Mrs. Death Misses Death - Salena Godden

 

 

I was dying to read this book which is just as well given its title and its subject matter. My “bookstinct” lured me towards this book. “Bookstinct” is that indefinable feeling that draws you to a book of which you may know little about but you just have this innate feeling that it’s a book for you. It’s not rational, it’s not logical but it’s never failed me.

Mrs. Death Misses Death is one of those books. In truth I put in my blogger request for it months ago but I feared that I was not successful and I would be placing an indie bookshop order sometime soon. My joy, therefore, at unpacking it was indescribable. And I did what I don’t often do. I dropped everything and started to read it.

It’s a remarkable book. It defies description in many ways. Maybe you can call it fiction. Maybe you can call it poetry. Maybe you can call it philosophy. It’s almost like an installation at an art gallery to be experienced, except it’s made of words. Words in abundance. Words of wisdom. Words of insight. Words of comfort. Words that will unnerve you. Words that will make you cry. Words that will make you laugh. Words that will make you think. Words that will make you wonder.

It’s offered as a novel. So we’ll look at it as that. And it is a novel in the true sense of the word novel. The blurb runs thus:-

‘Mrs Death tells her intoxicating story in this life-affirming fire-starter of a novel
Mrs Death has had enough. She is exhausted from spending eternity doing her job and now she seeks someone to unburden her conscience to. Wolf Willeford, a troubled young writer, is well acquainted with death, but until now hadn’t met Death in person – a black, working-class woman who shape-shifts and does her work unseen.

Enthralled by her stories, Wolf becomes Mrs Death’s scribe, and begins to write her memoirs. Using their desk as a vessel and conduit, Wolf travels across time and place with Mrs Death to witness deaths of past and present and discuss what the future holds for humanity. As the two reflect on the losses they have experienced – or, in the case of Mrs Death, facilitated – their friendship grows into a surprising affirmation of hope, resilience and love. All the while, despite her world-weariness, Death must continue to hold humans’ fates in her hands, appearing in our lives when we least expect her …’

Okay so that’s the fiction précis of this book. That’s the story. But the story is like two slices of bread and inside is the most bitter sweet sandwich filling you’ve ever tasted. It will raise you high and lay you low. But isn’t that what life does? Isn’t that what death does? I had a sense of the Gothic as I read. The personification of death is not new but in this book it is. Death is female, death is a black woman, death is a shape shifter. And then when you think about it hasn’t death always been that way? How did we ever envisage it otherwise?

This book will speak of the uncertainties of the world. It will speak of the only two certainties we do have. Life and death. We live and we die. And this book will open your heart and mind with the most lyrical of words in prose and poetry. And it becomes almost a meditation, an incantation, as you allow yourself to be absorbed by the words and thoughts and ideas. And somehow given the times we are living in at the moment it couldn’t be more appropriate or a more perfect time to read a book such as this. So much of it is relevant, pertinent and hits so many nails on the head you’ll be nodding your head in mute agreement as you try not to cry.

The two main characters are Wolf and Mrs Death. Their relationship has that sense of the inevitable about it. But I worried about Wolf, vulnerable and damaged. Much of the narrative is told from his viewpoint. And I wondered how Mrs Death could sustain such a purpose through time and space.

Stylistically I guess the book defies convention. Good! Sometimes there was a sense of spontaneous prose, other times there was almost formal storytelling. There was one chapter which is composed as an interview between two characters. There were descriptive reports of some brutal incidents. Some passages of whimsy. My overall sense was of the poetry of language. The book is full of poems but the prose, too, is poetic. It’s not a book to just read, it is a book to experience. It is unique. It is insanely creative. It’s challenging.

It’s not a book to just go away on the shelf to gather dust after you’ve finished it. It’s a book to be read and re-read to re-examine alongside what happens in this transient world. It’s a book to gift to your friends - and your enemies. It’s a book about Death but it’s also a book abut Life.

Thank you Canongate Books for my gifted copy. You made this old blogger very happy.

The River Reflects - Mark Godfrey Blog Tour

“We become like the river reflected, both light and dark. Struggling artist Sylvia is offered an unusual commission by the mysterious Victor, acting on behalf of a secret sponsor, who wants to engage her for a year to produce art depicting the Holocaust. She accepts the project on trust and discovers an enigmatic thirteen-year-old girl Nina, who becomes her model and pupil.As the months pass, Sylvia begins to unravel the truth about Victor, the secret sponsor and Nina, while unearthing more about history and identity than she was ever prepared for. A family drama that champions the structures and beliefs that underpin a civilised society, The River Reflects faces the darkest shadows of human nature. With the Thames winding relentlessly through this compelling story, Sylvia, Victor, Nina and those around them progress from fear and isolation to seek love and fortitude and the redemptive power of the human spirit.’

