Tag: non-fiction

Book review – “Prisoners of Geography” by Tim Marshall

I remember a friend recommending this book to me a few years ago and I made a mental note but never got around to reading it, so I was delighted to pick this up at my local Oxfam bookshop at the start of the summer. The book was first published ten years ago (my edition was revised and updated in 2016) but a further edition has been published this year. One can understand why a new version was needed; 2015 seems almost quaint at this point, another era. It pre-dates the first Trump presidency, Russia’s 2022 invasion of Ukraine, Britain leaving the European Union and, of course, the Covid-19  pandemic. It also pre-dates by some distance the devastating events of the last two years in Israel and Gaza.

And yet, one of the striking things about reading this nine year-old edition is how prescient it is and how it explores some territorial issues that never seem to go away. The Middle East chapter explores the ancient origins of conflict in the region, the way it has been used as a political football by colonisers (particularly the British and the French, sadly) and the cavalier attitudes that have been shown towards tribal, cultural and religious sentiments. The seeds of present-day conflict in many countries in this region have been sown over decades, if not centuries. 

The Africa chapter is equally shame-inducing – the actions of arrogant colonisers have created so many of the problems that the continent is experiencing today and the wealth of natural resources present there continue to make Africa a target for richer nations wishing to exploit division and grow richer and more powerful in the process. Marshall also argues that the vagaries of climate, topographical challenges and the prevalence of some devastating diseases have hampered African nations’ ability to prosper.  

The book opens with a chapter on Russia and a very interesting discussion about the psyche of that nation which may go some way to explaining its attitude to Ukraine. Of course, Russia first invaded Ukraine when it took Crimea in 2014 – that will have been very recent history when Marshall was writing this book – and it is quite prescient that he chooses to start the book almost with a warning that Russia has not yet completed the job it set out to do in 2014, now more than ten years ago. Putin can afford to be a patient man as, unlike many world leaders, he does not have to worry about the threat of being voted out of power. 

China is endlessly fascinating and merits a chapter of its own, as does the United States, and here Marshall writes of the tremendous natural advantages that country enjoys – perhaps leaders of that country might be a little more humble and recognise the many gifts they have been given. 

Marshall is a journalist and broadcaster and former foreign affairs editor for Sky news. He knows his stuff and has written several books on the subject of the politics of nationality and of place, all of which seem to have been well-reviewed. I have seen him speak on several news and current affairs programmes over the years and he is a man worth listening to. 

This book is by no means a light read, nor an uplifting one but perhaps an essential one for anyone interested in world affairs and global justice.

Book review and literary controversy – “The Salt Path” by Raynor Winn

I suggested this to my book club as our first read of the summer – I had seen a trailer for the film (starring Gillian Anderson and Jason Isaacs) and it reminded me that I had bought this book some time ago and it was sitting on a bookshelf somewhere in my house, unread. We thought we could read the book then watch the film – I’m a fan of Gillian Anderson (frankly, who isn’t?) so thought it was bound to be good. 

Almost as soon as I started reading it, the whole controversy around the book blew up – for anyone who needs reminding, there were allegations (published in The Observer in July) that the author misrepresented aspects of her partner Moth’s illness, and that she had defrauded a past employer and that was the reason for losing their home. Even if you have not read the book, I am certain you will have heard of it, if you live in the UK certainly, so you will no doubt know that the premise of the book is that the author and her partner are evicted from the rural home they have lived in for years after falling into debt as a result of a bad business investment (she alleges in the book that the couple were poorly advised, misled even, by an old friend). At around the same time Moth is diagnosed with an incurable degenerative neurological condition. Facing poverty, homelessness and inevitable physical decline, they decide to embark upon a walk, England’s South West Coast Path that goes through Devon, Cornwall and Dorset. The distance is in excess of 600 miles. 

The book was a spectacular success for the debut author – a story of grit and determination in the face of a cruel world (both the human and the natural), a journey of self-discovery and finding joy in the simple things in life when all material possessions are stripped away. The book also set the author on a successful career in writing and she has since published two further nature memoirs. A fourth book was due to be published this summer but Penguin have put this on hold due to the controversy surrounding the author and The Salt Path.

But what of the book itself? My fellow book club members and I quite liked it, but I’m afraid it did not meet our expectations. The writing is good in parts, but in others I found it quite…mediocre? The comments on double standards in attitudes to homelessness and poverty are worthy but they are handled in a clumsy way; for example, where the couple encounter abusive locals or holidaymakers who sneer at their clothing, their poverty, their demeanour or their behaviour I found the account did not ring true. You would not necessarily expect the author to recall every word precisely accurately but I would expect an author to be able to write a conversation or dialogue that felt authentic. Some of the stories about places they camped and how they fled at dawn to avoid paying for a pitch felt like tall tales. Finally, I just found the book a bit boring, I’m afraid. I wasn’t gripped, or keen to read on finding out what happened on the next 10 mile stretch. Many times I just found myself drifting off. 

