The Woman in White by Wilkie Collins

A 5/8ths turn out for the review of the woman in White at the Fox and Badger in Wellow with comments received from others by email.

This was apparently the first example of what became known as a Victorian Gothic thriller penned by Wilkie Collins to be published on a weekly basis in a London Magazine. Hence everybody agreed that the writing style was designed to keep readers on the edge of their seat and was generally considered a "page turner" by the majority.

Collins rich  use of English was admired by all and the comparison made with succinct and thin descriptions used nowadays in an equivalent thriller. Interestingly it was pointed out that at the time there was no radio, television or even photography other than for the very few and therefore Collins as with many other authors of the time (Dickens) would use three pages to describe a character where this might be done nowadays in half a page. The reason being that the average reader had not had the experiences or visual stimuli that we all have today and that the author needed to describe everything in much greater detail to enable the reader to conjure up the scene in their imagination. This elaborate use of words was therefore admired by some who enjoyed  the detailed florid  descriptions and yet by others they became bored with the excess of descriptive phrases and just wanted the story to get to the point!

The were therefore two camps in the group: the minority who felt that the book was tedious, that it lacked depth and complexity and was at least 30% too long; with the majority enjoying the detailed use of English  and the depiction of social mores of the time.Everybody agreed that the story being told from the perspective of a number of different characters worked well in the book.

In particular the role of women in Victorian society and their treatment as the chattels of men was explored extensively - "a versatile and eloquent illumination of women's rights at the time"-and was the widest topic of discussion.The very fact that Laura considered that she was duty-bound to get married to Perceval because of an agreement that had been made by her father when she was a child is the basic premise to the story which nowadays appears laughable. Laura is consistently wet and really has no idea that she should even question the dastardly deeds that are going on around her and whilst her half sister-Marian  has much more backbone and in one sense is a modern woman who would not let this repression succeed but on the other when writing in her diary constantly refers to being of the weaker sex and needing Walter Hartright to come to the rescue.Most subservient in her role and also implausible is lady Fosco who is in fact the aunt of Laura but who allows her husband to pursue consistently evil stratagems against Laura simply because she has agreed to honour and obey her husband as his wife.

There was a consensus that that some of the characters such as Marion, Fosco and  to a lesser degree Perceval were vividly described and plausible whilst  Walter Hartright and the wet Laura lacked credibility and  depth. The love affair between Walter and Laura was not really plausible and based it appeared superficially on Laura's beautiful looks.(So what's changed?). Whilst amusing,Lord Fairlie was a rather overblown implausible character.
Most enjoyed the plot which for the time would've been extremely complicated with several unexpected twists to the tale.

This was a Victorian "page turner"  but the story never really built to the expected crescendo. The most that happened was that Perceval got burnt in the church after which the final third was a rather long debrief from each of the characters. Generally the feeling was that the book was too long but it was evident that this resulted from the fact tat the book was being published in instalments so the more words the more lucrative the book would become.

Other observations were just how reliant the characters had already become by 1850's not only on an efficient Postal Service between the Lake District and London overnight but also a highly efficient train service wherever they were in the country.

Note also how the whole basis of the story hinged around "The Secret" which at its most profound related to whether Perceval had been born inside or outside of marriage.His right to inherit the estate which he had claimed improperly from his cousin had to be concealed by him to justify his inheritance.

In conclusion this was not a complex or deep book but more a lightweight Gothic yarn with some good twists that was memorable more for what it tells about the times than about the story itself.

Nora Webster, by Colm Toibin

7 of us met at The Pulteney Arms on Thursday July 2^nd to discuss this book about the life, thoughts and development of a recently widowed woman from County Wexford in southeast Ireland in the late 60’s / early 70s.

