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#57. The Meursault Investigation by Kamel Daoud for Algeria ***** Also read as a follow-up to L'Etranger. This was a fascinating counterpoint to Camus's classic. I was glad to read it immediately afterwards as I might well have missed some (many?) of the points of contact otherwise, and I really enjoyed picking these up! Overall. I was surprised, if anything, to enjoy this more than the original. This felt more human and more deeply rooted in place. There was a colour that Camus's lacked. All of this was obviously deliberate on the part of both authors, but the later book did chime more with me (although it of course needed the earlier work to build on!). Perhaps it would be fairer to say, that they worked really well as a pair, both contrasting and complimenting each other; a case of the sum being distinctly greater than the parts.

#56. Man Tiger by Eka Kurniawan for Indonesia **** The story of two interlinked families. A shocking, apparently inexplicable event happens in the opening pages. Gradually we find out why it happened. It's a dramatic, really lively promising start, with an interesiing touch of magical realism. The book never loses its interest or pace, but whilst I thoroughly enjoyed it, I was a mite diappointed that the magical aspect was left rather undeveloped. Equally, the chronology, deliberately blurred, for me just edged into the unnecessarily convoluted. But these are minor nitpicks - this was a genuinely good read, which I rattled through in barely a day!

#55. On the Calculation of Volume I by Solvej Balle for Denmark *** A tricky one. I read this as a book group choice - I hadn't intended for this to be my Danish novel, but, shortlisted as it was for the International Booker, it seemed a good one all the same. And in many ways it was. But, but.... (and be warned, I've tried not to spoil, but inevitably some of my comments might work that way for some) The idea is both an interesting and a familiar one: the narrator, Tara Selter, an antique book dealer, finds that she is trapped in November 18th. It's reminiscent of the film Groundhog Day, although the author says that she had the idea long before it appeared. Life constantly repeats, and yet it also doesn't. Whilst time never moves on, she does - a burn that she incurs on the first Nov 18th gradually heals, some objects stay with her (eg some books she purchases on the first Nov 18th), but others don't. She experiments at trying to keep her husband Tomas awake through the night to see what happens, and early in the morning he goes through a reset, and suddenly wonders why she is in the house and not away (as she is on the first Nov 18th). So, whilst the day repeats itself, some things, even people, move with her. But (that word again!), and this was the start of my problems with this book, what does and what doesn't move seems to be pretty random. In fact, the only consistency appears to be that it suits the author that they move (or don't!). Well, maybe, or maybe this is part of what Balle is addressing - our relationship with time. Even so, it's the randomness that bothered me. However, one thought that cropped up in the book group is that maybe, somewhere in there, there is a consistency, and perhaps that's part of what we might found out later; it may even be part of the resolution (if there is one). Tara herself, not the most empathetic of characters even initially, becomes ever more self-orientated as the book progresses, almost inevitably I suppose, but other characters recede as a result, not least Tomas himself, who becomes more and more just a series of sounds, a 'ghost'. We see things very much from her perspective, so Tomas 'forgets' at the end of the day. Er no, he doesn't, he's moved on to Nov 19th and the Tomas she sees at the start of the day hasn't yet known the things that she sees him as having forgotten. Meanwhile Tara sees herself as a 'monster', not least because the food (and other items?) she consumes is not replaced - gradually the supermarket is being emptied of the goods she favours. This may well partly be a take on our consumerism, but again, I found the logic somewhat illogical, especially as some items do revert, and again felt events were being fitted to the author's needs/wants, not the author coping with the 'reality' of recurring time. I may well be focusing too much on this aspect, but for me the main weakness of this book, and what left me rather underwhelmed at the end, was the inevitable repetition (of course it's repetitive, that's the point, but it's also the challenge!), and yet what moving on there was just didn't work for me. Now that all might come out in the wash, and there's no doubt that I am intrigued to find out how this time issue is resolved (if, of course, it is), but therein lies the final problem I have with this book. Balle has already made it clear that this is a seven volume series. I am interested in knowing what happens at the end, but do I want to read the other 6 books to find out? It's rather like a boxed set series- and rattling around in my head is the question, am I sufficiently addicted to continue? Or am I prepared to become 'addicted'? And when I look on it like that the answer is pretty much the same to pretty much every boxed set I've ever seen: 'No' (a few BBC classics dramas aside!). Of course, it doesn't help, that I'm going to have to wait for future volumes to come out (Vol 3 in English will be in the shops soon). Maybe if I waited until all 7 were out and read them as one single long book? I don't know, although the prospect doesn't excite me in the way that many long books do. In the meantime, this was an interesting concept, with, as things stand, just too many flaws and too much commitment required to make me want to stick it out. Just like the finale is almost always the most watched programme in any series, I might just wait and read the final book.