As for the accusations of misrepresentation, well that is problematic. The publisher really should have done their due diligence, particularly as the book is so detailed at the start about the ‘bad business’ that got them into financial difficulty (I’m surprised their former business acquaintance’s lawyers are not on to them as well). Personally, I found this part of the book particularly uninteresting and it read to me like getting back in print under cover of a confessed naivety. I think it’s okay for a memoir to stretch the truth a little for narrative effect, but on the face of it it seems the author has gone too far in that respect, though it must be said she denies all the allegations made against her. For me though, the book is quite weak overall so I am not sure what has been gained by the misrepresentation (if there has been any) – it would have been enough had they just found themselves at a financial/health/age-related crossroads and embarked on the journey for no particular reason. 

Quite honestly, I am surprised it won so many plaudits and everyone in my book club was decidedly underwhelmed. Cheryl Strayed’s Wild: A Journey from Lost to Found is a far superior example of the genre in my view. 

Audiobook review – “Doppelganger: A trip into the mirror world” by Naomi Klein

My last post on here was about this year’s Women’s Prize shortlists, both the fiction and non-fiction, so it seems fitting that my next review should be the title that won the non-fiction award last year, Naomi Klein’s memoir Doppelganger: A trip into the mirror world. This book was written largely during the 2020 lockdown when the Covid pandemic swept the globe and charts Klein’s reflections on how she is regularly confused with Naomi Wolf. Like Klein, Wolf is associated with writings on feminist and political topics, has published a number of books, is a white Jewish-American woman and of a similar age. Their trajectories began to diverge, however, when Wolf began to be associated with Covid-19 conspiracy theories and allied herself with the anti-vaccination movement. This book is more than just an exploration of a peculiar social phenomenon, however, and Klein takes a deep dive into the background to this movement, its association with other right-wing culture wars, the MAGA movement and the power of social media generally. She also reflects honestly and powerfully on some of her own assumptions and life choices.

I thought I had a few Naomi Klein books on my bookshelf, but it turns out that I have a few Naomi Wolf books on my bookshelf (The Beauty Myth, 1991, Promiscuities, 1997) including a signed copy of her much-maligned first edition of her 2019 book Outrages: Sex, Censorship and the Criminalisation of Love.I saw Wolf speaking at the Hay Festival that year and found her charismatic and engaging. The book was later condemned after it became apparent that poor research meant that the basis of the thesis that underpins it was false. (It is possible to hear a recording on YouTube of an interview she did with a journalist pointing out her error, and it’s excruciating.) The Covid-19 pandemic followed soon after of course, but the career catastrophe of Outrages seems to mark the beginning of Wolf’s descent into the dark recesses of the internet and some dramatic changes to her worldview. 

It seems that Naomi Klein has been confused with Naomi Wolf for most of her career, an irritation but a mostly benign one, until that is Wolf published Outrages and was publicly humiliated, and then became infamous as a vaccine-sceptic, conspiracy theorist and darling of the alt-right (she has developed a close association with Steve Bannon). It became increasingly unsettling for liberal left-leaning feminist Klein to be confused with such a person, whom she describes as her Doppelganger. 

Klein delves into Wolf’s early life and career to attempt to chart her intellectual evolution and doing so enables her to spot social and political trends that have beset developed nations across the world in recent years. She explores some of the darker recesses of the internet to try and understand how so many people could be influenced and convinced by conspiracy theories that have so little or perhaps no evidential underpinning. In doing so she draws some lessons about the influence of the online world and social media in particular and its power to disseminate dis- and misinformation. 

I listened to this book on audio, read by the author herself, and her sincerity comes across powerfully, as well as her deep sorrow. As well as diving into what she calls the “mirror world” she holds up a mirror to herself, reflecting on her own assumptions and possible prejudices. There were times when I felt quite depressed, despondent and deflated listening to this book. I found myself asking – how on earth did we get like this? Things don’t look like improving any time soon. At the end, however, she writes of her own activism, hope and belief in the necessity of fighting for change, not letting the dark forces that would destroy us win.

I am not sure what I will do with my Naomi Wolf books. The early titles I read so long ago that I recall very little about them. As for Outrages, I will probably keep it for posterity. I remember starting to read it whilst I was at Hay, but did not get very far (the bookshop receipt is still slotted in at page 24!). I must not have been particularly motivated to continue.

