Women’s Prize shortlist book review – “Dominion” by Addie E. Citchens

This is my fourth review from the Women’s Prize shortlist, which was won recently by Virginia Evans for The Correspondent. Dominion is a remarkable debut novel and could easily have been the winner for me; although I did love The Correspondent there is something weightier about Dominion and it is beautifully written. The title refers to the town in Mississippi in which the novel is set but also the hold that men, the church and societal expectations (ie the patriarchy) have over the women at the centre of this story. 

Sabre Winfrey is the ultimate patriarchal figure, much-beloved Minister at the church, local businessman, affluent and at the top of the social hierarchy. His status lends some degree of power also to his wife Priscilla, but as mother to his five sons, none of whom truly appreciate her, she is hemmed in by the men around her. She has beauty and power, which does not make her a favourite among many of the women in the community and she is referred to somewhat disparagingly as ‘First Lady’. Priscilla has her flaws – a limp, a result of a childhood accident, a dependence on prescription drugs which she obtains from a local dealer, and a conviction for driving under the influence which puts her, quite literally, at the mercy of her husband and sons for getting around. Priscilla is nobody’s fool, however; she knows her husband is having a liaison with another beauty in the congregation, and as the novel progresses and she learns more about her sons, particularly her youngest and her favourite Emmanuel, she begins to question everything about her family and the society in which she moves.

Diamond is in many ways the antithesis of Priscilla – born into a broken family she was adopted as a child, rescued from a life of chaos and poverty, but still has contact with some of her siblings. Diamond is also beautiful, however, and is deeply in love with Emmanuel, or ‘Wonderboy’ as she calls him, the youngest Winfrey son, smart and gifted both athletically and musically. Diamond and Priscilla are cool and suspicious of each other, but when Emmanuel’s mistakes catch up with him and he and Diamond attempt to flee Dominion, both women go on a journey of seeing how their devotion has been misguided. 

The novel is set in the 1990s and while racial discrimination is never very far away, particularly around the life chances of young black men not born into affluent homes, it is not the main thrust of the novel as it goes in the direction of looking at the way that the community has hemmed in the two intelligent and thoughtful women at its centre. Separated in age by a few decades, Priscilla and Diamond lives are irrevocably impacted by men (arguably the same man!). Men who enjoy the undeserved adoration of their community. Diamond dislikes Priscilla and her airs and graces; Priscilla dislikes Diamond and where her beauty and her body might lead her precious son. Both women will go on a journey to find out a bit of the truth about each other and, more importantly, their flawed men.

This novel is a stunning debut from Addie E Citchens and I enjoyed it immensely. I can only think it was a coin toss away from winning the Women’s Prize! The chapters alternate mostly between Priscilla and Diamond, but occasionally also Emmanuel and the author gives each one a distinctive narrative voice. The turns of phrase are a joy.

I listened to it on audiobook and the performances were excellent and the use of music was also an interesting addition, giving the novel a real sense of time and place.

Highly recommended.

Audiobook review – “The Pretender” by Jo Harkin

Fifteenth century England is something I know very little about but reading this book has taught me a great deal. It is a work of fiction but is based on a real person and events. I listened to this on audio so I have not read a disclaimer or author’s note. 

The plot is complicated (as indeed were political events at this time), but is told chronologically and is therefore easy to follow. John Collan is a young boy living in rural Oxfordshire with his widowed father and two older brothers. The scene is set of a young innocent with a carefree life and a loving family and people around him who are keen to protect him, most notably his friend Jennet, the milkmaid, a fantastically coarse but lovable character. That fairly idyllic upbringing is brought to an abrupt end, however, when two fine gentlemen turn up and take John away. The boy is told that he is in fact of royal lineage and was placed in the care of the Collan family for his own protection when he was a baby, but that the time has now come for him to rise to his destiny. He is to be taken away and prepared for the role that awaits him.