#54. A Golden Age by Tahmima Anam for Bangladesh **** The story of a widow's efforts to keep her family intact as her two children (and as a result, she herself) become embroiled in the 1971 War of Independence. I knew next to nothing of this period, only being aware (as a 13-year old at the time) of the change from 'East Pakistan' to 'Bangladesh'. Of the horrors of the war and genocide - absolutely ignorant. The story itself was a fairly standard if enjoyable family saga, with no real narrative surprises but enough character, plot and sense of place to keep me engaged through to the end, even if none particularly stood out. Rehana, the mother, is young(ish?0 and naive in the ways of the world, but has a certain steel when it comes to her children, and builds in strength and character as the narrative progresses. It was certainly good enough for me to look to read the sequel A Good Muslim (just ordered). Some reviews do comment negatively on the accuracy of the background (although I have to say that the tenor of the complaints suggest some sort of agenda - and they are often not accurate in themselves), but that's a subject about which I don't know anything like enough to comment. However, whatever else this book did or was, it had me going off to read up more on the subject (ongoing!), so in terms of helping improve understanding and knowledge, - and helping open my eyes - this was a definite success, and I can see why it won Best First Book in the Commonwealth Writers' Prize.

And, at last, with just 2 days to the end of the year, I'm up to date! 71. Great Granny Webster by Caroline Blackwood *** A profile of a largely dysfunctional fictional Anglo-Irish family, whose misanthropic matriarch is the ubiquitous GGW. Shortlisted for the Booker even if barely long enough to count as a novel, this is widely regarded as a hidden classic. As a character, or family, portrait, this works. As a collection of scene setters, this works. But as a novel it barely gets off the ground, and the continual misery, whilst classically gothic, just felt unrelenting and pointless. There is humour, but it's of that black sort that just doesn't grab me; funny this is not in spite of what some reviews claim. After a promising first quarter, nothing really developed (other than the misery), and I was left well before the end with a growing sense of ennui, however good the quality of the writing. 72. The Christmas Appeal by Janice Hallett **** A fun, light piece of Christmas froth that suited me perfectly for the time and place. Rattled through this in a couple of hours on Christmas Eve, and even found myself giggling more than once (not a common reading occurrence). Great literature this was not, but who cares? 73. The Nativity by Geza Vermes **** A book that I've read before, but of which I could remember little. Seemed a good choice for Christmas! This is an examination of the Nativity story as told in the Gospels of Matthew and Luke, which also led to me rereading the opening chapters of all 4 of the gospels. I hadn't realised quite how different the two accounts were (almost incompatibly so), and how much the traditional Nativity story was a merging of the 'best bits' of the two accounts. And 'story' looks to be the right word, with so much likely to bear little relationship with what actually happened. Given the issues of 'fake news' today, this book proved to be surprisingly topical. A fascinating read. 74. Seascraper by Benjamin Wood ****** Longlisted for the Booker. I'm completely bemused why I'm writing that - at the very least this should have been shortlisted, and it certainly knocked the winner itself out of the park; we're not even talking the same league, although admittedly that wasn't difficult IMO. Deeply atmospheric - the scenes on the fogbound sands were utterly gripping. Wreaking of time and place, and with such superbly rounded characters, this was a genuine one sitting read. Just glad it was Boxing Day and had the time to do just that, as this was that rare beast, a book that just kept getting better and better. I can't fathom some Booker juries, and this was one of the most unfathomable. 75. Through a Glass, Darkly by Helen McCloy **** One of Penguin's 'Mermaid' series, nicely produced paperbacks (with those lovely French flaps!) of "unjustly neglected works of popular mid- to late-twentieth century fiction". This was originally the eighth in the author's Dr Basil Willing (psychiatrist) series of mysteries, and has a distinctly gothic feel to it. An intriguing premise, nicely set up (I was certainly hooked when browsing!), that sustains the interest and pace for most of the way. I found the last 10% or so slightly unsatisfying although it would make for a good book group discussion, but this was thoroughly enjoyable nevertheless, and I wouldn't be averse to reading more from Helen McCloy. 76. The Moviegoer by Walker Percy **** Read for Louisana in my Tour of the USA. This was nothing like what I expected, even after reading the blurb. Far more philosophical, far looser plotted. Also, in many respects, a far harder read. Indeed, in places this felt almost incoherent, shooting off and coming in from tangents. Perhaps if I was more familiar with the place and vocabulary, some of this would have made more sense. However, the descriptive writing, both of character and place, was superb, and there was enough that made sense to anchor me sufficiently and keep reading! By the end, I felt I was getting sufficient grip, but how we got there, I wasn't too sure about!

