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July so far! 27. English Journey by JB Priestley *** Read in parallel with Stuart Maconie's The Full English (see below). A fascinating historical document, one person's snapshot of 1933 England, in the 'calm' before the storm of World War 2. This was particularly so, as I read it in the Folio Society edition, illustrated with contemporary photographs. Priestley is not afraid to express how he sees things, and finds much both to like and to be angry about. There are also some juddering moments when, at best, one has to accept that this is not a contemporary writer! I was surprised to find it quite hard work to finish - just felt long. (I was very surprised that my own village on the outtskirts of Leeds was mentioned twice, even if only in passing!). 28. The Full English by Stuart Maconie **** A modern retracing of JB Priestley's English Journey. I picked this up almost at random (and then, when I realised what it was, started reading Priestley's book in parallel to fully follow Maconie's efforts at repeating Priestley's experience), and half expected it to be one of those light, attempting-to-be-humorous travelogues that are either a pleasant easy read, or cringemaking (a la Tim Moore). In the event, this pleasantly surprised, as it was rather better, being much more straightforward and down to earth, more an attempt to put a finger on the pulse of England today. It doesn't dig any deeper than taking a pulse, but in that it, at least for me, succeeded. It was certainly an interesting historical update! 29. Thunderclap by Laura Cumming ****** Initially a Christmas present from my OH, then also a book group choice (which encourage me to get around to reading it!). Why oh why did I delay? I had read and enjoyed Cumming's On Chapel Sands, which focused on her mother, this went down the paternal route. Cumming herself is art critic for the Guardian, and the daughter of Scottish artist, James Cumming. The book is a memoir around him and of the importance of Dutch art in Laura's life, focused particularly on Carel Fabritius and in particular his painting 'A View of Delft'. I found it beautifully written, perfectly balanced, and a totally captivating read (I also learned a lot!). The sort of book where you want to start again immediately. It's also the sort of book I want to write more about, but I think I'll leave that until I've reread it! Comfortably the best book I've read so far this year. 30. A Flat Place by Noreen Masud ** Like Thunderclap above, this was shortlisted for this year's inaugural Women's Prize for Non-fiction - another memoir, but utterly different, both in its writing and in my experience of the book. Masud has been diagnosed as suffering from complex post-traumatic disorder, the result of an abusive upbringing in Pakistan, from which she escaped to Britain (when her father disowned her) in her mid-teens. The book takes as its theme her fascination with flat places, tied up with her illness, the series of chapters each focusing on a different location - the first in Pakistan, the rest in Britain - reflecting the flatness she herself feels. It's a slim volume, barely 200 pages, a book widely acclaimed for the quality of writing, but I have to say I struggled. To me, it was in fact a bit of a mess. The initial chapter (focusing on the author's early life in Lahore) whilst laying some groundwork to understanding the causes of her cPTSD, left quite a few questions unanswered, deliberately so I felt. I did think clarification would come in later chapters, where discussion of her illness and therapy was interwoven with her experience of the different British flat places, but no, the obscurity remained. Instead, her (understandable) anger seemed to widen to include negative commentary on British racism, colonialism and weakness, the very homogeneity of which smacked (to me) of the very same traits she was accusing people of. And, on a very trivial note for some, any book that includes even one phrase along the lines of "where me and my sister slept when we visited" (p.159) can not possibly be described as 'beautifully written'. Sorry! I think there were two main problems with this book for me. The first is partly of my own making: I came to this expecting a book largely about the various 'flat places' themselves, and to some extent it was, but only to the extent of how they affected her and her illness, in a very tightly focused way: they simply became, to me, overheavily used metaphors. The former was almost inevitable I suppose, given the introspective, isolationist, nature of the illness as the author describes it (about the only being that she seems initially to have a successful relationship with is her cat, although the late chapter describing her time with her mother suggests an improvement in that relationship), but whereas several reviewers have commented on finding the 'nature' material less interesting, I found the balance too much the other way, suggesting a falling between two stools. (With the chapter on Orkney featuring so prominently, I was strongly reminded of Amy Liptrot's, The Outrun, which to my mind was a far stronger, more coherent, book). Interestingly, in her end note, the author herself says that the book started "solely, [as] a study of encounters with flat landscapes. It was in writing it....that I came to understand that the complex trauma I sustained in my early life was an element which could not be omitted", Secondly, another reviewer pointed out that in Safiya Sinclair's How To Say Babylon the author is told to hold off writing her memoir until she is cured (IIRC). In A Flat Place, it's apparent that Masud's illness is ongoing. Obviously some illnesses are permanent (Is this? Very possibly, but actually I don't feel we learned much about the condition, and again only in how it related very tightly to the author herself*), but this book did come over as someone who is still very heavily enmeshed in the process, and I wonder if that is why it felt so muddled and egocentric (yes, I know it's a memoir, but this was so about 'me'). *In the endnote, Masud states that she is "less interested in the diagnosis, or the term, than in the particularities of the way I experience of my life." and, indeed, questions the legitimacy of the word trauma as being a purely "Western paradigm". To be honest, I would have appreciated her having this discussion earlier in the book, as it puts a completely different slant on what one has understood to have learned to that point.

