Wednesday 30 June 2010

A challenging enterprise

It’s six months since I started this year-long challenge, and I’ve come up five books short at the halfway mark. It doesn’t sound like much, but it’s actually around a fortnight behind schedule and, despite a big effort in June while I was on holiday, I’m starting to get a little concerned about reaching my target come the year end.

That said, I could have made things easier on myself. I have deliberately been selecting some difficult books, and I’m not exaggerating when I say that I reckon I could have read around 10 standard-length ‘thriller’ books in the same time it took me to summon the energy to get through David Peace’s Tokyo Year Zero and Occupied City.

But that would be missing the point of the challenge, which is to read authors and books I might have otherwise ignored, and I feel better for the decisions I’ve taken. Even the one to finish Divorced and Deadly.

Earlier this month, the Friend of the Wench, with whom I have a bit of a ‘friendly’ competition going on (I’ve added the quotation marks because he thinks it’s a lot more friendly than I do), wrote eloquently about the nature of the challenges upon which we have embarked, about writing his own blog, and the enjoyment he’s taken from speaking to others about the challenge and literature in general.

Despite our differences, I couldn’t agree more. The irregular conversations between the two of us, my pride at his acknowledging a book I recommended to him is his favourite of the first six months, chatting to the Old Boy about Graham Greene in a New York bar while watching the US being knocked out the World Cup, kindly being bought books for my birthday by friends, finally following up on recommendations of authors from years ago, revisiting a library (about which I’ll write later), and making connections between everyday life and literature which I might otherwise have overlooked have been real highlights so far this year.

I was therefore unsurprised (although initially a little bewildered) when earlier this week I received a flood of emails from a work colleague of the Wench, an avid reader, recommending around two pages’ worth of her all-time favourite books and the best ones she has read this year. With passionate readers, you come to expect that sort of thing...

I hope all of the above has been conveyed by this blog, and I reached a decision earlier this week to actively tell people about these pages. That’s not to say it’s been a secret, but I didn’t start the challenge or the blog to seek attention and it’s largely been a personal undertaking for no one else’s pleasure but mine.

The other factor was a modicum of self-doubt whether I would have the time to carry on throughout the year. But while on holiday the Wench told me I was being foolish not to let people know about it because they might be interested, so, if you’re reading this, now you know. I hope it provides at least some fleeting fascination.

The Friend of the Wench (if he’s finished boasting about reaching 50 books ahead of schedule – and ahead of me!) is inviting people to take up their own challenge in the final six months – a 50-book challenge, if you will. Again, I couldn’t agree more – I hope it brings others as much enjoyment as I’ve had in the first six months.

#45 Shutter Island, by Dennis Lehane (Harper Collins)

Shutter Island is what I’d call a ‘superior’ thriller. On the one hand, it’s a relatively easy-to-read, well-plotted suspense novel, but there is a little bit more about it than the books which normally clog up the bestseller lists.

Typically, to contradict this theory, this was a New York Times bestseller, but that just goes to show that a lot of people recognised its quality. Indeed, Martin Scorcese directed the ‘major motion picture’ adaptation which has recently been released in UK cinemas (Gone Baby Gone and Mystic River are other films of Dennis Lehane books, I’ve since discovered).

To be honest, and to continue a bit of a theme on these pages this year, I first came across Lehane’s name in his role as a writer on The Wire (the best television show of all time etc…). George Pelecanos, another renowned American author who has similarly contributed to the HBO drama, has provided numerous highlights in my challenge this year, so I thought it was about time I gave Lehane a try – and I was pleased I did.

The story concerns a US marshal who is conducting an investigation into the disappearance of a criminally insane patient on a remote island, where nothing is quite as it seems (if you can imagine the ubiquitous film voiceover guy saying exactly that phrase). Not only is it well written with believable characters, there is enough suspense and plenty of twists and turns to keep readers occupied.

Rather pleasingly, even if I do say so myself, I worked out the novel’s central conceit about halfway through, but this in no way spoiled my enjoyment, and even after that there were plenty of surprises. So, really good, but not great.

So, rating time:

#45 Shutter Island, by Dennis Lehane (Harper Collins) - 8/10

Next up: Breaking Dawn, by Stephenie Meyer (Atom)

  • Click here for the full list of books so far, and their rating
  • Monday 28 June 2010

    #44 Occupied City, by David Peace (Faber and Faber Limited)

    I was planning to read Tokyo Year Zero and Occupied City, the second novel in David Peace's Tokyo trilogy, back to back, but found myself so drained by the first instalment that I needed some light relief - a role PG Wodehouse fulfilled perfectly.

    I enjoyed Occupied City more than Tokyo Year Zero, but many of the comments I made in that review apply once more. There is significantly less repetition, less use of the stylised prose which Peace favours, in favour of interwoven sentences which see entire chapters use italics and CAPITAL LETTERS to convey three disparate strands. As before, it's extremely complex and hard to follow, and the overall effect is that the mind focuses on the sensory impact of the words more than the story itself.

    Rereading my review of Tokyo Year Zero, it struck me that I should have given an example of the complicated sentence structure Peace commonly uses, so here's a quick excerpt, taken completely at random, from Occupied City:

    "Beneath the Black Gate, in its upper chamber, in the candle-light, no plague-light; white light, hospital-white, laboratory-white, then grey, an overcast-skin-grey then open vein blue, blue and now green, a culture-grown-green then yellow, yellow, thick-caught-spittle-yellow, streaked sticking-string-red, then black;
    black-black, drop-drop, black-black
    step-step, in the plague-light
    drop-drop, step-step,
    in the plague-
    light-"

    And there's just short of 300 pages of that (which is less than Tokyo Year Zero, admittedly).

