A Song Flung Up to Heaven – Maya Angelou (2002)

A Song Flung up to Heaven is the sixth volume of Maya Angelou’s autobiography. My reading buddies Liz and Meg were a little bit a head of me, though I think we will all be starting on book seven soon. This volume is one of the slimmer volumes in the set – but it is every bit as addictively readable as the others – and I finished it in a day.

“Believe people when they tell you who they are. They know themselves better than you.”

This volume starts where the previous one left off, with Maya’s return to America from Ghana where she has spent a couple of years. She has left her son Guy behind, at his insistence. It is time for another chapter.

It is 1965 and Maya is returning to an America in which the civil rights movement has exploded. After meeting him for the second time while in Ghana, Maya has decided to put her energies into working with Malcolm X’s organisation in New York. However, before going to New York, Maya travels to California to see her mother and brother – and while she is there Malcolm X is assassinated. Maya is absolutely devasted, but while Malcolm’s brutal death leaves her feeling traumatised and lost – it is the reactions of other black Americans that leaves her really bewildered. She had expected a huge outpouring of grief and rage – and there wasn’t one. For a little while she really doesn’t know what she is going to do. We see Maya lost and a bit more vulnerable in this volume, needing the support of her mother and in particular her brother Bailey to whom she often turns in times of difficulty.

She gets a job as a market researcher in Watts, California. In August of that year, the Watts riots took place – and Maya was a witness to the violence, looting and chaos that took over the suburb for five long days. She walks through the riots, prepared if necessary to get arrested – even though she has done nothing – yet she passes through unharmed and unnoticed.

“Nothing’s wrong with going to jail for something you believe in. Remember, jail was made for people. Not horses.”

It is after this that Maya begins to spend some time on her own writing. She is encouraged by no lesser person than James Baldwin. She is given financial support by a friend – who only wants to allow her to write. She works on some drama and later starts writing poetry quite seriously.

Martin Luther King Jnr’s poverty march campaign is due to get going, and Maya is contacted by someone who askes her to join the campaign, she will again be working for Martin Luther King Jnr – if she accepts. Maya does accept – but she says she won’t be able to join the campaign until after her birthday as she is planning a big party. The year is 1968 – and her birthday Maya explains is on the fourth of April. I must admit I gasped out loud here! I mean what were the chances? – especially after what happened with Malcolm X, when she had missed being with him by a sudden change of plans. Again Maya’s grief and bewilderment is palpable. This extract leapt out at me – I think most of us know exactly how this feels, though I felt Maya expressed it particularly well.

“Death of a beloved flattens and dulls everything. Mountains and skyscrapers and grand ideas are brought down to eye level or below. Great loves and large hates no longer cast such huge shadows or span so broad a distance. Connections do not adhere so closely, and important events lose some of their glow.”

James Baldwin was one of a number of friends who helped Maya rouse herself again from her own terrible despair after King’s death. She is sustained in part by her writing and the good relationships she has in the people around her. It seems she has often been very fortunate in her friends.

A Song Flung Up to Heaven is an extraordinary portrait of an important period in American civil rights, and for that reason perhaps it has become one of my favourite of the six volumes I have read so far, they are all fantastic though. This volume although only the sixth of seven seems to mark the end of her autobiography really, as the seventh volume, Mom & Me & Mom is really an examination of her relationship with her grandmother and mother, and I believe goes back over some of the ground already covered in these books. I will be reading that one soon, and I am looking forward to meeting up with Maya’s Arkansas grandmother again.

As we leave Maya Angelou at the end of this volume, she is starting to write the book I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings, she is just a little over 40 years old, and will we know live to be more than eighty. It does seem a shame that she leaves us here – when we know so much more came after. I know there are other books available books of essays in particular – so I may need to explore some of those in the future.

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Which Way? – Theodora Benson (1931)

With thanks to the British Library for the review copy

The British Library Women Writers series is, as I am sure you’re all aware, right up my reading alley. Which Way? Was the last of the current crop I have to read and I confess I did save it for a while because of that.

Theodora Benson was not a name I was familiar with before this book arrived, and it seems that Which Way? Was her fourth novel, published when she was still only twenty five. It was an experimental novel, one using that idea we must all have considered from time to time, the what if… I had left five minutes later, turned right instead of left – stayed at home etc? Now-a-days we tend to it think of it as a sliding doors moment – named after that late 1990s film of the same name.

In this novel Theodora Benson imagines how the life of her central character Claudia Heseltine might have changed had she made a different choice at a pivotal moment. Claudia returns to the same moment in three parallel narratives. She is in her early twenties – her best friend has married and Claudia has been enjoying herself with parties, friends, young men and weekend get-togethers since arriving home from finishing school in Paris. As we reach that pivotal moment when Claudia enters the room clutching two letters, a phone ringing – we have already learnt quite a lot about her. She’s an intelligent young woman from a good family, she has some money, is well educated but with little idea of what she really wants. She has been living a pretty shallow life – all about fun and pleasure, with some vague idea that if she marries it will only be for love.  

“She was ‘finished.’ In a way, she was really finished. Her future alterations were not stages, they were phases. She might improve, develop, degenerate. But she was now – no matter how she might change in appearance, pose, outlook or circumstances, no matter how much knowledge the world might bring her – the complete substance of all the Claudias there could be thereafter.”

Now, on this particular day she has the choice between three weekend parties all happening on the same weekend – and all involving men she would like to meet or spend time with for different reasons. Oh which to choose?

“Only the fire was alive, consuming its life – for what? Then the door opened and as Claudia came with hurried steps into the fire’s glow, two open letters in her hand, the telephone began ringing. She shut the door and turned up the lights.”

