When I was younger, I loved the Alan Garner books I read because of their exciting stories, fantasy characters and mythic themes, all of which attributes are completely absent from ‘The Stone Book Quartet’. Instead, this book tells a simple, quiet story through four vignettes of four generations of a family living in a village outside Manchester and their interactions with the land. While I’m very glad I didn’t pick this book up aged nine when I read the rest of his books as I suspect I would have been disappointed at how different it was, it has a beauty and a magic all of its own.

The way that Alan Garner handles time in this book is impressive: he manages to convey a the development and modernisation as the four stories progress, whilst simultaneously giving an impression of timelessness to the characters and their surroundings. There is a sense of sadness as the outside world changes and the characters must change with it, but the fundamentals of craftmanship, respect for the land and family relationships remain constant. Place is also very important in the book, and is conveyed effortlessly through the use of local dialect words, which felt natural rather than forced and self-conscious.

I do think that the book could have benefitted from a glossary explaining some of these local terms, but on the whole they didn’t interrupt my enjoyment of the story. Similarly, I sometimes felt that there were passages I couldn’t fully appreciate because I know nothing about smithing or stone cutting, but at the same time, any explanation in the text would have been out of place and would have spoilt the tone of the simple, direct narrative.

The Stone Book Quartet by Alan Garner.  Published by Flamingo, 1999, pp. 172.  Originally published in 1976.

N.B. This is an old review written in 2010 and posted on Goodreads and LibraryThing before I started keeping track of all the books I read here at Old English Rose Reads.  I’ve decided to keep copies here so that this remains a complete record of my reading since I started reviewing books for my own pleasure.

This book, despite not being my sort of thing, started out quite well. The dialogue was reasonably witty and, although there’s no substance to this book at all, it was light and frothy and quite entertaining. Unfortunately it soon went flat as the sharp one-liners gave way to hormone-laden hand-wringing about finding the right man. Not only the ending but a good three quarters of the book were completely dissatisfying.

I objected to the style of writing, which, aside from the aforementioned witty one-liners, was rather dull. Carol Wolper has an incredibly annoying trick of saying “And then I thought this: (insert vapid thought here)” rather than letting the reader experience what the character is thinking. It’s a first person narrative; it’s already obvious that what I’m reading is what the character is thinking, thank you, I don’t need to be told. I also thought that the sections written as screenplay added nothing to the book. They were infrequent enough that they didn’t create a coherent thread running through the book, and their use seemed random rather than a deliberate device to highlight the most important events. When they did come along, they just seemed like a lazy way of writing the same thing, rather than the clever glimpse into the mind of the scriptwriting narrator that they were undoubtedly intended to be.

The Cigarette Girl by Carol Wolper.  Published by Pan, 2000, pp. 336.  Originally published in 1999.

N.B. This is an old review written in 2010 and posted on Goodreads and LibraryThing before I started keeping track of all the books I read here at Old English Rose Reads.  I’ve decided to keep copies here so that this remains a complete record of my reading since I started reviewing books for my own pleasure.

The attraction of this book is without doubt the wonderful character and narrative voice that Nye has created for the eponymous Mrs Shakespeare. She is earthy and practical, writing with a straightforward and direct tone which is full of bathos and the perfect contrast to her husband’s elegant, playful tones. I enjoyed the way that she deliberately avoids using metaphor and simile as she considers these dishonest ways of speaking, and her down to earth deconstruction of the sonnet Shakespeare gives to her is a stroke of comic genius.

This book uses one fictional event, the visit of Anne Hathaway to her husband in London in 1594, as a lens through which to examine the possible relationship between Shakespeare and his much neglected wife. Throughout her story are anecdotes and thoughts taken from Shakespeare’s plays and I had fun spotting and identifying these. In particular, this book creates a reason behind Shakespeare’s odd-sounding bequest to his wife of the second best bed. I thought that this section of the novel, focussing on the unusual relations enjoyed my Mr and Mrs Shakespeare in the second best bed, was useful in that it explored the different reactions to and motivations for physical pleasure of the two main characters. However, it did become rather overstated and was a disproportionately long section in what is a short novel. On the whole though, I enjoyed the irreverent tone of the whole book, and found it to be a good read.

Mrs Shakespeare by Robert Nye.  Published by Souvenir Press, 2000, pp. 224.  Originally published in 1993.

N.B. This is an old review written in 2010 and posted on Goodreads and LibraryThing before I started keeping track of all the books I read here at Old English Rose Reads.  I’ve decided to keep copies here so that this remains a complete record of my reading since I started reviewing books for my own pleasure.

