The Echoing Grove (Rosamond Lehmann)

I am going home soon, to my family, my friends, my bedroom, my books. I brought one book away with me two years ago when I left Australia. Which book did I deem most fitting to accompany me on my backpacking endeavours?

Since you ask- I brought On The Road, by Jack Kerouac. Oh yes, I can hear the universal groans even from Acton, one of the most acoustically imbalanced areas in London. This is due to the most unfortunate combination of the A40, the Heathrow flight path, three intersecting train lines and the neighbour's illegal parrot aviary.

I can still remember the reasoning behind bringing the Kerouac. My appearance, my expectations, dreams and aspirations all played a part in choosing to bring On The Road. It was a terrible, terrible decision. Yes, the book is brilliant. Hilarious and epic, it makes you want to clench your fists and run. THE FIRST TIME YOU READ IT. At last count I owned three different editions of this book. None of the subsequent readings were comparable to my first foray into Kerouac's world (not even the original scroll) so what the hell I was thinking I really don't know.

When you're travelling you want something that speaks to your soul, is comforting but not gushing, a book you recognise yourself in. It needs characters who are sympathetic but flawed, a plot that has momentum but doesn't gallop, a denouement that satisfies but doesn't pacify.

The novel I SHOULD have brought with me is The Echoing Grove, by Rosamond Lehmann. The story is about Rickie Masters, his marriage to Madeleine and his affair with her sister Dinah. The sisters reach an impasse when Rickie is killed unexpectedly and both must deal with the fallout of a situation both had already found hopeless.

In the interest of full disclosure, I saw the film before I read the book. The cast includes Paul Bettany, which is how I came across the story in the first place. Bettany makes me sympathise completely with Rickie and hope for his happiness- if I had read the book first I may have found Rickie hard to like. The film changes little of the script and plot so it is Bettany's brilliance which makes me see the frailty and beauty in Rickie when I later read the novel.

Lehmann's prose is often described as gentle, although I wouldn't agree with that. I'd say it's more akin to the old velvet glove/iron fist style of doing things. Writing like this reminds you of why male authors really shouldn't write from the female perspective in stories of great love. Madeleine and Dinah are entirely unique yet nothing they think or do would feel aberrant to my character were I to emulate them. The sinking feeling both of them experience with the knowledge that they cannot help but move into something that will cause them only heartbreak is devastating yet, as the reader, you agree that they have no choice.

This may seem to you a rather odd book to classify as 'comforting'. Well, this is my brand of comforting. I have always found more solace in the depressingly meaningful than the vacuously upbeat. Of course, I probably would have been most comforted and sustained on my travels if I had ignored Earhart's insistence that everybody would laugh at me and purchased the blanket with sleeves in duck-egg blue that I really wanted. I bowed to convention and coolness, but I still think about that blanket. I haven't been able to find one since.

Rating: 9/10.

New Moon (Stephenie Meyer)

I am already grinning to myself and have yet to write anything.

I just went to see New Moon, the second film of The Twilight Saga.

Ahhh. Where to begin?

I feel I should start with saying that this film is probably 300% better than the first film. (Review here). The new director has obviously not insisted on an insipid blue wash and allows the actors some actual screen time to emote, rather than racing the camera around them psychotically.

However, the film still suffered from the same problem that the Harry Potter films (especially the early ones) had- they are virtually incomprehensible to someone who has not read the novels. I mean, you could understand what was going on. But you would be pardoned for being under the impression that the books are eratically plotted, totally vacuous and remarkably two-dimensional. Not the case (well, not ENTIRELY the case).

The Twilight books are not GOOD... but they are a phenomenon. These books are the pinnacle of guilty pleasure reading. Odd, dangerous, melodramatic and ultimately supremely fulfilling. The films pale in comparison.

Yet still, as I mentioned before, this film was a vast improvement on the first. I almost fell out of my seat when Taylor Lautner appeared on screen, thirty pounds heavier than in the first movie. That, in itself, made the 8 pounds and unimpressive popcorn worth it. Add to the mix the fact that Robert Pattinson was given about three lines and five minute of screen time to sulk and you'll see the movie was positively five star compared to Twilight.

There's been a lot of press about the books as outlets for Stephenie Meyer to publicise her Mormon beliefs and racist, Aryan views. There's probably a lot of truth to this. The portrayal of the Quileutes is definitely questionable and Edward as the supreme enforcer of familial values and chastity is quite unnerving when combined with the stalking, controlling behaviour and omniscience Meyer depicts as charming, loving behaviour.