Reading Catchup Part 2 (June): 23. Commonwealth by Ann Patchett **** Read as my book for Virginia in my tour of the States. Commonwealth is the story of two families and how they become intertwined when the father of one 'runs off' with the mother of the other. The six children (4 and 2) become almost a tribe united in their dislike of their parents. The result (and this novel is very much centred on consequences) culminates in tragedy with which the families have to learn to live, and then in the fallout when one of the (now adult) children tells the story to her partner, a famous author in decline, who uses the plot as the basis of what becomes his bestseller, also entitled Commonwealth. Both story and characters are complex and multi-layered: the chronology shifts backwards and forwards, as do the relationships, and it's not always easy to keep track of the multiple members of the families - it wasn't difficult if I sat down and thought, but I did need to do that sitting back on several occasions to just mentally review who was related to who and how. To be honest, I wasn't overly engaged for the first half of the book, not least because this seemed to be heading down a fairly obvious track, but I suddenly found myself engrossed, and I positively enjoyed both the structure and the character development as they developed into the second half. No stereotypes these! As touched on above, this is very much a story of consequences, of knock-on impacts, almost of the butterfly effect as it might affect lives - indeed that life as it pans out for all of us is can so easily be influenced, changed, by the smallest of events and actions, and that it's not just how lives are impacted, but how characters are changed. In the end, having not been a huge enthusiast a good way into the book, I found myself really quite disappointed when I came to the end! 24. The Sea Detective by Mark Douglas-Home **** Crime detection with an interesting twist - the main protagonist is an expert in ocean currents and forensic marine research. Some of the characterisation is a bit simplistic, not quite matching the quality of plotting, but still a thoroughly enjoyable, easy read, that I didn't want to put down, and where I intend to go on and read the sequels. 25. The Details by Ia Genberg ***** My book for Sweden in my world tour. Shortlisted for the International Booker Prize, this was actually a choice for one of my book groups. It didn't make a huge impact on most members, who were pretty flat about it, but I and one other were distinctly more enthusiastic! Split into 4 chapters, each effectively a character study of an individual who made a significant impact on the narrator, recollecting them through the fog of a virus. The descriptions and writing were distinctly unfoggy (in fact, the illness felt trivial, simply an excuse to explain, unnecessarily in my opinion, why the narrator was recalling them), the precision and detail (inevitably given the title) marking the whole, very slim, book out. For me the character studies actually said as much if not more about the narrator than the subjects - in the creation, the development and the ending, as these were all relationships that had finished in one way or another (or had they? Part of the novel was surely about how the relationships had, in their own way, continued and affected the narrator). Whilst I found the book thoroughly engaging, immersive even, almost more interesting than the characters described (and none were particularly likeable, or even ones that I cared about) were those who were left out, not least the friend who appears in all 4 chapters almost as a common thread. Presumably (in pat) because that relationship still existed? But others surely didn't. All in all, whilst there was very much a 'could take it or leave it' air about most of the group discussion, I found this to be one of the strongest reads I've had so far this year, and feel very glad to have read a book that would almost certainly not have otherwise crossed my horizon. 26. A Heart So White by Javier Marias ***(*) Read both for one of my book groups, and as the book for Spain in my round world tour. This is probably Marias's best known book, and it starts with a bang (literally) as a young newly-wed, Teresa, commits suicide during a family meal. The book is narrated by her nephew Juan, daughter of her sister Juana and Ranz, the man who was Teresa's husband at the time and who later marries her younger sibling. In simple terms, it's a mystery around why Teresa killed herself, but it is actually far (and I mean FAR) more complicated than that. Juan, an interpreter is recently married to another interpreter, Luisa. Juan contemplates the nature of marriage, relationships (one of equals, or is it always a case of one manipulating/compelling the other?), and secrets (especially in a marriage). His own style is highly voyeuristic, but voyeurism through voice rather than sight, his interpreter skills focusing