John is taken to Oxford and given his new name Lambert Simnel – this is the name of the person who is known to have existed. Initially, the boy has mixed feelings – he is excited at his new prospects, but also misses his family. He is not permitted any remnants from his old life but secretes one or two simple reminders among the meagre belongings he takes with him. It soon becomes clear that the two so-called gentlemen have very little care for the boy, and are simply lining their own pockets at his expense. In fact, it will become clear that no-one really has the boy’s best interests at heart, he is simply a pawn in a dangerous political scheme. 

At this time, Richard III is on the throne – the Wars of the Roses have caused great turbulence in the country and there are many plots and counter-plots at play as others with claims to royalty seek to further their ambitions in the face of a weak and embattled crown. After Oxford, Lambert will be taken to Mechelen in Belgium where he is patronised by noblemen and women there with their own plans for the English throne. Lambert is told he is the Earl of Warwick and as his identity goes through changes we watch him evolving into his role. Both his speech and his worldview change – the innocent boy takes on the mantle of the pretender to the throne.

From Mechelen, Lambert will travel to Ireland where he lives under the protection of an Irish nobleman. He falls in love with Joan, one of the man’s daughters – which will have consequences for them both. This part is poignant since we are reminded that he is merely a teenager experiencing the first pangs of lust and love. And that he did not seek the destiny that has been thrust upon him. 

When Henry VII replaced Richard on the throne in 1485 it began a period of stability in England which was a great contrast to what had gone before. Lambert’s situation becomes increasingly bleak, but yet the events of his life seem to be getting ever further beyond his control. His cynicism grows, so tragic in one so young, as the pressures on him grow. 

I thoroughly enjoyed this book; it takes a small piece of English political history and explores the human story that might have lain behind it, something historians seldom do when they outline great events of past times. Its theme, how the people at the centre of events are manipulated  to serve others, is one we can see repeated in political machinations across the globe over the centuries. 

I recommended this book highly and with its smattering of love and sex as well, makes it perfect holiday reading!

Women’s Prize 2026 shortlist review – “The Correspondent” by Virginia Evans

I was about halfway through this when it was announced as the winner of the Women’s Prize for Fiction a couple of weeks ago and I am delighted that it won as I have enjoyed it very much. The story spans several years from 2012 to 2022 and is told almost entirely in the form of letters to and from the main character Sybil van Antwerp. Sybil is a woman in her 70s, divorced for twenty-five years from her Belgian husband. She has two adult children, one of whom, her daughter Fiona, lives in England, the other a son, Bruce, lives closer to her home in Maryland. We also learn quite early on that Sybil and her husband Dan had another child, Gilbert, who died at the age of eight.

Sybil is long-retired but had a distinguished career in law, as clerk to a judge. Her lifelong hobby has been letter-writing, and she writes to everyone! From lengthy, newsy, intimate letters to her childhood friend Rosalie (who married the brother of Sybil’s ex-husband), to shorter letters of admiration to favourite authors (she is a regular correspondent with Joan Didion, with whom she shares an interest in the grieving process), to very short and no-holds barred letters of disapproval to the Dean of the local college where she has for years attended courses (as an auditor) and now finds she is no longer permitted to do so. Though her first love is pen and paper, Sybil has also acquainted herself with email and there are a number of exchanges – one with a customer service agent named Bassam, a refugee from Syria, who deals with her queries and concerns about taking a DNA test after having been gifted a subscription by her son (Sybil was adopted as a baby). Sybil strikes up quite a friendship with him.

Sybil can come across as harsh and difficult at times, but we also see her softer, more caring side in the exchanges she has with Harry, the neurodivergent teenage son of a former colleague, now friend, with whom she seems to have a curious rapport, despite their large age difference. When Harry experiences some severe mental health difficulties it is Sybil who steps in, without question. 

This is a novel about ageing and self-discovery, and about making peace with the facts of your life. Sybil is losing her sight – she has a degenerative eye condition – and this is devastating to her, not least because it threatens to put an end to her letter-writing. But as her sight deteriorates she gains new insights into her past life; she explores the painful circumstances of her son’s death and faces up to the fact that while she will never stop grieving, she must look that grief in the face and truly feel it. In doing so, she may be able to liberate herself from the self-imposed life sentence of guilt and allow herself to find happiness in her later life. 

