Lindsey Davis. Finished 23rd February. Recommendation: Part of a series

There are two things you may have noticed by now with this blog. One, that I struggle to write reviews (if that’s what you can call them) as soon as I finish a book (see two reviews backdated posts published today), and two, that I love Davis’s series. Having taken a long break from the Flavia Albia series, mainly by accident with reading for uni having got in the way, shortly after finishing Deadly Election’s predecessor I asked my mum to send me it in the post. This is testament to Davis’s brilliant writing style – she is one of my favourite authors to read purely for enjoyment as I love her characters and plots.

This novel in the series focused on an election of a Aedile, a type of local official in Ancient Rome, but when a body is found in a chest belonging to one of the families involved in the election, Flavia steps in. What follows is an enjoyable plot, that despite perhaps lacking in a surprise ‘whodunnit’ ending, makes up for in the development of the relationship between the protagonist detective and her friend and employer Manlius Faustus who is also the local magistrate. I think I’ll have to have a break from this series for a while so I don’t catch up with its author, but will look forward to delving back into it when I do!

Bella Mackie. Finished 18th February. Recommendation: Podcast/Instagram

I’ve heard this book mentioned many times across Instagram and various podcasts – last year I heard Bella Mackie interviewed on one of my favourite podcasts ‘The High Low’ and have had this book on my to-read list ever since. Mackie’s style is so easy to read, I managed to get through this book in a few days. She demonstrates great subtlety and sensitivity in managing to handle a very serious topic, her severe anxiety and other mental health issues, with tact and also humour. Her admittance that she does not always enjoy running and that often she only manages to get through the first mile or so by thinking about ice cream was also very refreshing.

Too often in the world of Instagram and ‘health’ and ‘nutrition’ bloggers (I put these in inverted commas because I’m very dubious whether they actually promote healthy lifestyles on the whole) is a minefield of ultra-positivity that can be off-putting. Maybe smoothies and juice cleanses work for some, but what I loved about Jog On was Mackie’s obvious move away from this kind of ‘health’ advice. Her practical tips, anecdotes and many recommendations for everything from mental health advice websites to running gear is, in my opinion, a much healthier approach to healthy mind and healthy body that actually did inspire me to get running, (although on the treadmill as the weather has been horrendous recently thanks to Storm Ciara AND Dennis!).

It was also really enjoyable to read non-fiction for once and I’ve been inspired to read more!

Heather Morris. Finished around the 5th of February. Recommendation: My sister

Morris’s book recounts the true story of Lale Sokolov, a Slovakian Jewish man who became the tattooist of the notorious concentration camp in order to survive. It is a record of the horrors and atrocities of the Holocaust, and the parts with the Nazi doctor Josef Mengele are particularly disturbing as you read of his experimentation on the camp’s inmates and his inherent inhumanness. It must be noted, however, that the book has caused some controversy with many historians and The Auschwitz Memorial Research Centre questioning its accuracy, citing concerns that readers may see it to be ultimate historical truth. In my opinion, the book can be read as a powerful story of human endurance in the face of cruelty, but as I finished it just after Holocaust Memorial Day, I would stress that readers who wish to discover historical facts about the Holocaust should consult more accurate sources, including the Research Centre’s website which has a dedicated bookstore.

Although it is often a difficult and upsetting read, this book is also a love story as Lale falls in love with another inmate, Gita. Following their love through the narrative, and the risks they take to keep each other alive made this a very quick, engaging read for me, and one which I highly recommend.

Olga Tokarczuk. 2009 (English translation 2018). Guardian 100 best books of the 20th century

Another recommendation from the Guardian article I mentioned before, this book took me a while to get into. The combination of the uni term starting again and the slower pace of this narrative compared to others I’d read in January meant reading it over the course of a few weeks, rather than days as with the other books. However, this does not mean I did not enjoy it. Described as a thriller, the twist at the end lead to a gripping denouement, and I really enjoyed the references to William Blake. I’d recently gone to the Blake exhibition at the Tate, which was brilliant, and it was interesting to see how Tokarczuk uses Blake in her characterisation and prose.

In particular, the protagonist, and narrator of the book, Janina is a lover of Blake and imparts his mystic spiritualism onto the natural world around her. Although I did find her constant references to astrology slightly tedious, Janina’s wish to protect animals and the natural world leads to some beautiful descriptions of the remote Polish countryside and woodland she lives in. As an eccentric outsider to society, Tokarczuk’s character provides a lone voice against the way local hunters ravage the natural world around them, and interesting eco-critical responses could be drawn from this. Drive Your Plow Over the Bones of the Dead suggests why nature must be protected from man, but also, in its shocking denouement, why society should not reject the opinions of outsiders, and how this can have dangerous consequences.