None of which appears with any sort of prominence in either film. Bella is far more in control in the films and Edward highly ridiculous compared to his written persona. Bella can dismiss him with a withering "Just... shut up." Edward slumps against a wall, defeated. Pathetic. In addition, you can see that the producers seem to be keeping abreast of political correctness. Even if they are from Utah.

At least the books offer some escapist fun. This film is redeemable only as an homage to Jacob Black's amazing abs.

The Women (T.C. Boyle)

Reading this book was kind of killing two birds with one stone. I wanted to read it (one bird) and I've always felt in a vague kind of way that I should read some T.C. Boyle (the other). The Women provided me with the perfect opportunity, seeing as it is about a topic which I am especially interested in: the amazing Frank Lloyd Wright. Specifically his women.

In case you are unaware: FLW is one of history's greatest and most influential architects. And boy did he know it. The book opens with the following quote from FLW: "Early in life I had to choose between honest arrogance and hypocritical humility; I chose arrogance".

Just to give you an idea of the kind of guy we are dealing with (i.e. an awesome one!)

The book is a fictionalised account of his three marriages and one long term affair (the assumption is there were many shorter term affairs as well). Working in reverse chronological order, we are introduced to each new woman as the previous relationship falls apart. One of the main problems seems to be that Frank keeps on 'finding his soul mate' (despite the fact that he's found one/two/three already), each time falling in love completely.

What is great about this book is that you get a readable (admittedly fictionalised but based on fact) account of FLW's life. Previously I had really only known his buildings, reading Boyle I learned he was often a heartbeat away from bankruptcy, the scandal of his wife swapping making it hard to get commissions. Boyle's FLW is a tempestuous artist who knows he is a genius, an obsessive perfectionist, with an insane pull - you can understand why all these women fell under his spell. In fact, someone I work with at the bookshop pointed me out to a customer: "See her, well I think she'd like to be one of 'The Women'."

(Only slightly true...)

8/10 for fascination factor.

American Pastoral (Philip Roth)

The long-awaited review! Huzzah huzzah it has arrived! 

Somewhere Philip Roth's eyes are glued to the computer screen, eagerly scanning through my excessive opening prose, yearning to reach the accolades I promised him days, nay WEEKS ago and never delivered. Never fear Philip, you will always be loved here!

American Pastoral is the tale of Seymour "Swede" Levov, a sports star at his local high school in Newark, NY who goes on to marry a former Miss New Jersey and take over his father's glove factory. An idyllic existence is ripped to shreds when his daughter Merry becomes a little too excited about protesting the Vietnam War and blows up the local store and post office. What follows is the Swede's desperate attempt to keep his family together in the wake of his daughter's disappearance.

The first part of American Pastoral is narrated by Nathan Zuckerman, who, five years younger than his hero, has idolised the Swede since he first met him at school. This is a nifty bit of penning on Roth's part: he is able to set up the Swede as this mythic, strong, AMAZING sportsman who was also a great guy going after the American dream. If the whole story had been told by the Swede it would have sounded more than a little naff if the opening chapters had been all "I was so wonderful, I was revered as a Greek GOD, to have met me was to have walked in the shadow of greatness for the briefest of moments..." Yes, I am glad I didn't have to go through that, because it would have made me dislike the Swede and that is something I am NOT PREPARED TO DO.

The Swede is one of the most magnificent characters of modern literature. He is the ultimate martyr yet never insufferably so, he is tall and handsome (Roth SAYS SO, I'm not just imagining this), good at every sport, gentle and thoughtful. Loyal, kind, in control, traditional with a modern twist...*SWOON*. I could go on but will spare you.

Watching the Swede's heart get ripped out as he witnesses his daughter's growing radicalism and subsequent bomb-making expertise that results in four deaths was quite unbearable. I felt tremendously sorry for him, supporting his hysterical wife, consoling the widow of the man his daughter murdered... and all I'm thinking is "Swede! Who is looking after you???" The thought actually crossed my mind, if I was living in Newark, I would have taken him cookies. 

Roth doesn't exactly have an economy of words, like Marquez the anecdotes are packed in until the covers of the book are groaning, but it's all part of the richly textured story and, unlike Marquez, I lapped it all up. I think it's because of the faith I have in Roth. If he wants me to know that much about how to make a leather glove there's gotta be a good reason!

