Reading notes

Posted on January 20, 2012 by Krendalin

I can see this being a stuttery sort of post, as I haven’t blogged since December and so I’m out of practice. But I have finished reading a few books since then, and I know that thoughts about them will keep nagging me until I write them down.

One of them was a novella I read on the Kindle, Anita Brookner’s At the Hairdresser’s. It’s part of a series called Penguin Shorts, which consists of short works published exclusively in digital format. It breaks this year’s resolution to only read books I already have, as I downloaded it a few weeks ago. But part of my brain seemed to think it didn’t count, because it was an ebook, it was cheap, and because at that particular moment I really, really needed to read Anita Brookner.

I read two of Brookner’s books, Leaving Home and The Rules of Engagement, some years ago. I found her style relentlessly intense and focused, and her analysis of the minds and lives of lonely, reserved women piercingly accurate and resonant. I don’t think I’ve ever read anyone else like her. At the Hairdresser’s satisfied my Brookner craving. It’s narrated by Elizabeth Warner, an older woman living alone in a basement flat in London, who, stuck at the hairdresser’s one day when it is raining heavily outside, is driven home by a young man who runs a car service, Chris. Her experiences from then onwards cause her to decide to make some changes to her life. The plot is very predictable, but Elizabeth’s musings on her past, and the ways it has influenced her present, are sharp, frank and often sad. It’s been said of Brookner that she writes the same book over and over again, with the same protagonists. This might be true, but because she is an expert at what she does, and because I am fascinated by her subject matter, I don’t mind, and will gladly return to reading her again and again.

Another book I finished was (a library copy of) another recently published book, The Coward’s Tale by Vanessa Gebbie. It took me quite a long time to read, and not for any negative reasons. It is a rich book, precisely written, and full of poetic and apt description. Its presentation of characters is warm and completely without judgement. It never once flags or loses its way, and so deserves to be read with care. It is set in a former mining town in Wales, and explores the tragic legacy of an accident that happened in the Kindly Light pit. The stories of the town’s surviving inhabitants, idiosyncratic, semi-mythical and shot through with almost unbearable sadness, are related by Ianto Passchendaele Jenkins, a beggar who sleeps on the steps of the town chapel. His stories are gobbled up by Laddy Merridew, a young boy who has been sent to live in the town with his gran while his parents are having problems.

The novel is (perfectly) structured around these stories, which Ianto will tell to Laddy and any other curious bystanders if they provide him with food (mainly toffees) and drink (coffee with two sugars). At the beginning of each story, I felt I needed to settle down in a comfy place with a big cup of tea and give it my full attention, because I was going to be in for a cracking (but heartbreaking) journey each time. In the interludes between stories, we find out some of what goes on in the present-day town, and learn Ianto Jenkins’s own sad story. Essentially, The Coward’s Tale is, like the feathers that one of characters keeps trying to make out of wood shavings (for his own important reasons), beautifully crafted, fragile and special.

So, two very good reads to start the year. I’m now currently reading and enjoying Hilary Mantel’s memoir Giving up the Ghost (on the Kindle), and Ali Smith’s There but for the (I only got it for Christmas, but couldn’t resist diving in.)

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End-of-year tumbleweed clean-up

Posted on December 28, 2011 by Krendalin

I thought it was about time to brush away the tumbleweed from these pages and write what seems to be my customary monthly post, and, of course, it has to be a round-up of the books and things I’ve posted about this year.

There were two books that I really, really loved: Repeat it Today with Tears by Anne Peile, and The Weather in the Streets by Rosamond Lehmann. And there were several others I really liked, the best of which were Spring Snow by Yukio Mishima; The Terrible Privacy of Maxwell Sim by Jonathan Coe; A Visit from the Goon Squad by Jennifer Egan; The Shaking Woman, or, a History of My Nerves by Siri Hustvedt; and The Hare with Amber Eyes by Edmund De Waal.

Once again, I didn’t go to the theatre very much this year. Most of the productions I saw were good, but none of them stand out as being particularly special. I think it’ll be a similar story in 2012, because my job situation has (once again) become shaky and complicated, and I won’t have a budget for theatre in the near future at least.

All is not lost though, because this means that, in theory, I’ll have both the time and the impetus (i.e., no money) to work on the reading resolution I’ve made: in 2012, read only books that I already have on my shelves. There are many, including this lovely little pile I got for Christmas, and the others I will soon be acquiring thanks to a gift card.

Alcestis and The Night Circus were surprise presents from a friend (I know little about either); two Julian Barnes books - I've never read him but have been meaning to; and Ali Smith's There but for the, which I'm *really* looking forward to

I’d also like to use the library more, so if I have a sudden burning need to read a particular new (or old) book, I’ll do my best to get it from there rather than buy it. Hopefully I’ll be able to stick to this. I made some resolutions at the beginning of this year, and it seems I’ve actually stuck by them: I grew tomatoes from seed (proof below); and I read (a few) more books and saw (a few) more plays than I did in 2010. The other reading resolution I have is to read a lot more non-fiction. I’m being drawn towards it more than I am to fiction lately. The De Waal and Hustvedt books mentioned above were excellent reads.

