Kazuo Ishiguro is an author I feel more familiar with than I probably should. I have watched Remains of the Day and Never Let Me Go on film and am aware of his other books, but actually, An Artist of the Floating World is the first of his books I have properly read.

I am very taken with his direct, understated, elegant writing.

The year is 1948 and the artist of this story is Masuji Ono, a man trying to reconcile his past and present. His story is narrated in the first person and he tells it as if he is walking the reader around his city and his home – like a leisurely guided tour of his life. A tour that gradually develops a certain level of tension and discomfort. He speaks at the beginning of a bridge he needs to cross to get to his home, one of the grandest houses in the area, nestled up in the hills. This ‘Bridge of Hesitation’ is symbolic; there are other crossings he is trying to make; he has one foot, fond memories and his heart in the past, but a life and responsibilities, including a forward thinking daughter and grandson, in the present.

The past is pre war Japan, a time when he enjoyed an esteemed reputation as a painter and patriot; held in high regard by his students and community. A man with a good reputation and despite consistent claims that he was unconcerned about people’s opinions of him, it becomes obvious that this is not true. Masuji Ono is a man desperate to hold onto his version of the past. In trying to do this, a few inconsistencies start to creep into his recollections, a task for the reader is to decipher these – is he lying, is his memory failing, is he fooling himself? And if so, why. Does this dignified man have something to hide?

The present is Japan after ‘the surrender’ as he refers to it. His daily life is taken up with his two daughters and his highly entertaining and very Americanised eight year old grandson. The family are in the crucial phase of marriage negotiations for Ono’s youngest daughter, a time when it is customary to look into the background of the prospective bride and her family. There is unacknowledged anxiety around this process. Ono’s eldest daughter is indirect, polite and traditional in her communication style whilst his younger daughter is openly rude and dismissive.

Ono flicks back and forth in his narrative and cuts both an admirable and sad figure, there is a sense of loss on many levels and it is not easy to completely rely on him as a narrator.

He refers frequently to lighting – candles, lanterns, shadows, darkness, reflections – usually in describing a room or a place he is remembering from the past. While he is sensitive to that as a painter, it is also I think a way of linking his memories, of keeping them alive. He reminded me in this way of W.G Sebald’s Austerlitz who did the same thing with buildings and architecture. In both books the men also have the same sense of displacement and terrible loss – different countries, different circumstances – but the same war.

The Observer newspaper described An Artist of the Floating World as an exquisite novel – I thought so too.

1986, 206 pages

Greenbanks was one of two books I was given by Santa for Christmas. My Santa very thoughtfully made his way into Persephone books for the first time and picked the exact book I would have chosen myself as well as No Surrender by Constance Maud. Great choices – so I feel very lucky.

Reading Dorothy Whipple is like revisiting a comfortable and cherished friend. The ordinariness of her characters and their lives makes it so easy to relate to and to step into their shoes. You wouldn’t expect it to be escapist reading but in a way it is – somehow she manages to include her reader in the story, it’s like being in the same room as the action is taking place. Whipple’s insight into human emotions and family dynamics is spot on, I haven’t yet read a book of hers and not felt accutely what at least one of her characters was feeling.

Greenbanks is the name of a house or more accurately a home in . Three generations live or have lived there – Louisa, her brood of children and their children – in particular Rachel, a 6 year old when the story begins in the years approaching the First World War – nearly coming of age as it finishes. Rachel is Louisa’s favourite grandchild and these two are the heart of the story. Their goodness balances out the weaknesses in the other characters. The story is about the people who inhabit the house – Greenbanks being the hub where at one time or another, everyone returns to.

Each of Whipple’s stories seems to have a man who is a villian of sorts, not so much in the criminal way but in the way he treats people, especially women. In Greenbanks this task is enthusiastically tackled by Ambrose, husband to Louisa’s daughter Letty and father of Rachel. Ambrose is a fantastic character, so infuriating – controlling and thoughtless, yet vulnerable too.

Through her male characters and sometimes through less than wonderful female characters, Dorothy Whipple highlights the plight of women in a subtle way but one which leaves no doubt as to how difficult it could be in the first decades of the 20th century to be a woman. There is a scene in Greenbanks where Ambrose tries to interfere with his daughter going to universtiy – I was outraged and that was just reading about it – imagine actually living it!