    The plot is also better, by the way. We've moved on a couple of years in post-Second World War occupied Tokyo and now police are investigating a bank robbery in which 12 people were murdered (poisoned). As usual, it's based on a true story and an author's note later reveals an appeal to clear the supposedly guilty party's name continues to this day, posthumously.

    Interestingly, Peace has borrowed the Rashomon format, whereby the same event is revisited and retold by several different protaganists, shedding new light on events in the process. This is set against another investigation being carried out into Japan's biological warfare operation.

    Each chapter is different. We are treated to the transcript of a detective's notebook, the recollections of a journalist, the testimony of a survivor and ultimately an account by the man who confessed to the crime. It's hugely varied and powerful, and if you want a book to really challenge you, start here.

    So, rating time:

    #44 Occupied City, by David Peace (Faber and Faber Limited) - 7/10

    Next up: Shutter Island, by Dennis Lehane (Harper Collins)

  • Click here for the full list of books so far, and their rating
  • #43 Pearls, Girls and Monty Bodkin, by PG Wodehouse (Penguin Books)

    Another novelist I'd never read before was PG Wodehouse, and it's taken me around four years to take the advice of TC (who also recommended Paul Auster, by the way), although I overlooked his suggestion that I begin with the classic Jeeves and Wooster series. After completing the book, the main question I was wondering was ‘why had it taken me so long’?

    I read Pearls, Girls and Monty Bodkin while stuck at an airport for around five hours waiting for the plane upon which I was due to fly to be fixed, and I can honestly say that this book was the only reason I managed to maintain my patience.

    Thoroughly enjoyable, with lots of neat post-modern asides from the writer to the reader, Pearls, Girls and Monty Bodkin is not only funny, its chaotic and convoluted plot meanders this way and that as the reader sympathises with the main character and his efforts to first prove himself worthy of marriage and then try to escape from his engagement – with added criminals, movie moguls, private detectives, nightclubs and the obligatory (in a Wodehouse novel, apparently) large country house.

    Set in a world in which butlers and the like are the norm, I have to admit I was thoroughly charmed.

    So, rating time:

    #43 Pearls, Girls and Monty Bodkin, by PG Wodehouse (Penguin Books) - 9/10

    Next up: Occupied City, by David Peace (Faber and Faber Limited)

  • Click here for the full list of books so far, and their rating
  • Sunday 27 June 2010

    #42 Tokyo Year Zero, by David Peace (Faber and Faber Limited)

    If you like your books easy to read, steer clear of David Peace's latest series, which starts with Tokyo Year Zero. The author of The Damned United, a wonderful novel, has a very distinctive style, whereby the reader hears the interior monologue of characters' thoughts and much more as well as the interaction between characters.

    Peace is all about rhythm and cadence, building a foreboding atmosphere using a staccato and truncated sentence structure which is a continuous and intense assault on the senses, much like the 'ton-ton-ton' with which Peace conveys the constant noise of the rebuilding of post-war Tokyo, a city occupied by the 'Victors' or Americans.

    As usual, Peace's novel is based on fact, a police investigation into the death of young Japanese women amid the murky background of a city coming to terms with its surrender and loss of face. It's a gripping tale, with intrigue around every destroyed street, but someone really needs to tell Peace that less is more.

    With Brian Clough, the central figure of The Damned United, Peace's stream of invective is perfectly suited, as is his unique prose, but it's less effective on this occasion. At its worst, the relentless repetition and broken and interrupted sentences, the verbal tics and poetic tricks, can appear infantile, and while that completely misses the point of the writer's craft, there is so much of it that it gets in the way of the story.

    I'm a big fan of films no longer than 90 or 100 minutes (there are too many self-indulgent directors making unnecessary epics) and the same applies here - with a bit of judicious editing, perhaps as much as 50 or so pages merely containing repetition could be cut without losing anything of the claustrophobic atmosphere. It's obviously intended to be an uncomfortable read, but I can't help wondering whether it had to be quite so tough.

    So, rating time:

    #42 Tokyo Year Zero, by David Peace (Faber and Faber Limited) - 6/10

    Next up: Pearls, Girls and Monty Bodkin, by PG Wodehouse (Penguin Books)

  • Click here for the full list of books so far, and their rating
  • #41 The Beautiful Game: A Wag's Tale, by Claire Challis and Fabulous (Headline Review)

    After my scathing review of Divorced and Deadly, the Friend of the Wench joked that I should read more 'bad books'. As ever, I'm happy to oblige...

    My god, The Beautiful Game: A Wag's Tale is dreadful. The World Cup is in full flow at present, and I thought it would be fun, particularly while on holiday, to read a throwaway 'beach book' upon which I wouldn't have to expend much thought. After all, I'd just finished an Oscar Wilde novel.

    How foolish I was. On a superficial level, you can laugh at - and come close to enjoying - the Beautiful Game: A Wag's Tale, but every sentence you read feels like your brain cells are being stripped away. Put that on the front cover.