in on the subtleties and importance of language and verbal communication. Marias was himself an interpreter and translator (including the Spanish version of Tristram Shandy!), so it's interesting as to how much of this might be autobiographically drawn. Equally, the book itself is a translation from Spanish, and much of our group discussion circled around the importance of this in both understanding and enjoying the book: Margaret Jull Costa chose to stick to the original Spanish structure - where sentences at times extended to half a page or more, and commas functioned much as full stops would do in original English. This, according to a bilingual member of our group, is relatively easily handleable in Spanish and not untypical, but whether it was the most appropriate style to adopt in English was subject to much (and rather inconclusive!) debate. This all on top a looping narrative, including repetition of themes and even individual phrases and paragraphs. To be honest, most of us got used to the style, and some, indeed, came to positively enjoy it (no different, for instance to the lack of speech marks or full stops in some original English works?). It didn't, however, make the reading an easier, and several (including me) found it hard to read large chunks of the book at one go - a chapter or two at a time was enough for me (and they weren't long). As a book group choice, this proved a thoroughly successful selection, as it stimulated a really lively and thoughtful discussion, both in terms of the themes addressed, and in terms of our views on the book itself, these ranging from 'hatred' to 'love' - perhaps the widest range of opinion we've had for a while. Most did enjoy it though, and found it rewarding to read, whilst all agreed they were glad to have read it (different to enjoyment)! I remain slightly ambivalent - definitely glad to have read, not so sure about anything else. In one respect I want to reread it - there was much to reflect on, much I wanted to go back over, much I wanted to read again in the light of later reading, but I have to admit finding it tough going at times, especially in the third quarter where a particularly bizarre relationship was put under the microscope. On that front, I would suggest it's definitely not a book to read if you need to like your characters (or I think even care for them). If I do go back to it, I think I need a rest. It could be a long rest too!

Reading Catchup Part 1 (May!) I've got a long way behind posting reviews and keeping things up to date, so a couple of posts to sort that out. The last book I've reviewed here is Pedro Paramo, finished at the end of April, so the following should bring me one month closer, covering my reading for May. A fairly long post, with 7 books reviewed: 16. Family Roundabout by Richmal Crompton *** My second Richmal Crompton in short order, mainly because my book group, rather than designating one book for the month, agreed that we would each read at least one book by Crompton, and see if we can discuss her as a writer, rather than focusing on the one book. I've also had this Persephone Press edition on my shelves for a while, so everything fitted neatly together.... In many respects this represents typical Persephone fair - a mid-twentieth century female author whose writing has been largely overlooked in recent years, telling a story of domestic life. Crompton's adult books haven't just been overlooked, they've virtually disappeared, and until recently even secondhand copies were very hard to come by, unlike her 'Just William' children's novels, which have an almost cult following. Persephone's revival of Family Roundabout saw a reversal of that, and Faber have built on this with the republication of half a dozen or so of her other titles in digital/print to order editions - which is where I sourced Caroline from. As one would expect from a Persephone book, Family Roundabout is easily read, and generally feels well written. However, in spite of the phalanx of 4 and 5 star reviews online, I have to confess to mild disappointment at the end of this 350-page read. There's nothing inherently 'wrong' about the book, but it all felt a bit run of the mill and predictable. The story centres on the domestic lives of two largeish families over a period of 20 years, 1920-39, each ruled (in very different ways) by the family matriarch: the old-word, slightly faded, genteel Fowlers and the rather brasher, more commercially orientated Willoughbys, linked by the marriage of two of the second generaton (of three covered). The latter family is ruled with a rod of iron, the former is rather more gently supported. And from that, the story follows fairly obvious tramlines. The characters themselves conform to largely straightforward two dimensional patterns, the women showing a bit more variety and depth compared to the men, the latter almost without exception rather mediocre and/or 'wet' - on this evidence Richmal Crompton has a fairly low opinion of the male of the species. Having now read two of Crompton's adult novels, I think that's probably enough to be going on with. I'm not sure if I'll read any more - i certainly don't feel any particular desire to do so, although Family Roundabout was an improvement on Caroline. In summary, the books came across as pleasant, rather bland, obvious and mildly dated ways to pass the time, so not really my sort of books. 