I do, however, recommend Naomi Klein’s excellent book Doppelganger which was a worthy winner of the 2024 Women’s Prize for non-fiction and is deeply relevant today. 

Books out this spring

It really does feel that at long last there is a bit of a change in the air. I am spring cleaning my bookshelves at the moment – always a very challenging task. Books that I have forgotten I owned, books I might want to re-read (someday!) and books that I am ready to let go of, either because they deserve to find a new home or because I am accepting I will almost certainly never get around to them! And I need to make some space for the new titles coming out this season. A few have caught my eye and I thought I would share them with you.

I have been enjoying a lot of non-fiction in recent months and I find that I feel more excited by this genre’s new books than the fiction, to be honest.

Everything is Tuberculosis by John Green

A few years ago I read a book about tuberculosis by science writer Kathryn Lougheed and found it absolutely fascinating. My paternal grandfather died of the disease in London in 1940 just days before his second child (my dad) was born, and I was drawn to this book as I was trying to find out more about my family history. This book comes at a flexion point I think, as I was reading in the newspaper just this week of fears that cases of this terrible condition are likely to rise in the coming months and years following the withdrawal of US aid to developing countries. In our globalised world, we should not expect to be able to contain the disease within national boundaries (as we found with the Covid 19 pandemic) so it will be no surprise to see cases increase in the global north.

Story of a Murder by Hallie Rubenhold

Hallie Rubenhold caught the attention of the literary world with her bestselling book The Five about the women who were the victims of the infamous Victoria London serial killer Jack the Ripper. Her new book, released at the end of March, gives the same treatment to another famous murder case. In 1910, a London doctor, Hawley Crippen, murdered his wife Belle Elmore, a music hall performer. In this book, Rubenhold applies her research and detective skills to uncovering the story of how a group of Belle’s friends helped bring the killer to justice, and shady associates who may also have had a role. The book has been highly praised and its publication is much anticipated.

Maternity Service by Emma Barnett

I am an avid listener to the BBC Radio 4 morning news programme Today, and Emma Barnett is one of its main presenters. She is a broadcasting tour de force and made her name with some spectacular interviews on Radio 5 Live, and changed the face of another Radio 4 stalwart show Woman’s Hour. She is a campaigner for many feminist causes and is a high profile mother of young children who speaks passionately about the challenges of juggling motherhood and a career. As I work with new mothers I am very interested in what she has to say on the topic.

So, that’s the non-fiction, what of the fiction?

Dream Count by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie

Published just a week or so ago and immediately longlisted for the Women’s Prize, this is the much anticipated new novel from Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie, her first in a decade. I love her work – her book Half of a Yellow Sun about the Biafran war is one of my favourite books of all time – and have reviewed her recent non-fiction books on here. This will be top of my TBR list for spring.

Flesh by David Szalay

Szalay’s 2016 novel All That Man Is was one of the first books I reviewed on this blog, after it was shortlisted for the Booker Prize that year. It wasn’t my favourite on the shortlist but I did enjoy it and found it interesting to read men’s perspectives on life’s dilemmas. Flesh follows the life of a young Hungarian boy as he moves from his small town to the ranks of the super-rich in London. With so much toxic masculinity in the world just now I feel this might be an important read.

The House of Barbary by Isabelle Schuler

This is said to be a feminist re-telling of the legend of Bluebeard which interests me as this myth has crossed my path a couple of times in recent years, also as a feminist re-telling. First in the non-fiction book Women Who Run With Wolves by Clarissa Pinkola Estes, and second in Angela Carter’s collection of short stories The Bloody Chamber. The book is a re-imagining of a number of brutal myths and the opening story (which gives the book its title) concerns the Bluebeard tale. I have not heard of Isabelle Schuler so I am interested to read her treatment of this story.

So, that lot should keep me occupied for a little while!

What books are you looking forward to reading this spring?

Book review – “Thunderclap” by Laura Cumming

The longlist for this year’s Women’s Prize for Non-fiction was announced last week. Only a couple of the books on the longlist have crossed my radar – Neneh Cherry’s autobiography (I have heard her talking about it on the radio quite a lot recently) and Anne Applebaum’s Autocracy Inc.: The Dictators Who Want to Run the World, which feels like it might be required reading at the moment, sadly. Anne Applebaum is someone I admire hugely and she is speaking at the Hay Festival this year, the opposite weekend to Colin Greenwood so I am trying to choose between her and Radiohead! Depression and joy perhaps!