    Supposedly the inside story of life as a WAG (wife and girlfriend) of a Premier League footballer, The Beautiful Game is no expose. Written with the help of Fabulous ('the pseudonym of an ex-WAG', so we're told), who is presumably on hand to bring some insight and reality to the proceedings, it's a tale of excess on every page. From the series of escapades by a bunch of young men with plenty of fame and money, to their partners who fill their time with lunching, shopping, partying and moaning about their menfolk, no one comes out of it with any credit.

    My over-riding feeling at the end of the book was one of boredom. Who cares? If people behave as this book alleges (and I've no doubt little imagination was required), and those closest to them are unable to criticise their behaviour because they are so dependent on them (for money, for the lifestyle to which they have become accustomed), in the end, who really cares?

    That would be the end of this review were it not for a frankly unbelievable introduction, part of which follows: "The Beautiful Game is a fictional account of the lives of four imaginary WAGs, and all the characters in the story are wholly fictitious. No character, football club or event should be understood to refer to any real person, football club or incident and any similarities to any living person is (sic) entirely coincidental."

    This is simply ridiculous. If you're going to write a so-called expose, at least have the bollocks (sorry) to follow it through. I mean, just to give one example, if the story regarding dogging isn't 'inspired' by Stan Collymore, John Terry can have the Wench's phone number with my blessing...

    Furthermore (and I can't let this pass), everything you need to know about the book is evident from the acknowledgements of author Claire Challis, who, while thanking her agent and editor, gushes: "I think we can safely say we've got speed-novelling down to a fine art. High five!"

    In my eyes, this is no reason for jubilation or self-congratulation, and in support of this position I offer just one example. Early on, the word 'career' appears in a sentence which makes absolutely no sense - unless the word was meant to be area (and I gave this matter more thought than I gave the rest of the book). I can only think that maybe it was misheard when some notes were being typed up - and everyone was so busy 'speed-novelling' they didn't notice…

    So, rating time:

    #41 The Beautiful Game, by Claire Challis and Fabulous (Headline Review) - 3/10

    Next up: Tokyo Year Zero, by David Peace (Faber and Faber Limited)

  • Click here for the full list of books so far, and their rating
  • #40 The Picture of Dorian Gray, by Oscar Wilde (Vintage)

    It may have been his only novel, but The Picture of Dorian Gray is, as Irvine Welsh writes in an introduction to the copy I read, only rivalled by The Importance of Being Earnest in Wildean fame. I have to admit I finished the novel slightly disappointed, however.

    The concept is wonderful. Dorian Gray has such youthful beauty, when he sees this through the eyes of a painter for whom he has posed, he prays that he will be granted eternal youth and that his image in the painting will age - and show the physical consequences of his life's decisions - instead of his own visage.

    Gray's descent into decadence, prompted in part by a frivolous friend who has no idea of the ramifications of his devil-may-care attitude and its effect on Gray, is deftly handled. The murder of the painter is as shocking as it should be. Gray's deceit, his need to hide away the painting but keep checking whether there have been any changes, his narcissism, his self-indulgent behaviour balanced against his guilt and fear that some of those he has wronged may seek revenge, is powerful. And the end, which comes quite suddenly, is a neat resolution.

    Wilde wrote Dorian Gray five years before he was sent to Reading Gaol for 'gross indecency' and the language Wilde uses throughout, particularly when describing Gray, is very homoerotic (although there aren't actually any homosexual acts). Having recently been reading some Bret Easton Ellis, I also noted some common themes, with Wilde keen to reference items a la mode, as Ellis does in his novels, notably American Psycho.

    Much to appreciate then, but, for wont of a better word, there was plenty of waffle as well (and I know that's almost a blasphemous statement when directed at Wilde). Tremendously witty in parts, the to and fro of discussion between Lord Henry Wotton and artist Basil Hallward and Gray in particular can be hard to follow and is occasionally obtuse. Much of it seems like badinage for badinage's sake, and while some comments hit the right note, others are discordant. I enjoyed it, but not as much as I thought I would.

    So, rating time:

    #40 The Picture of Dorian Gray, by Oscar Wilde (Vintage) - 7/10

    Next up: The Beautiful Game, by Claire Challis and Fabulous (Headline Review)

  • Click here for the full list of books so far, and their rating
  • Thursday 24 June 2010

    #39 A Thousand Splendid Suns, by Khaled Hosseini (Bloomsbury)

    I cry a lot. Particularly at films and books, but anything can set me off. It's all a bit strange: real-life situations which most people would consider to be emotionally moving, whether they should prompt tears of sadness or of joy, barely register in my consciousness, but make-believe events can reduce me to floods of tears.

    I'm not ashamed of this, and - if you'll forgive the continuing confession - I'm happy to admit that there is no quality control within my tear ducts. Just off the top of my head, I cried during Marley and Me, which is a truly awful film (I've not read the book), and I sobbed uncontrollably for 90-odd minutes when recently watching Hachi (another film featuring a dog) on the plane over to the United States - everyone else on the plane must have thought I was a nutcase.

    All of which is a long introduction into the issue which most puzzled me when assessing A Thousand Splendid Suns, by Khaled Hosseini. It's a very good book, which tells a harrowing tale of two Afghan women who suffer untold pain and indignity, but find some sort of common ground in the face of huge oppression, both within their families and their country. It's very well written and extremely moving - but two thirds of the way through, I couldn't help myself wondering why I wasn't crying.