Lindsey Davis. 20th January. Recommendation: originally from my Mum, but this is one of a sub-series of a series

This historical mystery novel is the second of the Flavia Alba mystery series which features the daughter of the informer/private detective Marcus Didius Falco who features in twenty books in another of Davis’s series. I’ve always been a fan of the Falco series and read the first of the Flavia Alba mysteries a few years ago. Both display Davis’ great ability to craft ingenious mystery fiction while depicting Ancient Rome in a colourful and sensory way that really brings it to life.

The highlight of the book has to be the main character and detective Flavia. She is head-strong, independent and intelligent, walking the streets of Rome often unaccompanied day and night, procuring jobs from the wealthy clients, and in this novel the local Aedile, a kind-of magistrate. Although I’m sure some people would argue this perhaps pushes the boundaries of historical accuracy (but then I do not know much about Ancient Roman society, and also in fiction, who really cares), this does not matter as the juxtaposition of a very modern female protagonist with her ancient city creates much humour. Flavia’s wry writ and her ability to outwit older male characters is amusing but also creates moments of deductive genius – the conclusion to this novel (without wanting to give away spoilers!) was as much as exciting because of how she discovered the thief and murderer then because of the actual moment of reveal.

I don’t normally read much detective fiction, but reading this book has made me realise how much I am missing out. However, I think I enjoy this series, and its forerunner, so much because Davis does not go into overly lurid, gory detail or make the crimes featured too disturbing. Perhaps the Ancient Roman setting also adds to this because I am able to feel a slight disconnect to the crime committed and so can enjoy the mystery unfolding more so than if I was reading a modern murder mystery.

Helen Dunmore (2001) Finished: Thursday 16th Jan Recommendation: Guardian 100 Best Books of the 21st Century (https://www.theguardian.com/books/2019/sep/21/best-books-of-the-21st-century)

Set during the Siege of Leningrad in World War Two, this novel is certainly hard-hitting. I’d read another of Dunmore’s novels ‘House of Orphans’ a few years ago and in both she cleverly moulds fictional characters to real historical settings. In The Seige, her descriptions of the struggle against starvation, down to minute detail as the protagonist Anna mentally recounts the food that her and her family have remaining to sustain them through the freezing Russian winter, serve as an important testament to the human suffering of war.

Although the subject matter was disturbing at times, I found this novel very engaging to read and some time off after submitting two long essays meant I spent hours sat at home racing through it. Dunmore’s prose can sometimes become slightly too fanciful and forced for me, but this is easily overlooked as she pulls you into the narrative. The main character Anna remained strangely simultaneously close as the the novel rarely strays from her story, but she also appears reticent to the reader, perhaps a way of conveying the closed mentality of people having to remain insular to themselves and their family to survive. Moments of compassion stray through though, and there is a particularly moving scene where Anna offers to draw her neighbour’s dead baby to ease her grief. All this is overshadowed by the madness of the totalitarian state as in the midst of such desperation and suffering characters still force out strained praises to Stalin and the party leadership. Reading The Siege made me interested to find more about the history that inspired the narrative, and it is a must-read for readers who enjoy historical fiction.

Dolly Alderton (2018). Monday 13th January. Recommendation: a lot of my female friends, and even more of my favourite podcasts.

Dolly Alderton is to me and many other women my age a bit of a guru. Her podcast, along with fellow writer Pandora Sykes, ‘The High-Low’, is a regular highlight of my week, and I had been meaning to read her debut book for around a year, with lots of people I know giving it high praise.

It turns out that his praise is completely deserved. I demolished this book in a few days, with Alderton’s writing style making it feel like I was listening to the chattering-away of one of my friends as we sat down for lunch or met up on a weekend. I think that the way she talked about her relationships with her close female friends particularly resonated with me as I’ve always been lucky to have such firm female friendships and, like Dolly, have found them to be a source of unending laughter, love and support. Especially recently I’ve missed my two best friends Chloe and Maddy who graduated last year and moved back home. Dolly has such a special insight into growing-up and moments like these where you go from seeing these two amazing people everyday, living with them and making every bit of mundane life dramatic, to missing them terribly and looking forward to whenever you can squeeze a get-together into permanently busy lives. Perhaps I’m getting a bit too sentimental about this book but as a lot of its reviewers say, this book, despite seeming to be about romantic love, something that it also does incredibly well with hilarious stories about doomed first dates and much sadder excerpts of failed relationships and the validation society teaches women can gain from men, is a testament to female friendship.

Alderton does not shy away from presenting her own vulnerability, and the way she narrates her experiences with eating-disorders, therapy, loneliness and isolation is engaging and inspiring in equal measures. But despite this difficult subject matter, it is also hilarious at times, I was literally laughing at loud at one passage where Dolly recounts how her friend let her send ridiculous fake texts to old acquaintances, an ongoing exchange about bins with an old flame is a high-point. All in all, I’d really recommend this book to anyone trying to navigate times of uncertainty and upheaval in their 20s; Dolly’s messages about love and friendship are relatable and honest, and could help shed light on even the most confusing aspects of growing-up.