So, I thought it might be a good week to post a review of Thunderclap by Laura Cumming, which was shortlisted for last year’s Women’s Prize for Non-fiction and has been widely praised since its publication in 2023. Laura Cumming is a journalist, art critic for the Observer, and Thunderclap is her third book. The subject is Carel Fabritius, the Dutch Golden Age painter, pupil of Rembrandt, who was killed in 1654 at the age of 32 in Delft when a building in the town where gunpowder was being stored exploded, killing more than a hundred people and injuring thousands of others. Fabritius was killed and his studio destroyed along with an unknown number of his paintings. Only about a dozen of his paintings remain in art galleries around the world. 

Laura Cumming follows in the footsteps of many other scholars and art experts in trying to find out more about the artist who showed so much promise (he has been described as the only one of Rembrandt’s many pupils who began to develop his own style after learning from the great Master, and at such a young age) but has left tantalisingly little. Experts have long felt that there simply must be more of his work, but that it just has not been found yet. He is a somewhat enigmatic figure and very little is known about his life; it is known that his first wife died young as did their infant daughter, and that he married again, but there are significant gaps and despite his rare talent he seems to have died quite indebted so he obviously did not live well from his work. For one so gifted he has left remarkably little behind, either in terms of paintings or a paper trail. 

Cumming writes of her deep love of Dutch art and how this was fostered from an early age. Her father was also an artist and nurtured her interest, and married with the deep dive into the life and work of Carel Fabritius (and his contemporaries) is biographical detail about her father and his creative life. She draws many parallels between her modest, gentle and talented father (who died prematurely) and the kind of person she imagines Fabritius might have been. Examining the facts of his life, his humble background, his marriage to a local girl, then widowhood and the loss of a child, she concludes that he carried a heavy burden and that this helps to explain his absence from the main Delft and Amsterdam artistic scenes. Cumming looks deep into a number of his paintings and finds in ‘Young Man in a Fur Cap’ (thought to be a self-portrait) traces of tragedy and grief. 

This book is both expansive (as well as Fabritius, Cumming writes at length about other Dutch painters of the time and the genre generally, her father and her own journey embracing art) as well as focussed on the tiny details of her subject, his life, his appearance, his paintings. I learned so much but I did not feel at any point that I was being given a history lesson – Cumming takes you on the journey with her.

One of my favourite books of recent years is Donna Tartt’s The Goldfinch, which, of course, concerns one of Fabritius’s most famous paintings of the same name. It now hangs in the Mauritshuis gallery in The Hague. I was drawn to find out more about the painting and its artist creator after reading that book, and Thunderclap came out shortly after I read it, so I have been keen to read this book. I was not disappointed, it really is excellent. Since completing it I have also been to the National Gallery in London to see the Van Gogh exhibition there. The National Gallery has two of the paintings Cumming explores in detail – ‘Young Man in a Fur Cap’ and ‘View of Delft, with a Musical Instrument Seller’s Stall’ – and it was a joy to see them and have a greater understanding of the work.

I recommend this book highly. 

By coincidence, I am currently reading Naomi Klein’s Doppelganger, which won the Women’s Prize for Non-fiction last year. I am enjoying it enormously and it shows what high quality this particular Prize promotes. The 2025 shortlist is out on 26 March.

Books about new motherhood – 2 reviews

In my ‘day job’ I work with new parents and parents-to-be, mostly new mothers, supporting them both as they approach birth and in the transition to their new lives with a baby. It is work that I love and have been doing for quite a while now. I also believe it is a role that is increasingly necessary as maternity services and parent support services in the UK are at the lowest ebb I can remember and much worse than when my children were born. Coupled with the mental ill-health epidemic that we seem to be facing, I rather feel that new parents, and new mothers in particular, are having a very tough time.

One of the reasons I have blogged so little in the last few months is that I have been doing additional studying for my work and I came across the first of the two books reviewed below (Matrescence) in the course of this study. It had been on my radar anyway, since it was longlisted for the Women’s Prize for Non-fiction earlier this year, but was on our course reading list. The second book is a novel and was shortlisted for the Women’s Prize for Fiction, but it was coincidence that I happened to read both around the same time.

Matrescence by Lucy Jones

Jones has been a writer and journalist for most of her working life, mostly in the fields of science and nature; her second book, Losing Eden: why our minds need the wild, published in 2020, was longlisted for the Wainwright Prize. But it is this account of her parenting journey that has really captured mainstream attention. ‘Matrescence’ is a beautiful word that Jones seems on a mission to bring to the forefront of public attention since it captures the physical, emotional and spiritual transformation that people undergo when they give birth to children. Yes, fathers and co-parents change too, but not nearly as much as mothers. There has been some fascinating research published recently in the US that has looked at the actual way the human brain changes during pregnancy and in the early months of motherhood. The brain seems to stand-down certain areas and functions that it is assumed will be less necessary such as the bits that do tasks, remember things and organise, and boosts the emotional centres, the bits that will make us fall in love with our infant and therefore help assure its survival. Fascinating. But hard in the modern world. 