Seventy up! 67. Jane Austen, A Brief Life by Fional Stafford ***** Both a brief account, and an all too brief life. What would she have achieved if she'd lived a fully three score and ten? Read to mark Jane Austen's 250th birthday. This was an illuminating and eminently readable biography (almost unputdownable!), focusing mainly on her writing development, and providing a useful framework on which one can then hang more detailed biographies such as Claire Tomalin's. It also made we want to read all Austen's novels again! Perhaps not immediately, but certainly a change of plan, and will move on to her last novel, Persuasion, the only one that I've read just the once. Perhaps the others in the new year. 68. Persuasion by Jane Austen ****** Read as a follow up to Fiona Stafford's biography. It's the only one of the big six that I've read just the once, at which time it wasn't one of my favourites (although I have loved them all, with perhaps Northanger Abbey being the only one rated below six stars).And it still doesn't quite mix it with Emma, Sense and Sensibility and Pride and Prejudice, but it's not far off, and Anne Elliot is definitely one of the great 'heroines'. I'm not quite sure why, but it could be something to do with the overcomplex genealogy perhaps, or the more straightforward romantic plotting. There's no doubting though the glorious Austen writing or her needle sharp character development. It was, for this unashamed Austen fan, a wonderful wallow, and I could have just started it all over again straightaway. I must read the others again in the New Year. (And I'm going to watch the BBC adaptation too, currently available on I-Player). 69. L'Etranger by Albert Camus **** I have read this once before, but only as a studied text for French Literature AS-Level, way back in the mid-70s. Needless to say, I barely remember it other than being a tedious translation effort. It's long overdue another go (particularly after reading and enjoying La Peste a couple of years ago), and as The Meursault Investigation seems to be a good choice for Algeria in Reading the World, now seems as good a time as any! So...it's easy to see why it's a classic. It's good, very good. It's seen as an examination of Absurdist philosophy, and I get that. The satire on French justice in part II (or is that 'justice' in general?) is vicious. To me, however, what came over much more strongly, was Meursault's autism. This was the grim, realist, side to The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time (and no, I'm not compariing them as literature, there is no comparison). I was fairly amazed that I'd never heard this before as it seemed screamingly obvious, so was relieved to find a note about just this right at the end of the book's Wikipedia entry that showed that this has been recognised (I'd begun to doubt myself!). But I can't say I was wowed. For me this is a book more to be admired and respected than enthused about (in contrast to, for instance, La Peste) I found it an interesting read certainly , but I never felt it reached far beyond simply doing what it says on the tin, the raison d'etre always more important than the novel itself. Animal Farm, amongst a number of other classics, had the same effect on me. But I am intrigued to read the Daoud take now! 70. The Meursault Investigation by Kamel Daoud ***** Read as both a follow-up to L'Etranger and as the book for Algeria in Reading the World. This was a fascinating counterpoint to Camus's classic. I was glad to read it immediately afterwards as I might well have missed some (many?) of the points of contact otherwise, and I really enjoyed picking these up! Overall. I was surprised, if anything, to enjoy this more than the original. This felt more human and more deeply rooted in place. There was a colour that Camus's lacked. All of this was obviously deliberate on the part of both authors, but the later book did chime more with me (although it of course needed the earlier work to build on!). Perhaps it would be fairer to say, that they worked really well as a pair, both contrasting and complimenting each other; a case of the sum being distinctly greater than the parts.

It wasn't much more than a passing mention - very positive - in their end of year review of their favourite books. It's not one where I listen to every episode as there are others which do command most of my (fairly limited) listening, but enjoy it selectively (such as their serious of Virginia Woolf centred pods earlier this year).

You never hear of a book before, then suddenly reviews come along like buses....I've just been hearing about this on the Curious Readers podcast! Not sure it's for me, but fascinating to read about.

Currently reading The Meursault Investigation as a follow-up to L'Etranger. It's also my book for Algeria in Reading the World.

