Paris Requiem - Lisa Appignanesi

It would be an understatement to say it’s been a busy couple of months. What with all the Christmas preparation (I have infinite family members to buy presents for), family festivities, reuniting with friends, and the not-so-teeny task of dissertation writing and exam revision it’s been easy to neglect the blog. But I’ve managed to not neglect my reading so much, and it’s been a real treat having Lisa Appignanesi’s Paris Requiem to cuddle up with each night at the end of a cold, hectic (but fun!) day.

Paris Requiem is not a short novel. At about 500 pages it’s not a quick, or easy, read. For me it was happily a slow burner, the thing I dedicated the reading part of my mind to for a good six weeks. I would challenge anyone to read this book in much less time, it is extremely demanding both in the complex twists and turns of the storyline, and in the descriptive language. I found it hard to read more than two chapters in one sitting, and I needed at least 24 hours to let all the information and drama that each chapter is saturated with sink in and settle in my mind. Looking back on the experience of reading the book, I think the length of each chapter allows Appignanesi to indulge in both a richly gripping detective story and a lyricism of language and engulfing description of Paris, two things which crime writers often choose between, usually letting the latter go in favour of a shorter, more accessible storyline. To me, having read Paris Requiem, this is a regrettable error on the part of other writers, and the combination of the two is a testament to the author’s dedication to an all-encompassing tale that demands not just dramatic events and exciting dialogue, but a conjured up image of Paris which entirely envelops and transports the reader to the period and location of the novel. Understanding one could not be possible without the other, which is what made this so much more than a ‘psychological thriller’ for me.

Yet another novel that’s near impossible to write a brief summary of, but I’ll give it a go. Paris Requiem follows the reluctant, emotionally closed off American James Norton sent to Paris by his mother to retrieve his rebellious younger brother Raf and their fragile but eccentric sister Ellie. As soon as he arrives in Paris, James is swept up in the whirlwind of his siblings’ lives, hunting down the murderer of Raf’s drowned lover whilst simultaneously revealing the corruption of underground Paris and his own forgotten past. Appignanesi’s talent lies in her ability to tie together so many central strands into one story, managing to encompass an entire historical period through one family’s experiences. Despite having such a specific time and place setting, this book reminded me of one of the first novels I remember truly loving: Daphne Du Maurier’s The Parasites. This too explores the inner workings of the relationships between 3 siblings within the wider context of historical events, clashing intimate familial issues with huge world-changing events. Of course, the desire to reveal the solution to the thriller is what keeps you reading in Paris Requiem, but what really stayed with me afterwards was the tension in sibling relationships between competitiveness, jealously, rivalry, and an eternal, unbreakable attachment and unconditional love. The initial uptight, by-the-book nature of James is crucial to the impact of this tension, and the emotional dramatic irony of us realising the depths of his relationships before he does is not wasted.

At the same time as keeping us invested in the relatable familial storyline, Appignanesi flawlessly transports us to turn of the century Paris as if it is the most natural location in the world. Paris – the eternally romantic, magical city of love – becomes through Appiganesi’s description a dark and terrifying place, haunted with shadows of past, present and future. The narrative is one of those that no one can quite explain but everyone understands – one that gives you that claustrophobic feeling of danger and suffocation. At each corner that James turned, a fresh description, each dimmer than the previous, seizes the reader, and despite my ability to put the book down, I found myself just as incapable of shaking of that tainted, dirty feeling of the surroundings that James does.

Once again (thanks to Arcardia Books), I have finished a book a whole lot more knowledgeable about a place and time than I was before. This time, late 19^th century Paris - with its corruption which spreads like a disease to bond all aspects of society from the aristocratic politicians, to the powerful police, to the trusted doctors, to the seedy world of trafficking and prostitution - was laid out before me, and brought more shocking revelations as I turned each page. The American origins of our protagonists removes them from the story in the same way as the reader is, whilst the revelation that they may not be so innocently uninvolved in the Parisian world as they at first seem seduces us too into a world of inescapable corruption.

Read it now: Get it here

London Weekend Part 2: Macbeth at The Globe

Having spent the interim between lunch and the theatre exploring Angel, having some frozen yogurt, and a glass of wine or two in a very cosy local pub, we made our way over to Southbank for the main event!

