Night Watch

Ok, I'm going to make a confession here. I read Terry Pratchett novels. I know, I know... They're written for fourteen-year-old boys. He makes the same jokes over and over. I do know, really. But if I'm going to read trash, I'd far rather read a Pratchett novel than some rom-com style story whose author can't spell or use correct grammar (this is not me making stuff up. I have actually seen books like this).

I'm also not doing down the chick-lit genre - well done, it's as good as any other form of literature. Jane Austen, after all, wrote chick-lit. However, if it's poorly done, it's positively painful. And while what Pratchett does isn't on the same level as, say Wodehouse or Douglas Adams, he does Terry Pratchett novels very well. And sometimes you need something slightly trashy (I'm thinking mostly of exam term here. I don't know about you, but I couldn't read a real book to save my life).

Anyway, preamble over, I'll move on to the actual book (isn't it funny the difference a space can make? 'move on to' being very very different from 'move onto'). I chose "Night Watch" because I think it is Pratchett's best novel. It deals with Sam Vimes, who is, admittedly, my favourite Pratchett character. In it, we follow Vimes into the past (the huge advantage of a world where magic exists is that you can just do stuff like that), to an event that proved extremely significant in his life.

The catch? He hasn't ended up there alone. He's in the company of a criminal he's following in normal time - and not just any criminal. Carcer (his name - in case you hadn't figured that out. But what am I saying? Of course you had...) is a madman. He'll kill you as soon as look at you. And he's been looking at Vimes for a long time (oooh, that sounded almost like one of voiceovers you get on trailers for action movies! I should totally write those).

Anyway, in due course it all works out - Vimes does his best to change the past, but no real harm is done. I found this Pratchett's most touching work. I think because it's the only one (or at least the only one I've read) where people die, long before their time. It has all of his usual insight into human nature (you can say what you want about his way of expressing it, but he is insightful) together with a little more depth than he normally shows.

If you're new to Pratchett, start here. If not, look this one up. Unless you've read one of his books and hated it. Then you won't like this one. Otherwise, it's worth it.

Rilla of Ingleside

This is the last of the "Anne of Green Gables" series, telling the story of her youngest daughter and how the First World War affected her. The novel begins in June 1914 with the assassination of Archduke Franz Ferdinand and takes us through until shortly after the end of the war in 1918. We follow Rilla between the ages of fifteen and nineteen, watching her grow and change throughout the novel.

As a story in itself, it is a sweet coming-of-age story, showing us how adversity can force people to become the people they are capable of being. In this case, Rilla, a self-confessed 'lily of the field', adopts a baby whose mother has died and whose father is at the front, bringing the child up with only minimal help from her parents, organises a Junior Red Cross and gets engaged.

However, what I find most interesting about this novel is not the story itself (though I do enjoy it - I'm a sucker for a decent romantic novel), but the setting of the story. I read it first when I was probably about fourteen (oh, how time passes...) and knew, really, very little about the First War. That is to say, I knew the basic facts, but I had only studied it twice, so wasn't fully informed. I come to it now, having studied the War a further three times (in French class, History and English lit.) and what a difference it makes!

Most of the War literature one reads was written either by the soldiers themselves or by people who had some experience of the War - I imagine because it was so much more readable than the jingoistic nonsense others spewed out. This, however, was definitely written from a distance and I found it fascinating seeing how the War was viewed by women as far away as Canada - the picture they had of the War was so different to the one we see today.

For a start, they believe all official communications, whereas we worldly people are well aware that much of them were lies and propaganda. For example, whenever someone was killed, the family in question was always told that they had died instantly - something we now know to have been rarely the case. The characters in this novel believe it completely, which I find very hard to empathise with, knowing what I know.

I think the reason it's still readable is firstly that it isn't solely concerned with the War - it is first and foremost the story of a young girl growing up - and secondly that she isn't trying to persuade us we should be going to war. Generally I like it, though I am aware that part of that is nostalgia and part of it is interest in the way she saw the War. As to whether you'll like it - well, all I can say is try it and see!