We return to this moment two more times of course – each time she chooses a different weekend to attend, turning down the invitation to the other two – and we follow what happens. Each weekend party will involve a man who Claudia wishes to spend some time with. There is Hugh, an already published author – Claudia has known him for some time and they are good friends, he is someone in whose company she is relaxed and happy, she doesn’t really think she wants any more than that, but doesn’t want to lose him as a friend. Guy is an unhappily married man – she met him at a party, and wants to meet him again – and catch a glimpse of his wife who she has heard gossiped about. Lionel is a very handsome celebrated athlete, unfortunately he is also not very bright.

I really don’t want to say too much about each narrative – but of course each meeting will alter the course of Claudia’s life. In two of the narratives she marries, in one she doesn’t. In each one she encounters the other men she may have ended up with, had things been different – there are little echoes throughout, things that make Claudia stop and wonder what if…

We also witness how Claudia herself is a little different with each of these men – changing herself to suit the situation she finds herself in. Benson also shows us how men and women at the time differed in their attitudes to a significant relationship, how for a woman like Claudia the relationship was her whole life, but for the man, it was just one part of his life, separate to everything else in it.  At the end of one narrative Claudia appears to the reader to have found a degree of contentment – but doesn’t recognise it as that – thinking she has missed out on something better. At the end of each section Claudia is found wondering what might have happened to her had she not accepted that particular invitation that time.

“‘Just by sheer bad luck,’ reflected Claudia. ‘I would have had the sweetest of men to love and be loved by always, an interesting, intellectual life, a house of my own, children to beguile and worry and fill my middle age, perfect happiness – if I hadn’t just happened to go to Farling instead of Gloucestershire for a weekend five years ago. One can’t help oneself, can one? It seems funny it should be just blind chance.”

I must admit, I don’t usually like sliding doors type stories – I don’t really know why, but it is the sort of story I tend to avoid; however I really enjoyed this one. It is such an interesting, clever premise and this experimental style really works. I am curious to discover what else Theodora Benson wrote now, how sad these gifted women writers fell out of favour for so long. Hurrah for the British Library and others, for restoring their voices to us.  

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China Court – Rumer Godden (1961) & Small Things Like These – Claire Keegan (2020)

Two reviews today in a bid to catch up a little – apologies for the long post. Two quite different novels with nothing to connect them, except they are both excellent and come highly recommended by me.

China Court – Rumer Godden (1961)

I read China Court for Rumer Godden reading week, which was back toward the beginning of December, and can’t really explain why I have waited till now to review it, because I loved it. It was a slow reading week that week, and I spent almost the whole week reading that one book – and in a way that was a joy, because the book was so lovely, I enjoyed spending time in the world of China Court, meeting a host of different people from below and above stairs who had lived there.

Tracy Quin is the daughter of a screen star, she grew up in a variety of places around the world, but China Court where she lived for a while as a child, with her grandmother is the place that really has her heart. Tracy returns to Cornwall, and China Court after her grandmother’s death. The house is full of memories for Tracy, the place she always meant to return to – and now she feels it might be too late. Her grandmother’s death has set in motion certain events – there are things which must be sorted out – decisions to be made. The relatives start to gather – the aunts and uncles who all have very strong opinions which they are happy to share. Tracy feels as if she is losing China Court just as she has found it again. It is a special place to her because of Mrs Quin her grandmother, who dedicated herself to the gardens for so many years.

“In summer the beds are like the flowered stuffs sold in shops, blue, white, and pink. The garden is filled with the scent of lilies that sometimes wins against the clove smell of the pinks, and at night there is the scent of stocks and white tobacco flowers. In late July, the great bushes of hydrangeas, blue and purple, have heads as big as dinner plates and sway across the drive if they are heavy with rain.”

As Tracy comes to terms with her loss, and tries to reconcile herself to the idea of the loss of China Court, she meets Peter St, Omer who farms Penbarrow on her grandmother’s land. Peter is from a once prosperous family, in the area, a family with a long complex history of its own. Peter’s future is now as much tangled up in what happens with China Court as Tracy’s is.

Alongside the story of Tracy, Peter, and the aftermath of Mrs Quins death – Godden evokes the stories of the previous four generations. For me that is what made this novel so special, the way Rumer Godden weaves these stories almost seamlessly through the main narrative. In this way we get to know the cheating Jared, the sad, beautiful Lady Patrick, the embittered Spinster Eliza, who finds an unusual outlet for her dissatisfaction, and Ripsie, an outcast orphan and her love for two brothers, who rose to become a powerful matriarch at China Court. It’s testament to Godden’s skill that she is able to weave so many stories through the central narrative – all these people step fully formed from the pages. The people and places of a Rumer Godden novel are always extremely well drawn, making her novels fully immersive and compelling. A real pleasure to spend time with. The only very slight issue I had with this lovely novel was the last few pages (no spoilers) it jarred quite a bit, and includes a scene which I found rather dated.

One of the main delights though is the story of a very special book collection – no spoilers, but book collectors will adore it.

Small Things Like These – Claire Keegan (2020)

This is a novella that has been reviewed widely by other bloggers, a much loved novella, and I can see why. It was also recently featured on the BBC TV programme Between the Covers. Small Things Like These is a slight, powerfully told novella – set in a small Irish town in 1985 in the run up to Christmas.

“It was a December of crows. People had never seen the likes of them, gathering in black batches on the outskirts of town then coming in, walking the streets, cocking their heads and perching, impudently, on whatever lookout post that took their fancy, scavenging for what was dead, or diving in mischief for anything that looked edible along the roads before roosting at night in the huge old trees around the convent.”

This was a gorgeously written novel, beautifully, elegantly spare, not a word is wasted in this emotional little story. The novel is dedicated to the women and children who were kept in the Magdalene laundries during that most dark period in Irish history.

Bill Furlong is a family man, and coal merchant, it is his busiest time of year, but there is also a recession on. His wife and five daughters are preparing for Christmas, looking forward to the Christmas celebrations in the town. Bill has known hardship in his life – and he is well aware of how different his life, and the life of his mother could have been. His mother had been very young and unmarried when she gave birth to Bill, but thanks to the kindness and support of a local wealthy woman, who gave Bill’s mother both a home and a job, becoming in time like family to them both – he grew up in safety and love.