Everyone agreed it was a quiet book that didn’t immediately catch fire. However, for most of the group it drew us in and painted vivid and engrossing scenes that told a much more complex story than was initially apparent. A ‘sleeper’, one called it. Described by one of us as a ‘journey through bereavement’ there was appreciation for the clever way that Toibin managed to make this a very personal account of the awakening of the previously-suppressed independent personality of an intelligent Irish woman. There was no judgement in the narrative; that was left entirely for us to make. It dod seem though that in every situation she found herself in, Nora was the odd person out – which must have been exactly how she was feeling.

And make it we did, particularly with regard to her relationship with her boys. One of us in particular found her parenting skills shockingly bad and ended up disliking her for that and other reasons. Conversely more than one of us really bought into the development of Nora’s personality and story, and some felt that it was this gradual build-up of a character that was the book’s chief attraction. It didn’t shy away from describing strange episodes that might not have seemed entirely plausible – two young boys left with Josie… for two months! A visit where ‘something’ may have happened, but we never find out exactly what. For all of us to differing degrees, there was a subtle unstated suggestion of child abuse, and one of us said he appreciated that it didn’t come to anything concrete but stayed there in the background throughout – much more effective.

Nora’s discovery of music as a metaphor for her widening horizons was well drawn and provided the exclude to vivid and amusing scenes. Particularly with the ‘I don’t care what they think’ music teacher. The drunk drive home with the fierce woman who organised the pub quiz was also enjoyed, and both exemplified the way in which ‘small’ events were given due prominence in the narrative without feeling insignificant or overblown. The geographical settings were ‘brilliantly realised’ without resorting to florid descriptions – even for those who had not visited Ireland.

Juxtaposed with this homey parochial background was the emergence of the Troubles in the North, and the suggestion that Maurice would have been involved had he still been alive, as well as the temporary disappearance of the daughter as she herself got involved in Dublin, taking her own steps to independence along the way.

So we (most of us) enjoyed the journey, but views became a little more fragmented as the end of the book drew near, with its dream-like episode and strange half-lit revelations coming to Nora. It prompted the response ‘So what?’ from one of us – is it much more than simply an enjoyable read? What does it really tell us about life the universe and everything? Another found the sequence unbelievable (along with most of the rest of the book) and was unable to see what it added to the narrative.

Overall though a rewarding, slow burner of a book that proved that you don’t have to use dayglo colours to paint a vivid picture.

Average score out of 10 was 7.34.

The Narrow Road the the Deep North - Richard Flanagan

Five went mad in the Pulteney Arms in Bath on 4^th June 2015: Neil, Mark T, Chris W, Rob and Steve. Apologies or flimsy excuses were variously received from Richard, Chris B and Mark W.

This wide-ranging fictional biography of Dorrigo Evans, a surgeon who finds himself fighting for his life and the lives of an increasing number of his Australian and Tasmanian countrymen in the death railway camps in Malaysia in WW2, was, overall, well received. For a couple of us, this was approaching one of the literary highlights of the well-over-100 books we’ve read so far, and even for those less moved, everyone found it engaging and rewarding at some level. Structurally the ‘dotting about’ rather than sticking to strict chronological order irritated some, though wasn’t the slightest issue for others. The power of Flanagan’s writing wasn’t in doubt; however there was more discussion over the main characters. Some ‘got’ Evans’, others found him unsatisfyingly unfocused; Some found the ‘conversion’ of Nakamura convincing and meaningful, others didn’t.

A common thread through all comments was the tough read that Flanagan presented when describing life and death on the railway-building camps. However, it was remarked that in some ways this wasn’t totally convincing – some of the descriptions of prolonged beatings seemed to require a suspension of disbelief to swallow a storyline where someone survives such hardship; and was it really believable, even in the context of historical Japanese society and culture, that a man guilty of such atrocities in life could eventually turn out to be such a pussycat? Others asked whether, as the general story has been covered many times in film and literature, there was any merit in digging up the same horrific details yet again, when life and lives have moved on. However all agreed that the attempt to tell the story from multiple angles – the camp commander, the Korean conscript and the various POWs – mingled with the appreciation of what culturally would have driven men to such deeds (the commander’s love for classical Japanese poetry lent the book its title), perhaps added something new to the genre, although the suspicion of stereotyping still hung in the air…