Despite being a self-professed Shakespeare lover, much to my shame I have never visited The Globe before – so by the time this weekend finally came round I was ridiculously excited. The Globe does not stick out in the modern London cityscape as I thought it would – as you walk further along Southbank it seamlessly transforms into Shakespeare-land, with statues and signs featuring the likes of Francis Bacon, so that when you approach The Globe, it just feels natural.

After having a little look around the shop (a little, chilled wander for Angus, a rather too excitable dash around for me) we made our way into the grounds surrounding the actual theatre.  Angus had opted for standing tickets, said to be the best way to see a play there, so we took on our roles of Shakespearean groundlings and queued up outside the doors. Once in, we established a great place almost right at the front, definitely within touching distance of the actors (not that I would EVER do that…). My worries of some sort of Shakespeare induced mosh pit full of pushy punters were quickly diminished, everyone was very polite and chilled out and we had more than enough space to enjoy the performance.

The performance began with an eerie drum performance followed by the witches’ first scene. Far from the scraggly old Scottish women in decrepit pointy hats that has so often been the image of Macbeth, these three were beautiful and strong young women – and funny too. Their sexuality was both emphasised and subverted to make fools of the egotistical military heroes such as Macbeth and Banquo, who they fundamentally control. The presence of these three women throughout the play on the balcony above the stage, hiding around pillars on the stage, or orchestrating a song, really highlighted their role as the puppet masters of the action.

Macbeth himself was not only extremely easy to look at, charming, handsome, rugged…I could go on…but he was also strikingly modern. Technically nothing had been updated about the performance, they were all in traditional dress, they used Shakespeare’s script word for word, it wasn’t one of those contemporary interpretations – but that’s what made me realise: Shakespeare doesn’t NEED updating. His pure words performed on a stage speak to an eternal audience, unbound by geography, gender, class or time. The performance showed me that a single phrase featured in the middle of a long speech which is easy to skim over or dismiss as just a linguistic product of its time can actually be one of the most crucial lines of the play – conveying precisely what the character is about and how this relates to us the audience.

Sadly it’s impossible to describe every part of the play – but a couple of parts really stood out, on top of what I’ve already mentioned. The Globe is, and always has been, an open air theatre (luckily the weather held out for us), in the majority of Shakespearean or other Renaissance plays there are numerous references to the weather and the heavens, at which point it was likely the actors would gesture to the sky – jokes about the elements or the technicalities of the stage were common and popular. However, in this production, this tradition was updated. Throughout the performance there were planes flying over, muting the actors’ words, and a particularly endearing and unexpected moment was when Macbeth actually referenced the inconvenience of this during one of his speeches. The pure unpredictability and accidental nature of this little addition was just another one of those nice aspects that brings you closer to the actors and their performance, and reminds you of the universality of the theatre.

Now, ghosts can be a bit of a taboo with regards to Shakespeare. I’ve learnt throughout my education that everyone has their own preference of how a ghost should be presented, from being physically on the stage to speaking off stage to the modern fashion of video footage and sound effects. I’m not hugely fussed about it - as long as it goes with the tone of the performance and there isn’t a madman in a white sheet running around the stage, it’s fine by me. Despite my lack of preference, I reckon Banquo’s ghost scene would have satisfied most fussy customers. His physical presence made the scene both terrifyingly haunting and hilarious at the same time. Banquo remained silent for the entire scene, merely following Macbeth around as he erratically leapt over chairs and scrambled around the dining table. The on-stage presence of the ghost made the scene all the more comic as the audience could see what the on-lookers could not – what was causing Macbeth to act so insanely - but his constant eye contact with Macbeth equally hinted that it could indeed all be in his head. This combination of comic and sinister devices, the stark contrast between Macbeth’s slapstick hysteria and Banquo’s eerie silence, encapsulated the entire performance for me. Not only did this production deliver the genre-defying plot and techniques that I feel so define the genius of Shakespeare, but they brought it to life in a modern context, without actually BRINGING it into a modern context – it proved that four centuries on, Shakespeare can still be enjoyed, and refreshed, by all.