    Ultimately, the tears did start to roll as the denoument approached and the ultimate sacrifice was made by one of the women, but for all the fascinating storytelling of the two women's lives and the insight into how Afghanistan has become the country it has over decades of foreign interference and infighting among its natives, I couldn't ignore this lack of emotional response and connection to the book on my part, especially given the litany of suffering, ranging from physical to psychological violence, throughout.

    I should mention a couple of things I liked a lot. Hosseini's manner of hinting what is come ("The next time Mariam signed her name to a document, 27 years later, a mullah would again be present") is a neat device, and I also liked the shifting predominant focus between the stories of the two women.

    Very good, then, but not great, although it has encouraged me to look up Hosseini's other Afghan novel, the bestseller The Kite Runner, which predates A Thousand Splendid Suns.

    So, rating time:

    #39 A Thousand Splendid Suns, by Khaled Hosseini (Bloomsbury) - 8/10

    Next up: The Picture of Dorian Gray, by Oscar Wilde (Vintage)

  • Click here for the full list of books so far, and their rating
  • Wednesday 23 June 2010

    Great references, old sport

    I'm getting through a few books while on holiday, and everywhere I go I see literary references and reminders. Some are more obvious than others, though, such as the plaque on the door of the hotel room adjacent to the one which housed the Wench and I.

    We stayed at the Mansfield Hotel, and, according to the plaque, room 1004 (or the Fitzgerald Apartment) is where the inspiration for a great novel once stayed.

    The plaque reads: "The wealthy and mysterious Max Von Gerlach, F Scott Fitzgerald's friend and the inspiration for the character Jay Gatsby in The Great Gatsby, lived out his last days in the Mansfield Hotel in the 1950s. It was Von Gerlach's phrase 'old sport' that would become Jay Gatsby's signature expression."

    I haven't read The Great Gatsby, but that there is as good a reason as any to add it to the list...

    Just down the block (see how easy I've slipped into Americanisms) is the Algonquin Hotel, which has had a huge influence over the years. Indeed, in the 1920s, the Rose Room was home to America's best-known luncheon club, the Round Table, which hosted such literary lights as Alexander Woollcott, Franklin P Adams, Dorothy Parker and Harold Ross. All were involved in the founding of the New Yorker, and a back door of the hotel gave access to the magazine's first headquarters.

    Tuesday 22 June 2010

    #38 Divorced and Deadly, by Josephine Cox (Harper Collins)

    Where to start with Divorced and Deadly, the book I accepted as part of a blind challenge by my local library? How about the fact that I wish I hadn't walked into the library that day. Indeed, I would rather it had turned out to be a Mills and Boon.

    The point of this year-long challenge isn't to badmouth books and authors - not least because I'm no Charlie Brooker, who would be much better able to give this novel the thorough kicking it deserves - but it's difficult to ignore something as unremittingly awful as Divorced and Deadly.

    The blurb says the book is 'packed with hair-raising escapades and laugh-out loud moments'. I'm sorry, but it's really not. There is also the information that Cox started writing Divorced and Deadly on her website, as a series of 'hilarious' (her words, definitely not mine) real-life incidents which happened to real people, in real situations and so on. The publishers 'in their wisdom' (again, her words) then decided it should be lengthened into a book...

    On a list of bad decisions, that one's up there with Cheryl Tweedy deciding Ashley Cole was suitable husband material. Indeed, like the latter's autobiography, this is an affront to literature, and it got to the stage where I seriously considered prying my eyes out rather than continuing to read such rubbish.

    If a character named Dickie Manse brains-in-his-pants (and that's how he's referred to throughout) raises the slightest giggle, you may find something to briefly like within this book. If you find it childish, as I did, you'll want to move on as quickly as possible.

    For a supposed comedic tale, the characters are so unlikeable it's painful. The 'escapades' mentioned earlier are incredibly infantile and any glimmer of a mildly amusing situation is magnified and extended to such a degree that renders it pointless and insulting to the reader. It's like making an hour-long documentary analysing a knob joke (which actually sounds like a whole lot more fun now I've written it down).

    I completed it because I had to, rather than because I wanted to. And although I'll give any author some credit for actually managing to get a book published, after two 9/10 books in succession, this was a crashing, dismal and abject failure.

    So, rating time:

    #38 Divorced and Deadly, by Josephine Cox (Harper Collins) - 2/10

    Next up: A Thousand Splendid Suns, by Khaled Hosseini (Bloomsbury)

  • Click here for the full list of books so far, and their rating
  • #37 Hell to Pay, by George Pelecanos (Orion)

    Hell to Pay is the third George Pelecanos novel of my challenge, and while I'd really enjoyed the previous two (Hard Revolution and Right as Rain), I couldn't help thinking that there was something missing. Perhaps it was the high level of my expectations; having known Pelecanos was one of the influential writers of HBO drama The Wire - the best thing on television, ever - I was hoping for great things, rather than novels that were simply very good.

    Well, I'm no longer so concerned, because Hell to Pay surpasses the highest of expectations and is everything I hoped for. A wonderful novel and a polemic against drug culture, the overwhelming feeling the reader is left with is one of anger. And it leaves a big impression.

    The book is dedicated to Dennis K Ashton Jnr, a seven-year-old who was killed accidentally in a shooting in Washington, the setting of Pelecanos' novels, in 1997. The inspiration is clear: Hell to Pay features a young boy who is murdered in a drug-related incident in which his relative was the chief target, and the futility of such shootings, the desperate impoverished life that provides the backdrop and the constant battle being fought between a desire for justice and revenge are all key themes.