The author’s journey is a very personal one and there were bits that made me bristle (she is critical of pretty much everyone) and I felt a bit personally attacked, having worked in this field for more than 10 years. But there is no doubting that it is meticulously researched and powerfully written. She bemoans the lack of ceremony around the ‘passing into’ motherhood which is particularly the case in western industrial society, and about the failure to both understand what the role really entails and the lack of support. I cannot agree more with this. Where I had more of a problem is where the author seems to believe there is a conspiracy of silence around what it’s really like to give birth and to mother a baby. I don’t think I do agree entirely; I am not sure most people are really ready to hear it plus it is deeply personal and subjective. I do think there is a case for a more open discussion but this would be inconvenient in a western capitalist society where we need to (quite literally) buy into a fantasy, so it probably won’t happen.

Whether you are a parent or not, this book bears reading not least because of how the author brings her knowledge and expertise about the natural world into her writing. Each chapter is prefaced with a snapshot of a reproductive or young-rearing phenomenon from nature, that reminds us we are just creatures on this earth.  And that is pretty thought-provoking. 

Soldier, Sailor by Claire Kilroy

Matrescence might be the notes that accompany Soldier Sailor so it is fascinating that they should have come out at around the same time. Where Jones is research, science, rage and manifesto, Kilroy is visceral. It is a first-person narrative which is rambling, confused, devoted, passionate and lost. There are no names here, they are unimportant; all that exists is the mother (Soldier) and her baby (Sailor), practically one, almost interchangeable. It’s her and him against the world, and particularly against the husband, who has no clue what is going on. He is a man who at times she loves and hates in equal measure, because her life (the mother life) is changed beyond recognition, and his has not. She cannot hate the child who has caused this transformation so she must rail against the child’s father, a person she no longer recognises and with whom she finds she must learn a new way of being if their relationship is to endure.

There are times when this book is almost unbearable. There are times when it is hard to tell what is real and what is not, distorted by her fevered state of mind. Things that seem real are turned on their head later on. Like the meeting with an old friend from student days in a playground, now a father of four whose wife, who has the greater earning power, works full-time. His experience is the same but different, the flip side of hers, and his balance and calm represent a degree of hope to her that things might one day become normal. Or was the encounter just the work of her imagination, giving her the strength to continue when she has not an ounce of mental or physical energy left and her whole world seems to be falling apart?

There are parts of this book that most mothers would recognise – I certainly felt a frisson at some of the emotions Soldier expressed, they were familiar. But there are other parts, rather like the personal parts of Jones’s account of her mothering journey, that are not universal and it would not be right to think that they are. 

It is a powerful read that has garnered a great deal of attention and whilst this book did not win the Women’s Prize this year it has achieved many other accolades, including The Times novel of the year.

Both of these books offer perspectives on motherhood and parenting that are long overdue and both have affected me deeply. Working with people on the transition to parenthood, these books provide a rich resource on the themes of changing identity and how society needs to change to support people on this journey. It is a journey that most of us go through but which many of us are poorly prepared for. That needs to change.

3 non-fiction book reviews

A couple of weeks ago I posted about some of the books I had been reading during my unintended blogging sabbatical, three fiction titles I had enjoyed. I’ve also been reading quite a bit of non-fiction and here are three I’d like to share with you.

When the Dust Settles by Lucy Easthope

This was one of my book club reads. Published in 2022 it is a memoir from one of the country’s foremost disaster experts. This was a profession that I confess I had never really thought about or even knew existed, although after reading this book, that feels like a stupid thing to say. Easthope and her colleagues manage the clear-up after natural and man-made catastrophe, their primary focus being the retrieval, preservation, cataloguing and retention of human remains, from tiny fragments, such as pieces of bone where DNA testing can help to establish identity and ownership, to items of clothing or belongings. Easthope cares passionately about her work and empathises deeply with the loved ones of victims, for whom she sees her role as being part of the grieving process. Easthope writes candidly (and at times this can be challenging) about her role in many significant disasters such as 9/11 in New York city in 2001, to the Lac-Megantic rail disaster in Canada in 2013. She also has much to say about disaster planning in the UK, drawing from her experiences of working with flood victims in Yorkshire and the Covid-19 pandemic. It is fascinating reading. Easthope is a talented writer and also weaves in her personal story, the smaller tragedies in her own life, such as her husband’s near-death and her recurrent miscarriages. This is both a highly personal memoir but also a reflective piece of work about the lessons she has learned (and the many lessons governments fail to learn) about handling disaster. Whilst this is not a book for the faint-hearted, it is a highly-engaging and important read.