Keegan shows us what a cloak of secrecy there was around certain issues in small towns like this in Ireland. These are good people, but they have grown up knowing some things aren’t spoken about, some things just are, and at the heart of all of that – is the church.

One of Bill’s regular customers is the local convent, the nuns there run a training school for girls – of course what it really is, is a mother and baby home. Things known, but not spoken of. One morning while delivering coal to the convent Bill makes a discovery that leaves him with a big dilemma. He discovers a young girl, cold and dirty locked in the coal shed – she begs him to find out what he can about what has happened to her baby. Bill takes the girl inside to the nuns, who make a great show of gently scolding her, feeding her and warming her up, while pouring out cups of tea to Bill. It’s one of those terrible situations where everyone really knows what is going on.

Bill is horrified by this experience, should he maintain the silence that surrounds such things, or expose the convent? He is left in no doubt that speaking out will risk his daughters’ futures as they attend the school attached to the convent. He speaks to his wife – she urges him to leave well alone – but Bill is horribly conflicted, and can’t quite forget the young girl he met that morning.

“…he found himself asking was there any point in being alive without helping one another? Was it possible to carry on along through all the years, the decades, through an entire life, without once being brave enough to go against what was there and yet call yourself a Christian, and face yourself in the mirror?”

Claire Keegan is a well known short story writer, and although I haven’t read her stories yet – it is evident that this is an author in superb control, the ability to tell the story of this town and its secrets in under a hundred pages is phenomenal.

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The Woods in Winter – Stella Gibbons (1970)

Well my reviewing is really all over the place at the moment. There are books I read at the beginning of December that I still haven’t reviewed, and here I am writing about something I read a few days before Christmas. However, I was eager to tell you all about this as soon as I could, it was such a delight.

Stella Gibbons was a very prolific writer, and many of her novels have previously been reissued by Vintage with their recognisable red spines. However, they didn’t reissue them all, but the wonderful Dean Street Press have reissued five that were previously unavailable. The Woods in Winter was in fact the last novel that Stella Gibbons wrote for publication first published in 1970 – although another novel also written in the 1970s was discovered not long ago and reissued by Vintage. I had only read about six Stella Gibbons novels before this, and this one has reminded me how remiss I have been.

I know I have read a lot of Dean Street Press books – one day I will do a top ten or something – but The Woods in Winter is definitely one of my top DSP novels. A novel about solitude, ageing, the natural world, and unique relationships it is an absolute joy from beginning to end.

Our heroine is Ivy Gover – a middle-aged, curmudgeonly char woman – and who doesn’t love a char woman? When we first meet Ivy, she is living in one room in London. She supports herself with the pension money from her three dead husbands and money she gets from charring. The opening line of the first page reveals the story to be set around forty years before Stella Gibbons was writing – I couldn’t help but sense an old woman, going back to a time when she was most happy. Ivy Gover’s life on the other hand hasn’t been easy, losing three husbands, cleaning for other people, finding reading and writing a challenge – and always she wanted to live in the country where she had grown up. Miss Helen Green is one of the people Ivy chars for – a young woman uncomfortable with the fashionable set of bright young things she is friends with – unsatisfied in her current romance, yearning quietly for so much more.

Suddenly Ivy’s life changes forever, she receives a letter from a solicitor – that Helen has to help her make sense of – telling her she has inherited a small cottage from an uncle, in the Buckingham countryside, near to where she grew up. Ivy wastes little time. She rescues a dog, that she knows has been tied up and mistreated – and takes possession of her new home as soon as she can.

“…for the first time in her life, she was living as she had always unknowingly wanted to live: in freedom and solitude, with an animal for close companion. Her new life had acted upon her like a strong and delicious drug.”

Her canine companion is Neb – a ferocious beast with anyone but Ivy – the bond he and Ivy has is absolute. She saved him. When Ivy and Neb move into the cottage, it is the start of winter, the thatch in the roof has a large hole – and mice and cockroaches are also resident. Only, Ivy treats all creatures with respect and affection, and lets them be. As the cottage is only leasehold, the land around it is owned by Lord Gowerville – who is not responsible for repairing the roof – and poor Ivy can’t really afford it. Ivy though has other talents – she is a kind of wise woman, at one with the natural world around her.

“Calmly and irresistibly, the singing and light flowing out from the cottage with something else began to pull. They pulled with heat, and luring sounds sweet and harsh, and the other force that has no name. In woods, away across the dark field and up the hill; and in hallows in the hedge, and in crevices which had remained dry under the grass swept sideways by winter winds, this pulling was felt; and strange, microscopically small eyes opened, as soft or horny lids stirred, and faint shivers ran along spines covered in chitin or fur. The wind swept greatly over the great trees, rocking slowly in blackness.”

By curing Lord Gowerville’s dog – she earns his respect and protection and gets her roof repaired for free. Now she is comfortably settled with her dog, the mice, cockroaches, and a pet pigeon. Ivy is very content – yet despite her anti-social instincts she can’t help but to have some surprising effects on her neighbours. We meet Angela Mordaunt, a sad spinster living with her domineering mother, still mourning her dead fiancé, also the romantic local vicar and Lord Gowerville’s unpleasant agent. The Cartaret sisters, friends of Helen Green arrive on the scene – who for something to do it seems – open a tea shop in the nearby village. However, Ivy’s greatest challenge arrives in the shape of a twelve year old boy called Mike, a runaway who shows up at her door. The relationship that develops between Ivy and Mike is poignantly portrayed – and it’s hard for Ivy, knowing that where Mike is concerned she has to do the right thing, even if it breaks her heart.