Wishful Drinking

My mother bought me this copy of Carrie Fisher's autobiography and I'm not sure I ever thanked her - I don't, as a rule, like autobiographies or biographies, though biographies are worse, because I don't like the sense of intrusion into someone's private life. Most autobiographies are ghost-written anyway, so there seems little point in reading them.

This one, however, was clearly not ghost-written and has buckets of personality in every line. As it was written by its subject, I didn't feel that I was sitting there going through someone's rubbish in order to get the dirt on them, which is how I usually feel (metaphorically, of course - I've never gone through someone's rubbish, so I have no real point of comparison).

Fisher is impressively honest, and tells you about her upbringing, her difficulties with drugs, her marriage to Paul Simon and her reaction to fame in detail. She has a very wry take on life, and one can't help but feel that her sense of humour may well be what's kept her alive. She seems to see the funny side of everything, even if she can't necessarily feel it, which one assumes she can't always.

My favourite chapter is the one where she rants about the Star Wars merchandise - of which, it seems, there is a truly incredible amount. From figurines, to Lego, to Pez dispensers, to (wait for it) a life-size sex doll. You know those things that come up in appalled articles in magazines every so ofter? Where they usually tell the story of some guy who's married one? Well, there's one of those in her likeness.

Can you imagine the weirdness of that? According to her, the best bit about that is that if someone tells her to go fuck herself - she can! (She says she tried it... Apparently it wasn't all that.) She happily tells you about her childhood. Not in so much detail that it gets boring (we don't find out her favourite breakfast cereal. Hey that's a good idea - have they made Star Wars cereal?), but in just enough to understand why she was the way she was.

It's also full of interesting little moments. Like, did you know when she got the part of Leia they asked her to lose 10 pounds? She weighed 105 at the time - that's 7 and a half stone... Also, she hated the hairstyle - you know, THE hairstyle. And they considered Christopher Walken for Han Solo. Imagine Star Wars without Harrison Ford...

It's a strange world alright, and Fisher does a fantastic job of expressing that in a personal and entertaining way. Definitely worth the read.

Gentlemen and Players

This is one of four Joanne Harris novels I have read and, though not my favourite, is pretty good. Unsurprisingly, my favourite is Chocolat, but G & P comes a close second. In G & P, we are concerned with the inmates of a secondary school, particularly the teachers, and the effect a series of... attacks is a bit strong. I think I'll go with events... has on them.

In typical Joanne Harris style, we hear the story through several voices, in this case, a teacher at the school and the perpetrator of the attacks (I gave up, it'll do. Whatever they are, they're definitely malicious). This gives (slowly, naturally. If it were too fast, it would spoil the surprise) us the motivation behind the meanness and the emotions of the target.

The idea behind it is an interesting one, and our villain's motivation is as reasonable as it can ever - by which I mean, it isn't reasonable, but when you're dealing with a madman, what is? The characterisation is good and the plot moves along swiftly, without feeling forced. The novel us set in England, which has the added advantage that she doesn't feel the need to scatter the text with random French words.

I felt an unexpected amount of sympathy for the villain - I say villain, but this person isn't just a villain. The character she creates is more of a particularly twisted anti-hero than just a villain, as we are expected to identify with them to a certain extent. Our victim is a rather charming teacher of the old school. The kind of teacher you always sort of wished you had. Interested in the children, strict, but not unkind, his life outside of school is cleverly drawn and gives you a new perspective on dedicated teachers.

The children are just right. We have all of those characters everyone recognises from school. The weird one who annoys everyone, the one who's just right side of cheeky, the few who hit the wrong side of cheeky... Joanne Harris' style irritates me a little sometimes, but that is a personal view, so, if you like her, I would say go for it!

Winnie the Pooh

I know, I know, it's a kids book. I do realise that, but have you read it recently? This is in the best tradition of children's books, written well enough that the adult reading it aloud can enjoy it as much as the child listening. Now, I'm sure some of you are sitting there thinking "That's all very well, but it's still unbearably twee..." That is because you are thinking of the Disney cartoon, which is indeed horribly cutsey and, as you so succinctly put it, twee.