17. The Plague by Albert Camus ***** One of those books where a review by someone like me seems almost pointless, so high up the ladder of acclaim and regard does this sit, and how ignorant I am of the relevant philosophies, but suffice to say that this has all the power and provocation of thought that one would expect from such a classic. It also surprised me in being a thoroughly good read: Camus's language is fairly spare and straightforward, but his evocation of place and atmosphere is so strong, and his characters all too human - perhaps not surprising for such a proponent of existentialism (at least as far as I understand it). Having struggled somewhat with studying L'Etranger at school, this turned out to be a real 'pleasure' (if that is the right word for a book about such a dark subject) to read. Read for one of my book groups. 18. Ilustrado by Miguel Syjuco *** Read for my World project as the book forThe Philippines. Strangely two-dimensional, overly complex, over-written, this was a book that I had really looked forward to reading but ultimately found disappointing. Seemed to take forever to finish. I'm not sure quite why I've rated it as high as 3 stars, but credit where credit is due - the idea was clever (and should have been entertaining and intriguing), and there were some excellent individual scenes. This should have been a great book, but the author seemed to spend too much time trying to impress rather than engage the reader. 19. The Collini Case by Ferdinand von Schirach **** A book group read that I read in one sitting - gripping. Leanly written, evoking much in surprisingly few words; understated yet packing an important message, with much to say on the impact of its Nazi past on post-war Germany (at least the legal side of things!). My one criticism perhaps was the lack of character depth, but this wasn't what the book was about. I'd never heard of this before it was nominated by another member, but was glad to have read it, one of the main reasons for joining a book group! We will have much to discuss when the group next meets - another reason. 20. Why We Get Sick by Benjamin Bikman *** An examination of insulin resistance - what it is, how it's caused, how to deal with it. Being prediabetic myself, I found Bikman's take, that prediabetes/diabetes is actually just a symptom of a broader underlying problem, very interesting. I don't know enough of the science to be able to judge how accurate this is, but it generally makes eminent sense based on what else I've read (and my own experience), although I'm wary of some of the stronger strictures. Three stars is my standard grade for a non-fiction book that satisfactorily fulfills a function even if it isn't (and doesn't set out to be!) a great 'read'. 21. The U.S. Civil War by Louis P Masur *** One of the excellent OUP Very Short Introductions. Does what it says on the tin: a concise introduction to the subject, in this case the American Civil War. It's a period I find I'm increasingly interested in, but a period I also find very hard to develop any sort of framework for - I suspect because the geography is so unfamiliar. This went some way towards helping with that, so that hopefully I'll be able to read some of the more indepth material on my shelves and keep track of what is going on. Not written for the complete beginner unfortunately, with assumptions of understanding/knowledge made (perhaps written for the American rather than European reader?), but helpful all the same. A functional 3 stars. 22. By The River by various writers *** One of a series of volumes of essays published by Daunt Books (nice production with attractive cover and French flaps) on a variety of themes, this one obviously based around rivers. Attractive to look at, but sadly a bit disappointing, with all too many of the essays seemingly barely touching on the actual subject! I enjoyed Jo Hamya's "I Felt Sure She Had Gone Down To The River", focused on Virginia Woolf's suicide in the River Ouse, Roger Deakin's wild swim and discussion on access in "Approaching the Itchen" and Michael Malay's "Nightfishing" on eels (perhaps the highlight). Amy Jane Beer's "What Is A River" came close, but largely just reprocessed aspects of her excellent book The Flow. Otherwise, to be honest, I wondered why some were even included. None were bad, and the writing was pretty much universally very readable, but I reached the end of too many thinking 'so what?' All in all ok, but rather underwhelming as, given the writers, I was expecting so much more.

