Tag: Literature

Booker shortlist review #2 – “The Things We Never Say” by Elizabeth Strout

This is Elizabeth Strout’s eleventh novel and takes her away from Maine and the cast of characters with which we have become so familiar, and to Massachussetts in 2024, around the time of the last US Presidential election. It is perhaps Strout’s most explicitly political novel to date. The novel has all the trademark elements of Strout’s writing which readers have come to love. The central character is Artie Dam, a middle-aged history teacher in a high school, beloved by staff and pupils alike, but he is a man disillusioned with life, who feels lonely and, when we first meet him, is contemplating suicide. Arty lives with his wife Evie, a psychiatrist, and their marriage is showing strains often seen in long relationships where people have become complacent. They have one son, Rob, a fragile young man who is in the process of getting divorced from his wife Francesca – she is a concert pianist and her life on the road has meant they have drifted apart. Rob has had a difficult time in relationships, one of his earlier girlfriends having been killed when the car they were in crashed, and which the girlfriend’s parents partly blame Rob for.

SPOILER ALERT

Artie’s world is rocked by two events which I will discuss here, so a bit of a spoiler, but I should add these happen in the early part of the novel – I am not going to reveal how it all resolves. First, Rob reveals to Artie that he is not his biological father – this is in fact a family friend (a man who is now dead and whom Artie was not fond of, though he remains close to the friend’s widow Flossie). In her desperation to become pregnant, and guessing that Artie might be the cause of their infertility, Evie obviously sought help from the family friend, who willingly obliged, and who then, rather spitefully, went on to inform Rob by letter before he died. Rob was about to confront his mother with the information, but when Artie walked in unexpectedly, missed his opportunity.

The second event is that Artie slips from his dinghy when trying to climb aboard his beloved yacht and almost drowns. He is saved by a local man, Ken. Ironically, the brush with death gives Artie a new reason to live and he begins a friendship with the man which will be one of the more enriching parts of his life.

The rest of the novel explores Artie’s relationships – his friendships at work and outside of work, particularly with Ken, and with his students. Artie is increasingly out of place at the high school, his ways seeming increasingly old-fashioned in the world he now finds himself in, but his students continue to respond to his basic human goodness, his care for them, and his commitment to his job. Most of all, however, there is Artie’s relationship with Evie and with Rob. Artie plans to tell Evie that he knows about Rob, but as time passes the couple seem increasingly distant from one another. Evie is absorbed in her own world and seems to have less and less time or patience with her husband. This conversation that they never seem to have, is it Artie’s avoidance, or as time goes by, his disinclination to try and reach her?

In contrast, Artie’s relationship with Rob gets closer; he finds that “the conversation” opens up a channel between them, they find they can communicate better once they have communicated about something ‘real’. Both men know that although they are not biologically related, their connection goes beyond that and is in fact far deeper.

Elizabeth Strout is such a good writer that you think she is telling you a simple story, but she is in fact exploring much more complex theses about what it is to be human, about the need for connection, and about the consequences for us all, as individuals and as members of society, when this breaks down. She even gives us some Jungian philosophy in this one and her characters discuss it without for one moment sounding false, pretentious or unnatural. Her characters come alive on the page, even the minor ones; she has that capacity to give you the whole via tiny details.

I loved this book and found it hard to put down. Highly recommended.

Book review – “Land” by Maggie O’Farrell

The Manchester Literature Festival kicked off this week and runs until 25th October. I usually like to attend a few events, but will be away for much of the period this year (more of that to follow!). I was fortunate, however, to be able to attend one of the opening events, a talk with Maggie O’Farrell; my book club recently completed her new novel Land, so it was fantastic to be able to go along and hear her speak about it. Maggie O’Farrell is surely one of the finest British authors of her generation and since she is only in her mid-fifties, hopefully has many more years of writing ahead of her. Her career reached a new zenith last year with the release of the film “Hamnet”, which was an adaptation of her 2020 Women’s Prize winning novel. O’Farrell co-wrote the screenplay of the film with Director Chloé Zhao, which itself won many awards, including a best actress BAFTA and Oscar for Jessie Buckley. 