Rattling through books in the last couple of weeks at the rate of 1 every two days (they are only shorties at this time of year), so in terms of number of books, am a little way behind, but chronologically, barely a week down now. Coming thick and fast as they tend to do at this time of year, I'm likely to keep most, if not all, reviews on the short side. I generally can't cope with big books at this time of year! 62. Reader for Hire by Raymond Jean ** "A beautiful homage to the art of reading". Hmm. Not really. French whimsy along the lines of Antoine Laurain, and I wasn't struck with his books. Centred on Marie-Constance, a young married (yes, that's important) woman trying to set up a business as a reader, who develops an almost inevitably eccentric clientele. All too obviously written by a man (would a woman be so breast obsessed?), and feeling dated (written in 1988, but rather 70s-ish). I suspect this would make a better film, and it was made into one (La Lectrice - the orginal French title of the book), but as a book, this didn't work for me. 63. Man Tiger by Eka Kurniawan **** My book for Indonesia in Reading the World. The story of two interlinked families. A shocking, apparently inexplicable event happens in the opening pages. Gradually we find out why it happened. It's a dramatic, really lively promising start, with an interesiing touch of magical realism. The book never loses its interest or pace, but whilst I thoroughly enjoyed it, I was a mite diappointed that the magical aspect was left rather undeveloped. Equally, the chronology, deliberately blurred, for me just edged into the unnecessarily convoluted. But these are minor nitpicks - this was a genuinely good read, which I rattled through in barely a day! 64. The Wall Jumper by Peter Schneider **** This is a novel, but it reads as reportage: the narrator travelling back and forth across the Berlin Wall collecting stories of 'wall jumpers', people who in one way and another manage to cross east to west, and reflecting on differences in viewpoints learned through growing up in such different cultures. It's particularly interesting given the ongoing issues with the merging of the two Germanys: almost 45 years on, this is still a highly relevant book. 65. Closely Watched Trains by Bohumil Hrabal ***** I've read this a couple of times before, this was the book for Czechia in Reading the World, but having just seen the film (again - I saw this as part of the film club at school back in the 1970s), I wanted to compare book and film more closely. In spirit and in general terms, very closely matched, and several incidents are transferred almost verbatim, but the sequencing is slightly different, which does make for surprisingly different stories. The main protagonist is a railway 'apprentice' in a small regional station during WW2, very proud of his position, but struggling with life, being a frustrated virgin and depressed enough to have attempted suicide. In barely 80 pages of concise but vivid prose, the author tells the story of his efforts to make something of himself, to prove that he is a 'real man'. There is much humour, but equally pathos. A quick, but engaging read that has grown on me with each reading. 66. Department of Speculation by Jenny Offil ***** A reread from 2023. The story of a marriage told in a series of fragmentary paragraphs, treading a fine line between desolation and sharp humour. Nobody is named, and when the marriage struggles (this is a novel after all!) the writer moves from first to third person, presumably to try and create a sense of distance/alienation. it does! There are some wonderful moments of insight, particularly from a parental perspective, which (even though I'm male and never experienced motherhood) I could strongly relate to! I have to admit there are sections which I didn't fully understand, or indeed even follow, but the writing carried me through these. All in all, beautifully observed and beautifully written.