But – and this is one of the loveliest things about Whipple’s characters, she doesn’t judge and no matter how difficult, there will always be people in her stories who shine, who find a way to flourish regardless – that’s what makes her reads so satisfying I think and also important. They are more than just a pleasant read about domestic life. They also reflect the constant changes and progression of their times. Life is not the same before and after the war.

Greenbanks is a slow burner – I wondered early on if this was going to be the first Dorothy Whipple that I didn’t love. I should have had more faith, she hasn’t let me down yet. The story gathers momentum and gets better by the page towards the end.

392 pages, 1932 (republished 2011)

Happy New Year!

I’m not sure where I first read about Rules of Civility but I know it was online rather than in a bookshop as I haven’t seen much about it yet here in the UK.

Thank you to the people who have read and written about it as I wouldn’t have discovered it otherwise and I can only describe it as fabulous – a fun book to read and a perfect book for New Year as it starts on New Years Eve in New York in 1937 and journeys with the characters through the following year. I have a bit of a crush on the 1920′s and 30′s at the moment so it was on the cards I would love this. I probably would have bought it anyway, on the strength of the cover alone.

Everything about the book is geared towards transporting its reader back to the New York of the late 1930′s where the land of opportunity and the American dream are still available – to anyone bold enough to reach for it and take it.

Two girls who are most definitely bold enough are the narrator Katey, the intellectual, gutsy one and her room mate Eve, the sensational, beautiful one. On the last day of the year in 1937, they are sitting in a jazz bar in Greenwich village, hoping their money will last the night, when they meet the wealthy and good looking banker Tinker Grey. Both girls want him – what happens on that night and for the year that follows makes up this story.

Descriptive and atmospheric, Amor Towles’ story whisks his characters through the highs and lows of New York society – transformations, glamorous parties on the arms of the elite, scandal and tragedy fill the pages. Beneath the sparkling surface fate can intervene and fortunes can change in a heartbeat.

If at times the musings and scene setting seem just a touch staged, and maybe one too many boxes ticked in creating the atmosphere, I didn’t mind. It’s not a subtle book, it’s bold and designed I’m sure to impress. This combined with the elegance and tenacity of the narrator Katey worked like a charm for me – I loved it.

2011, 352 pages

Attracted by the cover and the totally deserved glowing reviews from fellow book bloggers, I read this on kindle a few months ago. I was on holiday at the time so didn’t write about it straight away and then somehow it got left behind.

Drawing on what must be the terribly painful events in his own life, Hisham Matar’s novel is narrated by the dignified and elegant teenager, Nuri, living with his father in exile in Egypt. Their country of origin is not named, perhaps it is Libya if true to Matar’s own circumstances. After the witnessed but never completely explained death of his mother, Nuri is aware his father has secrets, that men from their country may be looking for him, that he is at risk and they must be careful. There is loss and the threat of further loss permeating Nuri’s life. At the same time, Nuri and his father both fall for the same woman. Nuri as a boy meets and lays an adolescent claim to her first but knows he cannot be any match for his father. Still this infatuation stays with him for many years and for many years he seeks to understand the nature of his many losses.

It seems such a cliche to describe a novel as ‘beautifully written’ but this one really is. I plan to read Hisham Matar’s In the Country of Men soon. If it is anything like this novel, I’m expecting it to be graceful yet sad and at a deep level.

2011, 256 pages

The Elegance of the Hedgehog – Muriel Barbery

My first thoughts about Muriel Barbery’s best seller were that it was pretentious with a precocious 12 year old character mature and insightful beyond her years in a way that was not believable. For the first few pages I couldn’t get a grip on all the words I hadn’t heard of and on principle I wasn’t prepared to constantly interrupt my reading to look them up… so first thoughts were not good..

But slowly it grew on me. The 12 year old Paloma, deciding if life had enough to offer to deter her from committing suicide on her 13th birthday, remained a little unrealistic but her co star in this story was a delight. Renee, the concierge of a Parisian apartment block, pretending to be everything she expected a woman of her station to be but being the exact opposite was like the ugly duckling turning into a swan. Well perhaps she had always been a swan but it took a death in the building and a new arrival to spot what others hadn’t and the ensuing frivolous cat and mouse game was like a modern day fairy tale.