With all that going on, one can only marvel at the work ethic of O’Farrell – how on earth did this mother of three squeeze in another 400+ page novel? Furthermore she has to be one of the humblest most relatable literary giants alive! 

Land might be O’Farrell’s most personal novel to date and at the MLF talk she described the novel as loosely based on one of her own ancestors who, according to family myth (which may also be truth), was the first cartographer to map the island of Ireland in the mid-nineteenth century, in the service of the British government, which Ireland was a part of at the time. She has not been able from her research to confirm all the details of this, as cartographers were not allowed to sign their own name on the maps they produced, but she has nonetheless let her imagination form a story out of a few bare facts. 

The main character, based on O’Farrell’s ancestor, is Tomás who, when we meet him at the start of the novel, is working with his young son Liam, carrying out survey work on behalf of the British army. Liam hates the work, which is very physical. Tomás is passionate about his work and intends that Liam will follow in his footsteps. He is a tough taskmaster and a strict father and it soon becomes clear that Liam has more scholarly ambitions. Tomás is married to Phina, a strong-willed woman whom he fell in love with at the workhouse where they were both resident as children, and they have three children: in addition to Liam there is Enda and Rose. A fourth child, Eugene, will follow. 

The family has its troubles, after he is severely injured in a work accident in which he loses an arm, Tomás goes into a deep depression, through which Phina nurses him. He vows never again to work for the British, and moves the family to a remote peninsula in the west of the country, where they rent a derelict cottage and small piece of land, from which Tomás hopes they can make enough to live on. 

The story is set in the shadow of the Irish famine of the 1840s, which caused the deaths of over a million people and the mass migration of a million more. This catastrophic event changed the social make-up of the country and the physical landscape. The family itself is also deeply impacted – through Tomás’s mapping, which exposes some of the death and destruction, and through the choices made by the individual children as they consider their destinies. 

O’Farrell also weaves in Irish pagan myth and legend – at the MLF talk she shared how she drew on the many stories her father would tell her and her siblings – giving a profound sense of the how the land of Ireland, the very shape and texture, which Tomás is so diligently attempting to record, bears witness to people and stories that go back beyond mappable time. 

This is a multi-layered, complex novel that draws on many ideas and is epic in its scale. But at the heart of it is love – that which exists within the family, that which the Irish hold for the hard-won land beneath their feet, and the deep love that the author has for her family history, which she honours so powerfully in this novel. 

This is a brilliant piece of work that I recommend highly. I was also delighted to obtain a signed copy of the beautiful hardback edition which has the most beautiful cover artwork by Helen Cann. 

**I am baffled that this book did not make even the longlist for this year’s Booker Prize, for which it was eligible. Astonishing!**

Booker shortlist review #1 – “John of John” by Douglas Stuart

Last week I shared some photos of my wonderful summer holiday in Scotland where I was fortunate enough to spend some time on the island of Harris and Lewis in the Outer Hebrides. I started reading this book while I was there and was then delighted to see that it has been shortlisted for this year’s Booker Prize. I am not surprised and would have been questioning the decisions of the judging panel if it had been omitted! 

The novel is set in the 1980s and the main character is Calum (Cal) Macleod, who is returning home from Edinburgh, where he has been a student studying textiles, at the behest of his father John (Cal is actually named after his father but prefers to use his middle name), who tells him that his grandmother’s health is failing. John lives with Cal’s grandmother Ella, even though she is actually his ex-mother-in-law, John having divorced Cal’s mother Grace some years earlier. Ella owns the croft on which the family depends for a living. Cal himself is deep in debt, from his studies, and unable to find a job, so although he is reluctant to return home, in reality he has few choices.

Also, Cal is gay, and has found his student life in Edinburgh very freeing in that respect (though, as we will learn, very isolating in others). He has not come out to anyone at home and is afraid that he will be cast out by his father and by the deeply religious community on the island if he does. (When we visited Harris and Lewis, we arrived on a Sunday and everything was closed, and that is 40 years further on from this book.) Cal has a poor relationship with his father and the novel opens with him taking the long journey home, by bus, ferry and another bus, both dreading and putting off his arrival, choosing to spend his first night back on the island drunk in Tarbert, the ferry port, rather than at the family home.  