There is a touching conclusion to this novel – set at the time when Gibbons was writing, which gives us a beautiful sense of time passing, and moving on set within the same landscape. It also highlights the divisions that existed in the 1970s (and still do) between those who push for progress and those who wish to protect the countryside from the ravages of that progress.

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Murder After Christmas – Rupert Latimer (1944) & The Amazing Mr Blunden – Antonia Barber (1969)

Thank you to the British Library and Virago for providing copies of these.

I’m back from a lovely couple of days spent with the family over Christmas – and I hope you all had a good, restive period too. I didn’t go away, but stayed at home, visiting my family on Christmas day and Boxing day – and that proved to be a really nice and stress free.

 I am reviewing very slightly out of order now; I feel very behind this month anyway. However, both of these books seemed just right for the festive period although only one of them is strictly speaking a Christmas book.

Murder After Christmas – Rupert Latimer (1944)

Murder After Christmas by Rupert Latimer – looked like the perfect book to settle in with, a couple of weekends before Christmas. It certainly has all the requirements of a cracking good festive mystery. A cantankerous wealthy old man arrives to spend Christmas, there is lots of snow, and a lot of jokes about how easy it would be to murder said guest. There are also some complex family relationships, a few secrets, a redrafted will, some poison, and a lot of humour. There is surprisingly little mention of the war, for a book published in 1944 – but I can see how people at the time might want an escape from the reality of life.

Old Uncle Willie has come to stay with the Redpath family for Christmas. He is very cantankerous and enjoys being so. He has a colourful past, and is of such interest to people that the Redpaths can expect lots of visitors all wanting to get a look at the old rascal. Aside from the expected visitors Rhoda and Frank Redpath who throughout the war have shared their home with Frank’s aunt Paulina are expecting their adult son John and his fiancé Margery home for Christmas. There is a big party planned for boxing day and lots of parcels piled up on the hall table – plenty of opportunity for a murderer to strike.

So, when poor old Uncle Willie is found dead in the snow, wearing his Santa costume there are a lot of questions to be answered. It appears that the old man was poisoned by his favourite chocolates, or was their something sinister in the mince pies that were later found concealed rather oddly in his room?

“A war’s on and a murder has been committed – and we sit here talking nonsense about almond whirls and mince pies.!”

The mystery is investigated by two very senior policemen – Superintendent Cully and the Chief Constable Major Smythe who knew the dead man slightly and was at the party at the Redpaths house the night before the body was found.

There’s a lot of figuring out who precisely had a motive – who benefitted from the will, who knew about the will etc. All this is satisfyingly complex – and I did find the solution to be very clever – I definitely didn’t guess.

However, something about this one didn’t quite hit the spot with me. I feel it’s a little long, and rather repetitive – the story really could have been a lot tighter. Still, if you really like your festive whodunnits, this one is another for the pile.

The Amazing Mr Blunden – Antonia Barber (1969)

Lovely Virago sent me this book in early December with some festive chocolate – and although I generally don’t read children’s fiction – unless it’s lout oud to actual children – I knew I really wanted to dive in. The Amazing Mr Blunden has been re-titled and reissued to tie in with a new film arriving on Sky soon I believe. This book for older children was originally published in 1969 under the title Ghosts – but as I can confirm is just as likely to be enjoyed by adults too.

It is described on the back cover as an enthralling ghost story with a time travelling twist. Now, I do think there is something about ghost stories that make them perfect reading for Christmas time.

Siblings Lucy and Jamie first meet Mr Blunden at their home in London, when he calls unexpectedly to offer their mother a job as caretaker to a large empty house in the country. The job offer is a lifeline to their mother, newly widowed and with two growing children and a young baby life has clearly been hard since her husband died. Before he leaves though Mr Blunden has a quiet word with the children.

“‘When you come to the house, you will hear strange tales. They will tell you in the village that it is haunted, but you must not be afraid. When the time comes… you will know what to do.’”

Settled happily in the country, Jamie and Lucy – wonder about the words of the strange old man. Soon though they meet the ghosts he was talking about – Sara and Georgie from a hundred years earlier. They urgently need help, and explain to the children about the wheel of time – and how they can actually help to change what happens to them. Jamie and his sister will have to be very brave and undertake to travel back to Sara and Georgie’s time – to a house ruled over by the sinister Mrs Wickens who plots against them and often locks Georgie in the cellar.

Lucy and Jamie want to help the children from the past – but after exploring the local graveyard and asking an old gravedigger about the people buried there – they hear the stories of the old house that are well known in the area. Can they really change what has already happened? There is a lot for them to try and understand – and in the end they must simply trust in what Mr Blunden has told them – and believe in what they are doing.

I don’t want to say too much about the plot – it’s a lovely story of ghostly time travel and friendship. There is a delightful twist at the end too. I must say I spent a very pleasant day with this one last week – just what I needed at the time.

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Watson’s Apology – Beryl Bainbridge (1984)

Beryl Bainbridge is well known for her psychologically astute novels of working class life, novels like The Bottle Factory Outing and Harriet Said… However, she also wrote several historical novels – using some fascinating periods and events as inspiration. Whatever time period she writes about, Bainbridge explores her characters’ motivations and frailties with precision and understanding. It must be what makes her enduringly popular with readers.

I recently discovered that I had two copies of the exact same edition of Watson’s Apology on my tbr – and with the feeling that I might have had at least one of them for quite some time, I decided it was time I read it.

Watson’s Apology is a fictionalised account of a real life Victorian murder. The actual murder of Mrs Anne Watson by her husband took place in Stockwell toward the end of 1871. At first glance I suppose, it could be seen as just one more, tragic domestic murder. Yet, Beryl Bainbridge weaves a story of a marriage around the known facts. An author’s note tells us that the story is based on a true story, and that some documents that are presented have been edited – but of course much of the story comes from the imagination of a novelist. Despite the fact there must surely be quite a lot of fictional license taken with the true events, the story does have a feeling of authenticity; these characters feel very true to life.