    The lives and characters of the recurring characters, private investigators Derek Strange, Terry Quinn and others, are further fleshed out and reward readers of previous novels in the series while ensuring newcomers are treated to such a fine stand-alone book that they will be sure to look up the back catalogue.

    Like the best literature (and works of art in general), Hell to Pay not only expands the knowledge and cultural awareness of the reader (the audience), but also challenges them; poses difficult questions, and makes you wonder what the answers to those questions are. It also makes you question whether there are any answers, and if not, why not.

    It's the new best book I've read of the year so far.

    So, rating time:

    #37 Hell to Pay, by George Pelecanos (Orion) - 9/10

    Next up: Divorced and Deadly, by Josephine Cox (Harper Collins)

  • Click here for the full list of books so far, and their rating
  • Sunday 20 June 2010

    #36 The Ministry of Fear, by Graham Greene (Vintage)

    If, like me, you like a bit of cake, the start and opening plot device of The Ministry of Fear is irresistible.

    I'll recite the blurb on the reverse: "For Arthur Rowe, the charity fete was a trip back to childhood, to innocence, a welcome chance to escape the terror of the Blitz, to forget 20 years of his past and a murder... Then he guesses the weight of a cake, and from that moment on he's a hunted man, the target of shadowy killers, on the run and struggling to find the truth." It's definitely one to hook baking aficionados.

    Better known for novels such as The End of the Affair, The Third Man, Our Man in Havana and The Quiet American, The Ministry of Fear was the first of Greene's work I had read (although I've seen a few film adaptations), and I enjoyed it greatly.

    Reading up on Greene, it seems he separated his work into what he called 'entertainments', which were typically crime suspenses, and 'novels', which were what he considered more significant examples of his craft as an author. This book falls firmly into the former category, but that's no bad thing in my eyes.

    Set in a London where you can hear the bombs falling around you, Greene sets off at a roaring pace and only pauses for breath when he needs to introduce a contemplative note. The plot twists and turns more than Ronaldo in full flight and chapters frequently end with a cliffhanger which implores the reader to turn the page and continue.

    Consequently, I raced through the novel, and from the mysterious Rowe, about whom new details are cleverly introduced, to the spy ring war plot which blossoms from a case of mistaken identity, there is barely a word out of place. The best book I've read so far this year.

    So, rating time:

    #36 The Ministry of Fear, by Graham Greene (Vintage) - 9/10

    Next up: Hell to Pay, by George Pelecanos (Orion)

  • Click here for the full list of books so far, and their rating

  • Just as an aside, it seems that Greene greatly enjoyed parody, even of himself. Apparently, in 1949, when the New Statesman held a contest for parodies of Greene's writing style, he submitted an entry himself - and won second prize.

    If you have to read, go outside

    I said earlier this year I would write about libraries, and I will, but for now the subject is the New York Public Library, an institution I had a tour around a few days ago.

    I mentioned recently how embarking on a challenge such as this had opened my eyes in other areas of my life and I'm not sure I would have gone on such a tour before the start of this year. But then the Wench and I were in the neighbourhood, saw the tour and I thought 'that might be interesting'. And it was.

    Apart from the magnificent building, the 88 miles of bookshelves, the 18 million books, one of the world's largest public resources and so on, I particularly liked the annual stipend (grant) the library makes available for budding authors to use offices within the library to work on their books.

    Just outside is Bryant Park, a grassy area with chairs and tables, where something called the Reading Room is located during the summer months. This haven of literature allows passers-by to borrow books or newspapers while they have lunch or just want to escape from their busy lives.

    Its location in central Midtown, on Sixth Avenue and 42nd Street, is one of the busiest areas of New York, just a couple of blocks from Times Square in one direction and Grand Central Station in the other. All around, the hustle and bustle continues, but office workers exit the neighbouring skyscraper office blocks to come across to Bryant Park and pick up some reading material for a brief while.

    The second time we passed the park, an author was giving a talk about her new book, and people were gathering around in their droves to hear what Kelly Cutrone, a fashion publicist and reality TV star, had to say about her memoir If You Have to Cry, Go Outside: And Other Things Your Mother Never Told You.

    As I walked by she was denying she was a lesbian, and it sounded like a lot of drivel to be honest, but as one of a host of planned literary events, non-exclusive and easily accessible to everyone, it's a great idea in my book.

    #35 All the Pretty Horses, by Cormac McCarthy (Pan Books)

    If it's bleak wilderness you're after, and a lament for life in the old west and roaming free under the stars, then look no further than Cormac McCarthy, who infuses his novels with more introspection than even Clint Eastwood could handle.

    All The Pretty Horses is known as one of his finest novels, one of the Great Modern American Novels to give it its full title, but I enjoyed No Country for Old Men more.

    There are some similar themes, the loss of what used to be an honourable way of life and a distrust of more modern ways, not mention events spiralling out of control, but, unlike main character John Grady Cole and the innate connection he has with horses, I struggled to connect with the other two main characters.

    To precis the plot, teenagers Cole and his friend arrive in Mexico determined to live the noble life of cowboys, hook up with a strange boy with a magnificent horse who gets them into trouble, and eventually prison, whereby the aunt of Cole's ill-fated love, the daughter of a rich rancher, frees them in exchange for the girl agreeing never to see Cole again. I told you it was ill-fated.

