Sweet Treats in London

It’s been a very long term. I've barely managed to see any of my friends from home and it seems we’re all just completely bogged down by the dreaded third year workload. However, for me, last weekend marked the beginning of the end (for this term at least), and even better, the beginning of Christmas! Yes I know it’s mid-November, and no I am not ashamed. I will proudly own up as one of those Christmas loving needs-two-months-to-build-up-excitement types, I always have been and always will be. For me, Christmas is about family, friends, great food, and fun Christmas outings, and this is definitely what this weekend was all about.

On Saturday morning Harriet and I had arranged to have brunch and as the local Londoner I left it up to her to pick the place. She did NOT disappoint! She picked a place I’d never heard of called Honey&Co near Warren Street station. Now I’m one of those controlling weird people who likes to look up the entire menu of a place and take at least 3 days to mull over what I’m going to have – I’m just far too indecisive to choose on the spur of the moment. It’s a problem. However, the Honey&Co website is pretty basic and strange to navigate, with no menu, so alas I’d have to risk the anxiety of choosing on the day.

In the end, this website turned out to reflect the intimate, friendly atmosphere of the café/restaurant. Despite being very tucked away and subtle, the place was packed and we were lucky we’d booked. All the staff were really friendly and accommodating and I felt slightly like I was in someone’s living room rather than a restaurant. However – the best part was, of course, the food. We were recommended ‘the big breakfast’, and it was an AMAZING choice. At £12.95 per person it’s a complete bargain, and it is absolutely perfect for such an indecisive person like me. I should mention brunch in particular is very tricky as I can never choose between the sweet and savoury option – so this combination was a dream come true.

After a few sips of our rose and cinnamon tea we were bombarded with mini plates of Israeli mezze. On the savoury side we had houmous, garlic yogurt, pittas and breads, curried carrots, feta salad and olives, whilst for the sweet tooth there was hands down the best granola I’ve ever tasted (and I am a granola fiend) with yogurt and berries, and delicious varieties of jam. After ALL this we then chose our own option from the main menu – Harriet went for a harrissa sausage roll with a fried egg, whilst revealing that she’d NEVER had a fried egg before – just IMAGINE. After some heavy debating I went for poached eggs baked with wilted spinach and yogurt served with potato bread soldiers – simple but delicious. The eggs were the perfect amount of runniness for me, although I like them preeeetty undercooked so you may want to specify if you prefer a less liquidy egg (yes I know I’m so gross). The combination of the tart yogurt and spices with the creamy textures of the egg and spinach was just right – I could not have made a better choice!

Despite this immense feast, we couldn’t help being tempted by the beautiful array of cakes on display – we’ll blame it on our dangerous seating position RIGHT by the counters. We decided to share a coconut and chocolate cake (so much restraint). I’m not usually a coconut fan but it was actually very subtle and complimented the richness of the chocolate sponge perfectly. A great end to a three course brunch!

Once I had recovered from the morning banquet (and having been further plied with cakes at my sister’s house) we headed to Covent Garden to watch Charlie and the Chocolate Factory the musical at the Theatre Royal Drury Lane for my little sister’s 10^th birthday. I’d been really excited about this for the whole week, it’s one of my favourite Roald Dahl books and I was so excited to see how the Wonka World would be translated onto stage. When we got there I realised it hadn’t just been translated onto the stage – the whole foyer of the theatre was decked out in Wonka merchandise and chocolates and really got us in the mood.

We were lucky enough to be sitting in the Royal Box, right at the edge of the stage, I’ve never been so close to the stage before and it was such fun experience actually being able to SEE the faces on stage (a novelty for me even with my glasses on). The whole performance was just really fun, family-friendly, and often very funny – I barely stopped smiling from start to finish. But what really blew me away was the set. The way they’d constructed Charlie’s home – his grandparents’ bed, the falling down walls – and Wonka’s factory – the chocolate garden, the nut testing room, the glass elevator – made it feel like they had plucked it right out of my imagination. The oompa-loompas were also a major highlight and really cleverly done (I could never explain how) to create the illusion of their shortness. However, the real highlight was the curtain call. A steward came into our box and asked the woman next to us to stand up for a minute – next time we turned round Willy Wonka was sitting in her seat chatting to us! He did his curtain call from our box, no doubt slightly marred by our severe blushing in the spotlight, but still a really cute personal touch which just topped off a really feel-good evening.

I can’t promise a chat with Wonka for everyone, but I can guarantee a great evening out – get tickets here

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.