I have quite a collection of Holocaust books. Both fiction and fact. Why would you? That’s the question many people ask. Sometimes I ask myself the same question. I think it’s because I have an overwhelming conviction that the only way to prevent such a thing happening again is to keep it out there, in the wider consciousness. To not shy away from the subject. Every year I acknowledge Holocaust Memorial Day and I try to draw others attention to it.

Not surprisingly then I am drawn to books that are to do with the Holocaust. So I jumped at the chance to hop aboard the blog tour for Mark Godfrey’s The River Reflects. I found it completely absorbing and completely in sync with my convictions.

 Mr Godfrey has plotted and composed an intriguing fiction, a kind of cerebral whodunnit, it if you like, and woven into it, a potted history of the Holocaust. It’s clever. Cunning even. It’s almost as if the writer is saying if you wanna read the story and find out what happens then you also have to learn about the Holocaust. 

But the book also has something to say about art, the artist, creativity, whether an artist has any kind of responsibility? Our artist, Sylvia, ponders the morality of what she’s doing.

‘Knowing the Nazis were evil is one thing, but using that knowledge to create something that is relevant today feels like a task forged in the picture of the Earth as a punishment.‘

The book to looks at considerations of how the Holocaust happened. How Nazis were free to pursue such an evil intent. 

‘The terrible thing is when compliance becomes complicity. Hitler could have been stopped, but at a critical turning point, probably 1933 when he was invited into power by an old guard who thought they could contain him, he gained a momentum that would prove unstoppable right through until he killed himself in his bunker. The deaths of millions would for decades scrape at the conscience of those who survived.’

But there are some perceptions regarding our contemporary world that are actually quite chilling.

One of the characters, Victor, offers some considerations for us to contemplate.

‘Ignorance breeds stupidity breeds violence. Propaganda exploits ignorance and amplifies it. The Nazis were the masters, but open a newspaper switch or switch on the radio or watch a news programme and you’ll find the same traits, the same DNA, the same search for the “story“, for someone to “blame“, for someone to funnel hate towards.‘

Sylvia herself has some insights.

‘ The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good people to do nothing.‘

And pinning it all together is the symbol of the river. A river, any river? It matters not. Its significance is perhaps best summed up by one of the characters in the book, Sylvia’s husband,  Alex.

“It’s never the same water, never the same molecules; they flow past and are gone, the river has no memory..... but for those of us in its reach it helps in both remembering and forgetting.“

One of life‘s paradoxes maybe. The yin and yang that pervades so much of our world. The paradox endures throughout the book with a footing firmly in our contemporary world but requiring that we return to a past that we may want to forget but that should never be forgotten.

The research is detailed and accurate, it certainly reinforces much of the material I’ve seen and read regarding those heinous events of the Second World War. The characters are diverse, multi faceted and the plot is nicely twisted and turned to keep the interest of those readers who may not be reading the book for its genocide theme. 

Whilst one couldn’t describe it as an action packed novel there are some sequences that are tense and suspenseful and the climax at the end of the book is a master stroke and completely unexpected. And it mirrors so perfectly events from the past. I found myself quite stunned.

It’s one of those books that will stay with you for sometime after you finish it and so it should. It should stay with you forever actually!

My thanks to Kelly Lacey and the Love Books group for an opportunity to read it and have a place upon the blog tour. My opinion is but one of many. Do please check out what other bloggers have to say about this book.

 

Radio Life - Derek B. Miller

 

I remember as a young adult going through an intense science fiction phase. In my literary naïveté science fiction, then, was about space, robots and galaxies far, far away. I think I lived on a sole diet of Isaac Asimov for many months. If, like the younger me, that is your expectation when a book is described as science-fiction then be warned for this book is so, so much more than that.

Following Asimov, though, I progressed to the work of Philip K Dick which broadened the science-fiction perspective for me. From the space, the robots and the far away galaxies there was a more dystopian, apocalyptic feel to the work. Is it my imagination or is science fiction an undersubscribed genre for today’s authors? Derek B. Miller’s Radio Life might just be the book to change that.

I guess as you read the opening paragraphs you might be forgiven for thinking you’ve stumbled into a reworking of Frank Herbert’s Dune. But as you read on you find yourself immersed and enveloped into a dystopian, post-apocalyptic thriller that will have you gripped from beginning to end.

