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

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

The Bunker Diary - Kevin Brooks

I’ve taken a slight break from blogging/reviewing due mainly to birthday celebrations (fun) and working (not so fun). I also decided to indulge my Austen addiction for a while and have therefore been spending the majority of July with my nose buried in Mansfield Park – so I have been reading at least! I thought I’d take a quick break before getting stuck into a new book to give my blog a little attention and review a book I read earlier in the summer.

If you’re a Kevin Brooks fan, you will have some idea of what you’re in store for with this book – having been writing novels for over a decade, he is well established as a gritty, frank, and sometimes down-right disturbing author who tackles controversial, tricky topics in a completely blunt and realistic way. When I was much younger I read one of his more famous books – Candy. In hind sight I was probably slightly too young at the time to fully realise the importance and symbolism of everything Brooks was getting at in this troubling tale of a young lover caught up in a drug-fuelled world of prostitution, violence, and control. However, I did seem to have enough memory of my enjoyment of it to immediately pick up a copy of The Bunker Diary and rush home to start it without even reading the blurb. Brooks seems to be one of those authors that has that addictive effect on me, and I felt like I was unearthing a former childhood passion I had forgotten all about.

Written in the first person of Linus, a 16 year old who has run away from his rich but neglectful father to live on the streets, the book is the diary he keeps whilst being held in captivity in a bunker underground. He is joined by various other characters throughout the novel whose differing reactions to and behaviour within their situation as related to us by Linus really keep the novel captivating and gripping. In such a high pressured situation no one can be trusted – everyone is a suspect, anyone could be working for the man upstairs, not even little Jenny can be completely innocent. For me this is the real hidden gem of the novel – the way in which Brooks handles and maintains the high-pressured narration and drags us mentally into the situation which is so far from what we have ever experienced. This realistic narration never falters, Linus’ transitions from practical escape plans, to hopeless lamenting, to nostalgic memories, to philosophical thinking are flawless - both unpredictable and what can only be expected from someone in this dire position.

The Bunker Diary is one of those books that you can’t say a huge amount about without giving away the entire story and ruining it for any prospective reader. However, at the same time it is left so completely open to speculation that there is really no ultimate way of ‘spoiling’ it. Brooks forces us as readers to fill in the blanks, to create our own ending, forcing us into the sick mind-set of the kidnapper. Without any solid validation, the reader has to consider and imagine motivations and outcomes whether they like it or not. This is by no means a comfortable read. After one night of reading it (which got me through about half the book I might add – an extremely addictive read) I was having nightmares – this is not for the faint-hearted. I can guarantee you will come out of this read feeling drained, slightly emotionally empty, and in need of some serious thinking time to get your head around it all and reach your own conclusions (something I still haven’t managed to do…).

As depressing as this all sounds, the book is worth it 100%. From my previous reviews we probably all know by now that I can’t resist a study on human behaviour in difficult circumstances – but more than that, this book also compels us to study ourselves as we read it. We are both the authoritative ‘you’ Linus is writing to - raising questions which transcend the novel of how this diary has been unearthed - and the fly on the wall watching, judging, sympathising with each character. This book could have gone so completely overboard on its violence and horror but its subtlety and constant focus on characters rather than action forces the reader to check himself constantly for expecting such horror. It is this incredibly consistent technique which makes the book such a page-turner, and such a genius piece of writing. 

Greed Satisfaction Scale: A meal which you can't help but stuff yourself to the brim with for an intense period of time, but beware once you've finished it, the hunger will return worse than ever in an empty starvation that won't be remedied for a good few days.

Read it now: Get it here

Life of Pi – Yann Martel

I’m extremely ashamed; I’ve committed the ultimate booklover’s faux pas: I saw the film of this BEFORE reading the book. I know. I’m ashamed. At risk of sounding like a broken record, I may have to reach for the whole ‘English Literature Student no time to read’ excuse again, as I did start this book before the film came out, but couldn’t resist settling down to this visually beautiful film with a  mountain of popcorn before finishing. I wouldn’t say I regret seeing the film first, but it is very, very different from the book. If you’ve seen the film, I can 100% guarantee that you should still read the book. Setting aside the incredible writing of Yann Martel for a second, the focus is completely different. I was convinced I knew the story, but each new chapter was a new surprise for me.