The ending of the book changed the context of the story completely and I wanted to immediately start again at the beginning. I didn’t and I probably won’t get to it anytime soon but still it was a lovely read eventually and worth writing about.

Translated from the French by Alison Anderson

2009, 320 pages

What I Talk About When I Talk About Running – Haruki Murakami

I’ve read three I think it is now of Haruki Murakami’s novels; he entertains and challenges me with his writing. Whilst committed Murakami fans were devouring his latest offering, the mammoth three volume, 1000+ paged 1Q84, I was kind to myself, set that one aside for another time and dipped into his slim and much more manageable thoughts on running, travel, writing and little bits of philosophy on life.

It is a candid and modest account of how he took up running at age 33 after selling his jazz bar to write full time. He speaks of his preparation for several races, of the parallel between his writing and his running and how important his daily run is to his writing output. Murakami has run over 25 marathons, an ultra marathon and numerous half marathons and shorter distance races.

What I find fascinating is how surreal and imaginative Murakami’s stories are contrasted with how routine based his daily life is. He is a man who knows what works for him and goes to lengths to make sure he doesn’t need to deviate from that. I’m also amazed at how modest he is considering he is writer whose work is loved by so many people.

I guess you could say Murakami’s musings are a little repetitive- I’m not sure it would be of the same interest if he wasn’t who he is but I guess that’s the point – it’s a revealing and therefore generous insight by Murakami into what makes him tick, especially generous I think as he is honest about what he considers are his limitations as well as his strengths and especially as he is a person who values his privacy. Being a runner and a Murakami fan would be a bonus when reading this but not essential I don’t think – I really enjoyed it.

It is to me more than a book about running and writing – it’s about simplifying life and eliminating the non essentials. Murakami’s goal is to write and running helps him to do that. If you are so inclined this little book could be seen as an example of how to live a peaceful and successful life.

Translated from the Japanese by Philip Gabriel

2008, 192 pages

Headhunters – Jo Nesbo

And now onto a book that didn’t quite work for me.

Roger Brown is a headhunter, ruthless and at the top of his game. So good, his referrals are all by word of mouth. He plays his candidates in a finely tuned routine that guarantees his success. Unfortunately, Roger Brown has an exquisite expensive wife he feels he doesn’t deserve. To keep her in the custom she is used to, he needs to supplement his income – and that’s where it all gets interesting and eventually a bit far fetched.

There is a fast paced plot and I’m not sure that I followed every twist and turn as closely as I needed to. Roger Brown finds himself in some sticky situations and I have to admit that I found it a bit unrealistic and lost concentration in the second half of the book. He was an entertaining character though and I liked the narrative style a lot.

This novel is not related to the Harry Hole Inspector Series. I like the Harry Hole books – not sure if Jo Nesbo has written any other stand alone novels but I think I will stick to Harry in the future. He and I are a better match.

Translated from the Norwegian by Don Bartlett

2008 (English 2011), 272 pages

Happy Christmas Eve.

This will be my first Christmas in the UK for a few years so we have been taking advantage of the cold (ish) weather and nesting in this afternoon, eating chocolates and watching the excellent film Out of Africa. I haven’t seen it before and it is just beautiful – the acting, the photography, Meryl Streep and Robert Redford – just lovely. Although the film has an apparently more romantic slant than Karen Blixen’s book, I can’t resist adding it to my TBR list for next year, a list that is quite large already!

For those people celebrating, I wish you a very merry Christmas and a happy 2012 filled with lots of wonderful books.
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I read State of Wonder a few months ago now and it’s one of a few books I’ve read this year but haven’t written about so far. I didn’t love the story but I did find it intriguing and the writing was so good that I think it wouldn’t have mattered what Ann Patchett had been writing about, I would have wanted to keep reading.

A mix of science, ethics, physical and personal journey’s, old wounds and healing, it has a hint of the magical in an Avatar movie kind of way, coupled with that sense of unknown danger that accompanies any expedition deep into the jungle. It also has a good plot.

Despite there being several male characters, this to me is essentially a women’s story. That’s not to say male readers wouldn’t like it. Issues of professional integrity and autonomy as well as motherhood feature and all of the female characters have a history of not getting what they need from the men in their lives. This is presented subtly but affects the actions each of the women take.