This is a really moving novel that explores some powerful universal themes, but tells its story in an accessible, entertaining, sometimes funny, sometimes very sad way. A really interesting idea, cleverly executed and beautifully written. 

I have still to read three of the other shortlisted novels, but this was the most compelling of the ones I have read so far. I listened to it on audio and the performances were excellent, really bringing to life the cast of characters.

Highly recommended.

Book review – “The Burning Chambers” by Kate Mosse

The winners of the Women’s Prizes were announced a couple of weeks ago and I was delighted to see that Virginia Evans’s The Correspondent won the Fiction award – I have just completed the book and enjoyed it very much so look out for my review of that one soon. The Non-fiction award went to Lyse Doucet, the outstanding BBC international correspondent whom I have long admired and have seen speaking on many occasions. Her prize-winning debut book, The Finest Hotel in Kabul, has been on my TBR list since it was published last year. But a shout-out must go to the amazing Kate Mosse, co-founder of the Women’s Prize, an extraordinary force for good in the literary world. I have come to her books relatively late, but enjoy them enormously, and have reviewed the Languedoc trilogy on here (I have reviewed Labyrinth and Sepulchre, but not yet Citadel though I have read it.)

I read The Burning Chambers for a bit of light relief when I was having a deal too much of Proust (!), and it was, quite frankly, just what I needed to get a bit of energy back into my reading. It is the first in her series of the Joubert Family Chronicles and begins in Carcassonne in 1562 at the time of the religious wars between the Catholics and the Hugenots. The central character is Minou Joubert, the nineteen year-old daughter of bookseller Bernard Joubert. Bernard’s wife is dead and so Minou’s primary role in the family is to care for her younger siblings Aimeric and Alis. It is noted that Minou does not resemble her brother and sister; for example, her hair is red, flame-coloured, unlike the dark and curly hair of her siblings. This also gives some hint to her character.

The Joubert family is Catholic, in line with the ruling elite in that area at the time, but Bernard’s insistence on religious tolerance has got him into trouble and the business is suffering. While he is away, Minou receives a sealed letter, sealed with a distinctive family crest, bearing only five words: “She knows that you live”. This is the start of a chain of events which will set Minou on a dangerous path. At about the same time she meets, by chance, Piet Reydon, a Dutchman and a Protestant, who has travelled to the area to support a possible uprising against the oppression of the Catholic church. The couple are immediately attracted to one another, but, of course, their initial exchanges are not auspicious. Piet is a wanted man and Minou helps him flee the city; even though she is a Catholic, she has inherited her father’s passionate commitment to freedom of worship. Before he escapes, Piet leaves a valuable religious relic in her safekeeping. Soon after this Minou returns home one day to find that her young sister Alis, a sickly child, vanished whilst the servant had briefly left the house. Minou feels she has no choice but to go in search of Alis, sensing a connection with the mysterious letter, and the ancient religious relic.

Violence erupts in the region and Minou’s flight and search for her sister take place against this backdrop. Mosse is a consummate plotter and alongside the quest and the burgeoning love story between Minou and Piet there is the ever-present threat of capture by Vidal, the former associate of Piet’s now turned cruel and ambitious Cardinal, who intends to eliminate whatever (and whomever) he perceives as a threat to his ascent. 

This is a gripping page-turner of a book that I enjoyed thoroughly and I look forward to reading the next book in the series The City of Tears, which by happy coincidence, I picked up recently in a secondhand bookshop whilst on my travels!

Audiobook review – “The Book Club for Troublesome Women” by Marie Bostwick

This was a book club pick a couple of months ago and I listened to it on audio whilst doing a lot of travelling back in May. It was a very good accompaniment to rolling scenery from the window of a train and a bus, when my eyes needed a rest and I did not want to think too hard! The author describes it as ‘historical fiction’, and it is, although the 1960s don’t seem that long ago to some of us! Set up in a suburban town close to Washington DC in the United States it tells the story of four women who call themselves ‘the Bettys’, after setting up a book club with the inaugural title being the, at the time, controversial book The Feminine Mystique by Betty Friedan. Funnily enough, my husband was reading The Feminine Mystique at the same time I was listening to this novel. It was highly contentious when it was first published in 1963 and is credited with having triggered second-wave feminism, based on some research Friedan, an academic, had done which found that the majority of American women were dissatisfied with their roles as housewives and mothers, and those who had received a college education felt their talents and knowledge were wasted. 

