A bit clangy and a bit jammy

More vague snippets, in lieu of writing anything in-depth (which seems impossible in this humid weather).

• I spent yesterday reading the final few hundred pages of The Children’s Book. I felt bereft when I finished, and still do now. It is a beautiful, rich book. There are many characters, all of whom I either cared deeply about or felt strongly about in another way; who (mostly) have strong motivations and passions of their own; and who are set against richly detailed political, social and cultural backdrops. I’m finding it very difficult to try to describe it in a few sentences. It’s just the kind of book that I’m very grateful exists.
• I also finished Wolf Hall. I liked and admired it very much. Again, especially as I finished it a while ago, I’m having difficulty trying to sum it up. My lasting impression now is of the clarity and accessibility of Mantel’s style. Mantel weaves masses of research and the burden of a much-studied historical story into an informal, contemporary narrative, which is a huge achievement. Here‘s a review I like, which expresses many of the things I thought about the book.
• I also read Holes, which is short and perfectly formed. It is immaculately plotted. It’s also highly imaginative and idiosyncratic – digging holes in the desert, an outlaw called Kissin’ Kate Barlow, spiced pears, and onions are some of the important parts of the story. It’s also a sad book, about injustice and outsiders. And, best of all, it features a character called Mr. Sir.
• I’m now reading The Dream Life of Sukhanov, which flows well. It’s nice to read a newish debut novel which doesn’t seem stripped down. Sometimes I feel that contemporary novels focus too much on succinctness, and sometimes that means a voice, or some other spark, is lost. Sukhanov is more sumptuous than that. It seems to remind me of things I read long ago.
• BBC 6 Music has been saved! Some comments on this article suggest that it was all just a publicity stunt to gain more listeners. I’m not sure I believe that; but then again, it does sound plausible. Either way, though, it’s excellent news.
• I finally have a possible theatre trip on the horizon: Enron at Richmond Theatre in September. The overall impression I got from reviews of the play when it was at the Royal Court and in the West End was that it was good, but not that good. But I’m still going to see it, if I can, out of desperation to see something. This at the Orange Tree looks interesting, too.

I’ve had a couple of good weekends away recently, both in aid of friends’ birthdays. Steve and I stayed at a friend’s parents’ house near Hastings, which was surprisingly beautiful (the cottage itself and the surrounding area); and at another friend’s parents’ flat in Bournemouth. Thanks, friends’ parents (neither set were there).

Near Hastings, we went clay pigeon shooting. It rained the whole time. The gun was heavy. I missed all the pigeons: by the time I’d got the hang of holding the gun and where I was supposed to aim, my turn would be up. We went on a gorgeous clifftop walk and almost bumped into a naked man on his way to the nudist beach below (we didn’t know there was a nudist beach at the time). We went to Bodiam Castle. We made friends with the pet dog, who was very cat-like; so we renamed her Dot.

Bournemouth was last weekend. There was a lot of eating, drinking, sun-worshipping and staying up late. Bournemouth has a reputation for being a retirement town, but I really like it. Alum Chine beach is well kept, with good facilities. Yes, that makes me sound old. Both weekends were relaxing and fun-filled, anyway. They were little jewels studded in an otherwise mediocre month.

I found out about a project called Bugged the other day. It sounds brilliant, not least because I overhear bizarre things all the time (and usually fail to write them down).

For example, on the train today an older man was talking to a younger woman, whom he clearly knew through her parents. I (thought I) overheard him say, “…yeah, she’s okay. But she’s thirty now. Past her prime. Got a bit of arthritis.” Which made me raise my eyebrows. But further eavesdropping revealed that they were talking about pets, and he probably said thirteen, not thirty. Hopefully mishearings also count for the project.

Ooh, it’s June. Time for another (culturally-themed) update, then.

Music/radio

• This post was inspired by Grizzly Bear, to whom I’m listening now. They’ve been recommended to me by a few people. I finally bought Veckatimest after hearing the track Dory on Adam Buxton’s Big Mixtape. I liked the album, then didn’t listen to it for a while. Then tonight, I listened to it again, and I realised that it’s brilliant. I also very much like Joanna Newsom’s Have One On Me, which I need to listen to again.
• When I use proper grammar in a sentence, like ‘to whom’ in the previous point, it feels a bit wrong and poncy. Although I cringe at spelling mistakes and misplaced apostrophes, sometimes it’s fine to do rebellious things like put a preposition at the end of a sentence, because otherwise it would just sound weird.
• Grizzly and Newsom are the only new musical offerings I’ve properly listened to lately. It feels strange to be detached from music like this, only delving into the odd thing that takes my fancy; but I suppose that’s what happens when you don’t put the time and effort into keeping up with new stuff.
• I’m trying not to think about the fact that Tori Amos is playing in London next month, and I haven’t got tickets. It feels wrong. I saw her twice last year, though, so that should make it okay. It doesn’t, really.
• I’m glad that half of Adam and Joe is still on the air, in the form of Adam’s Big Mixtape, which I’ve enjoyed. But when Adam’s on his own, before his guests arrive, he tends to go off on crazed tangents; and while they’re enjoyable, you feel that Joe needs to be there to rein him in. They’re the perfect couple.