Quite a lot of the story is in dialogue which makes it easy to become engrossed and I like this style – the opportunity to form my own opinions about the characters.

The elusive Dr Swenson has been researching a potentially revolutionary drug deep in the Amazon jungle for the past ten years. If successful, this drug will change the lives of people throughout the world. Funded by the pharmaceutical company Vogel, she refuses to report on her progress or to reveal the exact location of her laboratory. Anxious for some return on their investment, Vogel’s Dr Fox dispatches his employee Dr Marina Singh to Brazil to provide an update.Several dynamics come into play here including history between Marina Singh and Dr Swenson and the disturbing news that Marinah’s predecessor had mysteriously died in the jungle, an occurence that Dr Swenson found rather inconvenient and an unwelcome interrupton to her work.

The physical and emotional danger of the Amazon is anticipated and described well. The story has two distinct parts – the time in the jungle and the time waiting to get there. This waiting period is considerable and is fraught with tension. The story then takes a turn that I wasn’t really expecting.

I enjoyed the writing more than the actual story but I did like the fact that this book made me think and while I didn’t especially like the ending I did like the message which I read as ‘some things are best left alone.’ I’ll say no more for fear of spoiling but there is plenty to ponder in this book!

2011, 368 pages

And here I was thinking I wouldn’t like historical fiction!

Caleb’s Crossing is set in 1660 and for me it doesn’t get much more historical than that. I like early 20th century history but this was a step outside my comfort zone – and it has been one of my favourite reads so far this year.

Geraldine Brooks has set her fictional story around the true facts of the first Native American, Caleb Cheeshahteaumuck, to graduate from Harvard University (in 1665). Caleb, as he came to be known, was from the Wampanoag Tribe of Martha’s Vineyard and was taught by a Puritan Minister on their island before crossing over to the mainland and eventually graduating. Of course the crossing of Caleb involves so much more than a physical journey.

I have read one other of Geraldine Brooks’ novels, People of the Book. Both stories are excellently researched although there was a double narrative and flicking back and forth between the past and present in People of the Book which I didn’t like so much. I’m pleased Geraldine Brooks chose to use one narrator for her latest book, and suprisingly perhaps from the title, that narrator is not Caleb.

Instead we hear the story from the voice of Bethia Mayfield, 12 years old at the beginning, who makes a new friend one day while out riding – a ‘salvage’ boy who becomes known as Caleb.

“At first, I followed this wild boy hungering after his knowledge of the island -his deep understanding of everything tht bloomed or swam or flew. Soon enough, a curiosity about an untamed soul had kindled and this, too, caused me to seek him out. But it was his light temper and his easy laugh that drew me close to him, over time, until I forgot he was a half-naked, sassafras-scented heathen anointed with racoon grease. He was, quite simply, my dearest friend ”

I love that passage.

Bethia is a a curious and bright girl who wants to explore and be educated along with her brother. But she is bound by the constraints of her time and has to employ ingenious ways of being involved. Although an entirely fictional character, she is like a pioneer for women, graciously accepting what has to be whilest pushing the boundaries at every opportunity! A new literary heroine for me.

Geraldine Brooks has written a beautiful story that gently introduces the reader to the controversial issues of religion and spirituality and the completely different values and lifestyles of the Christian missionaries and the native American people. Through Bethia, she presents a non judgmental and open minded way of looking at differences and accepting that there may be more than one right way. It is also a beautifully wrapped history lesson, a step back into the 17th century with all the harshness and sadness that life could bring then – all against the backdrop of Caleb’s true story.

One of the questions that is subtly asked is ‘Was it a full success for Caleb? Were the sacrifices he made worth it?

It appears there is a limited amount known about Caleb Cheeshahteaumuck. To help the reader separate fact from fiction in her story, there is an afterword written by Geraldine Brooks. I appreciated this and coming away knowing which parts were true and which were simply wonderful story telling.