It was also satisfying to read a book about American culture and have it not be a parody or a vitriolic tirade of hatred written by a belligerent youngster. Instead, Roth has created an intelligent comment on America that ultimately, is no comment at all, but rather an offering of characters and events that play themselves out with little obvious manipulation from the author. 

Exceptional, glorious and, above all ELEGANT, Philip Roth I salute you. 

Rating: 9/10. 

My Booky Wook (Russell Brand)

Hello...am back from the wonderful world that is Atlas Shrugged and so reviews from this side of the globe will be more frequent/regular/on time (apologies to Alcott...) Just in case you are wondering why there is no review popping up here instead of an explanation: Atlas Shrugged is my favourite book in the world (look to the right and you will see it at the top of my Top Five list) - hence I am terrified I will not do it justice and instead offer up an awkwardly worded review that ends up just as gushing praise. I may work up the courage someday (you should read it now so when I eventually do review it you can comment!) but in the meantime... here's some Russell Brand...

My Booky Wook was lent to me by a friend after I watched St Trinian's (don't judge, its an established cult classic film series... or something) and thought he was kind of hot. Watched many, MANY YouTube videos and solidified this opinion. Told Alcott. She was horrified. I wasn't deterred. And reading My Booky Wook has tipped the scales in favour of full-blown obsession.

Brand's autobiography opens in a sex addiction treatment centre: obviously this is going to be a biography of the up close and personal persuasion. Russell details his childhood, various addictions (drink, heroin, sex), forays into various acting schools, sex trips with his father to Thailand - it's all in the book. The very well written, hilarious, witty book. You finish reading it and feel like you've gotten to know Russell (and you too will be on first name terms with him!). This is no Confessions of an Heiress. This is the real thing and it is fabulous.

9/10

The Big Sleep (Raymond Chandler)

If you've not read any Raymond Chandler then you are yet to meet possibly the coolest character in fiction: Philip Marlowe.

*Sigh*.

Marlowe is a fast talking, rye drinking detective of the hard-boiled persuasion. And, even cooler, he is played by the gorgeous Humphrey Bogart in the 1946 film version of The Big Sleep. Mmmm...

Can you tell I've a bit of a crush?

The Big Sleep opens with Marlowe 'calling on four million dollars'. General Sternwood needs Marlowe's help in controlling his two daughters, both beautiful and both wild. (Although only the younger, Carmen, pulls the wings off flies.)

Carmen is being blackmailed over a few risque photographs. Marlowe's investigations lead to encounters with various characters of the underworld, such as Geiger, who rents out pornography, and Canino, hired gun of casino owner Eddie Mars. The mystery becomes increasingly convoluted, with many of the characters bumping off many of the other characters.

But the thing is, you don't read Raymond Chandler to be gripped by the plot; constantly on the edge of your seat. You read Chandler because his books are incredibly atmospheric, and really evoke that 1930s/1940s noir period. You read them because characters sell each other out for a nickel. You read Chandler because Marlowe is ridiculously cool.
My favourite line in the book?

'I went out to the kitchenette and drank two cups of black coffee. You can have a hangover from other things than alcohol. I had one from women.'

See what I mean?

(Plus, while you are reading it, you wont be able to stop picturing yourself in a trench coat and fedora. Which, lets be honest, is just about the coolest look ever. You will want to make a permanent move to the 1940s.)

The Big Sleep: 9/10
(Marlowe: 13/10)

Author Love: Paullina Simons

At first glance, Paullina Simons' books could be construed as chick-lit. Thick bricks of chick-lit. The new Harper Collins covers do her no favours either. RIDICULOUS.

But, open one and start to read.

And then give it 50 or so pages because the lady takes a while to warm up.

Born in the Soviet Union and emigrating to the U.S. when she was a small child, Simons incorporates all the tragedy, history and black-humour that we have come to associate with the great Russian sagas. I tell readers to prepare to have their heart wrenched out, several times. If the characters stumble... fall... seem unlikely to overcome their numerous and achingly sad trials, you as the reader will feel unable to go on with your own life. These novels are emotional testaments to the pain and suffering that humans endure in the name of love, honour and passion.