Sadly, we caught one of the last performances, but The Globe are constantly showing great performances, I would go every week if I could! Find tickets for the latest shows here

Throwback Thursday - The Road - Cormac McCarthy

So I’ve borrowed a little phrase that is probably more commonly known for its use by various Kardashians, TOWIE members etc on Instagram (just a little insight into the kind of people I choose to follow…). It’s gonna be hard for me to keep up a stream of current reviews this year thanks to the pretty much ancient module choices I’ve gone for, so to keep the book review aspect of my blog ticking over I’ll try to post on older, probably more famous books each week.

I recently went on holiday and needed some reading that was both productive for the imminent third year but not too heavy/thick/containing the words ‘thy’ and ‘pomp’ (so ruling out this term’s entire reading list…). In the end I looked forward to my modules for the spring term (ultimate geek), one of which is ‘Utopias and Dystopias’. Jolly.

 Cormac McCarthy’s The Road was a great one to start on as it’s known as one of the modern classics in the apocalyptic dystopia genre. To be honest, I am completely new to this genre, but I knew it was going to be pretty addictive and consuming. I read the entire novel (admittedly it’s pretty slim) in about 3 sittings. It’s not particularly fast moving and it’s definitely not action-packed, but it has a certain plodding quality that keeps you walking along this road with the two characters searching, for any sign of hope.

The novel follows the journey, which often seems completely hopeless, of a man and his son to an unknown destination through what can only be described as burned America. We don’t know why it has burned or who the ‘bad guys’ are who they must hide from – all we know is that they may be the only 2 ‘good guys’ left and they would rather kill themselves than be captured. The moment you realise a father has had to train his pre-adolescent son the most effective way to kill himself in case he gets caught is particularly chilling.

A huge amount has been said about this novel so it’s a hard one to find something ‘new’ to say about – it has often been deemed a warning about global warming. Yes, this aspect is impossible to ignore. In fact, the knowledge that this could indeed become a reality is what absolutely terrified me the entire way through – at the same time as thinking ‘oh no we would never let it get to this’ you’re constantly worrying that it will. The bad guys are not even the unrealistic, violent, perverted villains you so can often find in more conventional novels – you come to realise that they too are just acting out of crippling fear. McCarthy makes this affiliation with these sadistic monsters so easy that the reader is forced to fear themselves, and question what they really would do in this situation.

Aside from the prominent theme and setting of the novel the two characters, who remain nameless throughout, make it a beautiful and fascinating illustration of human behaviour and relationships.  There are no chapter breaks, no speech marks, barely any grammar at all – this could be running as a stream of consciousness if it was in the first person. But what McCarthy achieves with his use of the third person is a total focus on these two tiny figures in what is really a huge, empty abyss which they used to call home. ‘The road’ becomes both the piece of earth they are traversing at a particular moment, and the entire planet that has been destroyed but must still exist.

From the start you know their struggle is hopeless, there is no expectation that they will arrive at a safe haven– it’s not that kind of book. But what does develop is a sense for the reader themselves of living from one event to the next with the man and boy. We read each snippet of their lives in between, but really we are waiting for the next piece of action, whether it be good or bad, something, anything definitive. In my opinion McCarthy does this deliberately at the start of the book to create a false sense of security. As I got to the end I began to realise the singular events I was waiting for just merged and the entire journey became one of disillusionment. McCarthy’s point comes through – there is nothing definitive, there is no beginning and end, there is merely a life you must live until it has finished with you. Perhaps not only a comment on life, but on the conventions of literature (classic English student comment…).

A quick last thought: having said I am totally inexperienced in this genre, I am a big fan of books which both scare and intrigue me…see my review on The Bunker Diary. One I read last year was The Room by Emma Donaghue. It depicts a woman who has been held captive for many years and has borne a son by her captor who has never seen the outside world. His entire world IS the room, and this really resonated in The Road. It is totally unclear as to how long the world has been like this, when disaster struck, how old the boy is, or whether he ever knew any different. However, understanding that this dystopia is what is normal to the boy is captivating – trying to put myself into his head was my favourite aspect of the book. Striving to see such an unfamiliar world through his eyes with his familiarity adds to the reader’s fear and sense of realism.

Admittedly, a hugely depressing and downright scary book, but also an important one that I think everyone should read. Yes it is a warning to the whole of humanity – the anonymous ‘man’ and ‘boy’ could be anyone, but they are also themselves and the novel is a warm and immensely touching story of human relationships.