Very late to this! I can't remember O-Level books, but these are some of those which I do recall (why can't I remember more of my A-Level texts?). Class reader Years 7/8: Lord of the Flies (hated it then), Flood Warning by Paul Berna Year 10: Pickwick Papers and Barchester Towers. These weren't books we studied per se, but we were required to read one of them and be prepared to discuss in class. I read both! French Literature AS-Level: L'Etranger A-Level texts: Emma, Middlemarch, Great Gatsby, along with Hardy's poetry, Hamlet, Othello, One-Way Pendulum (play),

59. Helm by Sarah Hall ****** My first experience of Sarah Hall's work, and what a revelation! One of those rare occasions where the book actually lives up to the blurb and the quotes! Helm is the only named wind in the UK, the Fohn wind that comes off the Pennines over Cross Fell into the Eden Valley. It's a part of the world I know well, even though I've not actually experienced the wind itself. That knowledge may make me somewhat biased - knowing the setting always adds to the enjoyment - but I found myself totally engaged from line 1, and have spent the last week savouring pretty much every one of them. It's structure is one that doesn't always work with me, a series of interwoven narratives spread across human history from the Neolithic to the modern day. It doesn't always work because all too often I get really interested in one, and keep wanting to jump forward to continue, but here I positively enjoyed the swapping backwards and forwards, moving between 'episodes'. Some of the stories only last for one or two, others last from start to finish. They all, however, have their own distinctive voices and focus on our relationship with Helm, presented as a near sentient being (with it's own distinctive voice) in its own right. And that to me is the point of this novel: our connectedness, or otherwise, with nature, with the world we live in, and how we live in that world. There is plot - each thread has its own story to tell, some more dramatic than others - but the traditional idea of 'plot' is not central. Helm's multifarious influence is, and we ignore it at our peril. This could therefore have been quite a depressing book, but it is anything but. Helm is certainly not 'immortal', and there is a degree of melancholia in that - but for me this is in many ways the most uplifting book I've read this year, and such a welcome contrast to some of the dreary, even tawdry, fiction I've encountered recently (it's been looking up in the last 2 books though!). Certainly my favourite fiction of the year to date. I was interested to see that Helm was shortlisted for the Goldsmiths Prize - which intrigues me as, browsing this and past years, there are so many titles I barely recognise, if at all. The books that I do know suggest that these are lists that could well be worth exploring (perhaps starting with this year's winner?) In the meantime this is the first book this year that goes straight on to my favourites list. BTW, I absolutely loved the cover (the UK version -the US one looks relatively, and surprisingly, disappointing). 60. The Habsburg Empire by Martyn Rady **** One of Oxford's excellent Very Short Introduction series, read as background to a recent holidays in Vienna and North East Italy. We studied this as part of the European History module of my A-Level History, but that is more years ago than I like to remember, and needed refreshing and broadening out to the full length of this extraordinary families time in power. I'm intending to read up more, but this was a very useful primer. I'm a fair fan of the VSI series, which usually does exactly what it says on the tin, so rarely exceeds more than 3 stars, but Rady was particularly lucid in its narrative, so warrants a slightly higher rating. I certainly galloped through this. Obviously it misses out much, but as a preliminary overview it was exactly what I wanted, although I was glad I did have some background. I plan to move on to Rady's rather fuller The Habsburgs: The Rise and Fall of a World Power early next year - it's already sitting waiting on my shelves! 61. The Land in Winter by Andrew Miller ***** Read for one of my reading groups, and the fifth book in my Booker shortlist read. OK, I know the Booker has been and gone, but I was never going to get through all 6 in the time, so left this as one of the two postponed; I also wanted to go the group meeting with this fresh in mind. And things are improving, this being the second that has ranked something better than just ordinary (or worse) in my books. Set in the brutal winter of 1962-3 (I can just about remember it!), two neighbouring couples are at parallel stages of their marriages, with their first child expected in the New Year. They are also at critical stages in different senses too - one husband is having an affair, the other is struggling to make their farming business work. Although of different social circles (and classes - this the early, post-war, 1960s after all), their lives become interlinked. The meteorological onslaught adds to the stresses and the strains begin to show. As is Miller's wont, the writing is quite understated. There is a matter of factness that belies the depth. Sentences are short, conjunctions fewer than one would expect. This creates its own rhythms, which add to the hypnotic effect of the writing. After the opening chapter, the perspective swaps between the four main characters, with inner monologue almost to the level of stream of consciousness at times. Not quite, but it has a similar effect. There is rarely (if any) high drama in the Miller books I've read, being built on an accumulation of smaller details and moments, they always seem to make an impact, even if one doesn't realise it a the time - they are books that work their way under the skin - at least they do mine! I also found myself immersed in the period. This is certainly a relatively long time away (particularly for younger readers!), but it's still within the memories of many; it is either way oh so different. Everybody smokes, including the pregnant mothers, who also drink; the social order is rigidly structured and cringingly patriarchal, memories of WWII are fresh in the mind. Scenes in shops, on the train and elsewhere reaked of this era - it certainly brought memories (even if just as a young child) flooding back. However, I can see why this didn't win the Booker. In fact, I'd be mildly surprised if it had. This is particularly so given the others I've read that made the shortlist, which are all bigger, showier, more obvious. This is, as Miller always is, subtler, more restrained, the sort of book and writer liable to slide under the radar. Stiletto vs sledgehammers. I don't think it's his best either, although it's up there (for me, of the ones I've read, that would be Pure and Now We Shall Be Entirely Free). But, in terms of the shortlist, it's proved by far and away the best read (I'd have looked to Choi to win though). But, I've yet to read Kiran Desai; that'll come early next year.

