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.

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Revolt - Qaisra Shahraz

So here’s the second instalment in my Arcadia books reviews. I was really pleased to be reading something written by a woman after an entire term of male dominated literature, especially one who is as interested in the universal issues faced by women as Qaisra Shahraz. On her website, Shahraz explains how much of her work is influenced by not only her own experiences as a Muslim woman, but the experiences of those around her. This emotional attachment on the part of the writer was extremely evident and effectively translated into the heart of the reader – something which makes this novel so human and accessible.

Revolt is a multi-layered story of the events – public and private – of a small village in Pakistan, touching on every single resident. The character list is extensive, there is no one protagonist – although the story does take its starting point from the impending marriage of the children of two of the three wealthy land-owning sisters in the village, the bridegroom returning from England for the engagement party. This set-up immediately focuses the story on a set of characters, whilst widening the perspective to the entire rest of the village, as well as stretching the setting across the continents to England. I found this combination of such a large expansion and inclusion of societies, cultures, races and classes with a microcosmic zooming in on each character at any given chapter or paragraph fascinating, its flawless transitions endlessly skilled. From the outset, it is clear this is not just a simple story of the petty worries and events in a random Pakistani village – it is a multi-faceted exploration of the difficulties caught up in the debate concerning the gulf between Muslim Pakistani values and the West – seen through the eyes in turn of each and every character.

Much of the terminology surrounding reviews of this book is along the lines of ‘satisfying’ and ‘journey’ with Editor of Women’s Books Anora McGaha calling it a ‘fascinating ride’. These descriptions could not be more fitting – having sped my way through the gripping thriller Cloudland, Revolt was the perfect antidote. I really took my time reading it, enjoying every chapter and relishing in each new thread of the intricate storyline – it’s not a book you read 10 chapters of at a time, it’s one you slowly weave your way through, pausing to mull over and take in each and every strand. If I were ever to liken a book to a hug, it would be this (and I did) – combined with a big cup of tea and a blanket, it’s the perfect comforting winter warmer.

Every relationship possible is explored in the book, and at the base of it all I felt the characters were being linked with the one same point: no matter your race, gender, class, job, familial/living situation, all humans are equal and prejudices can only ever cause problems. This may sound like an obvious point we take for granted, but I really felt that this book taught me a lot and reinforced this point more than ever – even in the small intricacies of life prejudice needs to be combatted. Despite being mostly based in an almost completely alien situation and location to my own, Revolt forced me to reflect on my own behaviour and actions towards the people in my life. A book that makes a difference to the way you think is the sign of a truly great achievement. Moreover, the ability to make this one point over and over again with different characters without a sense of repetition coming through conveys Sharhraz’s creation of characters developed and emotive enough for the reader to interpret each story differently, whilst maintaining this pervading message.

I was hugely excited to start this book as I am a big fan of anything that teaches me about other cultures and societies – whether it be literature, film, food, or travelling to places themselves. Arundhati Roy’s The God of Small Things is one of my all-time favourite books, and was what really revealed my love for exotic settings and contrasting cultures. When describing Revolt I was known to call it ‘a watered down version of The God of Small Things’ – this is in no way an insult, although perhaps a flippant, vague statement – but I think it really gets to the bare-bones of the story. Obviously Roy’s novel is set in Hindu India, as different from Muslim Pakistan as England or America, it is also a hell of a lot more serious in tone, character development, and plotline (and eventual outcome) – hence the expression ‘watered down’. However, this exploration and exploitation of the serious problems and dangers surrounding traditional caste and class systems, as well as racism and the ways in which these are inherently engrained in people’s minds and souls, inescapable to even those who want to escape them, is what makes up both books. This is ultimately what made me fall in love with both books.

On the surface Revolt is an involved, intricate story that had me laughing one minute, tearing up the next. I wasn’t expecting to feel as attached to the characters as I inevitably did as their lives and situations unfolded – it’s impossible not to sympathise on some level with each and every character. However, underneath the reflex reactions and emotions, this book really taught me something and opened my mind to new perspectives of struggles regarding sexism, racism, and classism. Undoubtedly, I learnt a lot of fascinating things about the Pakistani culture and traditions, but at the root of the book is the universality that inextricably links the whole of humankind.

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Cloudland - Joseph Olshan

I’m writing this in a gleeful (and slightly smug) state, feeling warm and full at home – a novelty for us students. Yes that’s right – it’s reading week, woohoo! Having finally got rid of the two essays that have been plaguing me for the past two months, it’s time for some well-earned time off. I managed a day of doing nothing before I was itching to write again, so here’s my review on the brand new thriller Cloudland by Joseph Olshan.

