Freewheeling Andy

Hmm. Finished it now, and the coda at the end, the historical notes, suddenly do present Gilead as being very Soviet in outlook, and actually date the novel more than the preceding stuff does. I'm also not sure they're necessary. It feels like a pointless addendum that a commisioning editor has asked for just to give a more coherent ending to the book. Anyway, it's fascinating stuff, because of the way it addresses how men take power roles and feel a need to do that, yet once they are in the power role they, even more, feel a need to subvert. The suggestion that nobody is ever happy with a comfortable status quo. Even those at the very top. The use of the handmaids reminds me, oddly, of Dr Strangelove's plans in Kubrick's film. One thing that's interesting is to wonder how much of what offred is told (all those patronymics sound so much like names of regulating agencies in the UK, which would be a lovely irony and additional level of interest, had the book been written knowing about these things) about nuclear and ecological failings is actually true, and how much is deliberate horror story to try and terrify the population into acting as the state wants. The question of how much is propoganda and how much is real.

I guess Norwegian Wood would be a good start, Janet. I think, Janet and Ruth, you are only "missing the point" by thinking there should be a "point" in the first place. To me, a lot of the point of what goes on in Murukami's books is that it can't be explained exactly; there isn't really a narrative "reason" for what's happening. It's just what does happen. It's one of the things I love about it, but it does mean, I think, that it really can't be for everyone. You rarely push through to a single satisfying conclusion that explains all that has preceded it.

Norwegian Wood sits apart really, but I guess the unifying thing of the other books is that theoretically very mundane japanese men in very mundane lifestyles get mixed up in weird semi-mythical systems. Sort of like magical realism, but very strictly defined and very Japanese and without the stupidity of a lot of magical realism. It's all very deliberately unexplained.

Dance, Dance, Dance will make more sense after A Wild Sheep Chase, as it's a sort-of sequel. I love the bizarre cyber-punky sort of idiom, but set without any of the techyness that sometimes gets in the way - it's sort of wired, people sort-of get into an alternative web, but which never need to be explained.

Norwegian Wood is more traditional, and straight-up. It's good but not very Murukami. After Dark was interesting because so little happened, really. I've just finished reading his book about running, which was an odd little thing, although I'm not sure I'd recommend it unless you're a marathon runner. My favourites are Wind-Up Bird and Wild Sheep Chase . Probably Wild Sheep Chase most of all.

Interestingly, thinking about it, of other dystopian novels 1984 still stands up remarkably well 60 years on, and I think that's partly because it tends to not be about the technology and isn't really an SF book as such; and also because although it's talking of fear of a totalitarian state, the totalitarian state it was looking at wasn't so much a Stalinist one. It was more informed by that than Handmaid's Tale seems to be, which is unsurprising given Orwell's interests. But it survives, like this, by being slightly apart from that current. The comparisons with Islam and the US religious right, though, are what really makes this book seem so current and relevant. It feels like a commentary on life in 2008, not life in 1985.

I think the technology is only part of it, Kell. What seems odd is that it was written in the Cold War, yet is almost unique in dystopian books I've read written in that time in that it doesn't seem to be informed by the Cold War. The collapse of civilisation is brought about largely through ecological disaster, rather than nuclear armageddon. And the society it imagines is not a completely broken society, but it's also not one that's directed by a soviet style authoritarian state. What makes it seem current is that it seems to look at religious rather than political oligarchy and therefore it just seems to avoid the datedness of so much fiction that was exploring the contrasts between Russia and America.

So far I've just read 100 odd pages so I won't read the comments by others, but so far it's a fascinating book. Mostly it's astonishing that it was written in 1985, before we'd really heard of the Taleban or much of Islamic extremism. It seems almost prescient. Playing with the idea of Christian fundamentalism taking over the US, with the idea of the subjugation of women in the Islamic style, and with the way that those in power completely abuse that power. It feels very modern and political, but it doesn't appear to have dated like much of the dystopian political commentary from the cold war.

I love Murukami, but it's not really stuff that's easy to access, I think. Starting with Of Mice and Men, and To Kill A Mockingbird, certainly sets a high standard for the books you're reading. Both have interesting political elements to them, too, in their own ways. Moving on from them I'd still have Catch-22 on the list, but perhaps there are other avenues to explore. You might really like Broken April by Ismael Kadare, if we're moving away from the really mainstream. Partly because, Like Gyre, I want to inflict it on everyone. But also it has the same politcal/moral stuff going on, and is bleak and atmospheric and fascinating - it's Albanian, and is set amongst the backdrop of the traditional blood-feud between families in northern Albania.

Oh. Some of those are fantastic.

I've just picked this up. Heard it mentioned in lots of places by lots of people who seem to read interesting stuff. The blurb on the back makes it look nicely interestingly political (in a cold-warry kind of context). Looking forward to contributing once I've read it.

Finished Bad Science. I was right about it. Now reading Three Men on the Bummel, which is Jerome K Jerome's sequel to Three Men In A Boat.