    The novel is rich with quiet contemplation, with men doing what what they've got to, 'the right thing' no matter the consequences, but strikes a bum note with the third character, the disruptive Jimmy Blevins. Cole is so circumspect and cautious, with good reason (except when falling for the girl), it's never quite clear why his judgement fails so spectacularly regarding Blevins, even when his friend warns him. With the girl, he recognises trouble will follow but makes his decision because of his feelings: with Blevins, there is no such conflict or potential reward, which just makes his choices all the more baffling.

    McCarthy brings to life a world whose days are numbered, and writes wonderfully about the horses, of which those who aren't pretty are still valued. But as a book, this is a scrub rather than a stallion.

    So, rating time:

    #35 All the Pretty Horses, by Cormac McCarthy (Pan Books) - 7/10

    Next up: The Ministry of Fear, by Graham Greene (Vintage)

  • Click here for the full list of books so far, and their rating
  • Friday 18 June 2010

    High points

    One of the first books I read this year was set in New York, called Netherland, and while the book itself didn't set my world on fire, I was intrigued by its description of a 'park' called the High Line.

    When the Old Boy, who is currently playing mine host to the Wench and I on holiday, then mentioned it as one of his favourite parts of the Big Apple completely unprompted, I instantly remembered it and my curiosity was piqued.

    So, we paid a visit. And it's wonderful.

    An old, disused elevated freight line built in the 1930s and last active in the early 1980s, the High Line is the best of people making the most of what the past has provided but no longer needs. Walking along the elegantly designed route, in between the shrubs and flowers which mingle with the old railway track, and admiring some unusual views of Manhattan, it's great to see something which had fallen into disrepair transformed into such an attraction.

    The last thing I want is for this blog to turn into a travelogue (travelblog?), but I can't help reflecting on the fact that books I am reading and the knowledge I am accruing as part of this challenge are impacting positively elsewhere in my life.

    Wednesday 16 June 2010

    #34 The Adventures of Tom Sawyer, by Mark Twain (Penguin Books)

    The fact that I'm currently reading another novel by Cormac McCarthy, hot on the heels of books by Bret Easton Ellis and Mark Twain, might indicate the destination for my current holiday - I've got a bit of an American theme going on.

    Twain's The Adventures of Tom Sawyer is often overlooked in favour of its sequel, the celebrated classic The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, and that's exactly why I've returned to the former. I read Huckleberry Finn many years ago, but omitted its forerunner, the tale of Tom Sawyer.

    Tom Sawyer is often referred to as more of a children's book than Huckleberry Finn, and the 'adventures', a series of mischievous scrapes and escapades involving the protagonist and his chums, which invariably end in trouble - and Sawyer receiving some form of discipline - certainly appealed to this reader's boyish side.

    I can't help feeling that the above is damning Tom Sawyer with faint praise, however, because it's a far weightier book than some give Twain credit for. For all the pranks and episodes, including the famous whitewashed fence story, you're never far away from a feeling of lost childhood innocence, and the awareness that inequities in your youth will be repeated tenfold as an adult.

    Twain even refers to this in his preface: "Although my book is intended mainly for the entertainment of boys and girls, I hope it will not be shunned by men and women on that account."

    With murder, slavery, starvation and the dangers of alcohol never too far away, there is a much more serious side to the book, and even taking into account the fact that Twain was writing in 1876, I find it difficult to believe that Stephenie Meyer or JK Rowling would use as many long 'adult' words in their own books primarily targeted at younger readers, but which have garnered a large adult readership.

    The Adventures of Tom Sawyer is one of the most enjoyable books I've read so far this year, and was much needed after a run of novels in the past month or so which, while perfectly fine, have never really scaled the heights.

    So, rating time:

    #34 The Adventures of Tom Sawyer, by Mark Twain (Penguin Books) - 8/10

    Next up: All The Pretty Horses, by Cormac McCarthy (Pan Books)

  • Click here for the full list of books so far, and their rating
  • Miss is no boon

    I said earlier this year that I would write about libraries at some stage, and I will, but first a brief tale from the other day.

    I visited the library to take back a few books and get out a few more, in advance of a holiday when I intend to do enough reading to get me back on track in this challenge.

    It was early on Saturday, just after the library had opened, and as I handed over my latest books, the librarian drew my attention to a new 'blind book' initiative to encourage people to read new and different authors they might not normally contemplate.

    Give my challenge this year, this seemed right up my street, so it took little persuasion for me to embrace the idea and I was soon walking out with a little bag containing an unidentified book which I had agreed to read, no matter the author or genre, and then write a brief review when I had finished. Exactly what I'm doing with 100 books this year, then.

    As I left, in a bit of a hurry due to another appointment, the librarian joked: "Don't worry, it won't be a Mills & Boon." And when I got home, I discovered it wasn't. But it was virtually the next worst thing, what looks like some chick-lit nonsense called Divorced and Deadly, by Josephine Cox.

    But stop, I'm prejudging it, which misses the point of the entire exercise. As always, I'll give it a go.

    #33 The Informers, by Bret Easton Ellis (Random House)

    I'll start with a recommendation: if you haven't read American Pyscho, by Bret Easton Ellis, don't come back until you have done so.

    My More Literary Work Colleague, mentioned last month when I was plumbing the depths of depression (in terms of books at least), rates Easton Ellis as her favourite contemporary novelist, and on the basis of American Pyscho - a tour de force of such detailed violence and clinical prose, unlike any other book I've ever read - it's hard to argue.