The way the book dealt with the trauma of war, and the little-understood and often repressed post-traumatic stress disorder was the subject of some discussion. During the book several characters, including Evans, talk of reaching a point of separation from a loved one where one can no longer recall their voice, implying a separation so profound that life can never really be the same again. And when the survivors are back, and Evans spends some time trying to track them down, he comes across tragic tales of lives forever ruined and in some cases foreshortened.

Dorrigo’s love for Amy was powerfully and convincingly told; the scene in the bookshop particularly resonant for some, as was the sad non-meeting on the bridge (if it didn’t conjure up parallels with Dr Zhivago). However it was also asked what purpose this all served – here was a story about a man who was always not going to conform, and the relationship with Amy didn’t necessarily add anything.

For the one of our number who had visited Tasmania the parts of the book set there were atmospherically charged, so well did Flanagan describe the country.

This summary has rather more than the usual quota of ‘on the one hand this, on the other hand that’, and for a book that we all basically liked, it’s perhaps surprising that there appears to have been such a wide range of takes on various aspects of the content. But it is a provoking book, very well written, and it prompted a 5-star discussion for the BBBC.

How to Be Both - Ali Smith

Forester and Flower, 7th May 2015

This was arguably a Marmite book - though it could be said that in order for anything to be true marmite, there should be a real split between love and hate. We managed a one love and three hate split with a further three being in the 'quite liked it' category whilst one person (Mark W) was left with feelings ranging from one extreme to another.

The fundamental divide came down to a question of writing style and the connected question of what we therefore understood the book to be about. What some saw as writing that was 'irritating, disjointed and pointless' (Chris W.), along with other complaints about poor use of words that could not be justified by attempts to pretend they were in period (Rob), others saw as being 'like a painter throwing paint at a wall' (Neil) and 'trying things out - and why shouldn't she'? (Steve). What this meant was that the majority of us, even those who ended up feeling reasonably positive about the book, found it very hard work. Most people, including most of those who disliked, found parts that we liked - such as the understanding it created of the male dominated artistic world (in the earlier story), or the developing sexuality (in both but particularly the later one) and the general (probable) themes about loss and relationships.  One consequence of this was a difficulty experienced by almost all in understanding the whole thing. "I don't pretend to understand the book" (Steve) and "It's not a story - what is it trying to say apart from being clever" (Chris B) summed up much of the discussion at the meeting. Not all of us realised in advance that different versions of the book had the two stories in a different order, and we explored (without conclusion) whether that might have made a difference to both understanding and enjoyment. For example, who was Francesco's ghost watching (two of us completely missed that even being there) and was Francesco actually an (undeveloped) boy?

The exception to this that must be noted came in the form of later comments from the absent Richard who found it a 'wonderful, delightful book' (which we are sure was a view in no way influenced by him reading a free copy given to him by the author after discussing it with her over a glass or three of red wine!) He enjoyed some of the small touches about how children behaved differently in Italy to England as well as the over-arching feeling of 'the human warmth that ran through the book, which reminded me of the author herself".

At the end of the day, with scores ranging from 1 to 9, it certainly drew out varying reactions, but cannot be described as one of the resounding successes in our collective desire to find and enjoy new literature - achieving an average of 5.33 (the lowest for some time).

The Children Act, Ian McEwan

Discussed Thursday, 2nd April 2015, Forester & Flower, Combe Down

Present: Chris B, Chris W, Mark W, Mark T, Neil, Richard, Rob, Steve.

Beer was good, wine was expensive - £10.70 left in the kitty for next time! (although that might have been before they discovered that we owed more: Rob took the kitty for next time).

4* (****) discussion.