Read it now: Get it here

The Greatest Love Story of All Time - Lucy Robinson

I actually ‘started’ this review about a month ago, or intended to until I got a little too into my research of the author, got majorly distracted and then kind of just forgot about the initial post altogether…but I think that’s a pretty good excuse, and speaks volumes of Lucy Robinson before I’ve even started the review!

Lucy Robinson is the ultimate ‘cool girl’ in the reading/writing society. Starting out as a blogger for Marie Claire, her hilarious accounts of Internet dating quickly propelled her to huge success and she landed a publishing deal to write a novel. Can you tell I kind of wish I was her a little bit yet?

Her first novel The Greatest Love Story of All Time was recommended to me by my sister. I was in desperate need of some light reading in the interim between 2^nd and (groan) final year - with the full works of Christopher Marlowe plus all 16^th Century literature ever WRITTEN looming over me, I was keen to read something I could actually CHOOSE for once.

Now I’m not a reading snob in any way, but I have to admit labels such as ‘Women’s Fiction’ and ‘Young Adult’ have been known to put me off in the past. I don’t know if it’s because of the stereotypes or the thought that the genre overcomes the quality of writing when labelled like that, but whatever it is I realise if I want to widen my horizons past anything pre-1980s I should probably learn to live in peace with these little labels. This novel did in fact completely turn my expectation of certain genres on its head – hilarious, clever, addictive, and pretty unpredictable are some of the words that spring to mind that I just wasn’t expecting (sorry Lucy). To be honest, if I’d read her blog before I would’ve gone into it with much higher expectations – but being pleasantly surprised is always part of the fun isn’t it?

The novel follows the attempts of Bridget Jones-esque Fran to keep her life together after the love of her life breaks up with her. Fran herself is incredibly endearing, the classic modern-day damsel in distress who always gets it ever so slightly wrong, and can never handle it gracefully. It may sound obvious, but one of the best things about this book is the characters – they are so utterly believable and relatable, and can be conjured up instantly in my mind as if they were my close friends (I wish). There’s sexy man-eater Leonie, crazy but endlessly caring Stefania, and no-nonsense rough-around-the-edges Dave (who you will fall a teensy bit in love with I gurantee). Each character is perfectly developed - you know what they’re going to say next, not in a predictable storyline way, in a I’ve-known-them-all-my-life way. I gave the book to my best friend for her holiday and received daily texts referring to herself as Leonie and pointing out similarities – that’s how real the characters become.

I think this quality directly leads to the addictiveness of the book – at risk of being too clichéd, I literally could NOT put it down. I developed some sort of constantly conflicted and confused mental state where I was desperately torn between wanting to grab it at every free second and wanting to prolong it as long as possible for fear of losing all my new bezzies and actually finding out what would happen. Ok….a little dramatic maybe, but they do say the sign of  a good book is feeling a loss once it’s over, and that’s exactly how I felt. I actually regretted reading it in 3 sittings – something I’ve been programmed to do at uni.

It wasn’t just the characters that I missed reading about and lolling at - the writing style is so friendly, so casual and inclusive that I felt I was becoming friends with Lucy herself. Being an experienced journalist and blogger for quite some time now, Lucy has an edge over other writers in the genre – she’s funny without it being obvious, she’s knowledgeable about people’s way of speaking and manages to make it realistic without becoming bland – quite a feat I think. There is no try-hard aspect to the writing, but there is a definite undertone that really expresses her talented journalistic style.

This book is not going to change your life, it is not a philosophical masterpiece, but it is a really cute, fun read that you will devour in about 3 days and won’t want to put down, even when it’s finished. And even better, one you won’t know the ending to by chapter two.  Lucy’s newest book – A Passionate Love Affair with a Total Stranger is absolute top of my reading list – once I’ve emerged from a pile of 16^th Century plays and political documents that is….

Greed Satisfaction Scale: As I said, I quite literally devoured this book like the boy with the chocolate cake in Matilda, it filled me up and left me feeling perfectly satisfied for the rest of the day. Warning: extremely addictive (again much like chocolate cake) and you won't be able to resist gobbling it all up in as little time as you possibly can.