Thomas Hardy (1880). Finished Sunday 5th January 2020 (sorry again a bit of a cheat on this one!). Recommendation: my Dad I think (it’s his favourite Hardy novel)

Again this post starts with apologies. Firstly because I started this novel in the summer of 2019, and finally got round to finishing it months later after losing my copy and finding it under my bed, and secondly, because you can see how I’ve written multiple posts on one day. I promise I am being honest with when I’m finishing books, I’m just trying to catch up at the moment with what I’ve already read so far this year. Anyway, you’ll be glad to know that the rueful apologies will come to an end soon!

So Hardy, what can I say about this Victorian novelist. I’m sure many people would rather pull out their own fingernails then read Victorian novels for pleasure. My 18 year old sister made this point to me yesterday evening as she recounted her efforts to read Pride and Prejudice. ‘I read it in Primary School’, I quipped, ‘Well you’re weird Lyd’ she quickly replied. Yes, fair enough, I am perhaps in the minority in my enjoyment of 19th-century fiction but as I told Izzy, there’s no point in reading for a hobby if you’re not enjoying it. Forcing yourself to read Hardy may be an experience that is incredibly fulfilling and inspire you to read more older fiction, or it may leave you wanting never to pick up a pre-1900 novel again. If you’re a member of the latter club then don’t worry! I would say Hardy is, in my opinion, the most accessible and engaging author of that period though, so don’t be put off!

Anyway, The Trumpet-Major is Hardy’s only historical novel, it looks back about 70 years from when he was writing to the era of the Napoleonic War (around 1810 I think). One of the elements of Hardy’s writing I love so much is his ability to describe character and place in such a unique way, Tess of the D’Urbervilles and Jude the Obscure are brilliant examples of this and so worth a read just to experience the beauty of his prose. I’m not saying The Trumpet-Major fails to represent this, but I do think as his subject matter is more trivial here, and he relies less on existential, theological and spiritual themes, the novel is less profound than other novels of Hardy’s I have treasured for years. That is not to say it was not an enjoyable text, the pluckiness of the heroine Anne Garland really stands out and the comedic villainy of Festus Derriman one of her suitors (and, for some reason, the character that my Dad named our old cat after, I’m not sure Festus ever lived up to his wicked and cavorting name-sake) creates some funny moments that really carry the text. The relationship between Anne’s other suitors, the brothers John and Bob Loveday is more complicated, and perhaps one that is rather foreign to modern eyes. The way they ‘honourably’ exchange Anne between them is a bit problematic, but it does instil a romantic nobility in John, the eponymous trumpet-major, whose loyalty and selflessness is very poignant at the end of the novel. Overall, despite not being the best of Hardy’s novels, it is still well-worth a read, particularly if, like me, you are a West-country native, or simply enamoured of its rustic appeal.

Author: Margaret Atwood. Date finished: around 29th December (2019, oops). Recommendation: I’m a bit late to the game with this one as the media sensation this book caused has somewhat blown over now, but I got it for Christmas.

To start a blog on books I have read in 2020 on a book I finished in the previous decade is clearly a massive cheat. I’ve been debating whether to include Atwood’s most recent novel and the long-awaited sequel to the stalwart of feminist literature, The Handmaid’s Tale, for a while now. However, in the end I concluded that this monumental book was such a thrilling read that I could not not include it in a blog about enjoyable reading experiences. Indeed, The Testaments transcends simple enjoyment, this gripping novel with its intertwining, multiple narrators is characteristic of Atwood’ style, able to find moments of comedy while exploring the darkest tendencies of human existence: power, control and violence. It was particularly interesting to see the character of Aunt Lydia reassessed from the previous novel. I was always repulsed by her, perhaps more so than others because of my perhaps irrational horror at her sharing my name. Lydias do not appear often in literature in my experience and the only two I can think of is Austen’s silly and irreverent Lydia Bennet (I was always an Elizabeth fan personally), and the above mentioned Aunt Lydia. By delving into her backstory, Atwood explores the effect of trauma and torture, addressing how easily the oppressed becomes the oppressor in totalitarian societies. Whole dissertations could be written on how Atwood’s masterful prose reflects the unequal societies we still live in, and I am haunted by an interview I once read with her where she explained that nothing in The Handmaid’s Tale had been made up. Although the abuses of rights had happened across different governments and societies to varying degrees and she had collected them to institutionalise Gilead as a dangerous theocracy, all the torture scenes, restrictive laws and punishments are based on truth. I do not know if this is the case for The Testaments but I can see it being so. The world Atwood creates in both novels is not simply a dystopia but a warning of what humanity has become capable of, and what it could still become.