Meet Lucifer Box: Equal parts James Bond and Sherlock Holmes, with a twist of Monty Python and a dash of Austin Powers, Lucifer has a charming countenance and rapier wit that make him the guest all hostesses must have. And most do.  But few of his conquests know that Lucifer is also His Majesty’s most daring secret agent, at home in both London’s Imperial grandeur and in its underworld of despicable vice. So when Britain’s most prominent scientists begin turning up dead, there is only one man his country can turn to for help.  (Goodreads Summary)

I liked everything about this book, from the bizarre but neatly self-contained plot to the delightfully improbable character names. Lucifer Box is an enjoyably depraved anti-hero with the louche, disaffected air of one of Oscar Wilde’s creations. His wry first person narrative style was amusing and easy to read, so I sped through this book in less than a day. The book was missing the final sparkle and wit of Wilde’s writing, but it seems unfair to criticise one author for not being enough like another, and this did not detract from what was a thoroughly entertaining mystery.

The Vesuvius Club by Mark Gatiss.  Published by Pocket Books, 2005, pp. 240.  Originally published in 2004.

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 an enjoyable little book, although it lacked some of the magic which made the Harry Potter books so readable. None of the five stories in this book are particularly original, but that’s because they’re written as though they’re part of a long tradition of gnomic tales which become part of our collective consciousness. They’re written in the simple, unembellished language of folk tale, which is perfectly appropriate but suffers a little from being read rather than heard told. Unfortunately, Rowling does such a good job of writing in this particular style that it’s impossible to tell that the book is written by her. Only in Dumbledore’s textual notes does the voice of the Harry Potter books come alive, and that’s really what was missing for me.

The Tales of Beedle the Bard by J. K. Rowling.  Published by Bloomsbury, 2008, pp. 128.  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.

This book was a quick read but an enjoyable one, and is far more than a typical school story. There was a slightly sinister edge to the story at times, as Miss Jean Brodie attempts to direct the thoughts and actions of her ‘set’ of girls to transform them into the ‘creme de la creme’, but as the book progresses we see her assertion ‘Give me a girl at an impressionable age and she is mine for life’ both develop and fail spectacularly. The main narrative following the Brodie set at school is cleverly interwoven with brief exerpts from the girls’ futures, allowing the reader to see how the girls will develop and transform through the influence of their teacher.

Throughout the book, the narrative style is witty and humorous, and statements are written in such a way as to allow the reader to tell immediately whether they are from the perspective of the girls or the teacher. A great deal of this reminded me of my own experiences at the girls’ school I attended, and so I often found myself smiling as I recognised things that we did or thought. I can see how this book would make an excellent film, and I’ll definitely look out for it.

The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie by Muriel Spark.  Published by Penguin, 1973, pp. 128.  Originally published in 1961.

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 first read the Deptford Histories Trilogy when I was ten and loved them, so it was a pleasant surprise to discover the first book in the Deptford Mice Trilogy was just as enjoyable now that I’m a bit older. The characters were well created and individual, the story moved along at the perfect pace and it was exciting to read. The pictures from the author really brought the story alive and I found myself looking forward to the next one eagerly.

The thing that I remember most about these books though is being really, really scared by them. I used to have to read them with my back against a wall just so that I could be sure that nothing was coming to get me from behind, and I loved that. Although this book was still darker than a lot of children’s fiction, this element wasn’t as developed as in Jarvis’ other trilogy. Admittedly, the books in the Deptford Histories are much longer and so might be aimed at a slightly older audience, and I am older myself now, but I do still think that this book could have benefited from a little more of the terrifying descriptions that I remember from these books. Although this was still a good book, I felt that the scariness was missing and I hope to find it again in the remaining books of the trilogy.

The Dark Portal by Robin Jarvis.  Published by Macdonald, 1989, pp. 243.  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’ve recently begun reading through the Narnia series for the first time, but this is the first book in which I had absolutely no idea what happens before I read it, which was a pleasant change. Much as I enjoyed it though, I felt that it was lacking some of the brilliance of ‘The Magician’s Nephew’ and ‘The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe’ as it was set entirely in C. S. Lewis’ imaginary worlds, with no intrusion from the real world. Consequently it was lacking the lovely juxtaposing of the magic of Narnia with the practicality of England, although Lewis makes up for it with some delightfully out of place, old fashioned English phrases (my favourite being Shasta, a boy from an Arabian type culture, referring to another character as a ‘brick’; so very Famous Five). However, I get the impression that the awareness of the wider geography of the lands surrounding Narnia may serve some purpose later in the series and so this novel being set purely in and around Narnia may have a narrative purpose. Either way the story was still entertaining, I just didn’t love it as much as the first two books

The Horse and His Boy by C. S. Lewis.  Published by Diamond, 1996, pp. 175.  Originally published in 1954.

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.

But when Harriet does come home, London has become more dangerous than ever. Her health, her freedom-even her sanity-are under threat. Escape is essential. Can a young, powerless girl change her life? Can she board the Amaryllis without being discovered? Does she realize that if she flees, more than one person will pursue her, literally to the end of the world?  (Goodreads Summary)

It was a rare treat to find a historical novel with the typical stunningly beautiful heroine, magnetically attractive to all men who gaze upon her beauty, which somehow (for reasons which become clear as the novel progresses) managed to avoid being a romance. Not that I have anything against romance, but this certainly made a refreshing change and I found Harriet to be a much more interesting central character for it.

Victorian England isn’t my time period of expertise, but Barbara Ewing certainly seems to know her stuff and, more importanly, how to use it well. There was just enough historical name dropping in the opening sections to root the book firmly in the given era without becoming obtrusive and annoying, after which it was dropped rather than relied upon as a lazy way of indicating “look: this is a historical novel!” Instead, the era was so well evoked and engaging that such clumsy reminders would have been entirely unnecessary.

This was a beautifully written, thoroughly researched book which I really enjoyed reading. The only reason I haven’t given it five stars is because of the way the plot tended towards strings of very suspicious conveniences, some of which required a lot of suspension of disbelief. I know that it’s fiction and such devices are sometimes necessary to get to the desired conclusion, but I would have liked perhaps a tiny bit more subtlety in that respect. Otherwise, an excellent read

The Trespass by Barbara Ewing.  Published by Time Warner, 2003, pp. 408.  Originally published in 2002.

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 collection of stories, about bad girls and wicked women, extols the female virtues of discontent, sexual disruptiveness and bad manners. The authors featured include Ama Ata Aidoo, Djuna Barnes, Jane Bowles, Colette, Bessie Head, Katherine Mansfield and Jamaica Kincaid. 

Although I really enjoy Angela Carter’s own short stories, evidently I’m not as keen on her choice of those of other writers. Perhaps it was the collection of so many female-centred stories in one book, but I did feel that I was being beaten over the head with conspicious feminism a lot of the time, as strings of women were driven to the titular ‘wickedness’ through the opressive situations in which they found themselves rather than any real fault of their own. The tone of the book seems to ask “but what else could they have done?” which, while it’s an interesting perspective to read from, did get a little wearing.

That complaint aside, there were some stories that I really enjoyed. The folk tale style of the story of Lena and Una, complete with typical folk justice, was particularly good and the haunting story of the Okes of Okehampton reminded me of Daphne du Maurier. All in all, an interesting collection, but not one I think I’m likely to read again.

Wayward Girls and Wicked Women ed. Angela Carter.  Published by Virago, 2004, pp. 339.  Originally published in 1986.

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.