How They Broke Britain by James O’Brien

To say I enjoyed this book immensely is probably to come out about my political leanings (for which I make no apology, by the way, but not something I make a big deal about on this blog). I saw James O’Brien give a talk at this year’s Hay Festival (alongside the Financial Times journalist Peter Foster, who was also promoting his own book What Went Wrong with Brexit and What We Can Do About It) and bought both books. It is written in O’Brien’s trademark discursive style and each of the culprits in the tragi-comedy gets a chapter of their own. There are all the faces you would expect to see – Boris Johnson, Dominic Cummings, Nigel Farage and Liz Truss – plus a few you might not, and may not even have heard of such as Paul Dacre, Matthew Elliott (who?) and Jeremy Corbyn. O’Brien is excoriating about the role of each of his culprits in the dumbing-down of public discourse, on the commercialisation of thought, and how each has in their own unique way (sometimes wittingly, sometimes not) corrupted public life. His central thesis is “Shame on you!” which regardless of your politics, is hard to disagree with. I found one or two of his points stretched credulity for me, but only a little. When you see it all written down, page after page of it, it is deeply troubling and it is clear that a lot of painstaking cleaning-up work needs to be done (Lucy Easthope?)

Strong Female Character by Fern Brady

This was another of my book club reads and one that I had mixed feelings about. I should also say that I listened to it on audio, and it was read by the author and this may have affected my view. Fern Brady is a comedian and she is autistic. She did not receive a diagnosis until she was well into adulthood and this memoir is her account of growing up in Scotland with the condition. She writes about her difficult time at various schools, her struggles with her parents (who seem to have found her behaviour difficult to cope with) and the challenges of going to university. It is at times laugh out loud funny and at others deeply upsetting; she has clearly had some rough times. Her accounts of finding herself homeless, experiencing abuse and unable to navigate social relationships well are heartbreaking. This is hard to write but there were also parts where I found my sympathies did not lie with her. For example, her parents come out pretty badly and that felt unfair, especially when I did some research afterwards about her background and upbringing – it does not seem to have been as bleak as it came across to me. Also, the reading was sometimes vulnerable, sometimes bombastic, even boastful. It drew some general conclusions about ‘people with autism’ from the standpoint of her personal experience. From my own experience of the condition I don’t think it was always right.

All three were very good reads that I recommend highly. I’d love to hear what you thought if you have read any of them.

Book review – “The Making of the Modern Middle East” by Jeremy Bowen

It’s been the busiest of times for me and I feel very out of touch with my blogging. But as I support the youngest of my three children as they embark upon the exam season, inwardly I am exclaiming “the last time!” I know it will feel weird when we are out the other side, of course, knowing that I will not be doing the journey to school any more and shortly afterwards waving another one off to university (fingers crossed). So, as I find myself saying frequently to new parents in  my day job, this too shall pass. Much of it is self-inflicted too, I must add; I decided to do a course of academic study last autumn and that is actually what has consumed much of my time. Truly I am a glutton for punishment!

I have had little time for reading, and it’s mostly been audiobooks so far this year, which I can listen to while out walking or running. So, I haven’t exactly had too many reviews to post! I’ve really felt the absence too. Reading for me is not only about being well-read and making connections with fellow book-lovers, it is also grounding. Nothing says self-care as strongly as: “I am taking 10/15/20 minutes out of my busy day, disconnecting from the family/the dishes/the smartphone, just for me, for pure pleasure.” It has to become a habit though, and it is one that seems to have slipped out of my grasp in the last couple of months, and which I now need to squeeze back in. 

The book I want to tell you about today is one that has been on my TBR pile for some time. Coincidentally, I am currently making my arrangements to go to the Hay Festival, filling my online basket with events, and this book was one I bought there last year. The BBC’s International Editor, Jeremy Bowen, has been working in the Middle East for many years and is now a renowned journalistic expert on the region. This book arose out of a podcast he did for BBC radio a few years ago called Our Man in the Middle East. This book is an insightful and informative look at the region, setting out the historical context for many of the disputes and tensions whilst also telling stories and anecdotes of his own experiences, the relationships he has forged with people, famous and not, giving an often very intimate perspective on some of the very big issues we all know about.