The founder of the book club is Margaret Ryan, a happily married mother of three, who comes up with the idea as a way of bringing new neighbours together. She invites her good friend Viv, a happily married mother of six, and Bitsy, a very young woman married to a vet who is much older than her. Bitsy has no children but the need to become pregnant and her husband’s impatience preoccupy her constantly. The fourth member is the newest neighbour Charlotte, an outgoing, haughty artist, who makes it plain that she is a fish out of water on the neat housing estate and that it was not her idea to move there. Charlotte has two teenaged children and a largely absent husband. 

Over time, the reading of The Feminine Mystique, forces the women to ask themselves whether they are happy and fulfilled, an uncomfortable question for some of them. They explore employment opportunities (which they find are limited) and find that their husbands are not all entirely supportive of the changes the women are seeking. Some of the men are clearly threatened by the change to the status quo.

The women meet regularly and begin to form close bonds, despite the obvious differences between them. As each one encounters personal challenges, such as Margaret’s struggles to find a publisher for her writing, Charlotte’s marital difficulties, Viv’s unplanned pregnancy (she was unable to get a prescription for contraceptives without her husband being present) and Bitsy’s failure to fall pregnant at all, they find their little club grows into something much more meaningful and supportive.

The women are on a journey, as are their partners, trying to break through the barriers that the prevailing social norms have placed in the way of their often very modest ambitions, and as they grow in self-confidence, thanks to the support of the group, they find themselves fighting to bring down those barriers, with varying consequences and degrees of success. 

It is hard to credit that some of the barriers facing women outlined in this novel were in place only a couple of generations ago. It is also a reminder that in some parts of the world, freedoms and equality are still denied to many women, either by law or by culture. The job is not yet complete and this book is a powerful reminder.

Very enjoyable and recommended reading. I listened to it on audio and found the reader Lisa Flanagan to be very good.

The Women’s Prize for Fiction shortlist book review – “The Mercy Step” by Marcia Hutchinson

The winner of the Women’s Prize for Fiction will be announced tomorrow and as always it’s a great shortlist. I have read two of the books – Flashlight by Susan Choi, which I reviewed on here when it was also shortlisted for the Booker Prize last year, and The Mercy Step by Marcia Hutchinson. I am also part-way through The Correspondent by Virginia Evans, which I am enjoying enormously. The remaining three books on the shortlist (Heart the Lover by Lily King, Kingfisher by Rozie Kelly, and Dominion by Addie E Citchens) also all look excellent and I am keen to read those too. 

I listened to The Mercy Step on audio and it is read by the author, which at first I thought I might find disappointing, but I came to appreciate the authenticity of her Bradford accent, and the naturalness of expression in the Jamaican accents of her parents and their associates. The events of the novel mirror closely those of the author’s life; Mercy is born in Bradford in the early 1960s to parents from the Caribbean (part of the Windrush generation) and the family is large – Mercy is the middle of the five children, but we learn that there are more children who were left behind in Jamaica. The novel ends when Mercy is eleven years of age and is about to start attending the local grammar school. 

Beyond the facts of Mercy’s childhood, I have no idea whether the family in the novel in any way resembles the author’s own experience of growing up – I have not read any interviews with her. What becomes clear very quickly is that the household is chaotic – Mercy is the third of four girls, before the long-awaited and highly prized son is born. At first, Mercy feels a deep connection to her mother; she talks of the cord that connects them, as if the umbilical bond had never been broken. But when another baby comes along, the toddler Mercy’s world is shattered and she cannot comprehend having been usurped. This is the start of Mercy beginning to create her own identity separate from the family. 

Mercy’s father is emotionally absent (as, in fact, is her mother) – he is a gambler with no interest in his children (except the boy when he arrives) and is violent and abusive. The household is chaotic and there is very little money. The children are largely left to fend for themselves (especially later on when their mother has to work long hours to support the family), but at the same time they are bound by strict rules dictated by the religious convictions of their mother’s evangelical faith. Her blind adherence will later place Mercy in a very dangerous position. 