I feel slightly guilty about not giving this book a good review, as I was sent a free review copy through the Good Reads First Reads programme. I really wanted to like it and be able to say nice things about it, but sadly I can’t. This book should have been given a subtitle; it should have been ‘The Breaking of the Shell: How to Improve your Life and Relationships through Active Listening and Responding to your Emotions’. This book was not a novel, but a poorly disguised self-help book masquerading as a novel to lure poor, unsuspecting people who usually wouldn’t touch such a book with a bargepole (such as myself) into reading it.

Perhaps because the storyline isn’t the main point of this book, it is neither very interesting nor particularly tightly written. At times, such as in the case of the dictaphone, it contradicts itself: Alexander initially listens to the recording in order to hear his father’s declaration of love and yet, when listening to the recording on a later occasion, is surprised to hear the very same at the start of the tape as he hadn’t realised it had been recorded. The character of Helen is introduced without any explanation: she is living with Alexander so I assumed she was his wife, then his girlfriend when that didn’t quite work out, until the first person narrator finally sees fit to tell the reader who this person is (his ex-wife, it transpires). Her characterisation is also inconsistent with what the reader is told: Alexander reports that ‘Helen One’ was dejected and self-doubting, whereas ‘Helen Two’ who emerges after the divorce is confident and bright, but it is impossible to tell the difference between the two Helens when reading through the before and after narratives. The miraculous changes in Alexander are similarly underwhelming and unapparent. It is difficult to see ‘the incident with the garden shed’ (yes, those are the exact words used) as the root of all Alexander’s problems when the author has gone to great lengths to establish that his problems with emotions started before this point and moreover when the ‘incident’ is forgotten and never referred to again for fully half the book. His putative change back into someone who is in touch with his emotions also fails because he isn’t enough of a bastard beforehand for this to be anything spectacular; he’s just a bit misguided and whiney. The lack of any particularly dramatic change in any of the characters means that there is no interesting and satisfying dénouement to this book. Instead, it just sort of peters out long after the time when it should have been put out of its misery.

Apparently the exciting climax of this book is supposedly the earth-shattering discovery that listening to other people and engaging with them makes the world a better place and people happier with each other and themselves (something I’m fairly sure most people could tell you without the aid of this book). At the point when this was discovered any attempt at plot that was anything other than a demonstration of how this system works disappeared entirely. Instead, the reader is treated to descriptions of parents listening to their children, businessmen listening to each other and ultimately the government listening to the people, which is admirable but really not very interesting. Had the narrative up to this point been particularly engaging I might have been able to forgive the new age, touchy feely instructions for self-discovery and the incredible lack of subtlety with which the author set about grinding his own personal axes. As it is, I was left disappointed.

The Breaking of the Shell by Barry Durdant-Hollamby.  Published by the art of change, 2010, pp. 334.  First edition.

N.B. This is an old review written in 2010 and posted on Goodreads and LibraryThing before I started keeping track of all the books I read here at Old English Rose Reads.  I’ve decided to keep copies here so that this remains a complete record of my reading since I started reviewing books for my own pleasure.

I have read and loved ‘The Odyssey’ and I have read and loved Margaret Atwood’s brilliant adaptation of the myth in ‘The Penelopiad’, both of which are fantastic pieces of literature. Unfortunately, ‘Ithaka’ feels very much like the poor relation: it lacks the poetry and beauty of the original and the wit and courage of Atwood’s version. I appreciate that this is a young adult book, but that does not excuse its clunky prose and lack of conviction in its own story.

When a writer chooses to develop a well known myth with archetypal characters it seems that there are two ways to go: either the characters behave as they do in the original piece and the book becomes an interesting companion to that original, developing different aspects reflecting the author’s own particular slant, or alternatively the author turns the characters entirely on their heads, making them interestingly different and so showing the original story in a new light. Sadly, this book seemed to waver between the two and so achieved neither aim. The whole point of Homer’s Penelope is that she waits faithfully for the return of Odysseus, but this book saw her both fall in love with and repeatedly have sex with one of the suitors. I feel that this could potentially have been a very interesting development to Penelope’s character (Odysseus, after all, is far from faithful to her during the same time), but instead it was inconsistent, pointless and was terribly out of place when the author returned to the original Homeric ending. It could have worked, but it didn’t.