‘When Lilly was first Chief Engineer at The Commonwealth, nearly 50 years ago, the Central Archive wasn’t yet the greatest repository of knowledge in the known world, protected by scribes copying every piece of found material - books, maps, even scraps of paper - and disseminating them by Archive Runners to hidden off-site locations for safe keeping. Back then, there was no Order of Silence to create and maintain secret routes deep into the sand-covered towers of the Old World or into the northern forests beyond Sea Glass lake. Back then, the world was still quiet, because Lilly hadn’t yet found the Harrington Box.’

Thus runs the opening paragraph of the blurb. And if that isn’t enough to whet your appetite I’m not sure what is. Miller has created an alternate civilisation and culture resplendent with jargon and language idioms that require the reader to behave actively. This is not a book for the passive reader who just wants to sit back and be entertained with a nice little story. Oh no. This is going to have you on the edge of your seat in some places and musing intently on the current state of the world and what our future might be. Knowledge and wisdom are key. What we have, how we interpret it, what we do with it, and what it means for a future are some of the concepts explored in this novel. I found the book to be perceptive in its insights.

Populated with some strong female characters, women of action and women of intellect, our reader journey runs alongside theirs. Lilly, Elimisha and Alessandra are pivotal characters in the progression and development of this post apocalyptic society. But there are men who play their part as well. But as in all cultures and societies things don’t always run smoothly. People seldom share the same beliefs. And those who oppose can seek to destroy. But who is right? And who is wrong? And our science fiction, dystopian, post-apocalyptic story has a political slant that will determine some of the actions and interactions.

I found it an immersive and absorbing read. Whilst reading of an imagined future world I couldn’t help but think of the current world and the situation we are in at the moment. There is even a section titled “lockdown”! And that’s as well as the titled parts that recall Dante’s poem, Paradiso, Purgatorio and Inferno. It’s a very substantial book and I guess if you want to you can just enjoy it as a story. There is plenty of action, plenty of intrigue. But I defy anyone to read this book and not come away from it thinking deeply about what they’ve just experienced. For me, it was one of those books where, as I was reading it, I was thinking I’m going to have to read this again. For there are some truths here amongst the fictional narrative. Truths that we might do well to take note of and learn from.

 ‘Is it knowledge that will save us…or ignorance?’

I was wondering as I read whether this might translate to the large screen -  Derek B Miller might be come Derek B. DeMille!
Thanks to Ella Patel  and Jo Fletcher Books for a gifted copy of this book and an opportunity to participate in the social media blast.

The Joan Anderson Letter - Neal Cassady

 ‘The greatest piece of writing I ever saw’ - Jack Kerouac,  who went on to aver that he thought Cassady was on a par with Melville and Tolstoy. Hmm. I feel that opinion possibly derives from the bromance that existed between the two men. Although my feeling was always that the true friendship was on Jack’s side, primarily, and that Cassady made use of him on more than one occasion. But I digress. This letter was supposedly the catalyst for On The Road. And reading it now, for the first time, the elements of the spontaneous prose, the sheer exhilaration and frenetic pace of life that was always a characteristic of Cassady, is evident in abundance.

The content of the letter reinforces the perception of Cassady that Kerouac, Ginsberg and others offer. It’s an account of a young man and his, amorous exploits, shall we say. It’s written as if he can barely draw breath, as if he has to exhale every thought, idea and memory in that one moment before it is gone. No time for pauses. But there’s a sense of something manic about it too, in the writing itself  but also in the descriptions of this, somehow, dissolute life.

That Cassady was uneducated was less his fault that his upbringing. He wasn’t brought up, he seem to have had to drag himself up as he accompanied his alcoholic, often homeless father around the streets of Denver. But reading the letter conveys an articulate man on some levels with an innate way of putting words together. This writing style endures in his autobiographical work The First Third. Nature and nurture springs to mind.
If you are a student of the Beat Generation, if, like me, you are a devotee of Jack Kerouac, you’ll imbibe this book almost intravenously! There is always something curiously intimate about reading someone’s correspondence. For unless it is is a ‘Dear Sir’ letter intended for the newspapers it is not for anyone’s eyes but the recipient’s surely? There is alway a sense of eavesdropping, intruding upon something private and therefore forbidden almost which makes it an exciting thing to read. Kerouac, himself, was a prolific letter writer. So often, for me anyway, there is a sense of getting closer to someone through the reading of their correspondence. For you are getting the person rather than ‘just’ the writer. Neal Cassady, though, didn’t stray into the realms of fiction to the best of my knowledge so his letters and the aforementioned autobiography form the bulk of his ‘oeuvre’ and Cassady, the person, blasts out at you.