Read it NOW: Get it here

Edward II at The National Theatre

For the majority of my degree I have been a not so slight Shakespeare obsessive. There’s really nothing better than the multi-layered plots, complex characters, and stunning language of any one of Shakespeare’s plays. With this in mind, for my third year Special Author I chose Christopher Marlowe. There are all sorts of crazy rumours suggesting Marlowe faked his own death at the age of 26 and went on to become Shakespeare. The reality of it is, we know almost nothing about Marlowe and his life. The majority of his works were only performed and printed after his death, and even his name was of uncertainty until relatively recent years. What I’ve come to adore about Marlowe is his investment in language, and the ways he can translate Classical traditions and influences onto his own stage, which can in turn be translated onto the modern stage. It is a truly magical transition to study.

Marlowe’s plays are rarely performed, so whenever one of them pops up it’s an exciting opportunity to see how his hugely adaptable and often ambiguous script has been interpreted. I’m clearly not the only one who thinks this, because when I went to see Edward II at the National Theatre a couple of weeks ago, the theatre was completely packed. And it’s a big theatre! I’d never been to the National Theatre before so it was a real treat. Its mixture of a modern foyer with various exhibitions, restaurants and cafes, with the more traditional stage areas makes it fun, inviting and exciting whilst retaining the much loved old-fashioned feel of a trip to the theatre. Oh, and it goes pink at night – amazing!

In a nutshell, Edward II is a tragedy/history play based on the King Edward II who faces mutiny from his advisors and eventual torture and death for retrieving his lover Gaveston from exile and running riot in the kingdom, neglecting both his duties, and his wife and son. The play enjoyed a revival in the early 90s, when there was a lot of discourse and debate surrounding homosexuality and AIDS. Edward and Gaveston are often seen as homosexual martyrs, especially in Derek Jarman’s haunting and graphic film adaptation of 1991.

This production has received very mixed reviews, most are negative. In a particularly damning review from The Telegraph, one of the main points of contention is the comedy of the production, and I am inclined to agree. The entire performance was extremely farcical, Edward reminded me of King Richard in the Disney version of Robin Hood – a childish king who sucks his thumb and takes advice from a snake. Need I say more?

The majority of the first half consisted of him and Gaveston running around the stage shrieking with laughter and causing havoc. Meanwhile, the down-trodden neglected Queen Isabella struts around sulkily, champagne and cigarette in hand, berating her poor lot in life whilst her child runs at her heels filling up her glass at any opportunity. This comical vibe is all well and good if you’re just out for a fun evening at the theatre – but to make such extreme comedy out of what was originally a profound, tragic and controversial work seems rather too bold and brash.

Having said this, the second half is completely contrastingly dark and sombre. We are suddenly confronted with the extreme Marlovian brutality that was expected, but its clash with such a comic, slapstick first part undermines it – whether there is a point trying to be made here, I failed to understand, no matter which way I looked at it.

The mish-mash of Renaissance and modern costumes seemed completely random – whilst Edward was in traditional King’s clothes, Gaveston was in a leather jacket and jeans, and Edward’s brother-turned-sister was in a feminine trouser suit. Indeed, the sex change of Edward’s brother Kent as well as one of the advisors, Pembroke, to women, didn’t seem to have much lasting impact. The presence of two screens on either side of the stage which depicted various scenes was a point of interest, but again, where was it going? In short, I felt as though I was being confronted with as many experimental theatrical devices as possible, all on the cusp of making an interesting point, but none quite reaching one, rendering them pretty much obsolete.

Despite what may seem a wholly negative review, I did actually enjoy the performance! As a reviewer and a literature student I undeniably found a lot of the devices hard to get past, but once I let go of expectations I was able to enjoy the play just as a dramatic exhibit of love and suffering. The use of Gaveston’s actor as Edward’s murderer who sodomises him with a burning rod conveyed the homosexual take they were aiming at – however the lack of physical engagement between Gaveston and Edward throughout the play illustrated a prudishness at actually carrying this out, which was again frustrating.

I was certainly moved at the end by Edward’s son’s (now the King) final speech: standing centre-stage, he calls out commands and orders to an empty stage. The pessimism and anxieties regarding power, control, and the monarchy that is so Marlovian are certainly highlighted here – if the only influence that is taken from Marlowe himself.

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!