Four more to note whilst progressing to page 400 or so in Ulysses: 12. The Perfect Golden Circle by Benjamin Myers **** A reread for one of my book groups of a book I enjoyed last June. Similar to The Offing in style (see book 10 this year), again set in a sultry summer in the English countryside. This time a study of a friendship between 2 men, creating crop circles in the wheat fields of southern England, each chapter centred on a single creation. I love Myers's almost otherworldly descriptions, although his biggest weakness, IMO, is a tendency to overelaborate simile - trying just a bit too hard. When he keeps it figurative-lite (or not at all), he's superb! His central characters have an interesting depth to them, and there's a lovely thread of gentle humour throughout. Eminently readable, this actually improved on second reading. The Offing still has the edge though, but it is just an edge! 13. The Years by Annie Ernaux ***** A reread (last read in December) for a book group. Better than I remember it, because this time I made sure I tracked events recorded, based as it is so much on French cultural and political history, about which I know little beyond a basic list of presidents. The whole approach fascinates, and it generated some lively discussion, pretty much all of which was very positive about the book. 14. Caroline by Richmal Crompton ** Another book group read, and rather underwhelming. Crompton is of course best known for her Just William books, but she wrote a significant number of adult novels too, most of which have disappeared into the print ether, hard to obtain even second-hand. A few have been reprinted, and generally acclaimed, but I have to say if this is an accurate sample, her writing hasn't aged well for me, and this felt badly dated, and very predictable. I'm also reading Family Roundabout in the Persephone Press edition. Similar in style, but hopefully just a bit less so on both fronts (although not convinced yet). 15. Pedro Paramo by Juan Rulfo **** A classic of Mexican writing apparently, which is why I chose it for my Reading the World project, included in a list of world's 100 most important works by the Nobel committee, and a major influence on Latin American literature. Slim at only 125 pages but anything but a short or straightforward read with chronological shifts, dead talking to the alive (and other dead!), and a style of writing that sometimes makes it quite hard to workout who is being written about and who is talking. To be honest, half way through I was feeling decidely unenamoured, but it grew on me and is, I think, a book that needs to be read more than once to work out what is going on, and interesting enough that it's worth reading more than once! I was relieved to read that even Gabriel Garcia Marquez, the writer of the Foreword of the translation I read, reckoned it's a difficult one! I'm not going to write a more detailed review, simply because I don't really have a lot more I feel I can say. Maybe once I've given it another go!

11. Not A River by Selva Almada ***** Much as I'm loving Ulysses, it's a book that I think I'm going to need the occasional break from, and this is the first! Reading various articles on publishers of books in translation (particularly a Guardian profile piece on several UK indie publishers), my eyes picked out this book from Charco Press in a tabletop display in my local Waterstones during a browse earlier this week. I've not read any of their books yet, but the name was familiar from the articles. A quick glance, and I knew I was hooked, not least by the production values (I'm a sucker, especially, for French flaps!). I've since discovered it's on the longlist for this year's International Booker and, having read it, I'm not surprised. At only 99 pages (including a fascinating translator's note), this was a short but absolutely compulsive read: two friends are on a river fishing trip with the teenage son of another friend who died on a previous visit. They successfully land (by shooting!) a monster ray, which attracts the attention and the ire of local villagers, threatening as the book progresses to boil over in violence. The story tells of how the relationship pans out, with flashbacks centred both on the fishermen and the villagers' lives fleshing out both how they got here, and why things work out the way they do. It's a carefully, tightly woven narrative, made all the tighter by Almeda's very lean language and the spartan use of punctuation and paragraphing. So often this latter makes life harder, but the author's style rapidly grew on me, and it really did add to the atmosphere and my involvement as a reader (I may have been helped by the fact that I'm a few hundred pages into Ulysses, which has similar traits that actually made this feel relatively easy!). Almeda's focus is primarily on aspects of masculinity, much toxic, in a strongly patriarchal society, and some of the fallout from this, with this being the third in a thematically related trilogy of books (they each stand alone, with no narrative or character crossover, so don't need to be read in order). Yet, whilst the questions are asked and themes aired, this is also, in its simplest terms, a brilliantly told story, with a twist that both took me utterly by surprise, and made me go back to reread whole sections (easy enough when there's only 99 pages!) to tease out the clues, indeed large bites of narrative meaning, that I'd missed. This was a book which produced a genuine "Oh I see it now!" moment well after I'd reached the end. Maybe (probably!) I'm just a bit thick, but I did enjoy the revelatory experience! So, a very happy impulse choice (perhaps not the right word, as this is a very dark book!), and a great one for Argentina, the 37th country to be visited in Reading The World.

Having finished The Sorrows of War, and Benjamin Myers' The Offing, have moved on to the next big one, perhaps THE big one, Ulysses. About 150 pages in, and whilst it's challenging and I'm glad of some help from a reading guide and an annotated edition, I'm loving it. We'll see how it develops.