The Mercy step is initially literal, an actual place on the stairs where Mercy can be alone with her precious Dolly, and fantasise about a different life where no-one else is demanding her mother’s attention. It later comes to represent a place in Mercy’s mind where she can escape the drama and degradation (and danger) of the family home. As she grows older and starts school she becomes fascinated by ancient civilisations and realises she can create worlds in her mind that remove her from her harsh reality. Discovering the library is a near-miracle for the young girl and it soon becomes her safe place. We follow Mercy as she grows up and away from the family. At the age of eleven she is ready to embark on a new, more self-confident phase where she can finally be herself. 

I really enjoyed the novel and it is beautifully written. I loved the way the author got into the mind of the baby, toddler and child Mercy and was able to see the world from that perspective. I also enjoyed learning about the experience of a migrant family coming from halfway across the world to the bleak environment of postwar northern England. The author is now in her sixties and has led a full and interesting life as both a lawyer and activist and it will be interesting to see what her next novel brings. 

I recommend this book – I’m not sure it will win the Women’s Prize. I think Flashlight is probably a higher calibre novel and it’s the only other shortlisted book I’ve completed! But The Mercy Step is a great debut and very engaging.

Book review – “Alone in Berlin” by Hans Fallada

The last book review I posted was about the first volume of Marcel Proust’s In Search of Lost Time, a book I started whilst travelling in Egypt just over a year ago. My last blog post (after a long gap) was about the travelling I have been doing so far this year so I thought it might be nice to share with you some of the reading that has kept me company on my travels. On my recent trip to Turkey I read a lengthy book that I bought at the Dussmann bookshop in Berlin in February, Hans Fallada’s Alone in Berlin. Set in 1940, the book covers a period when the Nazis were at the height of their oppressive powers in Germany, through to the start of their decline and ultimate end in 1945. It was published in 1947, remarkably soon after the end of the Second World War, and is based on real events though names and details have been altered.

The story opens in an ordinary apartment block in the city and we are introduced to the residents of the block. The main body of the story concerns Anna and Otto Quangel, but the author sets the scene by telling us about the other residents and creating the social context for the story. There is one family that is committed to the cause of the Nazis and a Jewish woman who is hounded out of her apartment, but the remainder are either quietly resistant or are simply trying to get along in the new situation, make a living (legally or otherwise), and get the best for themselves. It paints a picture of a community that is largely pragmatic, sometimes selfless and sometimes callously self-interested.  

The Quangels are a quiet couple who want no trouble. Otto is a foreman in a factory, a fairly good job at which he is skilled and experienced. The story opens with them receiving the sad news that their only son (also named Otto) has been killed in action. They are devastated, but their reaction to the news shows how unpracticed they are at expressions of emotion and how impotent their rage is. When they tell their son’s fiancee Trudel the news she reveals to Otto, whom she calls her father-in-law, that she is involved in some low-level resistance activity in at the factory where she works. She has betrayed a solemn secret by even telling Otto Quangel this information, but in her youth and naivety, she also does not know how to keep it to herself. Her outburst, however, gives Otto an idea of how he might, in his own small way, express his own anger and resistance towards the Nazis. 

Otto and Anna begin a campaign of writing anonymous postcards containing what would be considered subversive slogans such as “Mother! The Fuhrer has murdered my son!” They plan to surreptitiously deposit their postcards in public places in the hope that others will find them and pass them on, thus setting off a chain of events where citizens will challenge the regime. The couple are aware of the grave risks they are taking and discuss their methods at length to try and minimise the dangers.

The Quangels’ campaign of placing postcards continues for some years. In the meantime we learn of the response of the police and the Gestapo, who acquire most of the postcards and are keen to track down the perpetrator. A number of senior detectives and officers take on the investigation and there is a kind of sinister comedy to their incompetence and the degree of seriousness with which they approach this relatively minor and largely futile action. Meanwhile, the breakdown of order in the society and the petty crimes of citizens which are carried out against the backdrop of the much larger grosser crimes of the regime, are set out before us. 