Some more catching up! 55. Within the Walls by Giorgio Bassani **** Read during a visit to Ferrara, and as an introduction to the author's Novel of Ferrara sequence. Short stories are rarely my choice, normally being read as a book group read or for another reason, but these proved highly evocative and tied in beautifully with my visit: it was an almost surreal experience being able to walk (and run!) the very streets written about almost immediately after reading of them. The author's writing is highly atmospheric, and the chapters are rather more in the vein of character studies than full-blown stories, highlighting both individuals and their relationships within the context of the time and the city. They certainly brought the city to life for me - and I will definitely be carrying on with the series. Indeed, I now (soon after returning home) have a hardback copy of the Novel - the US edition with a far more interesting, attractive, cover than the dull as ditchwater UK version! 56. Question 7 by Richard Flanagan *** Read for one of my book groups, I had been looking forward to this for some time. In the event, it proved to be a surprisingly disappointing read, perhaps a victim of too much expectation. The first chapter promised much, but it then seemed to fall apart somewhat, the butterfly wing effect being distinctly unoriginal. I kept thinking 'So what? Life IS like that and you don't have to keep beating me over the head with the same idea ad nauseam'. The whole construct felt rather artificial. It didn't help that the book didn't seem to be able to make up its mind whether it wanted to be fiction or non-fiction: it didn't surprise me to learn that the author apparently wanted to submit it to the Booker, but the publishers decided it wasn't sufficiently fiction.... By far and away the best sections were the straight memoir - recollecting his father, the near-death canoeing accident, and it was good to end with that, leaving me far more satisfied at the end than I had been for much of the rest of this book. 57. Looking After Your Books by Francesca Galligan *** Slim little volume published by the Bodleian Library, and written by one of their rare book librarians. Dipping into this, I thought this was going to be full of fascinating nuggets and useful information. To some extent it was, but all too often it was just too generalised and vague, and at the end, it not taking up much time at all, I was left with a vague sense of disappointment. It did what it says on the tin, but I had hoped and expected, rightly or wrongly, for something rather more. Interestingly she is a great fan of inscriptions, marks of ownership etc. I've always been wary of these, but as I've got older, I've enjoyed them more, even if they might reduce the value. In fact, that's perhaps part of this latter day appeal! 58. Sacred Hearts by Sarah Dunant ****** I read this a few years ago, long enough ago for plot details to have receded from memory. What was left was primarily a feeling of pleasure - I had enjoyed this! But then, I do with most Dunant. So, when we stayed in Ferrara as part of our autumn interrailing trip to northern Italy and points in between, this seemed a no-brainer for a reread. I actually started this whilst we were in the city itself, so had the chance to visit the convent the book's location is based on - well, at least the outside, as it was closed to visitors whilst we were there. Never mind, this was still very much worth it, and there was still something special about actually being there! Dunant evokes both period (16th century) and place superbly. Having been to a couple of talks by her on Renaissance and Reformation Italy, she really knows her subject. Her characters are roundly drawn and eminently believable. Hers is the sort of writing I can just immerse myself in. This is simply great story telling, whilst at the same time providing great insight into a world that is about as alien to someone like me as it could possibly be (16th century, female only, highly religious, enclosed/isolated etc). I loved it. Interestingly, I find I've kicked this up a couple of grades since my last read - I wonder if that is the result of having visited for myself. I'll be soon on to Maggie O'Farrell's The Marriage Portrait, also set in Ferrara, so it'll be interesting to see if that is similarly affected (and then on to the next Giorgio Bassani - same again!).

Have been catching up, after some time away, with your reviews. Consistently interesting. However this one stood out for me, as a really enthusiastic one always will. So glad this one scored so highly: I'm gradually and finally coming to the end of my tour of the United States, and I have East of Eden down for my book for California. Very much looking forward to it now! Agree with your initial comments about modern writing. Perhaps slightly hyperbolic, but after reading most of the Booker shortlist, I'm not so sure! At least half, including the winner, horribly disappointing. Having said that, I wouldn't know what defines a Tik-Tok book (far too ancient for it; even my son is too old!), other than finding myself after browsing a pile in Waterstones labelled as such the other day feeling utterly depressed and bemused! Roll on Steinbeck!