Read it now: Get it here and when your cravings need further fulfillment visit her brilliant blog here

Oh Dear Silvia - Dawn French

Whilst holidaying in a French villa last summer I came across an old battered copy of Dawn French’s epistolary memoirs Dear Fatty. I dipped in and out of it as a break from my uni summer reading list, and found that its hilarious laugh out loud moments, unashamed honesty, and unmistakable Dawn Frenchesque voice was a more than welcome relief. For this reason, as well as a love for The Vicar of Dibley which I’m sure the rest of humanity shares, I was excited when her new novel Oh Dear Silvia was announced. It has received rave reviews which assured me of its dark hilarity and gripping storyline, and when it came out this week in paperback it shot straight to number one in the overall charts.

So naturally, I got stuck in as quickly as possible. Now this next sentence is pretty hard for me to type but….I was disappointed. I don’t pretend to be any form of authority over Dawn French, little old me second year English student casual blogger versus Queen of Comedy, and I can’t deny the numerous people who have loved this book, but in my honest opinion it just wasn’t for me. However, I did stick with it, and that is definitely saying something – the sign of a truly awful book is the overwhelming desire to throw it into the nearest bin/fire/mass of water, and I didn’t quite get that with this.

The premise is definitely an interesting one: a woman in a coma having somehow fallen off a balcony is visited by various relatives/friends/acquaintances, each chapter is written in one of these people’s perspectives. We therefore gather a view of Silvia without ever having even met her, purely through the conflicting but revealing narrations of her visitors.  I guess in hind sight this was the reason I was slightly hooked - as each character revealed something more, I wanted to find out the next chapter (excuse the pun) in the storyline. However, what’s slightly off-putting is the obviousness of all these revelations. At times I felt as though I was being completely patronised by the assumption that I needed quite so much repetition to understand what exactly was being said. Obviously this is personal preference, but I always like a little mystery, or at least to feel as though I worked a bit to work out the meaning of it all.

Another flaw with this seemingly exciting and intriguing foundation is French’s use of tenses. I realise this sounds a little middle school English teacher, but it got to the point where it really bugged me and I couldn’t ignore it. At times I DID feel as though I was reading an un-edited school student’s short story. It’s hard to fully criticise this when putting yourself in French’s shoes: the documentation of the present conscience of a person who is feeling in the here and now, looking into the past, AND predicting the future is a potentially impossible task to do gracefully. I certainly couldn’t think of a better way I would have handled it, but this did not take away from the fact that the overuse of the present tense where it seemed inappropriate came off as pretty clumsy and awkward a lot of the time. It also confused me as to whether there was an omniscient narrator present or it was supposed to be the direct thoughts of each character – in which case perhaps first person may have fitted better. Perhaps this all stems from too much time spent scrutinising the technicalities of each and every piece of writing I read or write, feel free to blame my tutors, but something didn’t sit completely right with me.

What I did find as I got further into the book was that the far-fetched storyline and over-exaggerated characters are not so offensive once you decide to just let yourself enjoy them and try not to see them so seriously. After all – this book IS written by a comedian, and it is not in shortage of comic moments. But for me, the laugh out loud element I was so expecting was missing – much of the comedy was kind of lost on me as I felt I needed Dawn French’s distinctive comic timing and tone to carry it along – something I couldn’t quite recreate in my head. With this in mind, I would definitely give the audio book a go. Having spoken to a few other people about it, we agreed that it seemed more of  a script than a novel – not surprising given French’s fantastic well-known script writing for French and Saunders. However unrealistic this plot may at first seem, it is ultimately a study into human behaviour and a questioning of how well we really know that person we think we are closest to. Having finished it, what really stuck in my mind was not any of the things that may have annoyed me, but the unique fact that the protagonist is never given a word or a view – something I have never experienced in a book before.

This may seem like a majorly negative review, but I found this book a real thinker – its surface characters and obvious storyline carried me along as I read it, slowly getting slightly agitated by certain aspects, but afterwards my focus has switched to the overall theme of human relationships and behaviour – which I feel makes this book a success.

Greed Satisfaction Scale: At times I felt on the point of nausea and certainly overfilled by certain aspects whilst some of the yummier parts were lacking, but on reflection this interesting combination was something I have better memories of than I felt I would whilst digesting it.