Apart from the nasty and inhumane treatment of the elderly Jewish woman at the start of the novel at the hands of Nazi devotees on the upper floor of the apartment bulding, the Persickes, there is very little about the regime’s persecution of the Jews. The story here is about how resistance within society, even the most trivial resistance, was brutally opposed and how the society was controlled through fear and surveillance. This was indeed a powerful theme at the Gestapo museum I went to in Berlin, situated on Wilhelmstrasse, from where much of the operation of the state was controlled. The way the Gestapo operatives are portrayed in this novel is both comic and grotesque – they are extremists operating at the edge of reason, both paranoid and murderous. 

This is a long novel about a chase – one of the detectives refers to the case as ‘cat and mouse’ – and the conclusion is long and drawn out, but played against the background of the regime in its declining stages. Did the postcard campaign achieve anything? Was it the only act of defiance available to grieving parents who had no power to protest? Was it symbolic of an underlying opposition within Berlin society that meant the regime was destined ultimately to fail, albeit at monstrous cost? These are all questions I found myself asking as I read this very powerful book.

Highly recommended.

Staying still

I have been doing so much travelling this last few weeks that my blogging has fallen by the wayside. I have missed it! The bookblogging community is so well-populated with nice people, interesting perspectives and authentic passion that it gives me all the online socialising I need and I steer pretty well clear of most other social media. (Not that I would place blogging in the same category as those other types of AI-powered platforms.) I am just back from a bucket-list trip to Turkey and now have a few weeks of going hardly anywhere and quite a lot of work to help pay for all the travel! So, this year I did not go to the Hay Festival (although listening to various shows on the radio that were broadcast from there I confess to feeling a deep sense of FOMO) and I will not be going to Dublin for Bloomsday in a couple of weeks time. Next year.

There has been quite a literary twist to all my travel. I have researched the best bookshops and always try to buy a locally-themed book.

I had a marvellous week in Berlin, which was my husband’s ‘big birthday’ treat! There is no end of interesting things to see and do there and my particular highlights were the Jewish Museum (an extraordinary building designed by Daniel Libeskind), the Neues Museum, with its outstanding collection of Egyptian and ancient artefacts, and, slightly less highbrow, the KaDeWe department store! We also visited the Brecht-Weigel museum which was the modest but fascinating home of Bertolt Brecht and his long-time partner Helene Weigel. We sought out a bookshop of course and found the marvellous Dussmann on Friedrichstrasse, a few minutes’ walk from the Brandenburger Tor. I bought myself a translated version of the German post-war classic Alone in Berlin by Hans Fallada. Look out for my review of that soon (assuming I start getting my blogging act together!).

In March we paid a visit to an old family friend in Ross-on-Wye. It’s very close to Hay-on-Wye of course, but not somewhere I had previously visited. It’s a lovely town, but the highlight was going to Tintern and seeing the wonderful, Tintern Abbey, subject of one of Wordsworth’s best-loved poems.

And finally, earlier this month, I went on a holiday to Turkey, fulfilling a lifelong ambition. It’s not so very far away or even very expensive to visit so I’m not sure how I have not been there before. I joined a tour organised by Intrepid Travel (who I cannot recommend highly enough) which took us to some of the most famous sights in the country. Ephesus was a highlight – I have such vivid memories of being a child and seeing pictures of the facade of the Celsus Library and dreaming of far-off travel! Istanbul is a fantastic city, so vibrant, and with a beautiful church or mosque around every corner. And the Bosphorus of course and the obligatory boat trip – which does live up to the hype. The city is blessed with many bookshops and I loved Minoa Pera – I had to buy myself Istanbul by Orhan Palmuk. And Cappadocia and the Goreme national park with its extraordinary rock formations.

It seems appropriate that the last two pictures above are of the Celsus Library at Ephesus and the stairs in the Minoa Pera bookshop in Istanbul!

I have had quite the most incredible few weeks and feel myself very fortunate indeed. Now, back to blogging. And some healthy eating and exercise. And some work I suppose….