Four Bookers and an International (shortlisters!) These reviews were originally written in the last few days leading up to the announcement of this year's Booker winner - which, given my feelings about my relationship with the judges this year, was probably inevitable. Perhaps of the moment, but will it be around in 10-20 years time? I have serious doubts. 51. The Rest of Our Lives by Benjamin Markovits *** Not for the first time, I find myself wondering either what the Booker judges see in a book, or what I'm missing. It's probably the latter, but the main thought to come to mind at the conclusion of this shortlister, is how ordinary it was. Not a bad book by any means, with some lovely writing, possibly even a long-lister, but surely, surely this wasn't one of the six best books published last year? Like several recent reads, it got off to a good start but gradually I felt it lose its way as the narrator wanders uninvited from relation to acquaintance to previous girlfriend. It's a road trip, one does that, but the aimlessness felt, well, rather aimless. And then, the medical issues, an irritating and obvious distraction, became to my mind something of a cop-out, and the ending felt all rather obvious. Perhaps the biggest problem is that, being told in the first person, much of this was internal monologue, almost stream of consciousness, and on that front it suffered rather badly from its proximity to my reread of Mrs Dalloway. Now there is a book that never loses its way. And, given others' reaction, maybe it is after all just me. 3 stars. 52. On the Calculation of Volume I by Solvej Balle *** A tricky one. I read this as a book group choice, and as my book for Denmark in my global project - I hadn't intended for this to be the Danish choice, but, shortlisted as it was for the International Booker, it seemed a good one all the same. And in many ways it was. But, but.... (and be warned, I've tried not to spoil, but inevitably some of my comments might work that way for some) The idea is both an interesting and a familiar one: the narrator, Tara Selter, an antique book dealer, finds that she is trapped in November 18th. It's reminiscent of the film Groundhog Day, although the author says that she had the idea long before it appeared. Life constantly repeats, and yet it also doesn't. Whilst time never moves on, she does - a burn that she incurs on the first Nov 18th gradually heals, some objects stay with her (eg some books she purchases on the first Nov 18th), but others don't. She experiments at trying to keep her husband Tomas awake through the night to see what happens, and early in the morning he goes through a reset, and suddenly wonders why she is in the house and not away (as she is on the first Nov 18th). So, whilst the day repeats itself, some things, even people, move with her. But (that word again!), and this was the start of my problems with this book, what does and what doesn't move seems to be pretty random. In fact, the only consistency appears to be that it suits the author that they move (or don't!). Well, maybe, or maybe this is part of what Balle is addressing - our relationship with time. Even so, it's the randomness that bothered me. However, one thought that cropped up in the book group is that maybe, somewhere in there, there is a consistency, and perhaps that's part of what we might found out later; it may even be part of the resolution (if there is one). Tara herself, not the most empathetic of characters even initially, becomes ever more self-orientated as the book progresses, almost inevitably I suppose, but other characters recede as a result, not least Tomas himself, who becomes more and more just a series of sounds, a 'ghost'. We see things very much from her perspective, so Tomas 'forgets' at the end of the day. Er no, he doesn't, he's moved on to Nov 19th and the Tomas she sees at the start of the day hasn't yet known the things that she sees him as having forgotten. Meanwhile Tara sees herself as a 'monster', not least because the food (and other items?) she consumes is not replaced - gradually the supermarket is being emptied of the goods she favours. This may well partly be a take on our consumerism, but again, I found the logic somewhat illogical, especially as some items do revert, and again felt events were being fitted to the author's needs/wants, not the author coping with the 'reality' of recurring time. I may well be focusing too much on this aspect, but for me the main weakness of this book, and what left me rather underwhelmed at the end, was the inevitable repetition (of course it's repetitive, that's the point, but it's also the challenge!), and yet what moving on there was just didn't work for me. Now that all might come out in the wash, and there's no doubt that I am intrigued to find out how this time issue is resolved (if, of course, it is), but therein lies the final problem I have with this book. Balle has already made it clear that this is a seven volume series. I am interested in knowing what happens at the end, but do I want to read the other 6 books to find out? It's rather like a boxed set series- and rattling around in my head is the question, am I sufficiently addicted to continue? Or am I prepared to become 'addicted'? And when I look on it like that the answer is pretty much the same to pretty much every boxed set I've ever seen: 'No' (a few BBC classics dramas aside!). Of course, it doesn't help, that I'm going to have to wait for future volumes to come out (Vol 3 in English is only just out). Maybe if I waited until all 7 were out and read them as one single long book? I don't know, although the prospect doesn't excite me in the way that many long books do. In the meantime, this was an interesting concept, with, as things stand, just too many flaws and