All of us were there, including Mark W, our new member.  Richard chaired (as it was his book choice) and unfortunately, no-one mentioned until much later that it was MarkW’s first meeting, so there were no introductions – apologies all round.

This book concerns Fiona Maye, a Senior Judge in the Family Division, and describes both her relationship with her husband as they reach their 60s, and some of the difficult judgements she has to make. The novel that was written in the third person, but one that in fact was all narrated from inside Fiona Maye's awareness.

The book was generally liked, with a number of those present liking it a lot (Richard, ChrisB, MarkT, ChrisW, Rob, Steve); and with others having a larger number of reservations (Neil, MarkW).

Everyone agreed that the writing style was excellent: “I loved his writing, his descriptions of the music, of the boy … I liked the description of their marriage”; “it was very believable”; “I liked it, especially as the writing was so good, so accomplished, so enjoyable”; “I enjoyed reading it, easy to read, beautifully written, his ability to introduce a concept (eg the religious vs scientific argument) and build it into the plot: his economy of writing and the effectiveness of his writing”. Even those who liked the book less argued that “I respect his talent and his writing skill and ability: it was not a chore to read”; “relatively simple and plain language to put over complex pictures”.

The excellent style of writing flowed over into what he wrote as her judgements – “This has been no easy matter to resolve. I have given due weight to A's age, to the respect due to faith, and to the dignity of the individual embedded in the right to refuse treatment … ”.

McEwan also introduced many little touches and comments: “she was intent on her phone, reading, tapping, frowning in the contemporary manner”; “She had a N. Londoner’s ignorance of and disdain for the boundless shabby tangle of London south of the river.”

Although all agreed that the writing was extremely polished, for some that was a virtue, and others less so. On memorable analogy was with Led Zeppelin-I vs -IV: by LZ-IV the band were extremely polished, but some felt that they had lost some of the edge and spark that made LZ-I such an amazing album; and some argued that the same was true of this book vs some of McEwan’s initial ones. Hence this was “very polished; lots of research; interesting; and easy read; great prose …. But did I care about the characters? – not really”.

Much discussion revolved about why the book was so short.  Everyone agreed that it was “very well researched”, and it was compared to Human Traces, another well researched book by Sebastian Faulks, an author from the same period and country as McEwan. But whereas in Human Traces arguments (and the author’s compendious research) were expounded at great length, here the book was extremely short – almost a short story.

Many really liked the legal detail, and the fascination of the cases she described and worked with (or sometimes simply heard about, eg when John, her singer Barrister, recounts a serious miscarriage of justice). There were a host of complicated facts and sustained arguments, and many present really enjoyed this.

One element that many liked a lot was his descriptions of music, and the playing of music: “I liked the music”; “I remember learning to play a piece, as described in the book”; “the description of the concert was so real and lifelike”; “Her love of Keith Jarrett; her inability to play jazz – ruined by classical piano”.

Another element that some liked a lot was the relationship(s) – although there was disagreement over this element: some felt that “I liked the relationships” (and that comment related to both the wife/husband one, and the judge/boy one: “when you are 18, a kiss can be very important”); “the relationship was so well described: it made me think about my own marriage”; “”I enjoyed the relationship”.  But others felt that both relationships were problematic: there was some disagreement about the marriage, and the husband’s departure for (and rapid return from) his affair, with some feeling that it was “too convenient – him leaving his wife and then and coming back so soon”.

There was also disagreement about the plausibility of some of the elements: for example, that she would have rejected the boy after getting so close to him. One person argued that “it was unbelievable that she would not have written to him” – whereas others felt that it was completely believable, and indeed that to write to him might have crossed a number of ethical lines.  Indeed, some people felt that this was the crux of the entire book, and was a good attempt to describe and discuss a key issue in many professionals’ lives: the separation of personal and professional life.