Simons relentlessly attacks her characters: both with interminably depressing plot lines and a no-holds barred attitude to uncovering every thought and feeling the character has ever entertained. Tully (in the novel of the same name) is hardly likeable, holding herself to a strict moral code that has nothing to do with treating people well and everything to do with ensuring her own life remains as miserable as possible. She is one of the greatest female characters to have been written in the last decade, obscenely alluring and entirely unforgettable. (Give Angelina Jolie a bad dye-job and she'd be perfect.)

Yet it is The Bronze Horseman which is Simons' greatest triumph. It is the story of Tatiana and Alexander, lovers who must survive the suffocation of Soviet Russia, the torture of the Viet Cong in Vietnam and all the temptations of simmering Arizona before we can begin to hope that happiness may lie in their destinies. I am normally reluctant to tell people The Bronze Horseman is the first in a trilogy. I feel they don't experience the full weight of emotion and despair if they know there is more of the story to come (i.e. hope of salvation). Having read the novel before the sequels were around I still recall the devastation I felt upon completion; and the sheer delight and exhilaration when I found out the author was putting the characters through two more books worth of hell.

This may all sound a bit over the top. Simons' prose is not brilliant or unique. But her emotional intelligence is astounding and it is impossible to read her work and not be swept away on a tide of longing, darkly tainted with despair. I don't feel enthusiasm like this that often (I am tensed with excitement, hunched over the keyboard), so this is genuine, I assure you.

We attended an event with Simons a couple of years ago. In front of hundreds of people I raised my hand.

(Cue gushing voice).

"Paullina, whenever I sell one of your books in the bookshop I get the most amazing feeling inside, like I'm passing on some sort of gospel. I want to thank you for emotionally enriching my life."

(Earhart sinks slowly to the floor next to me in morbid embarrassment).

I would like to point out my comment wasn't nearly as awful as the woman who told Paullina she couldn't get pregnant until she read The Bronze Horseman.

That was most amusing.

The Bronze Horseman: 10/10

(Steer clear of The Road to Paradise. Only hard-core fans would enjoy this. I wouldn't recommend Simons' books to anybody battling depression... I do not want to be responsible for any bridge-leaping).

February Classic: Brideshead Revisited (with mention of The Secret History)

I count this as one of my favourite books, even though I haven't read it in years. Thinking I better read it again as my featured classic this month I grabbed a copy the other day and prepared myself for a reawakening of my literary senses... a re-working of my laughing muscles... a renewed enthusiasm for Sebastian and Aloysius.

Except I had the strangest feeling I'd just read it... every page I was deja vu-ing like you wouldn't believe.

Then it hit me. I haven't read Brideshead Revisited in the last five years, but I HAVE read The Secret History by Donna Tartt recently.

Zing!

I can't believe I failed to make the connection sooner. The narrators, Charles in Brideshead and Richard in Secret History, are two of the most annoying, passive and boring characters ever to be written. Both are keen to enter worlds they are not quite interesting enough to prosper in, worlds which contain the eccentricity only found amongst those that spend a great deal of time together. Charles has just come up to Oxford to read History and Richard is at an exclusive East Coast college where he eventually reads Ancient Greek. For both narrators, their university education takes a second place to the emotional journeys they subsequently take.

However...

Sebastian Flyte, the young man who lures Charles into the world of Brideshead, is one of the most original, compelling and marvellously disturbing characters to have ever been written. Whilst mention must be made of his special relationship with Aloysius, (who is, in fact, a teddy bear), it is his exuberance and gradual decline into a permanent state of melancholy whilst still possessing the ability to charm all those in his path that makes him so enigmatic. (The fact that he's totally smoking hot doesn't hurt). His alcoholism eventually leads him to what we assume is the most ridiculous yet fitting end Waugh could conjure for him, but it is a pity as the reader is loathe to let him leave the story.

What makes Waugh so utterly brilliant is that I believe he sees the world as it is, but he can imagine the ridiculous, the surreal, the escapist world that his characters wish to capture and reside in. Thus we have these magical, romantic scenes that contain Waugh's personal mixture of morality, hilarity and the eagle-eyed take of one whose phenomenal social perception would have left him laughing behind pot plants at many a cocktail party.

There is nothing wrong with the way Donna Tartt writes, but Evelyn Waugh she ain't.

Brideshead Revisited: 9/10.