Read it now: get it here

A Midsummer Night's Dream at The Noel Coward Theatre

Another weekend, another Shakespeare play. I feel extremely lucky at the moment to be enjoying so many trips to the theatre – some cultural, some less so (I am extremely excited to see Charlie and the Chocolate Factory the Musical for my sister’s 10^th birthday in a few weeks…), nonetheless, the theatre is always a great day out. This weekend it was time for the hugely well reviewed A Midsummer Night’s Dream, starring

David Walliams and Sheridan Smith. And yes, I am one of those people who gets ridiculously star struck at even the smallest of sightings (I once met Ben from A1 and got the picture of us printed on a t shirt. Don’t ask who A1 are), so needless to say I was very excited.

Admittedly I was less excited for the actual play than I should have been. A Midsummer Night’s Dream isn’t one of the plays that I’ve extensively studied, but I’d kind of put it down in the same category of ‘overdone comedy’ as Much Ado. Now don’t get me wrong, I love any Shakespeare play - some would say I’m TOO obsessed even - but I am a sucker for the dramatic, haunting tragedies, rather than the comic romances. All I can say in justification of what I have now – post weekend – realised was a far too rash and completely erroneous opinion, is that I have been subjected to far too many mundane and shallow performances of Shakespearean comedy. The comedy had never come alive for me before in the way that tragedy does, it was all so dated and coy.

Well, I can tell you for sure, ‘dated’ and ‘coy’ are probably the two LEAST appropriate words to describe this incredible production. Instead, I’d probably go with hilarious and raunchy, saucy and hysterical, side-splitting and sexy…you get the picture. To start with, there were absolutely no null scenes, no annoying actors, no slow, dragging speeches – the talent of the entire cast and crew was outstanding. I would go as far to say this was the best stage production I’ve ever seen (aside from the pantomime obviously, although at times slightly reminiscent…more on that later), it really flew by and I felt a genuine pang of sadness when I realised it was coming to a close.

Now I realise I need to justify these bold statements, and I’ll try very willingly. First up: the two big names lived up to high expectations. Walliams, as Bottom, was the perfect camp comic archetype – to be honest it’s not hard to imagine his performance: just think of him in Little Britain, or on Britain’s Got Talent, or in Come Fly With Me…you get the picture. He did play his standard character, but I would go with the ‘if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it’ theory in this case. His character suited the play perfectly and seeing it live was even more hilarious.

Sheridan Smith was more of a surprise, I’d never really seen her on anything except Two Pints of Lager and a Packet of Crisps, so the transition from pub loving, tracksuit wearing 20-something to glamorous, bohemian queen of the fairies was never going to be a predictable one. Her performance turned out to be really captivating. Her husky, soothing voice delivered any lines with the perfect touch of emotion – whether she was angrily railing against Oberon, lovingly caressing Bottom, or commandingly addressing her fairies, her enchanting charisma was consistent. This was highlighted further by the general atmosphere of the fairy world – it was somewhere in between a boho summer festival and the Christmas pantomime. Dressed in minimal clothing with dreaded hair and sunglasses, the fairies pranced around the stage smoking, singing and lounging. The contrast between this and the more erratic, hyperbolic atmosphere of the lovers I felt emphasised Shakespeare’s mockery of the hysteria of the human characters – as they leap around the stage manically, the fairies retain constant control of both the humans and their own laidback lifestyle.

Now onto the true (unexpected) highlight for me, and who I felt were the unsung heroes of the performance: the four lovers. Performing aside one of the most famous comedians in Britain today must be somewhat of a daunting prospect, but this was at no point evident in any of the four lovers’ performances – they were just as hilarious, if not more so at points. Their scenes together basically consisted of each running after the next across the stage, increasingly wearing less and less clothes. Lysander and Demetrius ended up in no more than tight white boxers – much to mine, my mum and my sister’s delight! Everything was exaggerated, everything was overtly sexual, everything was over the top, everything was brilliant. From Helena predatorily mounting Demetrius in desperation, to spellbound Lysander screaming in his former lover Hermia’s face ‘I hate thee, you DWARF!’, every single scene had me in stitches. The overstated sexuality in this performance transformed phrases like ‘make love’ from the Shakespearean vocal meaning to the physical act it is today – the lovers became contemporary teenagers whose storyline anyone could understand, and everyone was laughing at, despite the potential language barrier.

I said it before and I’ll say it again – this is probably the best stage performance I have ever seen. I never really knew a theatrical piece could be quite SO laugh-out-loud funny. I wouldn’t hesitate to see it again today, tomorrow, the next day! Nothing was lacking for me, every single actor brought something exciting to it. You could tell they were working their absolute hardest to deliver the best performance possible – and they did!

It’s not on for much longer, and tickets are extremely popular so I’d recommend getting them here asap! Alternatively, Henry V featuring Jude Law (YUM) is up next, if anyone wants to get me tickets….

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 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

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!