OK. Finished this now and it is supremely fantastic. Possibly the best book I've read this year. It's well written and funny. Which helps. But it's really the eye-opening subject matter that's key. He covers firstly how alternative medicine falsely sells itself, with fascinating insight into their false use of stats and research and reports, and all the failings in that research. Then there's a brilliant, brilliant section on the placebo. Stuff I never knew - how not only does believing you're taking a medicine make you healthier, whatever you take; but even if the doctors prescribing a medicine believe it will work, it improves outcomes. Astonishing stuff. Then there's a wonderful section on nutritionism and the nonsense and lies and mendaciousness of people like "Dr" Gillian McKeith. Then an even more eye-opening discussion on how pharma companies deliberately spin and shape and change their research, how they hide data by not publishing, and so on. And finally there's the wonderful section on the mis-reporting of science by the media, and how the media deliberately and consciously buy into the myth of science being difficult, and of science being done by boffins in white coats, and of the "Eureka" moment, or the Galileo myth, where "good science" is the stuff that's done on the outside, by the maverick researcher. And where all science has a balance and must be reported like politics with both sides commenting. Imagine (my example, not Goldacre's) the papers reporting on gravity. These days they wouldn't just talk about what it does, but they'd need to find some counter-balancing viewpoint explaining that gravity doesn't exist. Because the journalists and editors don't understand science. And finally, all this leads to proper descriptions and explanations of the horrors that were the MRSA scare, and worst of all, the shockingly bad journalism that led to the MMR scandal which has resulted in deaths and more thanks to journalistic incompetence. A very important book, and interesting, and funny too. Lend it to your sciencey friends. Then lend it to your crystal healing new age homeopath gibberish talking friends.

Of Mice and Men is a great book. I'm jealous that you get to read it for the first time. It's fairly easy in its writing style. Even better for you, you don't have a teacher nagging you to write essays about it when you're 14. (Same is true of To Kill A Mockingbird, actually, although that's a bit more substantial. You should get some excellent historical insight into the Deep South reading that, which ties in nicely to all the recent talk of civil rights stuff linked to Barack Obama).

When you say your interests are current affairs and the past, are there any particular things that interest you? Any periods of history? Or any regions in terms of current affairs? That kind of thing is often a good way of accessing books. Certainly some of the best stuff I've ever read came from a phase of being interested in the Balkans. And the best travel writing is always about places you want to go or are a bit obsessed by.

If football's your thing, Nick Hornby's Fever Pitch could well be a great book to get back into reading. It's easy, well written and very good at catching the mood of a football fan. It's basically about the Arsenal 88-89 Season, but it's actually much wider. It's been copied a lot, but I don't think it's been bettered. So that would be my non-fiction recommendation. For fiction, I guess we need to steer clear of anything to long, or difficult, to start with - which eliminates lots of my very favourite stuff. Anyway, for entertainment, and a bit of a link to current affairs and history, I suppose you could look at the classic Catch-22 by Joseph Heller. It's quite long, but it's definitely a page turner and also very funny as well as poignant.

Snails are yummy. Frogs legs are unexciting. Foie gras is a fantastic food, amongst my favourite things in the world, although it's pretty much indefensible on animal rights grounds, the same as battery chicken. Horse is lovely, but not that much different to other red meats Veal is bloody fantastic, and everyone should eat it (provided it's "dark" veal), as the alternative for bull calves on dairy farms is that they're killed at birth or sent to Italy in horrible conditions Oysters are nasty - salty snot is just right I've never eaten any insects, and although I "want" to have done, I don't know if I could actually force myself.

Well, the Murukami wasn't very Murukami-like. It was lightly interesting, although I think I'd have loved it if I was a runner. I basically still don't have many thoughts on it. Now I'm on Ben Goldacre's Bad Science, which is the most important book I've read this year, and possibly the best. After a couple of chapters, anyway.

I've just started reading this, but so far I think it might be the most important book of the year. Goldacre is always right, and always fantastic, in his newspaper columns, and wry and funny to boot. So it's already got rock solid pedigree. But just starting to read it, it's fantastic, eviscerating the garbage that masquerades as science in the health and nutrition fields in particular, and in the gormlessly clueless reaction of journalists who know nothing. So far, after a couple of chapters, it's looking like my book of the year.

I read one Pelevin novel. I was really expecting to be overwhelmed, and to adore it. But I just didn't really get the whole point of it. The weird religiosity seemed like parody most of the time, but sometimes seemed a bit too sincere. And it just seemed meandering and pointless. I may have picked up the wrong one, and really should try The Clay Machine Gun, given its reputation.

My favourite book for this is Ivo Andric's "Bridge Over The Drina" which works 700 years of Balkan history and the related conflicts into a novel set around the cultures and lives of people who are related to one bridge in Bosnia. It's a great, great book. Won him the nobel prize in 1961, too.

So, in the meantime, I got a little bored by "House by the Thames", there was something about the writing that began to really frustrate me - I think it's partly the smallness of the subject, which is something I generally have difficulty with; and partly it's the heavy personalising, talking of distant characters in friendly terms. I have a problem when biography does that, too. So I read an insane book called "Round Africa with my Bicycle" by Riaan Manser, who, well, decided to cycle along the coast of Africa from Cape Town to Cape Town. It's terribly written and great fun. Really poor writing, but the subject matter is sufficiently interesting that you don't care. Because there's so many different Africas - and so much violence and corruption, and so many bad roads, and so many civil wars, that no matter how badly you write you probably can't make it too boring, going through that many countries. Finished House by the Thames after that, but was still in Road Book mood and read the rather wonderful Hokkaido Highway Blues by Will Ferguson. It's got most of what I want from travel writing. Somewhere slightly unfamiliar, a writer who's familiar with the region but not blase; and who has affection for it without being positively besotted and unable to see the bad side. It has lots of humour, and a nice mix of history information, anecdotal stuff about the people he meets, and stuff about the travel itself as he hitch-hikes from the southermost tip of Japan to the northermost. Still in a Japanese theme, I've just started Murukami's memoir "What I talk about when I talk about running". I'm 2 pages in and have no thoughts on it yet.

Guns Germs and Steel is great, but it's not fiction, of course.

I absolutely love the fact that you have no empathy. I think it's crucial to the whole feel of the book. Partly to do with the story, but also because of the way it sort of mimics 19th century tales of murderers like Jack the Ripper or Sweeny Todd, perhaps, where there's a character with no good features at all stalking the streets and terrorising people.