Currently reading the big one! Could well not be posting much over the next month or so, as have at last got stuck into a book that have been intending to get to grips with for some time now, my choice for Ireland in Reading the World - the almost inevitable Ulysses*! Am around 150 pages in (Leopold Bloom has just arrived at the cemetery). Am being helped along by Patrick Hastings' The Guide to James Joyce's Ulysses, which has a useful summary of each episode, which I'm reading as a follow-up - and it does help. I've also got one of the annotated versions on my Kindle, and that's been really useful too understanding some of the references, although one could get hopelessly bogged down if checking out each one! But even before using these, I'm starting to find it utterly addictive. In places it's almost hypnotic in its rhythms. It's particularly picked up since Leopold Bloom appeared (in section 4, Calypso) - his internal narrative is rather more down to earth than Stephen Dedalus's and have almost instiinctively warmed to him. If anything (and only so far!) have found it an easier read than expected, although section 3 (Proteus) left me gasping rather especially at the start. It's going to need a reread though, I can already see that!! In the meantime, I had expected that I might need to intersperse with some lighter reading and that I would likely have to be quite structured/organised in my reading to get through, but at present, I'm loving the exploration and positively wanting to pick it up and get stuck into the next bit, so we'll see! *In fact, Ulysses was from the word go, at the heart of the project, as set it as the baseline, the earliest, book that could be read. I started Reading The World in 2022, the centenary year of the book's publication, and it was the first book I chose for a country. Sort of made sense that books should come from the last 100 years - or at least in the years since Ulysses was published.

10. The Offing by Benjamin Myers ***** We're reading a Myers book for my next book group (The Perfect Golden Circle), but as I've read it before (I may still reread) I decided to try one of his that I hadn't read. My local indie shop owner, knowing I was after something a bit lighter, suggested this. Spot on! It's an elegiac look back by the narrator, Robert, to a time just after the Second World War when, as a young man on the cusp of moving from school to the mines in his Durham coalfield village, decides to 'take off' for a few weeks in the summer to explore the world around him on foot. He lands up in Robin's Hood Bay (on the North Sea coas)t, and meets up with and develops a friendship with an older woman living on her own. It's a Bildungsroman, but aside from that, reminds me very much of perhaps my favourite book, A Month In the Country, as in both the (young male) narrator's character and relationships develop over an English rural summer with a quietly powerful long term impact on their life. - it's not quite there, not being as nuanced, nor with quite the variety of tone and he plot development that was part of what marked AMITC out, but it was a beautifully poetic read with an interesting development, that I can see myself going back to. Benjamin Myers is an author who is gradually growing on me - he's not (so far anyway!) spectacular or showy (although I'm told that a couple of his books that I have yet to read are very different), but quietly gets under your skin. An initial five star read,but could easily get kicked up a level later. (BTW, 'offing' is apparently the name for the distant part of the sea that's in view - the part where the horizon meets the sky).

Book #36: The Sorrow of War by Nao Binh for Vietnam ** A classic of the Vietnamese war I understand, on a par with All Quiet on the Western Front and other war greats. I can see sort of see why, but personally I found this a tough, unrewarding read, boring me rigid before I reached half way, and struggling to make it to the end of what is, after all, only a slim 220 pages or so. Graphic in detail (the even mildly squeamish should be wary), unrelenting in its grimness, it may well be an all too starkly accurate portrayal of what the war was like, but I also found it repetitious and narrow in its language (this, of course, may be a function of the translation), equally repetitious in its narrative, and disjointed in its telling - chronological this is not (I don't normally find this a problem, but on this occasion it just confused). The odd attempt at metafiction just felt clumsy. All of this, for some readers (actually, most readers from the reviews - I'm definitely in a minority here) may well add to the impact, or carry this into the realms of the classic, but I'm afraid it just lost me about a quarter of the way in, and with only occasional remissions, it remained that way to the end, by which time I was really having to force myself not to leave it unfinished (I'm really trying to ensure I read books all the way through for this project, even if it's one I'd normally abandon). I'm sure this is down to inadequacy as a reader on my part, but this was a book I was glad, relieved, to put behind me.

09. The Sorrow of War by Nao Binh ** The book for Vietnam in my Reading The World project. This is a classic of the Vietnamese war I understand, on a par with All Quiet on the Western Front and other war greats. I can see sort of see why, but personally I found this a tough, unrewarding read, boring me rigid before I reached half way, and struggling to make it to the end of what is, after all, only a slim 220 pages or so. Graphic in detail (the even mildly squeamish should be wary), unrelenting in its grimness, it may well be an all too starkly accurate portrayal of what the war was like, but I also found it repetitious and narrow in its language (this, of course, may be a function of the translation), equally repetitious in its narrative, and disjointed in its telling - chronological this is not (I don't normally find this a problem, but on this occasion it just confused). The odd attempt at metafiction just felt clumsy. All of this, for some readers (actually, most readers from the reviews - I'm definitely in a minority here) may well add to the impact, or carry this into the realms of the classic, but I'm afraid it just lost me about a quarter of the way in, and with only occasional remissions, it remained that way to the end, by which time I was really having to force myself not to leave it unfinished (I'm really trying to ensure I read books all the way through for this project, even if it's one I'd normally abandon). I'm sure this is down to inadequacy as a reader on my part, but this was a book I was glad, relieved, to put behind me.