too much commitment required to make me want to stick it out. Just like the finale is almost always the most watched programme in any series, I might just wait and read the final book. 53. Audition by Katie Kitamura ** Hmmm. My third Booker longlister, my second from the shortlist, and I'm beginning to think that I and the judges are rather out of synch this year. I loved Kitamura's writing, but as a novel this almost completely failed for me. Centred on an older actress working on a new play and struggling to make a major mid-play transition work, the book opens with her meeting a young man in a fashionable restaurant, and examines the developing relationship between her, him and her husband (and no, it's not a ménage a trois). The book's structure reflects that of the play, set out in 2 parts/acts. I was fine until the end of Act One, with characters and situation intriguingly developing, but the disjunction between the 2 parts and the (obviously deliberate) omission of the transitional scene was all too much (for me), and I never recovered engagement. Indeed, just the opposite as I grew increasingly irritated, with the climactic scene descending into plain silliness. To be honest, my initial reaction was to record this as, at most, a two star read, but I did finish it (thank goodness it was no longer), and, as I said at the start, there is no doubting in my mind the quality of the writing - some of the individual scenes are superb. Trouble is I couldn't get the phrase 'style over substance' out of my head, even if it's probably my lack of perspicacity that was the real problem - there are enough rave reviews to suggest the substance imay actually be there, even if I still can't see it. So, this scrapes a three, sitting alongside both the other books to date, which is fair enough as they all, for me, started well but tailed off in their various ways as they progressed. Later edit: no, I have to be completely honest with myself. This really was a disappointment. No way can I give it 3 stars - 2 it is, FWIW. Flesh by David Szalay * Now I know I'm just not on the same wavelength as this year's judges! (Am I even in the same room?). Managed about 100 pages and then decided I couldn't stomach another 250 of the same (not enough by my rules to count as a 'read' book). I usually enjoy lean writing, but this went well beyond that into the dull and repetitive, with reams of inane dialogue. Yes, I know that's all part of the characterisation (if Istvan had said 'OK' one more time I think I'd have screamed), but that was the point to me - he, and thus the book, just weren't interesting (I can do 'bad' no problem, but not uninteresting). It was all summed up by one of the most tediously tawdry opening chapters I've read in a while. G*d it was so predictable and obvious. Please, please let the next three reverse the slide. Knowing 2 of them (Miller, Desai), I am at least optimistic, but to date this has been one of the most disappointing shortlists for a while. 54. Flashlight by Susan Choi **** My fourth Booker short list read, and the last before the winner is announced. After three disappointing reads, I was hoping for something better with this, and fortunately I got it. It wasn't perfect by any means, but it was certainly a contrast: big, bold and discursive where the others all felt small, lean and focused. At 400+ pages this was no shrinking violet, and it proved to be an even longer read than anticipated, perhaps longer than optimum, but overall I enjoyed this opening up. It was geographically (and chronologically) broadly flung too, stretching from the US to Korea and Japan, with an extended European interlude too. However, the wordiness had a purpose, providing a richness and depth which again proved a welcome contrast. I can happily do lean (some of my favourite books....!), but it was good to get back to someone who obviously enjoys telling a story. It was quite a story too, a study in family secrecy and alienation, with a fair number of twists and turns, and a couple of pretty hefty twists. All in all, I felt as if my reading was starting to emerge out of the Slough of Despond into which it had been cast for almost a month. Character-wise, a potential problem was that none of the main protagonists, Louise and her parents Anne and Serk, were at all likeable. One could feel sorry for them (well I did!), but I never warmed to them (well, a little bit perhaps, in the last quarter). However, they were interesting (especially the two women), which is more than could be said for any of those in the previous shortlisters, especially Flesh. It also helped that the subject matter was completely new to me, so I was learning as well. And the author did chuck in a 'likeable' character in the shape of Tobias, Louise's half-sister, and Anne's (initial) big secret. So, overall a definite step in the right direction. I can certainly see me returning to Choi's work in the future. Yes, it did drag a couple of times, and I did find myself occasionally skimming through the chapters centred on Serk, but this was a book that I had no problem coming back to, never wanted to do anything but read through to the end, and was glad to have read when I got there - which is more than can be said for more than one recent novel. Is it a Booker winner? I wouldn't object if it did, far from it, but I can't see it: it's too straightforward a story, and those don't seem to have won much lately. Indeed, amongst those shortlisters I've read to date, it almost feels to be something of an anomaly. Having not read the last two, I'm probably in no position to guess (judge?!) what will win, but given how out of synch I am with the judges this year, it'll probably be Audition or Flesh. Of these 4, I would go for Flashlight as the only one I'd be happy to see win.