me, though, it is very good indeed – I look forward to more by this author. 1914 – and there are political tensions everywhere and talk of possible civil war in Ireland. The novel centres around the family of cabinet minister Aylmer Weston. His wife, the beautiful Cynthia is mainly at the family’s country home, their son comes and goes, as does their nephew Philip who the couple raised alongside their own children when his parents died. She also has two daughters, the eldest Violet is engaged while the younger Kitty needs just a little direction so a new governess has just been engaged. The last summer before the war, a time when things are changing and for the Westons a life changing betrayal.

I haven’t been reading much contemporary fiction lately, and then Memphis (2022) – by Tara M Stringfellow popped into my Kindle recommends, which I usually ignore, for obvious reasons. It was a brilliant read, I loved it, and have persuaded my book group to read it in March. A thoroughly compelling debut novel that made it on to the Women’s Prize longlist, it tells the story of three generations of Black women in the American South – the Memphis of the title, told across several time periods from the 1930s through the 1960s, and 1970s  to the 1990s and early 2000’s. A story of family, brutality, forgiveness, art, justice and love. Beautifully written and with a glorious set of strong female characters. I am so delighted I took a chance on it. 

There is always a reading challenge to get on board with, and I love the variety of challenges we have throughout the year. For January in Japan, I read Mild Vertigo (1997) by Mieko Kanai translated from the Japanese by Polly Barton. The story of Natsumi, a housewife in a Tokyo apartment building overwhelmed by the tedium of her daily routine. The novel is a kind of inner monologue, a stream of consciousness, written in very long run on sentences which made the narrative more intimate and easier to read than it might sound. 

I have decided to give myself the permission to re-read old favourites more often this year. Excellent Women (1952) by Barbara Pym, was just what I needed. Pym is always a joy to read – and I have of course reviewed it before. This my third reading of it and I enjoyed it all the more for it being familiar. 

I had had Cluny Brown (1944) by Margery Sharp hidden away on my Kindle for several years and it too proved a sheer delight. Cluny Brown is a breath of fresh air, an unconventional young woman, who her relatives all think really needs to learn her place. So she is sent into service at a country house in Devon. Here we are in 1938 – the world is on the brink of great change, and everywhere in this novel are characters who tread the conventional path that their accident of birth laid down for them, Cluny Brown is the exception.

My second Margaret Drabble novel of the year, The Garrick Year (1964), her second published novel. A brilliant dark comedy about a marriage, set against the backdrop of a group of actors transferred from London to Hereford for the festival surrounding the opening of a new theatre. The couple at the centre of the novel are Emma and David Evans, she is a former model with ambitions to do TV presenting, he is a successful Welsh actor. They have two very small children, the youngest just a few months old. She adores her children but is frustrated by domesticity and the lack of direction in her life, he is a narcissistic philanderer. With two plays to rehearse for the festival David is working very long hours, alongside a very pretty young actress who is nothing like as talented as she thinks she is. Emma becomes increasingly bored, missing London and with little to occupy her away from the children. Somewhat half-heartedly she begins an affair with the theatre director. I am annoyed with myself for not having got around to reviewing this in full, I enjoyed it so much. An even better novel than A Summer Bird-Cage. 

My book group has chosen to read Loving Sabotage (1993) by Amélie Nothomb translated from the French by Andrew Wilson. I hadn’t previously heard of this Belgian writer before this novel was suggested at my book group, but on the strength of it I would like to read more now. Set in what was then called Peking in the 1970s, our unnamed narrator lives in a concrete ‘ghetto’ alongside other diplomatic families, charges around on her ‘horse’ – her bicycle and plays a brutal never ending game of world war with the many children of other nations. As a seven year old she becomes infatuated with the beautiful six year old Elena – who she calls her Helen of Troy. Written with the observant eye of an adult looking back to the years of childhood, Loving Sabotage chronicles a young girl’s dawning understanding of an adult world. I absolutely loved it. 

Having read eight brilliant books back to back, I then picked up Time: The Present (1935) by Tess Slesinger, a collection of short stories by an American writer whose early death prevented her from leaving behind a larger body of work. Beautifully reissued by Boiler House Press – this edition differs slightly from the original, so publication dates are a little tricker to be accurate about. Well with this final book of the month I really hit the jackpot – it is a brilliant collection. I find reviewing large collections so hard – so I probably won’t write a longer piece, all I can do is urge you to add this to your list. Each story is excellent – no duds! All of life is here, school days, unemployment, adultery, new marriage, heartlessness, heartbreak, society parties and more. Slesinger’s style is so readable – many of the stories are quite long, short stories which I rather enjoy, it gives the reader something to get your teeth into. I ended up slowing down my reading a bit to savour and appreciate each story for itself. I can’t recommend this collection highly enough. 