(The Secret History: 7/10)

The Butchering of Twilight

I realise I have to approach this topic carefully. Too much praise for the Twilight series by Stephenie Meyer and I'll never be able to snatch my dignity back.
It is hard though, when you come across a book so utterly HILARIOUS, yet at the same time finding yourself unable to change a thing about the series. If I wanted dialogue that didn't make me retch involuntarily, if I wanted descriptive text that wasn't so freaking predictable, the books wouldn't be the same.
Anne Rice didn't do this to people. Sure, L'estat was cool, sexy, dangerous (given that writing about a harmless vampire would be as fascinating as the inns and outs of the tomato skin debate in Bengali cuisine, this is assumed); yet he doesn't have a hope against Edward Cullen. I must admit though, superb foresight of Tom Cruise to play this role. Who knew he would actually turn into the character everyone revolves around whilst making sure no direct contact is made?
You know, in case it's catching.

In short, we've got a vampire in love with a mortal girl; a Quileute reservation that is on the point of exploding into a werewolf pack; the most beautiful people in the world all living in the same house and having vampiric relations all night long; a wildcard coven who decide to hunt our heroine; obsession bordering on the creepy; and, just for the guys, fast cars.
This should have been cinematic gold people.
Instead we got... uneven and staccato camera close-ups of Edward's golden eyes (yeah, we got it, his eyes changed colour, you didn't have to show us three times); unflattering angles where we seriously question how attractive Pattinson actually is (he is obscenely attractive, that's how bad these were); a voiceover from Stewart that doesn't make up for the gigantic plot leaps; and the careless disregard the director/screenwriter apparently had for making the rest of the Cullens in any way credible. I mean, why did Jasper look stoned the entire time? Was that entirely necessary?
Also, why, WHY in all the photocalls for this did Pattinson's hair look so utterly ridiculous? He said he was contractually obliged to keep it long, but it's not long in the film! Sheer lunacy!
I must admit, the Italian food preparation scene was amusing... but this is another peeve of mine. Why bother to add in extra scenes when you don't even do the existing scenes justice?
It is no great surprise to me that the director has been shafted for New Moon, although apparently it's a timing clash.
Maybe they all needed a warm-up and New Moon will be spectacular.
Maybe.

In other news, it's a great time for movies of novels at the moment. Revolutionary Road, written by Richard Yates, is a seriously excellent kitchen-sink drama and a fitting film for Kate and Leo to reunite on. The Reader (seriously, Winslet's outdone herself this season) by Bernhard Schlink should be superb. On a sidenote, I'm so glad Schlink has got himself back together, Self's Punishment and Self's Deception were so ordinary, but he's back on form with Homecoming. I'll let Earhart do the comparison of F. Scott Fitzgerald's The Curious Case of Benjamin Button with David Fincher's film as I haven't seen it yet.
Was it butchered?
Probably, but we'll have to wait and see.
Film Rating: 2/10
Novel Rating: 10/10 (Oh for... don't spit the dummy, check out the ratings table.)

January Classic: Jane Eyre

So I've always felt vaguely guilty about never having read any of the Brontes. I never had to do them at school, and then it just never happened. A friend recently lent me The Eyre Affair by Jasper Fforde, and I thought she was going to slap me when I revealed that I'd not actually read Jane Eyre itself. Hurried promises were made (and kept!) to read it IMMEDIATELY which I did, and I have to say I am in love. I am head over heels, and not just with the snarky, sexy Mr Rochester, but with the whole book.
Just in case you're like me and managed to make it through your life thus far without ever picking up Charlotte Bronte's masterpiece: the book tells the story of Jane Eyre (no, really?) through her childhood in the care of a cold and unfeeling aunt and her time at the harsh Lowood school, before she is employed as governess at Thornfield Manor, home of the mysterious and brooding Mr Rochester. Seriously, Darcy's got nothing on him. Jane and Rochester fall in love, but since this happens halfway through a pretty thick book, you can assume that you don't get the happy ending right away. The scandal! The drama! The intrigue! The insane sexual tension! Fantastic!

I am astounded at how involved I was in reading Jane Eyre - I am told my face was hilarious to watch when certain dramatic revelations took place. I cared so much about the characters and so much about what happened to them. This was a huge (and refreshing) change from many of the contemporary authors I read, where I am interested in what happens to characters, but in a detached kind of way. Charlotte Bronte makes you feel what Jane feels, when she is heartbroken, you are heartbroken, and when she is happy, you are ridiculously excited. If you've not read Jane Eyre I can only judge, if following this you do not go and pick it up immediately. 9/10