The original, though, is so much more than that. The wry wit with which A. A. Milne writes (gosh, what alliteration!) counteracts the undeniable fact that you are reading a story about some stuffed toys (or worse, reading a blog about reading a story about some stuffed toys). Obviously, he has his moments, both good and bad. For instance, he will insist on framing his books with his poetry, which simply doesn't compare. However, once he gets on to the story proper, he sparkles.

I'm going to start off with my last remaining problem. Christopher Robin. I know he's the hero and I know it was written for hi, so he has to be present, but isn't he annoying? He's one of those children who unfortunately crop up so often in fiction and are simply too good not to irritate (I'm thinking here of such people as little Nell, Pollyanna, little Lord Fauntleroy...).

So, the best Pooh stories are those in which CR doesn't make an appearance, or at least not until the end of the story. One of my personal favourites (as opposed, I guess, to one of my impersonal favourites? I've always wondered about that expression) is the story of when Eeyore loses a tail. Mostly, I have to admit, because it features Eeyore a lot and, as you will see when I tell you my next favourite, I think Eeyore is the funniest character in he whole book.

This particular story is well named, it turns out, the bulk of the plot centring around the loss of Eeyore's tale. It's ok though, he finds it again (I thought the suspense might be upsetting you - don't worry, it's not the gritty realism type of book). The thing about stories featuring Eeyore, is that they are stuffed with such fantasic lines as '"And how are you?" said Winnie-the-Pooh. Eeyore shook his head from side to side. "Not very how," he said. "I don't seem to have felt at all how for a long time."'

I would tell you about my other favourite Pooh story, but it's in "House at Pooh Corner", so it would be cheating. I will say, though, that it features Eeyore, Pooh Sticks and people falling into rivers, and I can highly recommend it. Avoid the last couple of stories though, as they're all about CR leaving, and not really worth it.

Rebecca

"Rebecca" is the second Daphne Du Maurier novel I read. This is reasonably unusual for me, as I tend to start with an author's best known works, partly because they seem likely to be their best and partly because they're the most likely to come up in conversation, giving me the chance to pronounce loftily "Oh yes, I've read that one - subpar, I felt..."

The first Daphne Du Maurier I read was "My Cousin Rachel", chosen largely on the basis that it had my name in its title, even if it was an inferior spelling. I read it only once, and remember very little of it. "Rebecca", by contrast, gripped me almost immediately and I sped through it. It is slightly creepier than I usually like my novels, but not so much as to give me nightmares, which are often my fate after a particularly ghost-oriented story (and are the reason I avoid such stories in all their forms).

"Rebecca" is the tale of a young couple and their attempt to make marriage work in the shadow of the groom's late wife. She (the eponymous Rebecca) is spoken of by all of his (Maxim's) friends as a model of virtue, the perfect wife and the life and soul of every party. Du Maurier's twist is clever and, to me at least (though I accept that I may be revealing myself as unforgivably slow), far from obvious.

The characters were cleverly drawn, if not entirely realistic. It struck as rather unlikely that anyone as threatening as Mrs Danvers, the housekeeper, ever actually existed (outside of an asylum at any rate) and Rebecca herself seemed to me unlike anyone I've ever met.

Despite these faults, it's a very clever tale, with just the right amount of spine-chillingness (I assert my right to make up words as I please - it's my blog after all), though the ending always leaves me feeling slightly wistful. The story is peopled with interesting characters, some of whom are extremely appealing, others equally off-putting and I rooted for our heroine right the way through till the end.

A cat called Norton

This is one I picked up at random in a bookshop one day. I had no idea what sort of book it was going to be, but it had a picture of a kitten on the cover and I'm a sucker for cat pictures (really - I even like those stupid lolcat pictures). It turned out to be not exactly an autobiography (by which I mean it's autobiographical, it's not a story in the normal sense of the word, but it's also not a full autobiography. You describe it better. Go on).