    In addition to the author, American Pyscho shares with The Informers the distinction that both books have become feature films, but although the similarities don't end there, the comparison in quality does.

    I haven't seen The Informers, the film, but the novel is so vague and lacking in idendity, I have no idea how it was possible. Books are frequently described as 'unfilmable', but I think I would struggle to find one that fits such a description more perfectly.

    I should explain. While The Informers is a collection of short stories, they are interconnected. Each chapter has a different first person narrator - it can take five pages or more to work out exactly who each new narrator is, who may appear as a secondary character in other chapter. Each chapter is told from a first person's point of view and charts their vapid life in and around California - a litany of sex, adultery, drugs and dinner engagements.

    The chapters are connected to some degree, but because everything is so vague, deliberately so, it's never quite clear who is who (surnames are used sparingingly, for example). This all combines to produce a book that washes over the reader the way the characters themselves exist - for they cannot really be said to be 'living'.

    And while you can appreciate the clever way Easton Ellis has produced this effect of meaninglessness, it doesn't really result in a book you can enjoy reading. And that's even before you get to the vampire chapter which suddenly appears near the end...

    So, rating time:

    #33 The Informers, by Bret Easton Ellis (Random House) - 6/10

    Next up: The Adventures of Tom Sawyer, by Mark Twain (Penguin Books)

  • Click here for the full list of books so far, and their rating
  • Monday 14 June 2010

    Joan of arc-h rival

    I'm jealous, and I'm not afraid of admitting it.

    This 100-book challenge may have started out as a bit of fun - and remains so, in many ways - but I have to admit the Friend of the Wench is beating me on all fronts.

    Not only is he ahead of me in terms of the number of books read, he recently received the gratification of an author he had read - the author of the very first book he tackled this year, in fact - contacting him via his blog to express her thanks.

    What's more, Joan Lennon, for it is she, wrote what a great idea such a challenge was, and went on to reveal her current literary plans and wish him all the best with completing his task.

    I'm therefore greener with envy than the Incredible Hulk. The Incredible Sulk even.

    Whither Paul Auster, Cormac McCarthy, Nick Hornby, Charlie Brooker, even wrestler Mick Foley getting in touch on these very pages? Jealous doesn't even begin to scratch the surface of what I feel, and you can rest assured that I intend to read the complete works of Ms Lennon sooner rather than later...

    But there's more. I have learned the Friend of the Wench, not content with whupping my ass on every front, has also been entering competitions in a bid to add to his burgeoning library - and he's only gone and won.

    Exactly what, I'm not sure, but the detail doesn't really matter. It's more the drip, drip, drip of constant success that is akin to water torture.

    Tuesday 8 June 2010

    #32 Life of Pi, by Yann Martel (Harvest Books)

    I’ve finished! No, not the challenge, but the book I have been endeavouring to read for almost a decade: Yann Martel’s Life of Pi.

    For those who’ve not been following the challenge from the start, Life of Pi has been, in literary terms, the one that got away for me. I must have started the 2001 Man Booker Prize for Fiction winner four or five times over the years, only to give up halfway through for a reason I can never remember after the event.

    Perhaps I needed the mental strength and drive that trying to complete this challenge provides. Because my first thought upon finally turning the last page was ‘what was all the fuss about?’ And when I say ‘fuss’, I mean in my head. I wasn’t blown away by what I’d read, but equally, it was perfectly fine and enjoyable.

    Those who haven’t read Life of Pi are missing out on a fantastical tale of a boy, Pi, who is forced to live on a lifeboat with an adult Bengal tiger for 10 months after a ship transporting a number of animals sinks. This sounds enchanting – if hacking turtles and other animals apart in grisly detail can ever be enchanting - and indeed it is.

    In many ways, it’s similar to James Cameron’s Titanic film, if readers will forgive a small diversion. Throughout that lavish epic, you’re waiting for the sinking of the ship because you know it will be spectacular, and then once it’s happened, it’s time to tie up a few loose ends and roll the credits. In Life of Pi, the real story only begins once the ship has sunk, but in both artistic projects the preamble to the sinking seems to last forever.

    Of course, Titanic was rubbish, albeit big-budget and glossy rubbish, whereas Life of Pi retains a quirky charm once you get past the setting of the scene and the early religious pondering.

    I find reading about religion difficult. Too often, assigning a character a religion is a quick way to broaden out their personality and beliefs in narrow dimensions with little effort. To Martel’s credit, Pi is intrigued by three different religions – Hindu, Christian and Muslim – which prompts a funny early encounter when leaders of those faiths meet his confused parents at the same time, but this is an all-too-brief relief from the philosophising.

    There is much to enjoy in Life of Pi: some great insights into zoological life and nature, a battle for survival of mind and body and a tiger whose character is given the same depth and thought by the author as any human. Giving the tiger a ‘normal’ name is a masterstroke, by the way.

    So, in conclusion, I can’t argue that Life of Pi was worth the wait, because it would have to be the greatest book of all time to have satisfied me after such a long time trying to complete it - but it was worth the effort, for which I am grateful.

    So, rating time:

    #32 Life of Pi, by Yann Martel (Harvest Books) - 6/10

    Next up: The Informers, by Bret Easton Ellis (Random House)

  • Click here for the full list of books so far, and their rating
  • #31 King of the Ants, by Charlie Higson (Abacus)

    Under siege by ants at work, as I currently am, this seemed an appropriate book to tackle at this stage of my challenge, but unlike ants themselves, the novel proved to be less than fascinating.