Grown by me, honest!

At the moment I’m trying to cram a bit of end-of-year reading into my last bit of precious free time before going back to work, and relaunching what I’m sure will be a lengthy and arduous assault on the job market. I’ve just started Vanessa Gebbie’s The Coward’s Tale, which was a little slow to get into, but is gradually working its spell on me. Although this is Gebbie’s debut novel, I’d actually already heard of her, as I read one of her short stories, The Time it Takes, when it won a writing competition in 2005. It’s clever, powerful, and stuck with me. Anyway, I’ll be settling down with The Coward’s Tale this evening, probably with a nice cup of tea brewed in my amazing new teapot.

Amazing new teapot

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Tori Amos at the Royal Albert Hall

Posted on November 20, 2011 by Krendalin

I’m not sure why it’s taken me so long to write about it, but I saw Tori Amos at the Royal Albert Hall a few weeks ago (that link includes several videos as well as the setlist). It was the sixth time I’ve seen her, and I say this every time, but it was the best. She just seems to get better and better at playing live.

Tori releases a new album every few years, without fail. This year it was Night of Hunters, a commission for Deutsche Grammophon, which consists of songs based on works by classical composers. It’s heavily conceptual (not unusually for Tori). It charts the psychological process of a woman during the demise of a relationship, and features Tori’s niece (Kelsey Dobyns) and daughter (Natashya Hawley) as the Fire Muse and a shapeshifting animal. As with previous albums, I probably don’t understand the concept as well as I could do: I just sort of accept it, and then listen to the music for what it is. And NoH is what I’ve hoped each album since Scarlet’s Walk would be: beautiful, complex, strange and dark. The classical element just adds to it. It’s exactly my cup of tea.

The Royal Albert Hall gig featured a lot of the tracks from NoH, with the deliciously angry, Alkan-inspired Shattering Sea as the opener. The Apollon Musagete Quartett, who play on the NoH album, were a perfect accompaniment. They also breathed new life into older songs such as Cruel and Precious Things, which were intense, theatrical performances (I loved the lighting effects throughout – although they were perhaps a bit too enthusiastic during Precious Things). Tori even let the AMQ take the spotlight with their own composition, A Multitude of Shades, telling us that “When I heard this, I knew you’d understand.”It was part eerie strings, part Irish jig, and very good indeed.

Some NoH songs came to life in a way that they hadn’t yet, for me, from listening to the album. Star Whisperer (based on Schubert) in particular was epic, satisfying genius. I also loved Tori’s choice of songs for the second encore: her captivating take on Smells Like Teen Spirit, the rarely-played Siren, and the utterly joyful Big Wheel. Tori’s performance was consistently strong throughout the show. She was energetic, clearly pleased to be there, and determined to put on a show that did justice to such a vast, stunning venue.

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Reading notes, the October edition

Posted on October 29, 2011 by Krendalin

It was my birthday a few weeks ago. One of my presents was a Kindle. The first book I’m reading on it is Edmund De Waal’s The Hare with Amber Eyes. (How could I not be, after Victoria’s review at Eve’s Alexandria?) I’m getting through it slowly, savouring the enticing descriptions of Japan, Paris, Vienna, art, and netsuke. I like that De Waal is treating his subject so thoroughly, explaining that: “…this netsuke is a small, tough explosion of exactitude. It deserves this kind of exactitude in return.” I’m also being a bit too excitable about using the dictionary function, and highlighting passages I like.

I’m confused as to what I really think of ebooks and ereaders. I’m impressed by the technology of the Kindle, especially the screen, because it doesn’t even really look like a screen. I like the built-in functions, probably because not having to walk over to a shelf to pick up a dictionary, or get a pen to make notes, suits my inherent laziness. I also like the idea of being able to take hundreds of books with me when I travel, should I so wish. But I certainly haven’t given up hard-copy books. The thought of getting rid of all my books, and keeping all of them on one slim device, makes me uneasy. It brings to mind disasters of the iTunes variety: in the past I’ve accidentally deleted entire libraries of music, and not been able to get back some of the tracks I bought. There’s also the simple fact that I love books as objects (some more than others). And there is something a bit odd about not being able to see how many pages you have left. A percentage tracker at the bottom of the screen is not really the same.

At the moment I haven’t been able to decide what the Kindle’s place is, so I seem to just be treating it with a sort of tentative delight, as if it were a novelty pet. I’m making sure my non-digital books aren’t abandoned by tackling three of them at the same time. There’s Colette’s Chéri and The Last of Chéri, which I’ve wanted to read for ages. It’s definitely living up to expectations. I love the precision and complexity of the characterisation, and the way that the persistent sadness of Chéri and Léa’s separate suffering contrasts with the frivolity of their environments.