The Middle East is not homogenous and the history is complex. Usually, the causes of tensions and conflicts there are far more complex than can be conveyed in a single news bulletin. The region is also a lightning rod, a proxy, for much bigger confrontations. Looking at a traditional map of the world, it is very nearly the geographical centre. Politically and culturally it is where east meets west, where north meets south, where tradition meets modernism, and religion meets secularism, quite unlike anywhere else on the planet. It is quite clear, from reading this book, that the author is captivated.

Bowen takes a thematic approach in the book, but manages also to set out the historical context of each of the major countries in the region: Israel and Palestine (obviously), Syria, Iraq, Iran, Egypt, Saudi Arabia, but drawing in also Lebanon, Yemen and Libya. I came away from this book with a powerful new understanding of the motivations and perspectives of people living in the Middle East, and also of the largely malign influence “the west”, and in particular the colonial powers have had over decades, if not centuries. 

I have visited this part of the world only once in my life, about 25 years ago when I went to Lebanon. I found it a stunning and fascinating country and am saddened that it has been brought to its knees both economically and politically in recent years. When I attended the event at Hay in which Jeremy Bowen was interviewed by his BBC colleague Frank Gardner, I remember how pessimistic he was about the Israel-Palestine situation, describing it as more dangerous than he had seen it in many years. How poignant that observation seems when just a few months later the current crisis we see so vividly every day on our television screens was set in motion. 

This is a powerful and gripping book, written with the author’s characteristic style, thoroughly researched and grounded in first-hand knowledge. Highly recommended.

Finish a book challenge #3 – “Burning Questions” by Margaret Atwood

This might just be the book I am proudest to have finished in my ‘finish a book’ challenge! I am ashamed to say that I bought it when it was first published in summer 2022 (a signed hardback copy no less!), began reading it almost immediately, when I went on holiday I think, set it to one side when life got a bit busy again and then never seemed to get around to finishing it, despite a second and third wind each time I went on holiday thereafter. It’s not even a difficult book to read; it’s divided up into highly readable chunks (the sub-title of the book is “Essays and occasional pieces 2004-21”), the kind you can read in ten to fifteen minutes between chores and deadlines, so I have no absolutely no excuse or explanation.

I determined to finish this one though, not least because it is big and is taking up a substantial amount of the space on my bedside pile, and I have loved it. I’ve read just over half of it in the last couple of weeks and it has been a joy. Margaret Atwood is truly an international treasure. She must surely be one of the world’s finest living writers. I cannot believe she hasn’t won a Nobel Prize for The Handmaid’s Tale at the very least. Many of the pieces in this book are speeches she has given at various conferences, symposia or charitable events. Her wit is sharp and acerbic and she has an eye for the absurd that is unmatched in my opinion. Reflecting in 2015 on the tepid reception of The Handmaid’s Tale when it was first published, she writes of one New York Times reviewer:

Being dissed in the Times invariably causes your publishers to cross to the other side of the street when they see you and then run away very fast and hide under a rock. The reviewer was the eminent American novelist and essayist Mary McCarthy, and she was not amused. (She was not amused in general, so I was not alone in failing to amuse her.)

(From “Reflections on The Handmaid’s Tale”, 2015, pp 245-258

She is profoundly intellectual, awesomely clever and well-read, and yet she has a kind of down to earth common sense that must have come from her unremarkable upbringing, much of which was spent in the deeply rural settings in Canada where her scientist father worked. She is as comfortable writing about Shakespeare, the classics and the ancients, philosophy, as she is about day to day life and can be laugh-out-loud funny about both. Have a look at the following two excerpts. The first is a comment on the English syllabus she studied at school, the second on the battles of the sexes:

There was a set curriculum for all five years of all high schools in the province of Ontario, Canada. We Canadians are residing within the mindset of the British Empire – to which we had belonged for a couple of centuries –  and thus, for English Literature, the curriculum featured some things you most likely wouldn’t be able to drag the kids through today. Two novels by Thomas Hardy in five years? Good luck with that! And The Mill on the Floss, a serious-business novel by George Eliot. There was a lot of nineteenth century literature because there was no sex in it, or not right there on the page, though some of the books had some hot action in the margins.

(From “Shakespeare and Me: a tempestuous love story”, 2016, pp 293-305)

And that is why men do not pick up their socks from the floor once they have taken them off: men simply do not see these socks, having evolved to notice only animals that are moving. Whereas women can easily distinguish the socks from the background of floor carpet, having evolved to gather mushrooms – which the discarded socks closely resemble in form, and sometimes in texture and aroma…..If the socks could be equipped with tiny solar lights that would flash on and off, the men would be able to see them, and of course – being unselfish and altruistic – would scoop them off the floor and put them into the laundry basket, and one more major cause of human unhappiness would be eliminated!