Read it now: Get it here, or listen here

Pride and Prejudice - Regent's Park Open Air Theatre

Emma, Sense and Sensibility, Northanger Abbey….you really can’t beat a bit of Jane Austen. When I saw this play version in Regent’s Park Open Air Theatre advertised, I could not resist. I booked tickets with my sisters for the next available performance, and loaded with crudités, homemade houmous, and a blanket, we excitedly made our way over there on Tuesday night.

Adapted for the stage by Simon Reade, and directed by Deborah Bruce, for me (and probably most of the audience) this production had a LOT to live up to. I am a massive Austen fan, and I find her novels are some of the only ones that film adaptations can really do justice to – assuming her satirical hilarity is maintained throughout. Everyone has their personal favourite, usually involving Colin Firth or Kiera Knightley. Personally, I’m in the Kiera Knightley boat – it’s become somewhat of a tradition to lie on the sofa on New Year’s Day in a less-than-healthy state and delight in the period costumes, the dancing, the sexily broody Mr Darcy, and obviously Kiera’s go-to ‘sticking-my-chin-out-to-convey-emotion’ face. But I digress, this is not a review on my favourite film (sob). However, it was necessary to express my extreme adoration for the film to convey my expectations, which were, it’s safe to say………………….COMPLETELY AND UTTERLY FULFILLED (nice bit of suspense there).

Hidden away in a corner of Regent’s park, we felt like we were walking into an enchanted forest. We’re talking gigantic trees delicately fitted with fairy and tea lights surrounding the stage in a semi-circle against a backdrop of a beautiful summer’s evening. The stage itself was circular, with a balcony in the middle. Much to my delight, it rotated with each scene change (and even during certain scenes), giving swift, unnoticeable transitions, and making sure each member of the audience got every perspective of the on-stage action.

Now onto the important stuff – the actual performance. I have quite an immense amount to say about this, mainly because I loved it so much, so to prevent this from turning into some sort of dissertation I’m just going to do a run down of the principle characters:

Mrs Bennett – Initially I was apprehensive, I wasn’t sure if I could deal with her shrillness and exaggerated acting for the entire duration, however you soon come to realise that Mrs Bennett cannot be played in any other way. The whole POINT of her is exaggeration, and Rebecca Lacey captured her insufferability and fickle nature absolutely perfectly. I did not stop laughing/grinning throughout the entire second half.

Lizzie – This Lizzie gave a fresh perspective to her, and I have a sneaky feeling perhaps more what Austen may have intended (obviously pure speculation, but ya know). She was less quietly stubborn and a bit petulant, and more headstrong and wilful, making her somewhat rapid transition from utter disgust to unconditional love for Mr Darcy slightly more understandable.

Mr Darcy – At the beginning, a tad too posh and stiff for my liking. Obviously he’s meant to be like this, but I felt a bit more humour wouldn’t have gone amiss, and his aggressiveness came across as slightly too vicious at times rather than endearingly tongue-in-cheek.

Mr Bingley – Undoubtedly, in any production he is always one of my favourite characters – it’s probably down to the way he’s written (bashful, nervous, slightly clumsy) so it would be hard to get him wrong. But I especially loved the subtle touches Rob Heaps gave to the character. Period adaptations so often get stifled and trapped in the age they were written – we all know that generic tone of voice we used to put on when forced to ‘perform’ (drone out) Shakespeare extracts at school – but the characters were not afraid to deliver the lines in the modern, casual way that we would speak today, outlining the absolute timelessness of Austen’s writing.

Mr Collins – Completely and utterly pantomime. But I loved it! His acting was so physical that you couldn’t help but laugh, and it was a happy relief from some of the slightly-too-long serious scenes (namely involving Catherine de Bourgh). His comic timing was completely spot on and, like Mrs Bennett, whilst playing the surface character Austen has created, he managed to leave enough space for the audience to infer his own self-satire – something I’m sure Jane would have been very satisfied with.

Mr Bennett – For me, the only downside of the production as a whole. His extreme switches between comical, happy, angry, depressed, and even slightly nihilistic were just a bit too much, they made him impossible to grasp as a rounded character and he didn’t really fulfil the constant, family figurehead that I was expecting.