Just finished The Marriage Question by Claire Carlisle, and have now started The Sorrow of War by Bao Ninh (Reading The World project book for Vietnam)

08. The Marriage Question by Claire Carlisle **** Read as a follow up to Daniel Deronda, this is a biographical study of George Eliot's life with George Lewes and, to a lesser extent, John Cross after Lewes's death. It's also as much a study of the influence of her 'married' life on her novels. It's an enthralling read, providing considerable insight, and I feel I learned much about both Eliot's life and her writing. Inevitably, I found the chapters covering Deronda and Middlemarch, my most recent and favourite George Eliot books, the most interesting, but the rest was never less so, and I came away keen to both read further and reread (although twice through Silas Marner may be enough already!). Carlisle is a Professor of Philosophy at KCL, and this was transparently obvious in her writing: aside from her extensive discussions on Eliot's philosophy, there's even a chapter so entitled. I have to admit however, that she lost me on occasions, and there were one or two points where I glided rather bemused over the surface for a couple of pages, but the book soon retrieved me the other side. I readily admit that this is almost certainly down to my intellectual failings - I am certainly no George Eliot on that front, as she sounds to have had a formidable mind - the depth of knowledge she insisted on developing on each subject before she wrote on it was remarkable. I was, in contrast, surprised, having long felt that she was something of a feminist icon (she still is IMO, but in a different way perhaps!), as to how much she conformed to the Victorian model of a wife's role with both Lewes and Cross, even if, in Lewes's case, she was strong enough to continue their relationship openly unmarried. Their relationship may not have been acceptable to Victorian society as a whole, but their was still something very upright in the Victorian manner in the arrangements between Lewes and his two partners, once one scratches the surface. Overall, then, an involving, illuminating read, which has encouraged me to further develop my acquaintance with Eliot's novels (perhaps Adam Bede next?) and to read further on the full extent of her life - I have the Rosemary Ashton biography on my shelves, so that's a distinct possibility later this year.

07. Olive Kitteridge by Elizabeth Strout **** The book for Maine in my Tour of the USA. I originally had Richard Russo's Empire Falls down for this, not least because I'd be somewhat underwhelmed by my previous effort at a Strout novel, My Name is Lucy Barton, but a book group discussion (where I was in a minority of one in my views on the author's work!) encouraged me to give her another go - and given the success of this book (Pulitzer Prize winner) it seemed the obvious one. It's construction is also one that intrigued, the novel being formed from 13 short stories. Well, I'm very glad to have read Olive and, whilst I can't say I have been completely converted, it was certainly a far more rewarding experience than the one with Lucy Barton. Or, perhaps, 'appreciated' would be a better word, as books as downbeat as this are rarely 'enjoyable'! It's certainly beautifully written: I was caught up in the writing from the outset, and loved the little details, the turns of phrase and the internal monologues; characters and place were strongly wrought. I found the development of Olive herself particularly fascinating, the way she ran as a thread through the 13 stories, sometimes the main character, rather more often introduced sideways, almost a cameo on occasions. The themes of older age, personal isolation (even when surrounded by others), and contrasting perceptions and experiencing the same events, also added to the coherence and interest, making me sit back after each story and reflect on what I'd just read. Characters were not necessarily likeable (far from it - there weren't many that were in fact, including Olive herself), but they were interesting. And yet, and yet...whilst this worked for me as a collection of connected short stories, it didn't quite make it as a novel in the same way that, for instance, Jonathan Escoffier's If I Survive You did. Whilst there were elements of connection, in the end the stories themselves were just too fragmented to create the coherence that a novel needs. That fragmentation was created in a a number of ways, none enough on their own, but together too much. Firstly, the chronology is out of sequence. This in itself isn't a major issue, but when you read in the first story that Olive's husband Henry has retired, and then in the second story that he's thinking of retiring, it just jolts one out of immersion, prompts checking and questioning before settling (slightly uncertain) back in, and leaves one never quite trusting the thread of the narrative after that. It might be a set of short stories, but it's also a novel, and whilst plenty of novels use time shifts etc (often to advantage), there's a reason, and here there seems to be no good reason for doing so. Secondly, the characters are too fragmented, or at least isolated. The Kitteridge family provide some continuity, with Olive, Henry and son Christopher appearing throughout. One or two other characters appear in more than one story, but in general, once a person has been written about, they largely vanish. Given that this is meant to be a relatively small community (or at least that's the impression), that just didn't work for me - I'd expect people to appear and reappear. It also proved