The tagline tells us that it's "the true story of an extraordinary cat and his imperfect human", which is as good a way to explain it as any. We follow Peter through his relationship with his cat (whose arrival he strongly resisted, until he actually met Norton), passing by relationships with girlfriends, life and his work on the way.

The first thing I have to say about this book is, if Norton really can do everything Peter claims he can, he really is extraordinary. I want one. And I already have a cat (boy, I hope she doesn't read this. THAT would get awkward...). I mean, I can definitely see why he's so nuts about the cat. It is one awesome animal.

The rest of the book is also very entertaining. Peter humorously tells us about the problems he's had in his life (some of which are solved by Norton, some of which are a direct result of his owning Norton) in such a way that we don't notice that he has effectively talked nonstop about himself for a whole book. I cared about both Peter and Norton, and am currently investigating the existence of a sequel (seriously. I have Amazon open right now), as I really want to know what happened next.

It's in a clever framework, so we don't feel that we're being lectured, and reads in a much less self-centred way than most autobiographies do. Which is good, as I had no idea who the author was before I read this, so a full on autobiography would not have gone down well. Basically, if it taught me anything, it's that books with kittens on the cover are always good. Always.

Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man

This was my second attempt at reading (and liking) Joyce. I tried first with "Dubliners" and got myself into a terrible tangle, owing to Joyce's habit of numbering his short stories and my (unfortunate) lack of knowledge about the work in which I was attempting to immerse myself. My misapprehension led, as you have no doubt already figured out (you really are terribly clever, did you know that?), to a belief that the different stories were, in fact, chapters of a novel. This belief lasted through at least three stories, at which point my confusion over why none of the characters from the first chapter had yet reappeared was suddenly resolved in a moment's revelation.

The muddle I felt over that has put me off ever trying "Dubliners" again, so I have no real impression of that piece of his work. I moved on to "Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man" (henceforth PAYM, to save my sanity), because I had been told that it was a good preliminary to "Ulysses" and that one should read "Ulysses" before moving on to "Finnegans Wake" (I should come clean - if I persist with Joyce, it won't be for any appreciation of his talents as writer. I just want to be able to tell people that I've read "Finnegans Wake").

Anyway, I struggled through PAYM for the first time a few years ago. I was underwhelmed, to say the least. I then re-read it, thinking that maybe I was too hasty in condemning it the first time. Sadly, this did not turn out to be the case, and I've resisted all urges to try a third time, as I know I won't enjoy it.

That is not to say that Joyce is a bad writer. There are bits of PAYM which are fantastic, and his command of language is wonderful. He's fabulously descriptive and has an uncanny ability to choose exactly the right word for any given situation. I still didn't like it.

It wasn't difficult to read, or at least, not in the way people usually mean when referring to Joyce. The plot is easy to follow - we basically just watch a young man growing up. No, the problem I had with it was the hero. Stephen is incredibly obnoxious, and irritatingly self-satisfied. If, as is suggested by their matching biographical details, Stephen is modelled on Joyce himself, I'm not in the least surprised that no-one liked him.

This, then is where my problem with the novel lies. Stephen as a child is engaging, and I cared about what happened to him. As an adolescent and young adult, he is impossible. I wouldn't have cared what happened to him, had he not been very slightly less insufferable happy than sad.

I do intend to attempt "Ulysses" at some point (when I have gathered enough courage), and I hope I'll find it more palatable that PAYM. Unfortunately, I am beginning to think that it's not the novels I dislike, but Joyce himself, in which case, I don't see myself warming to "Ulysses" or "Finnegans Wake" any more than I did to PAYM.

Olivia Joules and the Overactive Imagination

So, I've spent the last ten minutes trying to decide what to write about (the advantage of all that reading I mentioned - you do remember that don't you? Maybe you should re-read all of my posts, just to be sure - is that I don't actually have to read a new book for every blogpost) and, after much thought (ten minutes worth, in fact), I plumped for "Olivia Joules". It has many advantages, not least of which is the fact that I happened to have read it recently, so I remember my thoughts.