The novel begins with some letters, letters from John S Watson to Anne Armstrong. Watson is a former cleric and has recently been appointed as a headmaster at a Propriety school in Stockwell. Anne is living in very reduced circumstances with her sister in Dublin. The sisters, who squabble continually, share a squalid room in a lodging house. Anne often bitterly reflects on the life their family used to have. Anne Armstrong and John Watson met once briefly seven years earlier – a meeting that John Watson remembers with some misty eyed fondness, and which Anne has totally forgotten. It is this very brief, social encounter years earlier that prompts Watson to begin writing to Anne with a view to marriage. The two finally meet some time later, and Anne accepts Watson’s proposal – naturally seeing in it a welcome escape from her dreary, poverty stricken life.

“Watson, for one brief moment, saw an insignificant little woman standing there with a handbag dangling from her wrist. Then he moved forward to greet her and took her hand in his, and she looked at him without smiling. Perhaps she was fuller in the face than he remembered, and bulkier in figure, but her eyes were unchanged and when she spoke he recognized that same husky intonation of voice which he had picked out above all others in that crowded drawing-room in Marlborough Street.”

However, this is not destined to be a happy marriage, it is clearly a marriage of two people who aren’t well matched. This is something Bainbridge clearly recognises, the depiction of this often poisonous relationship is brilliant, sad but at times quite darkly, humorous. The Watsons’ life is not an easy one, there’s as much hardship for Anne as she ever had in Dublin. A series of unsatisfactory homes, little for her to do, or lose herself in and a husband more interested in his books and the school than in her. There’s a wonderful, though excruciating holiday to Hastings, years after they are first married – which highlights beautifully how miserable they are making each other. In time Anne’s only real pleasure is in baiting her husband, criticising, and nagging, and then later the poor, unhappy woman turns to drink.  

Throughout their marriage, John Watson’s great pride, and main interest is in his very learned books and his job as headmaster. He is dedicated to this role in a way he was never dedicated to his wife – and Anne sees that, and resents it thoroughly. Watson is a man who cares what people think, so he tries hard to shield the people around him from the truth about his marriage, the arguments, his wife’s drinking, and his own unhappiness at home. Their servant Ellen Payne is of course privy to all the domestic unpleasantness – and will become an important witness.

It is John Watson’s pride and dedication in his headmaster role that is part of the problem – when after almost thirty years he is suddenly relieved of his duties, his anger and confusion knows no bounds. He is desperate to be reinstated, sharing his grievances with anyone who’ll listen – and at home all day, he has no escape from Anne’s tongue and her drinking.

“He was on the landing, on hands and knees, when Ellen Pyne came back. He called out to her that she must wait. He was dipping a rag into a basin of water and wiping the skirting board clean. But she didn’t hear, and knocked again, louder than before.”

Anne’s death happens off camera – so to speak. Bainbridge doesn’t show us the exact moment – though there is more discussion of that moment later during the trial. Up until this part of the book I was thoroughly enthralled, so well written, the story of this horribly mismatched couple is compulsive reading. However, after Anne’s death about two thirds the way through the novel the style changes.

The remainder of the story is told in a kind of reportage style – using witness testimonies from Watson’s trial, letters, and newspaper reports – based I am sure on actual records. Bainbridge uses the vernacular of the times, but surprisingly this is all really very dull. There is a bit of repetition, and the compulsive nature of the book is lost, such a shame because the first two thirds was excellent.

I am still glad I read this, it is such a fascinating story, and Bainbridge is a fantastic writer – I just wish the final third had been written in the same way as the majority of the book.

One thing I was particularly interested in was who Bainbridge felt the most sympathy with – her sympathy – and the law’s in some ways – seem to have been with John Watson. Yet we must remember a woman died brutally – she wasn’t a nice woman, but she was also a very unhappy woman, a woman who had wanted love and didn’t get it – who had no agency and no useful thing to do.

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Out of the Red Into the Blue – Barbara Comyns (1960)

Finally, I am reviewing my last read of November. It feels like such a long time since I read this book – which turned out to be easily one of my favourite reads of the month. Out of the Red into the Blue was the last Barbara Comyns book I had to track down, and I found a plain, ex library copy for around £30 – I had to snap it up. So, the pictured edition isn’t what my edition looks like – mine wouldn’t make a very pretty picture, but I am so happy I own it – and all Barbara Comyns’ books, in a variety of editions.

Out of the Red Into the Blue is a memoir not a novel and having so loved her novels, I admit my expectations weren’t high. However, I needn’t have worried, I loved this book. It is possible though, that I am not very objective when it comes to my favourite writers, of course this isn’t like The Vet’s Daughter or Their Spoons Came From Woolworths – we couldn’t expect it to be. Yet, Comyns voice is recognisable, quirky, and sometimes rather odd. We all know that person who tells a good, funny story of things that have happened to them, to who we always say, ‘oh my goodness, that could only happen to you!” Barbara Comyns must surely have been that person for all her friends. When her son sends her a strange little beeswax figure of a man, Barbara immediately decided it will bring her family good luck and puts it in pride of place in the drawing room. When she and her husband have a row in Spain – she runs away and ends up hiding up a fruit tree in the dark to escape guard dogs.

“There were two to begin with, but later they were joined by a tiny dog that was even fiercer than the others, and eventually I was forced to climb a tree to escape them while the dogs barked and snuffled below. It was a horse’s banana tree – at least I always called them that, but later I learnt they were called alcarrobas. Fortunately this was a large tree and I could get quite high, but every now and then a banana (or pod) would fall on the ground and start the dogs off again. Men came from the farm-houses with torches to see what was causing all the noise, and I was terrified they would see me up the tree and think I was mad – it would have been impossible to explain what I was doing up there at that time of night in Spanish.”