(From “Greetings Earthlings! What Are These Human Rights of Which You Speak”, 2018, pp368-379)

Two of her major preoccupations, particularly towards the end of the book concern the rise of misogyny and hate, and particularly in America at the time of the 2016 election, and the speeding up of climate change and the threat to life on earth as we know it. In a speech given just before the 2016 election entitled “We Hang by a Thread” she said:

During the campaign we have seen an outpouring of misogyny not witnessed since the witchcraft trials of the seventeenth century…..This is a reminder to us that the hard-won rights for women and girls that many of us now take for granted could be snatched away at any moment. Culturally, those rights are very shallowly embedded – by which I mean they haven’t been around that long, historically, and that they are not fervently believed in by everyone in the culture. It seems that the male candidate for president of the United States, for one, does not believe in them. That’s a pretty interesting role model for boys and men.

Some of the most moving pieces in the final years covered by the book are about her late husband Graeme Gibson who died from vascular dementia in 2019. They clearly had a very happy marriage and shared many passions, mainly art, literature and the natural world, and her fond tributes to his work and acknowledgement of the impact he had on hers are both loving and generous. 

Part of me is sorry that it took me so long to finish this book, but I have enjoyed it so much these last few weeks that I am also glad to have come back to it. The reflections on the election of Donald Trump and the precariousness of human and particularly women’s rights, seem particularly prescient right now as we face another US election in which he seems likely to be a candidate, and the world faces what must surely be a tipping point. It is not a book that will leave you feeling optimistic, but it is definitely one that will make you smile and laugh at a time when things do seem rather bleak.

Finish a book challenge #1 – “Emergent Srategy” by Adrienne Maree Brown

Is it harder to read non-fiction? I note that all the books I challenged myself to complete (because they have been languishing on my Goodreads “currently reading” profile for such a long time that it’s frankly embarrassing) in January are non-fiction. In contrast, I have just completed a fairly long book. Stephen King’s Misery on audio in less than a week. It was compelling, un-put-downable and I loved it. Amazingly, it’s the first Stephen King novel I have ever read, horror being a genre that I have always eschewed, but of course, that is a very limited and naive view of King, which I now humbly admit. More of Misery for a future blog. 

I should turn to the topic in hand, the fact that I have completed a book that it appears I have been “currently reading” since September 2022! To be fair I have dipped in and out. I have gone through periods, between other books, where I have read quite big chunks of it, and times when I have not gone near it for weeks, or probably months. I was inspired to read it on the recommendation of a work colleague after a professional development event. She spoke of the book’s tremendous impact on her practice (we work in the charitable sector), encouraging her to see her work more positively when at times it can feel like you are getting nowhere, having very little impact, wading through treacle. 

At first I found the book made a lot of sense and the messages struck a strong chord with me. Adrienne Maree Brown is a black, American, Queer woman who describes herself as “fat” and is a campaigner for social justice and equality for all, particularly those in marginalised communities who face prejudice, discrimination, cruelty and are misunderstood. She has every right to be very angry, but she has come to approach her work, her practice, from a place of love, growth, and a belief in the positive power of human connection and community action. She has reached her belief in the rightness of this approach through her own personal growth and journey of self-love. 

Brown is an extremely thoughtful, articulate and intelligent activist and writer. The book is extensively researched and in many ways more of an academic text than a ‘non-fiction’ book. I listened to it on audio and it was lovely to hear the author’s words spoken in her own voice, in the way she wanted to express herself, but sometimes this also made it difficult to follow, especially as there are extensive footnotes. There are times when I wanted to go back and ‘re-read’ sections, which is less easy with audio, but, honestly, I doubt that I would have finished it at all if I’d read a paper copy of the book. It was quite hard work!

Of course, there are as many genres of non-fiction as there are fiction and this book is as different as it’s possible to be from, say, Venice, another of my “finish a book challenge” titles that I plan to review later this week. Travel writing, creative non-fiction can be as much about story-telling as the finest examples of the art of the novel. Emergent Strategy is a powerful book for activists, campaigners, people like me working in the charity sector, trying to get a message out there and make a difference, and offers an alternative approach that might well be more effective and less stressful. It encourages us to see the best in people, to focus on micro-changes as steps towards success and frames the work as an organic process. Brown draws heavily on examples from the natural world, the value of diversity, symbiosis and slow movement, for inspiration. 

I found this book mostly enjoyable and though it’s appeal may well be limited it is also possible that it provides a manifesto for change and growth that could be our best hope for a peaceful and healthy future on earth.