Book review – “In Search of Lost Time – Vol. 1: Swann’s Way” by Marcel Proust

Many months ago, while sitting in an airport in Cairo, awaiting my flight home from a holiday in Egypt, I opened this book. I had taken it with me, somewhat optimistically I now realise, thinking that I would have plenty of down-time to, at last, tackle a book my husband bought for me as a gift just before we had our first child. There was no way I was ever going to be able to read it at that stage in my life! It has been hard enough at this stage in my life, when I am at the other end of the parenting spectrum and my chicks are flying the nest! It took me until the new year to complete this 500-plus page book. And that is just volume one of Proust’s life’s work, À la recherche du temps perdu, known in English as In Search of Lost Time. There are a further six volumes.

I read a lot of long novels – I recently completed Kate Mosse’s The Burning Chambers, coming in at 586 pages, which I zipped through relatively quickly, but Proust is something else altogether. I could read The Burning Chambers for ten minutes before going to sleep, plus it was pretty action-packed with lots of characters, events and short chapters. In the same amount of time I would get through maybe two or three pages of Proust and often have to go back to re-read to check my understanding. Proust is famously a master of clause and sub-clause; sentences can go on for many lines, and paragraphs often straddle two or even three pages. It is slow-reading. In the same way, perhaps, that slow-cooking is good for rich and succulent casseroles!

This first volume, Swann’s Way, is divided into three quite distinct parts, some of which could be considered a stand-alone novel within the overall scheme of the work. Part one, “Combray”, is itself sub-divided into two further parts. The book is a first-person narration and in “Combray”, which is the name of an area in Normandy where the narrator spent much of his time in childhood, at the family estate, he recalls in detail the long days, the walks, family members, particularly his mother, and the socialising. We are introduced to M. Swann, a family acquaintance. Life seems to be dominated by relative trivialities, gossip and inconsequential pastimes. What is portrayed is an Edwardian life of privilege, largely insulated from world events, which would of course, soon explode into the First World War. Proust began this work in 1909. 

Right from the outset, it is clear that this is a novel about recollection and memory – both the deliberate and the involuntary. (Formerly, the English translation of the work was known as Remembrance of Things Past.) The narrator at first remembers very little about his childhood times at Combray, but then the famous incident of the madeleine cake takes him right back to that period and triggers a whole series of memories. It is an insight into the workings of the mind, the incidents and images we store unconsciously, which may be recalled through sensory arousal. There is a great deal of reference to sensory arousal! The subject of the first volume, M. Swann, falls passionately in love with Odette de Crécy, a woman of great charm and beauty, but who is considered by some to be of dubious character, and appears to be a lover to many. Swann does in fact end up marrying Odette, despite their very on/off affair and his bitter jealousy when she fraternises with other men. The couple have a child, the beautiful Gilberte, with whom the young narrator will himself fall in love when they both find themselves taking walks in the same part of Paris. This section of Proust’s work was made into a film in 1984, starring Jeremy Irons as M. Swann and Italian actress Ornella Muti as Odette. 

The novel is long and philosophical and challenging but it also gives a wonderful insight into the Belle Epoque in Paris, the “beautiful era”, characterised as a period of creativity and innovation. Also, there is the insight to the nature of middle and high society at this time – the gossipping and scheming, the pettiness and snobbery and the concern for rank and appearances. Proust was writing about this period, but at a point when the Belle Epoque was coming to its end and the First World War would soon start (this first volume was published in 1913). I wonder to what extent Proust was using the concepts of memory and nostalgia interchangeably? The “time” the narrator was in search of was indeed all but lost at this point. 

By coincidence, the novel I am working through at the moment, which is also very challenging, is called Nostalgia and is by Romanian author Mircea Cărtărescu. The narrator is recalling pre-war Bucharest and makes reference to Proust, when the sight of a pink cigarette lighter causes him to have flashbacks. 

I am quite proud to have completed at least one volume of Proust’s great work in my life. I have one more on the TBR shelf – my husband bought me two volumes (I wonder if he realised there were seven altogether!) I might give myself a break before embarking on volume two and enjoy something faster-paced for a while.