This is the story of how Barbara Comyns and her family left England for life on a Spanish island. The Island they settle on is called Ciriaco in the book, only that doesn’t exist, so I assume she decided to fictionalise the place – Wikipedia claim it was Ibiza where they lived briefly before moving to Barcelona. There are also some other things which are ignored or glossed over, and the timeline is slightly confusing – as the book seems to span less than two years – ending with a return to England. Only, the family actually spent many years in Spain. None of that really matters – as for a Comyns fan this book gives a delicious little glimpse into the slightly chaotic world of Barbara Comyns.

The book opens with Barbara her husband, daughter, and several dogs living in a large house in London that they can barely afford. Barbara’s son Nicholas is away in Cyprus doing National Service. Barbara’s husband Raymond she describes as a civil servant – who has recently lost his job, and is finding it hard to get another one. The truth was slightly more colourful of course – her husband (real name Richard) had in fact worked for MI6 alongside Kim Philby – and was laid off due to his association with the renowned double agent. About her own career she is rather self-effacing describing herself as having written a bit and published a couple of books.

For several chapters we follow the family in the year or so before they move to Spain – a time of money worries, difficult lodgers, worries with pets, and a new housekeeper in the basement. It is Barbara who comes up with the idea of Spain – and it takes a while to sell the idea to her husband. They must also contend with the trauma of disposing of a house they love, and what to do with the pets. Eventually, Barbara goes alone – to find a house – her husband joining her later. Her grown up children don’t make the move to Spain initially but join their parents later on a series of visits. Tasked with finding a house – Barbara is staying in a small, cheap hotel – where she is rather horribly uncomfortable – and until the weather improves very cold – it’s an inauspicious start.

 “Although I was very lonely, my days were happy until it became dark and cold and I had to return to my hotel. As soon as I went into that dreary street my spirits sank. It was one of those streets where the road is always up and the wind always blows. I would go into my room and try and make it comfortable by lighting the little oil stove and putting the saucepan of water on top, but, besides making a great smell, the stove made very little difference to the room because the ceiling was so high and the window so large. When it became dark I always tried the electric light hopefully, but it never came to more than a faint glow. I bought a 100 watt bulb instead of the tiny one provided, but to my horror the weight pulled the whole light fitting out of the wall, so I had to rely on candles.”

Finally Barbara finds the first of two houses the family live in on the island – and while it isn’t perfect – it has a wonderful view of the sea and Barbara who is desperate to find a home – takes it. Raymond arrives with the youngest of the dogs they had had in London – and the house’s impracticalities soon become apparent – having to get water from a well in the kitchen, terrible problems with drains and small rooms all opening off the living room. However, in great enthusiasm Barbara sets about trying to create a garden. They are visited by Raymond’s father and Caroline their daughter – who ends up staying a long time – and Nicholas pays a flying visit too.

The second house they move to is in the town, in a rather poor street – but the house has other advantages – being in a sunny position having its own back yard with trees. Here they settle in, and Caroline is soon very much a part of the island, an attractive young woman she attracts a lot of young men – falling in love with a young man called Pepe. There are more dramas around dogs – and a falling out with the local dog catcher (quite unpleasant to read about) – Barbara’s family certainly seem to make their mark – and their time on the island is always eventful.

This book was a joyful treat for me – because I love Barbara Comyns – but it actually made me want to know more about her the woman and her family. I could have read many more pages of this stuff. Delightful.

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The Optimist’s Daughter – Eudora Welty (1972)

Still working my way through the books I read in November. The Optimist’s Daughter at around 180 pages was one of the slight novels I chose for #novnov. Eudora Welty was a prolific short story writer publishing twelve collections of short stories between 1936 and 1988 and as well as some essays she also published six novels. My experience of Eudora Welty has been somewhat mixed – I began reading her penultimate novel Losing Battles some years ago – but got totally bogged down in it – I couldn’t finish it. I have kept the book among my green viragos though, so do intend to try again one day. Three years ago I read Delta Wedding, Welty’s second novel – and absolutely loved it. The Optimist’s Daughter was Welty’s final novel first published in 1972 it won the Pulitzer prize in 1973.

The story revolves around Judge McKelva, his middle aged daughter Laurel and his second wife Fay. For many years Judge McKelva has been a familiar and respected figure in the community of Mount Salus, Mississippi. The people looked toward the judge, his gracious wife Becky and their daughter Laurel as nice, well bred people living their lives in a reliable manner.

“The mystery in how little we know of other people is no greater than the mystery of how much, Laurel thought.”

However, when ten years after the death of his first wife, old Judge McKelva marries again – everyone is taken rather aback. Fay is just a little younger than Laurel, a silly, self-absorbed woman from Texas.

As this novel opens Laurel has travelled from her home in Chicago to New Orleans where her father is in hospital – being treated by an old friend who had moved away from Mount Salus. The Judge had contacted Laurel to say he had been having ‘trouble with his seeing’ – and Laurel had felt concerned enough to jump on a plane. Right from the start the reader feels an unspoken tension between Laurel, Fay and Dr Courtland who is treating Judge McKelva. The Judge talks about getting pricked in the eye by the climbing rose that everyone in Mount Salus appears to think of as Becky’s climber. Fay dismisses the whole thing as something and nothing – seeming not to want to share her husband with these others who have such a long history with him. Laurel and Fay must stay in a local hotel while the Judge undergoes a routine operation – and period of recovery.

When the Judge dies suddenly, and unexpectedly the two women are forced to return together to the McKelva house in Mount Salus. Here they are surrounded by a host of friends and neighbours, people with long memories and deep affection for the Judge and his first wife. Laurel a woman who was widowed young, is surrounded by the women she still thinks of as her bridesmaids – the girls she grew up with. Everywhere in this house are memories of the past – things that recall moments of Laurel’s childhood, and the relationship her parents had.