    It’s billed as a darkly comic story of an amoral man who operates beyond the normal sensibilities of society. There is clearly a link here with ants, who have devised a completely interdependent society based on every member making a valuable contribution to their colony, but it’s not entirely clear what point author Charlie Higson is trying to make.

    In summary, the main character takes on a job which he knows isn’t entirely legal, and things progress to the point where he commits murder and finds himself on the run from the people who employed them. There’s plenty of sex and violence – and some of the violence is particularly nasty and hard to read – but I was never gripped by the story, and, like the anti-hero (as you come to regard him) himself, you begin to treat what’s happening with ambivalence.

    In that respect, the book is effective, but it doesn’t make it an interesting story, and I would rather spend the time watching ants – even when they’re suddenly appearing out of my computer and in my tea.

    So, rating time:

    #31 King of the Ants, by Charlie Higson (Abacus) - 5/10

    Next up: Life of Pi, by Yann Martel (Harvest Books)

  • Click here for the full list of books so far, and their rating
  • Thursday 3 June 2010

    #30 Penguins Stopped Play, by Harry Thompson (John Murray Publishers)

    It’s difficult to review Penguins Stopped Play: Eleven Village Cricketers Take on the World. On the one hand, it’s a warmly funny, knockabout tale of a (very) amateur cricket team and their adventures, which include escapades on every continent.

    But after numerous giggles, and more than a couple of guffaws, the postscript by author Harry Thompson, who devised a range of TV comedy shows such as Have I Got News for You and Never Mind the Buzzcocks, reveals that he has been diagnosed with inoperable lung cancer. And then an afterword, written by Thompson’s wife Lisa, tells the reader that he died not long after completing the book.

    The story begins in Antartica, however, with Thompson, who has embarked on a trip at the request of a national newspaper, playing cricket (using an oar as a makeshift bat) on an ice shelf only to have play interrupted by a waddle (I looked it up!) of penguins, not to mention whales and a leopard seal.

    The title episode is typical of the rest of the book, with Thompson’s devil-may-care Captain’s Scott Invitation XI embarking on a series of matches against opponents often much better than they are, to the extent that players start to eschew the idea of gaining victory.

    As someone who played quite a bit of village cricket, the comic stories ring very true, and it’s to Thompson’s credit that he manages to make them interesting to a wider audience – a funny story to someone who knows all the characters being discussed can quickly become boring to an outsider.

    It helps that Thompson’s career path means there are occasional cameos from celebrities such as comedians Griff Rhys Jones and Hugh Dennis, plus a number of professional cricketers. But the book largely rests on the anecdotes and their telling, and these certainly pass muster.

    The end, chiefly his death aged just 45, does cause a problem, though. Whether intended or not, it transforms a largely whimsical book about the nature of sport and the travails of those who choose to embrace it into what could be interpreted as a ode, nay elegy, to sporting endeavour in the face of adversity.

    Indeed, the day after being told he has cancer, and the day before he is due to start his treatment, Thompson opts to play cricket, and he later requires surgery to remove a section of rib after dislodging a chest drain during some ‘little light fielding’.

    The tragedy of death apart, does it matter if you know the author died after finishing the book? It shouldn’t, but, as death often does, the knowledge does alter how you perceive everything which went before.

    So, rating time:

    #30 Penguins Stopped Play, by Harry Thompson (John Murray Publishers) - 6/10

    Next up: Tokyo Year Zero, by David Peace (Faber and Faber Limited)

  • Click here for the full list of books so far, and their rating
  • #29 How to Paint a Dead Man, by Sarah Hall (Faber and Faber Limited)

    Considering there are three deaths, a supposed rape, adultery and plenty of art in Sarah Hall’s How to Paint a Dead Man, it’s a shame that the book is merely absorbing rather than gripping.

    The blurb on the reverse of the novel, which was longlisted for the 2009 Man Booker Prize for Fiction for those people who care about such things, describes the book as a ‘fierce and brilliant study of art and its place in our lives’. That it is, but unfortunately the work never quite breaks out from that niche to fully engage and interest the reader.

    At this point, I should declare an interest: I’ve never really ‘got’ art, in terms of paintings at least, which is this book’s primary focus. I studied elements of it at university, I don’t mind visiting the occasional gallery and I like to think I can appreciate fine works, but I always feel like I’m missing something in a way that never occurs to me when I watch a film, read a book, interpret a dance etc.

    Perhaps this wasn’t the book for me then, but despite my baggage listed above, I did enjoy it. A neat device sees events snapping half a century described in sequence by the four main characters, and this introduces a serial element as you wait to get back to each individual tale. What’s more, as the novel progresses, you come to see how the lives of the older characters influence and affect those that follow.

    How to Paint a Dead Man is a novel which prefers to linger on the languid brush stroke of life itself rather than focus on the detail of an image or a life, and in that regard, it’s certainly an intelligent piece of work. However, I’m a detail kind of guy.

    So, rating time:

    #29 How to Paint a Dead Man, by Sarah Hall (Faber and Faber Limited) - 7/10

    Next up: Penguins Stopped Play, by Harry Thompson (John Murray Publishers)

  • Click here for the full list of books so far, and their rating