This is the story of Indian boy Piscine Molitor, who is the only survivor of a shipwreck, along with a Bengal tiger called Richard Parker who he survives in a lifeboat with for 227 days. If you’re not a ‘fantasy’ fan do not be put off by this seemingly unbelievable plot. I would never choose a fantasy novel, it’s never really been my thing, but Martel grasps this theory of believability so firmly that you can’t help but bob along with the novel without once questioning any of the incredibly implausible things that happen to Pi.

The story is famous for being about a boy living with a tiger in the middle of the Pacific Ocean; if you know one thing about the book, it will be that. So what was pleasantly surprising for me was how much focus there was on Pi’s life in Pondicherry beforehand. I am a sucker for colonial, exotic novels – The God of Small Things by Arundhati Roy is one of my all-time favourite books. I adore the effect the descriptions of the Indian culture and cities have on all senses: you can visualise the vibrant colours, smell the strong spices, hear the chatter and business of everyday goings on. This was not in short supply in Life of Pi, but the other thing that really captured me was the focus on religion and spirituality. If there was one thing that was in almost no way conveyed in the film, it was Pi’s constant belief and love for God. And not just one God - Pi is consumed by all the religions he encounters: Hindu, Christianity, Islam. For me, it is baffling that this is not included in the film more, because it sets the foundation for the entire novel, belief is what Martel constantly returns to, and is what ultimately saves Pi. This combination of the business of Indian life and Pi’s envelopment into completely varying cultures and religions contrasts brilliantly with the isolation and remoteness Pi experiences in the second half of the book.

What’s so different about this book from almost any I could possibly think of (and a complete departure from its film adaptation) is that it has no romance, or sexual love interest. Along with anyone else who’s seen the film, I was fully expecting descriptions of young Pi running around chasing Indian dancers…but this was not the case. The void that may be expected from this absence of such a strong novelistic convention is just not noticeable. Instead it leaves a space for a much more effective sense of the love Pi feels for his family, the animals, God, life, and eventually everything in his little lifeboat.

I would personally outline love and belief as the main points of the novel, although Yann Martel is reputably elusive and non-committal in his comments on his own writing. However the literal presence of an author (whether non-fictional or fictional) gives us readers at least some idea of the direction Martel is pointing us in – the observations in italics serve to stress a theme that Pi is to explore in the next chapter. Having said this, this direction is extremely loose and arbitrary – the book’s openness is part of its magnificent beauty, the ambiguous ending (no spoilers) and uncertainty of what is real and what Pi is imagining leaves you in deep discussion with yourself (and others) for a  long time after finishing the book. What I realised was that, ultimately, the desire for a concrete ending is completely outweighed by the journey you experience with Pi of beautiful writing and a beautiful, unforgettable story.

Greed Satisfaction Scale: I thought I knew the exact taste to expect when starting this, but I was utterly and pleasantly surprised by the extreme variation of flavours – completely contrasting but combined to create a perfect concoction. The mixture and disparity of tastes is sure to suit absolutely any palate, and the flavour varies with every return.

Read it now: I'm slightly peeved I can't find a copy without the film cover, but get it here or for a beautiful illustrated version, here

Wednesday Wishlist

On The Road - The Original Scroll Jack Kerouac

This week and last week I have been lucky enough to have the opportunity to do work experience in Michael Joseph, the commercial imprint of Penguin. Being able to listen in on discussions about up and coming authors and books (and sometimes being involved!) is completely invaluable and so interesting! Another perk of the job is all the books lying around the office which I have been taking advantage of at any point I can. Literally a book lover’s heaven. Michael Joseph does a lot of cookery, celebrity books, diet books and women’s fiction, some of which I will be reviewing soon, but here’s something I came across the other day from the actual Penguin general branch, and I personally think it’s pretty special…

I’ve actually got this as a present for someone who's a BIG fan so shhh…but you can get your own copy here. On the Road isn’t my typical choice of book, but seeing other people’s passion for it and understanding its importance in its own period and culture, ie the ‘beat’ generation, makes it one of those books you just HAVE to read - somewhat of a rite of passage for all travellers/writers/general free spirits. I’m not going to write a whole review on it, but this original scroll (Kerouac initially wrote it on a 120 foot piece of teletype paper in 3 weeks - pictured below) edition is a must have for both hard-core Kerouac fans and those trying something new – reading something exactly as the author wrote it with no interruptions or editing is always more exciting, and gives you that priceless sense of intimacy with the author.

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