“When Laurel was a child, in this room and in this bed where she lay now, she closed her eyes like this and the rhythmic, nighttime sound of the two beloved reading voices came rising in turn up the stairs every night to reach her. She could hardly fall asleep, she tried to keep awake, for pleasure. She cared for her own books, but she cared more for theirs, which meant their voices. In the lateness of the night, their two voices reading to each other where she could hear them, never letting a silence divide or interrupt them, combined into one unceasing voice and wrapped her around as she listened, as still as if she were asleep. She was sent to sleep under a velvety cloak of words, richly patterned and stitched with gold, straight out of a fairy tale, while they went reading on into her dreams.”

Laurel is numb by the suddenness of death, while Fay is prostrated by the thought that such a thing could happen to her! The house gets filled up with people – those who can’t believe the Judge is gone – for them it is the end of an era, there’s an absence they hadn’t reckoned on. They speak of Becky, Laurel’s mother as if she has only recently gone – and treat Fay with a kind of baffled politeness.

Arrangements for the funeral get underway, with Laurel ably assisted by Missouri – the servant who Judge McKelva had once brought home after Missouri had acted as a witness at court. With Fay having taken to her bed, everything falls to Laurel. On the day of the funeral, Fay’s family, that she had previously denied – turn up, voluble, and slightly boorish – but essentially harmless – they are nicer by far than the sullen, deceitful Fay. After the funeral Fay decides suddenly to return to Texas with her family for a few days, leaving Laurel alone in her former family home.

Everywhere there are little signs to remind Laurel of Fay’s arrival in her father’s life, nail polish on her father’s desk, a bread board she remembered her mother using for years, absolutely ruined. These days alone, give Laurel the chance to come to terms with her past and how she left her father alone. She comes to a better understanding of herself and her parents, and so when Fay returns to claim the house for herself, Laurel is ready to leave with her own memories intact.

This is a beautifully balance, nuanced little novel which I can imagine gets even better with subsequent readings.

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The Man Who Died Twice – Richard Osman (2021)/ The Invisible Host – Gwen Bristow & Bruce Manning (1930)

Two book reviews in one post today – partly in a bid to catch up a little. The Man who Died Twice by Richard Osman published to some anticipation this year – and The Invisible Host by the married writing duo Gwen Bristow and Bruce Manning – first published in 1930 – reissued recently by Dean Street Press. Two very different mystery styles – written more than ninety years apart – each of them very engaging in different ways.

Before I get to the books though, I wanted to explain why the blog feels a bit erratic and all over the place at the moment. I know I am posting on days I don’t usually post – (it used to be Mondays and Thursdays but…) and there have been a couple of posts featuring more than one review – not something I have done in the past. I know I have said it before but I am struggling to keep going at the moment – blogging takes some time and effort – and while I am not ready to give it up – I know I’m not able to pay it the attention I once did. So please bear with me – I am trying to get myself back on track. I have been ill quite a lot lately – the joys of immunosuppression – and have just started a new role at work. Anyway… on with the books.

The Man Who Died Twice – Richard Osman (2021)

I was ill the weekend I read this – and I hope it doesn’t take anything away from the book if I say it was the perfect ill book. Undemanding, a page turner with some chuckles thrown in – the four hundred pages or so zips along at such a pace, I found I flew through it. That’s not to say that this book is entirely cosy – there’s some pretty dark goings on here, liberally laced with Osman’s recognisable wit. There are bodies, several sticky endings dealt out to various ne’er-do-wells. Everyone who gets bumped off is pretty nasty – so that’s ok then – and Osman doesn’t get graphic so it all becomes a bit like Tom and Jerry. I think The Man Who Died Twice – is more cohesive than the first book – and less overly complicated in terms of plot.

“It is 3 p.m., and Elizabeth is carrying flowers for Marcus Carmichael. The dead man. That drowned body, suddenly alive as you like and living at 14 Ruskin Court. The man she saw lowered into a grave in a Hampshire churchyard, now unpacking boxes and struggling with his new Wi-Fi.”

Readers of Osman’s first book The Thursday Murder Club will already be familiar with the engaging cast of characters – four elderly friends at the Cooper’s Chase retirement village; Elizabeth, Joyce (whose diary entries form part of the narrative) Ibrahim and Ron – four more lovable characters it is hard to imagine. We also meet up again with police officers Chris and Donna – Chris is now all loved up, dating Donna’s mum, Donna is still single – and pretty grumpy about it. The marvellous Bogdan also returns – a fabulous creation, and a character I definitely want to know more about.

Former spy Elizabeth gets a mysterious letter from a man from her past – he’s in trouble and needs her help. This ends up involving the gang in the hunt for twenty millions pounds worth of stolen diamonds – some very grumpy Organised crime boss types – MI5 officers and murder – but they all take it in their stride – and there’s usually a flask. Plenty of twists and turns and questions over who’s being genuine etc keep the reader guessing – though a lot is tongue in cheek too which I really appreciated.

“Revenge is not a straight line, it’s a circle. It’s a grenade that goes off while you’re still in the room, and you can’t help but be caught in the blast.”

Meanwhile poor Ibrahim is violently mugged while out one day – and is horribly affected by the incident – vowing never to leave the retirement village from now on. Bogdan and Ron – two men who are very good at getting things done hatch a plan to get justice for Ibrahim.

There are already so many reviews for this one out there – I didn’t see the point in replicating them all – if you enjoyed The Thursday Murder Club, then chances are you will enjoy this too.

The Invisible Host – Gwen Bristow & Bruce Manning (1930)

I don’t think I can say too much about the plot of The Invisible Host for fear of spoilers – but it is very readable indeed – a really quick read, and pleasantly baffling too.

One of the most interesting things about this novel though is the possibility that it may have inspired the queen of crime herself, Agatha Christie. First published in 1930 – the basic premise of The Invisible Host, bears a striking resemblance to And Then There were None – which was first published in 1939 under another title.