I’m also about halfway through Scarlett Thomas’s Our Tragic Universe. I find that I’m often thinking, when I’m reading, that I shouldn’t like it, because it sometimes seems so technically flawed. For example, the protagonist, Meg, is a novelist. She spends a lot of time trying to redraft her current novel, and we get long passages about the numerous ideas she’s had for it, all based very closely on events in her real life. It can seem very rambly. And yet, I don’t actually think it is flawed. I think, as with The End of Mr Y, Thomas is laying out carefully placed clues that are leading to some sort of bafflingly clever and unconventional revelation. I think her style is highly original, and I’m always glued to her every word, because I can relate to, but am also fascinated by, her narrators.

And there’s Katherine Mansfield’s Selected Stories, which are temporarily on hold while I finish Chéri. I’ve been in a bit of a reading slump recently, but it seems that reading several books at once is a good antidote, especially when they’re as diverse as these four.

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Top Girls

Posted on October 9, 2011 by Krendalin

I went to see Caryl Churchill’s Top Girls at Trafalgar Studios a few weeks ago. It’s a cleverly structured, lucid and powerful play, first staged in 1982, shortly after Margaret Thatcher became Prime Minister.

It begins with an imaginative scene set in a restaurant. Six women gather to celebrate the main character, Marlene (Suranne Jones)’s promotion to managing director of ‘Top Girls’, an employment agency. The other women are all from different historical eras: Dull Gret (Olivia Poulet), Lady Nijo (Catherine McCormack), Isabella Bird (Stella Gonet), Lady Griselda (Laura Elphinstone), and Joan of Arc (Lucy Briers). They tell stories about the hardships they have been through, as well as their achievements. They get drunk and raucous, and don’t listen very attentively: there’s a lot of interruption and talking over each other.

The action then moves to the garden of a contemporary rural house. A teenage girl, Angie (Olivia Poulet), and her younger friend Kit (Lisa Kerr) are playing together. Angie tells Kit she’s going to go away, to London, to visit her aunt Marlene. She changes into a floral dress. Angie then turns up at ‘Top Girls’, where Marlene works with her colleagues Win (Catherine McCormack) and Nell (Laura Elphinstone). Marlene is not exactly thrilled to see her. Angie adores her aunt: she says that the day Marlene last visited her and her mother, Joyce, was the best day of her life. The scene ends with Marlene telling Win that Angie is stupid, and that there is no hope for her.

The final scene jumps back in time to the previous year, when Marlene visits Angie and Joyce. She gives Angie the floral dress as a present. Political and class issues previously hinted at in the Top Girls office are brought out into the open. Marlene voices her support for Thatcher; Joyce is horrified by this. It’s also revealed (*spoiler alert*) that Marlene is Angie’s real mother: Marlene left her with Joyce in Norfolk so that she could go and pursue her career in the city. The play ends with Angie coming downstairs, possibly sleepwalking. Marlene tries to speak to her, but Angie just repeats the word ‘frightening.’

The eighties, and the class divide, were well evoked through costumes. Marlene, Win and Nell all wore the latest power-dressing fashions. Joyce’s clothes and kitchen were in shades of beige, brown and orange, suggesting that there was no progression in her world from seventies’ styles. And yet, although the sets and costumes were realistic enough, I nevertheless felt that there was a sort of coldness about them.

Whether intentional or not, though, this sort of starkness around the edges only helped to reinforce the fact that Top Girls is not meant to be the kind of story- and character-based play in which you become immersed: it’s meant to be alienating and thought-provoking. The first scene, after all, is about as unrealistic as they come; and the fact that the seven actresses (except Suranne Jones) play multiple roles suggests that the characters are meant to be seen more as illustrations of a particular message than as individual people. Saying that, Churchill (and/or the actresses and director, Max Stafford-Clarke) manages to encourage empathy as well as social and political commentary. All of the performances were engaging and convincing, so that I did worry for Angie, and was fascinated, but ultimately deeply unsettled, by Marlene’s single-minded self-interest.

In the introduction to my copy of the play text, it is noted that no woman playwright is included in the 1982 edition of Benedict Nightingale’s An Introduction to 50 Modern British Plays. Only one is featured in Methuen’s 1986 Landmarks of Contemporary British Drama – Caryl Churchill, for Top Girls. It is telling that it took an overtly political play, rather than one exploring domestic or psychological worlds, to break into the history books. Thankfully it is also a play that questions the alarming ramifications of defining success and emancipation for women as individual achievement in traditionally male-dominated workplaces. Churchill condemns such success as meaningless if it means that those who do not fit into this mould are discarded along the way. She knows that feminism is about more than women’s rights; it is essentially about human rights; and that many people would do well to realise this. It’s a point that is still frighteningly relevant today.

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