Bennett sisters - Added that sense of hysteria which is so present in Austen’s satire of social climbing, small-village communities. Think Kardashian, but slightly less annoying and a lot more endearing.

All in all, I loved this – I was beaming from start to finish, and I was pleasantly surprised by the extent to which it actually made me laugh out loud. Its unforced and natural mixture of Austen’s setting, style and characters with a contemporary, updated view was completely graceful and reminded me exactly why I adore snuggling up with a cup of tea and an Austen novel so much.

Now….where’s a copy of Mansfield Park?

See it now: Get tickets here, we went for the cheapest, were on the back row right at the top and could see absolutely everything!

The Fault In Our Stars - John Green

My sister passed this book on to me and it has fast become my favourite book, I’ve since run around feverishly recommending it to anyone and everyone and have subsequently concluded that I am a serious late comer to this whole John Green obsession.

The Fault in our Stars was actually first released in January 2012. On the mere announcement of its title in June 2011 it shot to the top of both Amazon and Barnes & Noble bestseller lists. So clearly I have been rather slow off the mark. Forgive me, I’m an English Literature student - put simply, 30 weeks of compulsory reading a year. But the important thing is that I did finally get round to reading it, and it proved the perfect procrastination to revision for my 2^nd year exams.

Written in the first person of Hazel, a teenage girl with terminal cancer, this book was always doomed to end in tears. And I have to admit, for me, it did. A whole 45 minutes of them. But despite its hopeless premise, this story remains unpredictable and truly gripping throughout.

Having been forced to go to cancer support group by her loving but suffocating parents, Hazel meets the effortlessly cool, exceedingly intelligent, philosophical, and obviously drop dead gorgeous (albeit slightly arrogant) Augustus Waters…..did I hear someone say Edward Cullen? I’ll admit, when I first started the book I really wasn’t into it, I did feel it was a complete Twilight type, which obviously I adored slightly too much when I was younger (who didn’t?), but in retrospect is a just a slightly shallow, badly written book with pretentious characters. At first I found Augustus and Hazel’s quick-witted banter similarly unrealistic and slightly irritating, but oh how quickly I realised how utterly wrong I was.

This book is not just a superficial adolescent, angsty love story; the cancer plagues the story in a tragic but engrossing way. You’re forced to simultaneously deal with the gritty reality of the constant side effects of actually living with cancer and the dark humour the characters are driven to find in their impossible situations. For me, cancer is no longer just this terrible ominous monster; it is also, for the characters suffering, a routine, an everyday life that they just have to contend with. Perhaps this is just the ignorance of someone who has been lucky enough never to have a direct experience with cancer, but I think John Green deals with it in an important way for any reader.

Whilst the cancer pervades the entire story, and is a constant, tense presence, it does not drown the captivating, endearing love story of Hazel and Augustus. At heart this book is a deliciously soppy-in-a-good-way tale that made me physically grin and smirk on behalf of Hazel in certain (most) parts. Augustus’ one liners made me feel all fluttery and nervous and I guarantee they will have the same effect on ANYONE. I’m not ashamed to say that I fell so utterly in love with him that, having conjured him up so visibly in my head, I was CERTAIN that I saw him across the street just a couple of days after finishing the book. Alas, it was not him, seemingly just a side effect of my post-TFIOS-depression period. Warning prospective readers: this period lasts a while. For me, this is the true sign of a brilliant, beautifully written book, when even after finishing, you can’t get the characters out of your head, and you physically miss them as if they were your best friends. The best consolation I had was a boyfriend called Gus I could pretend was the wonderful Augustus Waters, in a strictly non-creepy way….obviously. Perhaps a slighter better consolation for the rest of you may be the announcement of a film on the cards. Although I am slightly apprehensive, as we all are, of my new favourite characters being physically brought to life without me being in COMPLETE CONTROL, I am certainly excited to see how Hazel’s hilarious, philosophical, metaphysical observations will be brought onto the big screen. 

Greed satisfaction scale: I was left craving much more of these characters and feeling less than full, but in retrospect this is what the most talented of chefs strive for: the perfectly sized meal that doesn't fill you to that sickening level but leaves enough space to retain it in your memory for a long time to come.

Read it now: get it here