Another disagreement was over the book’s intellectual content: some felt that “the book had no intellectual ideas” whereas others felt that it raised some of the most interesting intellectual ideas in any book we had recently read: “One of the most thought-provoking books I’ve read”; “I felt that the novel grappled with hugely serious issues: Does the state have the (moral) right to insist on treatment of its choice, even if it transcends religious or moral rules?”

The main criticisms of the book, however, revolved around two elements:

·        the “middle class bubble” in which the story was set – “assured, successful people standing in judgement over the feckless”: some felt that it was simply “too upper middle class”; - “I admired the book but it was too upper middle class – everyone was so cultured!”

·        and the emotional tone: some felt that “it left me cold”, and/or that it was in some way “smug” – “there was too much icing on the cake – all the classical music, and the concert – I’d hate to be married to her – no emotional empathy”; “it was interesting, but had no emotional pull-in”; “I was not into the characters – I was detached from the book”.  One person suggested that the book, although superbly written, was almost “tedious – every word is nuanced, and so carefully presented. It was an amazing book, but also very … predictable – not at all edgy”.

Most of the group had read a number of McEwan books before, and there was therefore much comparison.  Some argued that whilst Atonement or Chesil Beach were very good, others (such as Saturday, and the present book) were much less emotionally satisfying: “this book felt like an episode of a legal drama, not a book”.  One person went so far as to state that “this is the same book as Saturday: exposing the hypocritical life-style of the N. London legal system”.

The discussion was long and excellent, and covered many of the elements above, including the rules of engagement (or not) that are being produced to cover eventualities whereby professionals meet clients/patients outside of work. The discussion also raised the issues of her childlessness, and the difficulty for a successful professional woman to jump off the bandwagon – especially so for one on the legal profession; and it was raised that the discussion would have been very different (and far more focussed on this and related issues) if this had been a female book club.

Richard, April 2015

De Niro's Game, by Rawi Hage

The Hare and Hounds, Lansdowne Road, Bath, March 5th 2015

Note: Spoilers contained in this review.

This book was Neil’s choice from a shortlist of his favourite books that he had read as part of his book club in Dubai.  Neil introduced the book by saying that he had been drawn to it by it’s setting in Beirut, a city he has visited many times for work, and was held by the fascinating account of what war, and particularly a civil war where normal conventions are almost completely ignored, can do to two teenagers such as George and Bassam, the central characters of the book.  He found the book to be packed with drama and detail considering the relative brevity of it, which allowed him to re-read the book for the purposes of the meeting, something he hadn’t initially been sure he would.  Furthermore he found the mix of bloody action and lyrical prose to be quite interesting in its contrast.

This feature of the language used turned out to be one of the key talking points as some felt it jarred heavily, while others appreciated it much more.  Rob for instance commented that it was “disjointed, staccato and almost contemptuous use of language” while Richard felt that Hage “has a really interesting way with words and expressions” “and some of his sentences are almost Joyceian”.   And while Steve found the streams of consciousness passages quite enjoyable, Mark found himself irritated by the writing style which he found rather clunky.  Chris B also thought that some of the descriptions were almost cartoon-like.

There was more consensus about the engaging interest of the book  and what it told us about Beirut, the civil war, the horror of war and the experience of growing up through adolescence in this environment.  There was plenty going on and for people like Steve and Mark it brought back images from TV news or, in Mark’s case, a visit to Israel and the border with Lebanon while shelling had been going on.  However, despite this Mark found that after 2 weeks he had already forgotten parts.   For Chris B it illuminated certain facts, such as the Israeli involvement in training, while for Rob it didn’t tell him enough about the conflict in Lebanon or explain enough about what was going on.  The sexual awakening of Bassam was quite well observed, but several felt that the mistreatment of women in the book belied cultural differences rather than circumstances of war and children left orphaned without good role models.