Well as this post is already far too long, all I shall say about my February plans is that I am intending to join in with Read Indies month – one of my favourite challenges, and I am planning on reading one more Margaret Drabble novel. 

Whatever your plans for February are, I hope you love what you choose to read – and as ever, I would love to know what you’ve been reading in January.

Cluny Brown – Margery Sharp (1944)

Sometimes it is worth having a good old rummage around in the dusty basement just to see what’s there – especially when it might offer up some reading treasures. Well as I live in a one bedroom flat built around the early 1980s I have no such thing – but I do have a Kindle. It is really quite astonishing how much is on there – bought on a whim years before – perhaps on an earlier device and forgotten all about. Such was the case with one of my recent reads; Cluny Brown by Margery Sharp. A delightful novel, a humorous comedy of manners suffused with Margery Sharp’s customary wit and observational eye. The ending when it comes every bit as unconventional as the heroine – which seems just right. 

Some years ago, Open Road Media made some Margery Sharp novels available on Kindle – I can’t remember if there were print versions available too. I acquired a couple – this one and another I may save to read in April for the 1937 club. I then went and forgot all about them, despite reading several other novels by Margery Sharp. 

Cluny Brown – real name Clover, is the most charming of unconventional young women to spend one’s time with. Orphaned as a young child she has been brought up by her Uncle Arn and his wife (now deceased), Uncle Arn is a plumber – a hard working, salt of the earth type who is proud to know his place. Cluny on the other hand is a great trial to the simple man, because it seems she does not. One day she stays in bed eating oranges after reading in a magazine that it gives one vitality, on another day she takes herself off to the Ritz for afternoon tea, for the experience. She is equally happy in any company – and has a soul that yearns for experiences and adventure. 

It is something of the final straw therefore, when Cluny answers the phone one day in her uncle’s absence and agrees to pop around to a gentleman’s residence to fix his sink. Cluny is very confident she can do a good job – and to be fair she does do a very good job. 

“The correct costume for a young lady going to fix a gentleman’s sink on a Sunday afternoon has never been authoritatively dealt with: Cluny had naturally to carry her uncle’s tool-bag, but as an offset wore her best clothes.”

On finishing the job the impressed gentleman offers Cluny a cocktail which she is delighted to accept – although she declines the use of the bath in the loveliest bathroom she has ever seen. Her uncle, hot on her heels, arrives to find Cluny imbibing cocktails and is horrified at her full and frank account of the visit – perhaps suspecting the gentleman’s true motives. In despair the rest of the family are consulted and it is decided that in order to learn her place Cluny must go into good service – emphasis on the good. This it is felt should be easy, it is 1938 – and good servants are hard to come by, so, someone will snap up Cluny Brown, as soon as she is registered with an agency – and this is exactly what happens. 

It isn’t long before Cluny Brown is leaving her London home behind her for the country estate of Friars Carmel in Devon. The home of Sir Henry and Lady Carmel and their son Andrew – although he spends a lot of time in town now. Cluny Brown is not delighted about going into service, but she is a willing girl, not afraid of hard work, and generally very good humoured so she throws herself into her new role with gusto – taking the occasional telling off in good humour, making friends with the other maid Hilda who she shares a room with and generally taking an interest in everyone around her. She loves the countryside around her – and is allowed to walk a dog belonging to a neighbour on her afternoons off. She meets the village pharmacist who takes an interest in Cluny and she starts to take an interest in him. He talks about poetry to her – and Cluny is charmed. 

Andrew arrives home with his friend Adam Belinksi in tow, a Polish academic and writer – he recently gave a contentious lecture in Bonn. Andrew – already concerned about the situation in Europe, is certain the Nazi’s are after him, the rest of Andrew’s family seem certain that Belinski is a Professor. It suit’s Belinski that these misunderstandings have arisen as it means he is offered as long a visit as he might like at Friar’s Carmel – where he can work quietly and undisturbed. 

Andrew meanwhile is pretending to himself that he hasn’t fallen head over heels for the very beautiful Betty Cream – as several of his friends have already declared themselves similarly smitten. Betty, is used to the admiration and the unexpected proposals and shrugs them off with aplomb. After some initial distractions the ‘professor’ as he is generally known is also soon under her spell. Cluny is just as ever the unconventional girl she always was – enjoys a few fiery verbal exchanges with Belinski – and asks his help when looking for a poem the pharmacist Mr Wilson quoted at her during a walk. 

And so as they say the stage is set – Margery Sharp sets up her characters beautifully, there’s enough going on to keep the reader reading late into the night. I shall say no more. 

Here we are in 1938 – the world is on the brink of great change, and everywhere in this novel are characters who tread the conventional path that their accident of birth laid down for them, Cluny Brown is the exception – and the reader can’t help but wonder what her story will be by the end of the coming storm.