2011, 539 pages

The Artificial Silk Girl is a treat to read, not just for the delightful yet achingly lonely voice of it’s narrator Doris but for the historical context in which it is set (early 1930s Berlin), in those pre WWII years. This is a time when the first hint of the horrors that would follow are starting to appear. A sense of discomfort bubbling beneath the surface and ‘politics’ starting to be discussed in everyday life. This book was banned by the Nazis along with all of Irmgard Keun’s work. There are not a lot of political references in it, just the odd little comment, snippet of conversation or attitude to come through. I think this makes it all the more powerful, especially as it was published in 1932. It was a bestseller when published, reading it nearly eighty years later with the knowledge of what followed, is a real privilege. A big thank you to Caroline at Beauty is a Sleeping Cat for writing about this author as part of German Literature Month – I hadn’t heard of her before.

The Artificial Silk Girl is Doris, young and beautiful, living in Cologne. She wants desperately to be a star and as her story progresses, wants desperately to be loved. She dreams of being in films, takes great pains with her appearance and writes a diary in which she is the star attraction. There is no pretense from Doris, she is candid in her diary about what she wants, and that includes a man who can pay for all the material trappings she associates with success and therefore craves.

“Heavenly Father, perform a miracle and give me an education – I can do the rest myself with makeup”

Most of this story takes place in Berlin where Doris and her newly acquired (stolen) fur coat arrive looking for fame. The Berlin she finds is one of contrast, glitz and glamour alongside ruthlessness and poverty. Doris has certain standards, she will sleep with a married man without regret but is offended by swearing and the word ‘pimp’. Sadly and frustratingly she comes close to needing the services of this pimp, her diary entries reflecting a reoccurring pattern of seemingly landing on her feet and living it up before needing to flee and finding herself homeless and wondering where her next meal will come from. She keeps hold of her kind heart and dreams throughout and it is easy to care for her.

There is a slightly superficial feel to Doris’ dilemmas as she has a mother and a home back in Cologne – although there is the issue of the stolen fur coat and probable arrest to deter her from returning.

The Artificial Silk Girl is a slim book which ended just before Doris’s youthful optimism and breathless narrative style had time to become tedious. It is one of those books where I wanted to highlight passages all the way through – a gem.

At times Doris reminded me very much of Sophia in Our Spoons Came From Woolworths - both innocent, optimistic yet gullible, mistreated by men, dealing with poverty – both stories set in the 1930s but in different cities (Our Spoons Came From Woolworths is set in London).

Both books are excellent especially from a historical perspective – a slice of life from the 1930s.

A belated huge thank you to Caroline and to Lizzy for hosting the German Literature month. I didn’t quite finish this one in time but am inspired by all the great posts and recommendations to explore further.

Translated from the German by Katharina von Ankum
194 pages, 1932 (republished in English in 2002)

I’d been meaning to read something by Bernhard Schlink. The Reader is one of those books that was everywhere for a while, but I’ve never been that keen to try it. The concept of The Weekend though was more appealing, a short novel, set over a period of three days, the reunion of a group of old friends/colleagues more than 20 years later. The reason for the reunion? The release from prison of one of their number after 24 years. The common thread amongst them all – they had been Baader-Meinhof activists/sympathisers.

So far so good – except I hadn’t yet opened the book and that was when things went a little awry. Despite being set over a period of just a few days, the scope of the book is massive, encompassing the individual stories and history of the characters along with the collective sense of responsibility they carry for the historical actions of their country.

It all sounds very intense but unfortunately it wasn’t. For me there was something uncomfortable about the pacing of the story, after the briefest of introductions to the reader, the characters almost immediately launch into intense revelations, conflicts and intimacies with each other. Secrets are revealed in a way that seemed a bit too casual. I don’t very often say this because I appreciate shorter books but I think it could have been longer with time for character development and time to build tension. There is also reference to the September 11 attacks which I don’t think worked at all.

So it probably sounds as if I really didn’t like it which isn’t quite true – I never considered not finishing it and there were glimpses of brilliance. The idea of rebuilding friendship and trust in the symbolic setting of a run down old house that is itself in need of rebuilding I liked. The fear of a man re entering society after nearly a quarter of a century and being torn between reforming his life or continuing where he left off as a hero to the cause – on some level I can appreciate. Unfortunately though it all seemed a bit wooden and I came away not feeling much for any of the characters.

The book though has inspired some further reading. The Baader Meinhof Complex by Stephan Aust looks to be an excellent non fiction account of the Baader-Meinhof group. Perhaps I should have read that first.