The joy of re-reading – “Sense and Sensibility” by Jane Austen

There will never be enough time to read all the books I want to read. As I get older, this is a fact I am trying to come to terms with. One brief stroll around a bookshop has me adding so many titles to my mental TBR list and that makes it hard to walk away from special offers! The result is that I have dozens of impulse-purchased books on my shelves that I aspire to one day get around to. Even worse is the charity bookshop, where the financial consequences of over-purchasing are lower. (Let’s not forget that, although book prices are increasing, the cost per hour of pleasure derived remains pretty low). 

So, with so many new books being published every day, self-published books, audiobooks, and, indeed, other high quality content (such as book blogs!) there is much competing for our reading attention. As such, re-reading can feel like a bit of a luxury. My husband is a great re-reader, often choosing to go back to things that he feels still have more to give. Me, less so. So, when my book club decided it was time for a classic, we picked up on the 250th anniversary of Jane Austen’s birth at the end of last year (16th December 2025) and chose Sense and Sensibility, which I had last read when I was an undergraduate at London University. As an Austen lover, I knew the story well, of course, plus I’ve watched the (in my view) iconic 1995 film by Ang Lee, starring Emma Thompson, Kate Winslet and Alan Rickman. There is also a 2008 BBC television adaptation which received good reviews, and which purports to focus more on the sisters’ burgeoning sexual awakening, but I haven’t seen this. 

Going back to the text, however, sent me on a journey I did not expect. I did half read, half listen – the audiobook was read by Rosamund Pike, and I appreciated her narration very much – but sometimes I found myself listening to a section or a chapter and then going back to my paperback book, because the text was so rich that I just wanted to savour the words on the page, as the author intended. One problem I had (and I have found this with other classics that I have revisited that I already own copies of) is that my Penguin paperback dates from the late 1980s when I would have bought it whilst at university, and the text is so tiny! The conversation at the very beginning of the book between John Dashwood and his wife Fanny, where they are discussing how much of the inheritance he should give up for his widowed step-mother and his three sisters to live on (fulfilling the stipulation in his late father’s will that he should provide for them) is priceless! When you think that it is likely Austen was perhaps nineteen or twenty years old when she wrote this novel, it makes her talent as a writer and as an observer of human nature even more astounding.

Which brings me on to my own maturity as a reader of this novel, compared to the teenager I was when I first encountered it. I was always a pretty sensible young person, so would probably have identified with Elinor more than Marianne anyway (I really can’t remember!). But Sense and Sensibility is considered to be one of Jane Austen’s more problematic novels in the sense that the outcome for the younger sister, Marianne, she of the more emotional, romantic, impetuous nature, is not really satisfactory; Willoughby, the man she falls so deeply in love with, turns out to be flawed and unreliable, and she is ultimately married off to the much less stimulating Colonel Brandon, a decent husband for the young Marianne but rather far from being the man of her dreams. A neat ending but fraught with disappointment. A younger reader might react more strongly to Marianne being unable to choose a life-partner more compatible with her own personality. As a mother of daughters around this age (though definitely not considering marriage!) I found myself very glad indeed that Marianne did not end up with the feckless Willoughby (prepared to bad-mouth his own new wife!). Brandon is definitely more solid, but I would certainly want my daughters (and my son) marrying for love and not prospects. But that is the Georgian era for you – the brother inherits the lot and leaves his sisters in virtual poverty, so what else could they do? And it is a world that Jane Austen well understood. 

I love this novel, I love everything by Jane Austen, even though she was clearly not at the peak of her writing powers at this point. She was still honing her craft. Pride and Prejudice was published just two years later, in 1813 and there is a huge evolution in her abilities, showing us just what a unique gift she had. Her canon is small but remarkable and each of the novels has its strengths and bears re-reading many times. 

I would like to think that I might re-read all of the novels in the coming months and years, see how I react to them well past the age that Austen lived. I visited her home in Chawton, Hampshire many years ago. I’d like to go there again. It is worth seeing the tiny desk from where she wrote these novels, by hand. If I manage to re-read all these novels, I will treat myself to the trip!