As soon as he arrives at home, John berates his son – for not coming home earlier (word has got around that he arrived on the island the day before), for his haircut and his tardy ways. Ella does her best to calm troubled waters, but John is a stubborn man and he never misses an opportunity to criticise his son. Cal is put to work instantly, helping his father with the weaving (an activity that is meant to bring in extra money to the household, but barely pays for itself now) – it is the one area where Cal and John can begin to bond. Cal recognises his father’s ‘feel’ for the work and his eye for colour in the tweed fabrics he creates. We begin to see where Cal gets his talent for textiles and some areas of common ground slowly start to emerge between the two men. 

The novel recounts the long and tough road that their relationship will need to navigate and the compromises that Cal in particular will need to make. Douglas Stuart also begins to peel back the layers of the community, the undercurrents that are suppressed in service to the religious imperatives, how the dreams of the young people on the island are impoverished due to the lack of opportunity and how when there is no hope people turn to other ways to numb the pain of their existence. 

This novel is at times rather dark and hopeless, but there is something positive in Cal’s acceptance of his father, even if his father will struggle to accept him, and the small acts of resistance that some of the characters exercise just to be themselves. The novel answered many questions for me about the beautiful island I visited, so remote and disconnected from the pressures of urban life, but while I was there I found myself wondering about the young people brought up there, what they wanted, how they expressed themselves. I sincerely hope things have changed for them. 

This is a powerful and beautiful novel that must be a strong contender to win the Booker Prize for a second time for its author.

Book review – “Benbecula” by Graeme Macrae Burnet

I bought this book from a gorgeous bookshop in Portree on the Isle of Skye. When I’m travelling I always like to pick up something “local” and although the author is actually from Kilmarnock, this novel is set in the Outer Hebrides where, as I wrote earlier in the week, I had the good fortune to spend part of my holiday this summer. There were, of course, far too many great Scottish books to choose from, but I was very impressed with Graeme Macrae Burnet’s 2016 Booker Prize shortlisted novel His Bloody Project so I was keen to try this one. As with the earlier book, and others he has written, I understand, his novels are often based on real life cases, murder mysteries. In the Afterword to Benbecula, the author writes extensively of his research and his own conclusions about the case. 

This story concerns a brutal triple murder that took place on the remote Scottish island of Benbecula in 1857. Angus McPhee, the second son of four siblings, killed, seemingly in cold blood, his mother, father and aunt. The story is narrated by the elder brother Malcolm, a man who now lives alone, his two other siblings having abandoned the island and the desolate life that apparently lay ahead of them, tended only by a local woman who cooks and cleans for him and takes some care over his personal hygiene. 

The author creates a powerful sense of remote island life in the middle of the nineteenth century, where it is hard for labouring families like the McPhees to make any sort of a living. They manage a small croft and collect seaweed from the shore for fertiliser, providing barely enough income to feed them all. In addition to Malcolm and his brother Angus, there is a sister Marion and a younger brother John, who appears to have learning difficulties. They are a family of loners; none of the siblings seems to get on well with any of the other islanders, or have any love interest. Malcolm describes his sister Marion as being plain at best and Angus’s lascivious behaviour towards other local young girls marks him out as a person to be avoided. Malcolm worries that there is something genetically faulty in the family.

Angus has unpredictable and sometimes violent outbursts which make it necessary to restrain him physically, sometimes for days at a time. Whilst he is clearly considered, by the local church elders and the governing authorities, a danger to the public, no-one predicts that he will murder members of his own family.

Malcolm narrates the story and his is a dark and troubled soul, bearing the scars of his family shame, but also the burden of loneliness that must inevitably attend someone in that position in a small community where everyone knows you, your family and the horror that your sibling has visited on his own flesh and blood. Malcolm reflects on his own life, both in the present and the past, and on the events he has borne witness to. We see the devastating impact that a brother’s crimes have had on the one left behind. The island itself is a key part of the novel – the loneliness and isolation reflect Malcolm’s own, the deeply religious nature of the community judges Angus directly, and Malcolm indirectly. 

This is a deeply researched and thoughtful novel where the author has attempted to get inside the head of his main protagonist, whilst also interrogating the facts of a deeply horrifying incident that must have shaken a small community to its core. 

A good read, recommended.

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.

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.

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.

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!