There was further disagreement about the relative parts played by Paris and Beirut in the book.  For Chris W he found the contrast of the two fascinating and was disappointed that the French section of the book was relatively short, while Richard found the Parisian setting much less interesting than Beirut.  In between the two Steve found the transition between the two rather clumsy and lacking something. 

Overall it was generally felt to be an interesting, reasonably engaging if not great or particularly memorable book, while it’s brevity bordered between being a plus to being too short with Chris W being keen to know what the next chapter in Bassam’s life would have been like.  Probably only Neil will go on to read another book by the author (this was his first novel by the way and a prize-winning one at that).  But for the group as a whole it seems that the literary style was not quite to their tastes and scores ranged between 6.0 and 7.2.

Burial Rites, by Hannah Kent

The Rising Sun, Grove St, Bath. December 4th 2014

Alert for non-club readers: some plot spoilers ahead.

Six of the BBBC gathered at the Rising Sun to pick over the entrails of Hannah Kent's book (not to mention several packets of Norman's finest snacky comestibles).

Broadly speaking we liked the book a lot. In briefest summary it's an engaging, well written book that, while perhaps coming up just short of the divide between 'good' and 'great', is nonetheless a tremendous achievement for a first novel.

First impressions weren't so great – the advertised subject matter and title would have put some off. But persistence was rewarded: the characters were strongly drawn and Agnes in particular generated empathy. The female characters were perhaps more clearly drawn than the males (lots of strong, silent agricultural types, or old priests with a fondness for drink), although to be fair the principal cast list was predominantly female anyway. It was commented that Lauga was a disappointment – she was introduced as a strong and complex character but then rather faded out of the narrative. The character of Margaret was interesting as her gradual thawing towards Agnes could be said to mirror the way that subsequent history (if 'subsequent history' is a thing) has also read her story.

Hannah Kent's ability to evoke the time and place of the narrative was widely praised. Her time in Iceland had not only borne extensive research but also enabled her to write convincingly and attractively about the landscape and the weather. Those of us who have visited Iceland can see why she felt compelled to undertake this project. From fish skin for windows, straw from the roof and earth from the walls, the general 'cosiness' of a winter in the badstofa was brought bluntly and yet mesmerisingly to life.

Icelandic culture underpinned the plotting, with poetry and sagas the principal means of recording and passing on history. The use of symbolism – stones in the mouth, ravens, fire, ice, water, blood – added to the strong sense of place that runs throughout the book. Emily Bronte was mentioned as a parallel for the way Kent strove to imbue every aspect of the plot with life and meaning.

The book was also helped by its structure, using several interweaving narratives to layer up a rich composition. Despite this it was by nature a 'quiet' book, and the ending rather divided the group. For some, it was extremely thought-provoking: would you have convicted her? How would you spend your last day if you knew you were going to die? How advanced was Icelandic/Danish society to have managed to make this, in March 1830, the last public execution in Iceland? For others, it was something of an anti-climax: the depth of the research early on, and the amount of information that had been drip-fed into the narrative by the time we approached the end, meant that there really wasn't anything new to learn apart from Agnes' personal response to the situation and the story.

Talking of research, did the fact that it was based on a true story detract from the way in which we were able to immerse ourselves in the book? Does the presence of reality hinder us from willingly suspending our disbelief to the extent that we might if it was 100 percent fabrication? Not all agreed with this, and some would indeed have liked more of the back story. There was discussion too about the sudden disappearance of the young priest Toti from the story in the final third (until the very end) just when Agnes would have had need of him most. The device of a fever striking him down seemed rather an obvious way to exaggerate the sense of abandonment and isolation that Agnes needed to paint as her story reached its climax. 

And finally, those of the group using the paperback edition commented on how useful the map was, while the purchasers of the Kindle edition commented: "Map? There was a map?". We also all agreed without exception that the 'notes for book club readers at the back' were superfluous crap.

Overall widely liked – average score 7.29 out of 10, putting it in second place behind The Goldfinch (last 12 books only).