This novel is set in New Orleans – though we never really see outside the penthouse apartment where the action takes place. Eight people all receive invitations to a special dinner party at the said penthouse – each is told the party is to be held in their honour. Each of the eight guests easily believe they are deserving of such a party – none of them being especially modest. None of the guests are told who their host is – yet each have their suspicions who it could be. The guests are a mixed bag of society types, and include a famous doctor, a rather dodgy lawyer, an actress, and a respected society hostess. Once all eight people are assembled in the penthouse the doors are locked and electrified to prevent their escape. At which point, the radio springs to life with a rather sinister message from their invisible host.

“…I invite you to play a game with me, to pit your combined abilities against mine for suitable stakes. I warn you, however, it has long been my conviction that I should be able to outplay the most powerful intellects in our city, and to-night I shall work hard to prove myself – and you. For to-night, ladies and gentlemen, you are commanded to play an absorbing game a game with death.”

The mysterious host is confident they can out smart each of their guests – and as each one loses they will pay with their life. At first the eight guests can’t even be sure whether to take all this seriously – it’s too incredible – and yet soon enough the deadly seriousness of the situation is grimly revealed as the first party guest dies.

Throughout the evening the host communicates with their guests through the radio, the voice becoming ever more sinister to the assembled company. As the bodies are removed to the waiting coffins outside on the patio (from which escape is also impossible) the guests becoming increasingly suspicious and paranoid about who is behind the voice – and how this has all been achieved. The ending is very clever, and satisfying, and I didn’t guess the who – though I rarely do.

This is certainly a fun, page turner of a novel – though I do think that whatever the truth of where Agatha Christie got her ideas for that one particular novel – she is the better writer by some margin.

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The Abbess of Crewe – Muriel Spark (1974)

 

One of the novellas I read in November for #novnov was The Abbess of Crewe a Muriel Spark novel I had been meaning to read since the read-a-long I hosted in 2018. Beneath the oddness and the wit in Muriel Spark’s novels there is usually something rather dark or disturbing going on, and this one is no exception.

“The self-controlled English sun makes leafy shadows fall on this polished table and across the floor. A bee importunes at the window-pane. The parlour is cool and fresh. A working nun can be seen outside labouring along with two pails, one of them probably unnecessary; and all things keep time with the season.”

Famously of course, The Abbess of Crewe is a satire on the Watergate Scandal – which was very much still a hot topic in the newspapers at the time the hurriedly written novel came out. I was a very young child during the Watergate Scandal, my knowledge of it coming from that film All the President’s Men when I was in my teens or early twenties. I don’t have a detailed, encyclopaedic knowledge of who did what, when etc – and when reading this novel that doesn’t matter at all. This edition comes with an excellent introduction written by Ali Smith at the end of which she provides a list of the probable equivalent roles of Spark’s characters to the real life figures they parody.

Muriel Spark replaces the American seat of government with a nunnery in the north of England. The politicians and their aides with nuns. It could only really have come from the extraordinary mind of Muriel Spark – and of course she does it well. While it might not be my favourite Spark novel – there is so much to admire in this novel, the clever plotting and detail that make it very much a part of a recognisable Sparkian world.

Following the death of Hildegarde the Abbey of Crewe is in need of a new Abbess – and an election will be held. There are two contenders for the role – Alexandra and Felicity. They are very different women; Alexandra is very traditional, part of the old guard. Felicity is free-love loving, consorting with Jesuit priests and keen to make big changes. Alexandra and her hangers on are trying to manage the coming election – and are concerned as Felicity appears to be gaining in popularity.

“Walberga says sharply, ‘This morning the polls put her at forty-two per cent according to my intelligence reports.’

‘It’s quite alarming,’ says Alexandra, ‘seeing that to be the Abbess of Crewe is my destiny.’ She has stopped walking and the two nuns have stopped with her. She stands facing them, drawing their careful attention to herself, lighthouse that she is. ‘Unless I fulfil my destiny my mother’s labour pains were pointless and what am I doing here?”

The abbey is bugged as part of the process of ensuring that Alexandra becomes the Abbess of Crewe. Walls inside and trees outside are all wired for sound – and the sisters in the abbey are all unknowingly assisting in the wiring. Alexandra listens in to the recordings, ready to use anything she hears to her advantage. Keeping a close eye – and ear – on all the sisters, and visitors to the abbey. Embracing the twentieth century the sisters are given courses in understanding electronics and surveillance. During mealtimes, where the nuns sit in silence they listen dutifully to bible readings, which will suddenly go off into little bits of technical instruction – slipped in subliminally – and apparently not noticed by the listeners. Another thing these poor unsuspecting sisters don’t notice is the food they are subjected to – heavily disguised pet food is dished up each day. Food Alexandra considers perfectly nourishing, it is of course bought cheaply in bulk. Only Alexandra and her minions know what is going on.

When Felicity’s thimble is apparently stolen from her sewing basket – it unleashes a nationwide scandal. However, it is her love letters to the Jesuit priest Thomas that both Felicity and Alexandra are most concerned about.

“…a Jesuit, or any priest for that matter, would be the last man I would myself elect to be laid by. A man who undresses, maybe; but one who unfrocks, no.”

After all it was Alexandra who instructed two young Jesuits to retrieve the letters. The missing thimble draws Felicity’s attention to the letters having been touched by someone other than herself. Suddenly, the abbey is under all kinds of scrutiny after Felicity calls the police and flees the abbey.

Alexandra is a brilliantly drawn character – I have seen reviewers refer to her as Nixon (or even Trump) in drag which is really quite funny. A power hungry megalomaniac who will do anything to get what she wants; she manipulates all around her.

This novella is brilliantly imagined, laugh out loud funny with a touch of something a little darker. Living in a world where political scandal is not just something that happened in 1970s America – this sharp little novella remains as relevant as ever.

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