Odysseus, when he eventually appeared, was equally unsatisfying. Given the casually bloodthirsty tone of Adele Geras’ other novel of ancient Greece, ‘Troy’, I wasn’t expecting Odysseus to be so soft. Some of the suitors are allowed to flee, and the killing of all Penelope’s handmaidens is removed altogether. I had expected Klymene, the rather insipid main character, to escape the slaughter but for it not to happen at all changes Odysseus a lot.

Although I try not to be too bothered by anachronisms in historical fiction, I found the repeated use of the word ‘crap’ to be particularly jarring and modern. Equally, there seemed to be a remarkable lack of pregnancy considering the promiscuity of some of the characters and the general dearth of contraception in ancient Greece. But without doubt the thing that annoyed me most about this book was the use of the gods. Sometimes they appeared in order to be involved in the plot or change the direction of the narrative, but most often they just seemed to appear for a quick chat which had no influence on the story whatsoever and so they lost any significance that they might have had.

Ithaka by Adele Geras.  Published by Corgi, 2006, pp. 416.  Originally published in 2005.

N.B. This is an old review written in 2010 and posted on Goodreads and LibraryThing before I started keeping track of all the books I read here at Old English Rose Reads.  I’ve decided to keep copies here so that this remains a complete record of my reading since I started reviewing books for my own pleasure.

The reviews on the cover of this book claim that it is ‘extremely funny’ and ‘mad and hilarious’. While these reviews may be true – the book is indeed very funny – they present a distinctly biased, innacurate picture of what the book is like. The reviews suggest that this novel is a light-hearted and frivolous comedy, but this is far from being the case.

Although the book maintains an almost constant comic tone and has its moments of levity, but the overwhelming impression is of something darker. At times, the story was desperately and surprisingly sad. The more usual humourous tone arises from interactions between the delightful cast of characters who are bitter and resentful, sad and lonely, or an interesting blend of other negative emotions, as they snipe at each other. Throughout the book I was continually aware that when I was laughing, I was laughing at someone and I felt slightly guilty about doing it. The spiteful bickering and snide remarks eventually lead to greater understanding between the characters and a satisfying, happy conclusion, but they do comprise the majority of the book. I liked the book a lot and at times it made me laugh out loud, it was just very different from the happy families comedy I was expecting.

A Short History of Tractors in Ukranian by Marina Lewycka.  Published by Penguin, 2006, pp. 325.  Originally published in 2005.

N.B. This is an old review written in 2010 and posted on Goodreads and LibraryThing before I started keeping track of all the books I read here at Old English Rose Reads.  I’ve decided to keep copies here so that this remains a complete record of my reading since I started reviewing books for my own pleasure.

This was a typical, good fantasy book. There was nothing startlingly new about it, but the story was engaging and fast-paced, the characters were likeable or enjoyably not so, and the world was well-defined and interesting.

It has to be said, very little happens in this book in terms of actual plot progression. I felt that, rather than being the first book of a trilogy, this was the first third of a story which just happens to be divided into three separate books. It makes the individual book less satisfying, but I hope that all three are going to cumulatively create one great story.

The Magician’s Guild by Trudi Canavan.  Published by Orbit, 2004, pp. 469.  Originally published in 2001.

N.B. This is an old review written in 2010 and posted on Goodreads and LibraryThing before I started keeping track of all the books I read here at Old English Rose Reads.  I’ve decided to keep copies here so that this remains a complete record of my reading since I started reviewing books for my own pleasure.

Set in an alternative Victorian London populated with mysterious scientists, brass automatons, airships and zombies, this book was very silly but also very entertaining.

At times it seems as though Mann has a few too many subplots on the go at once and that certain aspects are being ignored for too long. However, he handles them all skilfully and eventually they become so impressively interwoven and dependent upon one another that I was willing to forgive their seemingly disparate nature because of the way they come together so spectacularly in the end.

The rapid pace of the plot admittedly didn’t allow for much character development, but in my opinion many mystery stories of this sort employ stock characters (the Butler, the Village Gossip, the Policeman with a Secret etc.) so this wasn’t particularly surprising for the peripheral characters. I have every faith that Newbury and Hobbes themselves, already made interesting through several tantalising hints, will be more fully fleshed out with each further encounter with the pair. There are a lot of Victorian English stereotypes to be found, but some were played with beautifully (I particularly enjoyed Queen Victoria herself). Besides, what situation can’t be made better by a pot of Earl Grey?

So yes, the book does suffer from some inconsistencies, the storyline is utterly improbable and the characters are a little one dimensional, but this book is still a lot of fun to read.