unsatisfactory. If you're going to have a dramatic event in a novel, then one expects, indeed wants, to learn something of the outcome of that event. You just don't have one, and then no mention of it or those involved ever again. Finally, there's the repetition. In several later stories we are told things that we already know about: we've read all about them only a story/chapter or so earlier. The copyright page tells us that several of the stories have been published previously (over a 15 year period), which is fine, but if they are now being brought together as a novel, then they need editing and co-ordinated. There was also a feeling of sameness to several of the stories - we are dealing with different people (by name), but rather too similar characters/scenarios? The disjunct between novel and short stories was also driven home by the fact that for a small community, there's an awful lot of drama: murder, hostage taking, suicide (more than one), accidental killings, along with all the other life threatening natural hazards of life. It's not quite Midsomer but it still seems a bit OTT, and maybe lent to that sameness feeling? Never mind being downbeat about old age, I think most would inhabitants of Crosby, Maine, would be grateful, even relieved, to make it that far. I think that's partly because one piece of such drama in a short story is fine - it works, it's what the story is centred around. But drama after drama, in each chapter, is too much for a novel. The result was that, whilst some of the drama worked well for me early on, by the second half of the book,I was grateful for the stories focusing on the domestic. However, whilst I feel I've focused rather on the negatives, in the greater scheme of things they are rather more blemishes than deep seated faults. I found so much of this compulsive reading, not least the character of Olive herself. She's obviously not immediately likeable, if at all, but there's a humanity to her that gives her huge depth, and makes you wonder quite what you would make of her yourself. There's an ongoing thread around her relationship with Christopher that raises all sorts of questions, discussion points, issues of witness reliability etc worthy of a whole book on its own, never mind everything else - it's superbly handled by the author, and is one of the most thought provoking threads I've read in fiction for some time (not least because it's so relevant to aspects of my life). So, an intriguing book (I rarely write as much as this in review), stronger if regarded in its raw form as a collection of individual short stories. I certainly intend to try out more of Elizabeth Strout, and more specifically re-examine Lucy Barton. She may not be a 'favourite' author, but is one that is has made me think, and I'm interested to see what I make of some of her other work.

Book #35: The Bone Readers by Jacob Ross for Grenada ***** The book for Grenada in my Reading The World project. I don't often read crime fiction, although I am a fan of both Simenon (Maigret) and Leon (Brunetti), and have enjoyed a fair few others (admittedly usually historical fiction, like CJ Sampson). However, this appealed from the word go, and in the event didn't disappoint. As with all the best crime fiction, it's so much more. Yes, it has a good plot (and this is not cosy crime, having corruption, child abuse and statutory rape at the heart of the problem), but that's not what makes a book for me. What I enjoyed were the strongly drawn characters (both male and female), the sense of place (a major part of why I so enjoy Simenon and Leon), and the insights into island culture and politics. The author tries to reflect the local patois in his dialogue, and yet still manages to leave it eminently readable and understandable, only demanding a couple of rereads when I realised I'd misunderstood something! In short, I find this pretty much unputdownable, reading into the early hours to finish off last night - that doesn't happen often with me! And, as a confirmation of how good I thought this was, I've already ordered Ross's other two novels from my local bookshop. Whether it gets upgraded to 6-star/favourite status later, time will tell, but in the meantime, this is an easy 5-star grading.

06. The Bone Readers by Jacob Ross ***** The book for Grenada in my Reading The World project. I don't often read crime fiction, although I am a fan of both Simenon (Maigret) and Leon (Brunetti), and have enjoyed a fair few others (admittedly usually historical fiction, like CJ Sampson). However, this appealed from the word go, and in the event didn't disappoint. As with all the best crime fiction, it's so much more. Yes, it has a good plot (and this is not cosy crime, having corruption, child abuse and statutory rape at the heart of the problem), but that's not what makes a book for me. What I enjoyed were the strongly drawn characters (both male and female), the sense of place (a major part of why I so enjoy Simenon and Leon), and the insights into island culture and politics. The author tries to reflect the local patois in his dialogue, and yet still manages to leave it eminently readable and understandable, only demanding a couple of rereads when I realised I'd misunderstood something! In short, I find this pretty much unputdownable, reading into the early hours to finish off last night - that doesn't happen often with me! And, as a confirmation of how good I thought this was, I've already ordered Ross's other two novels from my local bookshop. Whether it gets upgraded to 6-star/favourite status later, time will tell, but in the meantime, this is an easy 5-star grading.