It is the novel Helen Fielding wrote after "Bridget Jones", and has many of the merits of the aforementioned work. In brief, it is the story of freelance journalist, Olivia Joules and her overactive imagination. Now, aren't you glad you read the review? Wasn't that helpful? Oh, ok then, I'll be a little less brief. If you insist. Olivia, we are told, has got into trouble for her imagination on a few occasions, so is now more or less stuck in the Style section of the newspapers to whom she sells her stories. This upsets her, as she wants to cover "real stories", so, when she is sent to Miami for a fashion piece, her imagination goes into overdrive.

Inevitably, her suspicions turn out to be, while not entirely accurate, at least in the right ballpark, and she is swept away in a whirlwind of adventure, involving spies, actors and Al-Qaeda. Fielding uses her heroine as a chance to express her personal views on the Iraq war (or at least, I assume they're her views), but she manages to do this without becoming tiresome or nagging.

I'm not going to go into more detail about the plot, but it's all rather implausible in the best kind of way. Olivia has all of the warmth of Bridget Jones with some extra self-confidence and without the self-help books. The novel is, unfortunately, not quite the same standard as her previous work, but it comes pretty damn close. The difference, I think, is that in this novel, Fielding is not writing in the first person, but as an omniscient narrator, which leads her into the temptation of occasionally adding in some chick-lit-ish descriptive passages, which aren't really necessary.

These rare slips aside though, its a fun novel, entertainingly written and satisfies all of the escapism demands one has of light novels. I really enjoyed it and have re-read it several times. Perfect for those moments when you want entertainment, but haven't the energy to read a tougher novel.

A Mathematician's Miscellany

I'm afraid I may have to apologise for this post - I'm going to nerd out on you for the first, but probably not the last, time. You see, unfortunately, I have spent the last four years reading maths at university, and that sort of thing leaves its mark. In my case, it's an inability to pass any kind of popular maths book without experiencing a strong desire to read it. I have noticed, as a result of this penchant, firstly that very few non-scientists will read science books of any kind, and secondly that most books of popular science and maths are very accessible to, well, anyone - whether or not they are scientists by nature.

I shall, therefore, occasionally review science books as well, in the vague hope of righting this wrong, and I am going to start with Littlewood's Miscellany. This more or less does as it says on the tin. It is a short collection of mathematical oddities and items of interest. Most of these are accessible to pretty much anyone who is willing to read them, and the few that aren't are helpfully marked by the author with stars.

The reason I chose this book to start with is that Littlewood, unlike most mathematicians, is a very engaging writer. He has a strong sense of humour and is quite happy to laugh at himself and his fellow mathematicians (especially his fellow mathematicians!). This is not really a book to be read cover-to-cover (for me to be saying this is unusual to say the least. I am one of nature's cover-to-cover readers. I've even read joke books from cover to cover!), rather it should be dipped into at random moments.

Leave it somewhere in your house where you are frequently bored. For instance, if you find you are often ready to leave the house long before the rest of your family, you might keep it by the door & read as you wait. Or, if you are forced to watch a lot of sports matches in which you have little or no interest, keep in the living room and dip in and out of it as your interest in the match ebbs away and rises again.

I can recommend starting with the second and third chapters, which, consisting of errors made by the good (and indeed great!) mathematicians of the past, will serve to reassure you that mathematicians are not necessarily people of inhuman intelligence, but are as silly (and often petty) as anyone else. I can also recommend the chapter on large numbers, simply for the awe one experiences as one realises just how large large can be.

My final thoughts on the matter then (I'm fast running out of ways to express the word conclusion - I may have to cycle around the synonyms I've found thus far!), are that this is an entertaining read, worth it for chapters two and three alone, if , like me, you enjoy reading about others' errors. However, if you find the maths a bit too off-putting for you, don't worry, my next will be back to my fictional best! (oh dear, that sort of sounds as though I were making all this up. I'm not, I promise... Put it down to poor phrasing please...)