The Affinity Bridge by George Mann.  Published by Snowbooks, 2008, pp. 350.  Originally published in 2008.

N.B. This is an old review written in 2010 and posted on Goodreads and LibraryThing before I started keeping track of all the books I read here at Old English Rose Reads.  I’ve decided to keep copies here so that this remains a complete record of my reading since I started reviewing books for my own pleasure.

Married to a powerful government minister, Anna Karenina is a beautiful woman who falls deeply in love with a wealthy army officer, the elegant Count Vronsky. Desperate to find truth and meaning in her life, she rashly defies the conventions of Russian society and leaves her husband and son to live with her lover. Condemned and ostracized by her peers and prone to fits of jealousy that alienate Vronsky, Anna finds herself unable to escape an increasingly hopeless situation.   Set against this tragic affair is the story of Konstantin Levin, a melancholy landowner whom Tolstoy based largely on himself. While Anna looks for happiness through love, Levin embarks on his own search for spiritual fulfillment through marriage, family, and hard work. Surrounding these two central plot threads are dozens of characters whom Tolstoy seamlessly weaves together, creating a breathtaking tapestry of nineteenth-century Russian society.  (Goodreads Summary)

This book was my first foray into Russian literature, and I could not have had a better introduction. Tolstoy has a way of phrasing the thoughts and feelings of the characters that is so insightful, precise and identifiable that it easily transcends the innumerable differences between a modern reader and the selection of people he focuses on living in nineteenth century Russia. They are all incredibly psychologically developed and I felt as if I knew them all personally and could predict how they might react in any given situation. Tolstoy also colours his narrative so that it is seen through the eyes of the different characters, giving the reader many different viewpoints from which to perceive events and settings and so making the novel very rich. A scene from the perspective of Oblonsky, for example, is light, frivolous and faintly cynical, whereas the same situation seen through Levin’s eyes is thoughtful and earnest.

Unfortunately, while the human drama of the novel has stood the test of time admirably, much of Tolstoy’s social commentary has not fared so well. The sections on social economy, agriculture and political systems may have ben fascinating to a contemporary Russian reader but I found them lengthy, tedious, unnecessary and, dare I say it, dull. However, I’m more than willing to ignore the effect of these passages in light of the sheer brilliance of the rest of the book.

This particular translation (Penguin, 1954, this edition 2000) by Rosemary Edmonds is fantastic. Her prose is readable and appropriate, so that the book does not read like translated literature at all, but like any other nineteenth century novel. The illusion was so well-executed that the only time I was made aware that I wasn’t reading original language literature was when characters discussed which pronouns to use to refer to one another, an aspect of language which is absent from modern English. Both the translation and the original writing make this a thoroughly excellent book.

Anna Karenina by Leo Tolstoy, translated from the Russian by Rosemary Edmonds.  Published by Penguin, 2005, 853.  Originally published in 1873.

N.B. This is an old review written in 2010 and posted on Goodreads and LibraryThing before I started keeping track of all the books I read here at Old English Rose Reads.  I’ve decided to keep copies here so that this remains a complete record of my reading since I started reviewing books for my own pleasure.

I have never before been this disappointed with the final installment in a trilogy. In fact, had it not been the last book of three then I would have given up when it failed to become interesting before page 200, rather than carrying on doggedly until the bitter end out of some bizarre sense of duty as I did. Even after the initial 200 pages of deathly boring sea voyage had been overcome, although the storyline picked up it never became anything particularly different or anything more than a remix of books one and two with a slightly different setting. The ending was perfunctory, out of place and completely unnecessary. It added nothing at all to the narrative and felt like it was tacked on in a vain attempt to make the otherwise pedestrian story seem more spectacular.

This particular edition (the 1988 printing) is riddled with misprints and spelling errors, which made it even more of a chore to read. While I would still reccommend ‘The Anvil of Ice’ and ‘The Forge in the Forest’, I would advise anyone tempted by this trilogy to stop at book two. This book feels like it was simply written to round out the pair of books into a trilogy and adds nothing to a story which is already nicely tied up after the initial two books.

The Hammer of the Sun by Michael Scott Rohan.  Published by Orbit, 1988, pp. 509.  First edition.

N.B. This is an old review written in 2010 and posted on Goodreads and LibraryThing before I started keeping track of all the books I read here at Old English Rose Reads.  I’ve decided to keep copies here so that this remains a complete record of my reading since I started reviewing books for my own pleasure.