Film

• I watched the film adaptation of Neil Gaiman’s Coraline recently. The animation was fantastic. It was quite scary for a kids’ film – I was too frightened to leave the room alone (but then, I’m easily scared. Jonathan Creek used to terrify me). The overriding feeling I got from it, though, was one of hollowness. I realised that the Gaiman novels I’ve read, Neverwhere and Stardust, left me with the same feeling. (His short story collection, Smoke and Mirrors, I found much more rewarding). I wondered if, perhaps, the hollowness in Coraline was deliberate – was it intended to reinforce the bleakness of Coraline’s real life, and the eerieness of the life she finds in the other world? But even if it was, it was still unsatisfying (even the bleakest book I’ve read, The Road by Cormac McCarthy, was packed with intimacy and tenderness).
• I thought about this a bit more, and realised that I’ve been hesitant to admit that I’m underwhelmed by Gaiman’s novels. After all, he’s a close friend of Tori Amos. His themes, genres, characters and settings appeal to me greatly. He cites Diana Wynne Jones as a big influence. I should love his stuff. But I don’t. His work simply doesn’t have the warmth, erudition and complexity (but mostly the warmth) of, for example, Wynne Jones’s.

Books/theatre

• All this rambling is just an attempt to mask the fact that I’m still reading the two books that I was at the beginning of May – Wolf Hall and The Children’s Book. I think that (recently, anyway) I have had an issue with chunksters; that is, books that are over about 400 pages. They’re overwhelming. I should never again try to read two at the same time, even if they are by authors I already know and admire. (I do love both books, though, so I should see it as a good thing that I’m spending a lot of time with them).
• It’s also an attempt to persuade myself that I don’t need theatre in my life, with all these musical and filmic delights to explore. But I miss it, and need to book (cheap) tickets for something soon.

I recently read and very much enjoyed Jackie Kay’s vibrant short story collection Why don’t you stop talking? I was glued to the book from the first page, which meant it was a quick read.

The stories seem to be very well ordered within the book. There are several about people living unsatisfactory lives, who are heading for unavoidable change, often with a surreal bent. In Shark! Shark!, Brian can’t get over a sudden, obsessive, irrational fear of sharks; in Shell, Doreen’s realisation of just how dissatisfied she is coincides with a gradual physical transformation; and in The woman with fork and knife disorder, cutlery plays a big part in driving unappreciated Irene into the realms of madness.

There are a few stories convincingly written in the patois of Jackie Kay’s native Scotland. There are those narrated by outsiders, such as the fantastic title story which made me empathise with a character I would probably avoid or clash with in real life; and the unsettling Making a movie. Then there are the love stories: in the wonderful Physics and Chemistry, two female schoolteachers are fired when their relationship is brought out into the open, despite having worked there for years with no issues. They simply leave the bigotry behind and open a wool shop, because “they had this thing between them, this spark. It could always change colour.” In the heartbreaking final story, In between talking about the elephant, two lovers have an agreement that helps them transcend bleak reality. The story hurtles towards its devastating ending in a sort of desperate, fevered, exhilarating tone.

It is, essentially, a book overflowing with warmth, especially in the final three stories. Some of the tales have the power to shift your perspective and make you rethink prejudices. Kay is also unflinching in her descriptions, and not just of physical things: she’s not afraid to really prod at a subject until the raw emotion behind it oozes out.

*

I’m also (still) reading The Children’s Book. I adore every word. I never want it to end, and it does appear to be my mission to drag it out for as long as possible. I’m also reading Wolf Hall (it’s my commuting/lunchtime book). It actually took a little while to get into, which surprised me, as I was already a big fan of Mantel’s writing. It was probably just because of my shamefully patchy historical knowledge. I’m really enjoying it now (150 pages in), though.

My next read might be Hope Mirrlees’ Lud-in-the-Mist, which I recently bought, and should hopefully satisfy my recent yearning to read something faerie-related. I can’t remember where I found out about it, but I’m surprised I didn’t sooner, because it’s been hugely influential on contemporary fantasy writers; and because she was associated with the Bloomsbury Group. I’m also on the lookout for any similar books; but failing that, I’ll just have to re-read Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell, a book I think about quite a bit, despite it being five years since I read it.