Translated from the German by Shaun Whiteside

215 pages
2008, (English 2010)

The Sound of Butterflies is New Zealand author Rachael King’s first novel. I have had a couple of failures with NZ authors this year so I really wanted to like this one – and on the whole I did.

The failures by the way have been totally mine rather than either of the authors (I got half way through Hand Me Down World by Lloyd Jones and Eleanor Cattons’s The Rehearsal, but got sidetracked and didn’t finish them)

The Sound of Butterflies takes place in 1903/4 in Edwardian England and the Brazilian Amazon.

Thomas Edgar has been passionate about butterflies since he was a young boy. Without any qualifications, he is honoured to be invited to join an expedition into the Amazon where he hopes to identify an as yet unconfirmed species of butterfly. To his mind the discovery will secure his reputation and immortalise his young wife Sophie, left behind in England – he will name the butterfly with one black and one yellow wing after her.

When he returns a year later, Thomas is physically exhausted and mentally traumatised. He seems unable or unwilling to speak. Sophie fears her husband has lost his faith and his mind.

The narrative alternates between the two countries over the preceeding year as the reader and Sophie discover the reason for Thomas’ silence.

Rachael King does a great job of contrasting Thomas as he was in the correct and reserved English society with the untamed, passionate creature he becomes as he journeys further into the jungle. His love of butterflies borders on the obsessive, his sense of social justice threatens more than just the men’s expedition.

“I sense that it is only a matter of time before my beautiful butterfly comes to me. I will hold it in my hands more gently than I would a lover. It will be my key to greatness; more importantly, it will belong to me.”

The Sound of Butterflies reminds me a little of The Piano Tuner by Daniel Mason which I read years ago and is set from memory in the same time period and involves a life changing journey to a foreign country. Rachael King’s novel though has more energy and was easier to read.

I enjoyed it but I think it could have been better edited. There were several references to September in England being Spring, a tree in bud and warmer weather heading into Summer. It seems such a basic mistake but every time I read that I noticed it and it disrupted the flow of the story. I also thought it was about 50 pages too long.

I liked it enough though to put Rachel King’s latest novel Magpie Hall on my radar.

2007, 368 pages

I’d like to thank Jo at Bibliojunkie for her enticing review of this book, one I hadn’t heard of before but couldn’t resist seeking out – like Jo I read it in a couple of days and really enjoyed it.

I seem to be reading a bit more crime lately. Woman with Birthmark is a murder mystery featuring Inspector Van Veeteren and is set in what I presumed was a city in Sweden. It turns out that the setting is in a fictional place in an unidentified country- one thing is clear, it is bitterly cold. The bleak weather combined with post christmas lethargy makes it difficult for Inspector Van Veeteren to feel much enthusiasm for his work. Being the old hand that he is, one seemingly unremarkable murder is hardly worth leaving the warmth of home for. Then a second murder..and a third… and suddenly Inspector Van Veereren is fully engaged as he and his team search desperately for the connection between the victims and attempt to protect those still alive.

The beauty of the story is in its simple narrative style and level of suspense. It doesn’t have an especially complicated plot or a lot of police procedural detail. We have a good idea of the motive about half way through. There is also no secrecy around the identity of the killer (to the reader at least) as she is the first character we meet, the sole mourner at her mothers funeral. The mother’s last words to her daughter set off a chilling chain of events:

“Don’t cry. Whatever you do, don’t stand there bawling at my funeral. Tears have never been any use in any circumstances, believe you me. I’ve sobbed bucketfuls in my lifetime. No, do something my girl! Take action! Do something magnificant that I can applaud up there in heaven. “

An exciting read. We have the perspective of the killer, the police and the potential victims – and the added twist of the victims knowing they are at risk but not being able to admit it to the police. It is hard not to feel some sympathy for the killer and admiration for her tradecraft.

This is one of a series of novels featuring Inspector Van Veeteren and if you enjoy a sleuth with a good dose of cynicism and a dry sense of humour then definitely give this one a try. I’m not sure that I do but I found it a great read anyway. I have the Inspector lined up again for one of those cold Sunday’s in January – the perfect time to experience him I imagine.

Translated from the Swedish by Laurie Thompson

1996, (English 2009)
256 pages