Now I know ‘reading week’ is intended for us to catch up on neglected reading of the past six weeks prepare for the next six weeks of reading, but this time I’m planning on using it to delve into all the brand new books the lovely people at Arcadia Publishing sent me last week. So here’s the first instalment….

Joseph Olshan is an American novelist, journalist, and short story writer. When doing a bit of research into his past work, I wasn’t at all surprised that he isn’t a crime writer as such – in fact Cloudland seems to be his first novel marketed as a ‘crime novel’. Instead, Olshan’s focuses seem to be the tensions and depth within relationships, and the anxieties surrounding societies and communities. What I loved about Cloudland was its combination of these concerns with a fresh take on the much-loved crime fiction genre.

Based in a secluded community in small-town America called Cloudland, we follow the story as narrated by Catherine Winslow: a middle-aged divorcee/widow, ex journalist who lives alone with her two dogs and household pig. On a morning walk towards the end of winter Catherine discovers a dead body – a strangled woman who turns out to be one of a string of cases that are being investigated. Catherine is rapidly caught up in the investigation and the detective story becomes inextricably linked with her own personal life and dark problems. The sinister snowy setting, the cut-off rural location, the suspicious locals – all add up to the standard crime novel lay out, however our protagonist Catherine is precisely what makes this novel stand out as something more. Putting the perspective in that of someone who is not directly involved in the case itself makes Cloudland not just a thriller, but an exciting psychological thriller.

Don’t get me wrong – the scary and sinister plot devices and twists were exciting and addictive, the red herrings were constant, every character had something not-quite-right about them. I loved being put into the position of detective myself, and by the end I was desperate to know whodunit. However, more desperate was my desire to find out what would happened to Catherine in the end, her reaction to each new piece of the ominous puzzle was always the focus of my attention. Most striking for me was probably the dichotomy between Catherine’s unbelievable calmness and fearlessness in the face of a mass-murder case in which she – a woman living alone in a secluded area – could be the next victim, and her constant anxious preoccupations with regrets, the past, age, and responsibilities. For the majority of the book, the terror comes not from the image of the murderer coming to find Catherine one stormy night with no one to save her, but from inside Catherine’s own head – the inability to escape her own thoughts, and her past, are what really frighten Catherine.

Catherine’s restless awareness of age and the past seamlessly infiltrate the novel. Catherine’s previous relationship with a younger man is mirrored in her daughter’s current relationship with an older woman. An adult’s responsibility for their child is reflected in the rocky and sometimes reversed relationship between Catherine and Breck, and the neighbours Paul and Wade. We as readers are never allowed to forget the age – mental or physical – of any character and it becomes the default method of judging each one. I felt Olshan was drawing attention to this shallowness of judgement that the human race maintain, and this is only highlighted by the small-town America setting. Through Catherine’s eyes we are given a glimpse of each person’s pasts, and it is no accident that these cause us, and Catherine, to suspect every single character as the murderer. I found this light-hearted suspicious narrative surrounding even Catherine’s closest friends slightly hard to deal with at first – how could she suspect people she’d known for years? And why was she still comfortable to be alone with them and even openly discuss her suspicions if they were sincere? However, the consistence of this is not a casual oversight of Olshan’s – it comments on the inability of the individual to escape any aspect of their past whilst placing them in the wider environment of the gossip-fuelled, dysfunctional nature of such close-knit, small communities such as Cloudland.

Whilst we have picked the book up at the start of what is to be a disturbing detective story, we have also picked it up in the middle of Catherine’s slowly unravelling life. I realised that she was not becoming less stable as the book went on, it was merely becoming more apparent as she revealed more intimate secrets from her past. With crime fiction being so huge today, plots have to more and more complex and intricate, characters have to be more developed, crime writers can no longer rely on creepy clichés – readers are becoming more perverse. Joseph Olshan has managed to fulfil this criteria and more. I’ve only picked up on a few of my favourite themes, but really there is a whole trove of them: from extreme religion to homosexuality to literary influences, Olshan manages to cover an inordinate amount, and in sufficient depth, all within the frame of a detective novel.

A detective novel in the eyes of a mere onlooker, a simple concept that has created a fascinating work of literature which kept my mind spinning for days – even after the culprit was revealed. After this introduction, the crime fiction genre has A LOT to live up to for me!

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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