The letter is of it’s time, culturally and sociologically, it must be remembered, otherwise it would be easy to take offence and become enraged at the political incorrectness of some of the content. I guess it’s justified as an historic document.

This slender volume will take it’s place on my Kerouac shelf, next to the First Third and Carolyn Cassady’s Off the Road and Heartbeat. And it makes me want to read On the Road again and Moby Dick just to see if I can see what Jack means by his comparison with Herman Melville.

Keep Walking, Rhona Beech - Kate Tough - Blog Tour

 ‘When Rhona's story comes to an end you will miss her. Her candid, raw, messy journey will make you laugh, cry and remember. Not a typical break-up book, it's much more profound. Nothing has turned out quite how Rhona imagined: she's been casually swapping one job for another while getting comfy in a long relationship which ends abruptly, and her efforts to adjust to that change are thrown by some unwelcome news...

Flawed, relatable Rhona Beech narrates this beautifully written, pacey satire about female friendship, heartbreak, career change, conceiving and illness, which will appeal to fans of Fleabag. Join her on a laugh (and cry) out loud search for meaning amongst the bars, offices and clinics of Glasgow.

Will her friendships survive the changes and challenges? Will SHE survive? At once funny and tender, Keep Walking, Rhona Beech is a clear-sighted look at a generation of women that was told they could have it all.’

Was it just me or did this have a touch of the Eleanor Oliphants about it? Not to the same degree but the sense of someone trying to overcome some seemingly insurmountable obstacles. Insurmountable in a relative sense because, I don’t think it’s a spoiler to suggest, there is some reference to mental instability in this book. I found it to be a book that deals with some every day but tricky issues in an every day kinda way, if that makes sense. But it’s a book of poignant satire. Rhona Beech, like us all, realises that life just never turns out the way you think it will. And poor Rhona seems to be in that curious, almost paralysed state of inaction that can occur when life throws its brickbats at us. To say she makes no effort at all to deal with her situation isn’t true but it has a kind of a half-hearted feel about it. However what Rona does have is a tight group of friends who are there for her. Friends who have their issues too, but a celebration of female friendship is a very strong theme in this book and is very uplifting.

Rhona is a very real character. I think she responds to situations in a way that a lot of us would do which makes it easy for the reader to relate to her. This suggests the author has an acute perception of how people respond to life situations and is a keen observer of life. Emotion isn’t overplayed but is there and all the more poignant in that subtlety. The humour doesn’t make fun of the gravity of certain situations. So it’s a pretty well balanced book.

The narrative is full with a prose style that flows. I found some sections quite poetic and then my research told me that the author is, in fact, a poet too. The dialogue is all relevant without any of those exchanges that do not further the story at all. The story has a contemporary feel to it and whilst it is a long time since I was a thirty something (mores the pity!) I could relate to Rhona and the whole story easily. 

My thanks to Kelly Lacey and the LoveBooksTours for a gifted copy of this book and a place upon the blog tour.

Homer’s Odyssey - Gwen Cooper

 nother Christmas gift from friends bold enough to take the risk that I hadn’t already read this book. I hadn’t. But I have read it now and I’m glad I have. I’ve always been a book lover but I’ve also always been a cat lover. It’s only my age, infirmities and living on a very busy road that stops me taking on some more cats. So my friends knowing of my love of cats and books decided this would be the perfect gift.

It’s a memoir. The author is a cat lover and the book centres around her decision to take on a blind kitten. She had two cats already. I saw the story as a parallel between her life and the life of this tenacious little kitten who overcame his disability to live a full and exuberant life. The book starts with the author nursing a broken heart and challenging finances. She learnt a great deal from observing this extraordinary cat navigate his way through life. Gwen Cooper was living in Miami when Homer first came into her life but by the end of the book she is living in New York. I found the sections where she’s recently moved to Manhattan very moving, and fascinating for the street she initially lived on was the street I lived in for a month when I was in New York way back in early 2000. And she was probably living there when I was there.  I may even have passed her by. I may even have been a stones throw from Little Homer and his companion cats, Vashti and Scarlett. But the part that was really moving was the authors description of 9/11. That particular street was right by the World Trade Centre and the author describes the way she used the twin towers to navigate her way through Manhattan, just as I did.

It’s an uplifting book because it tells of success. It tells of dealing with problems and obstacles. Doesn’t matter whether you’re a cat or a person! There is humour in it. There is some sadness in it. But most of all there’s love.

Yes, it’s a book for cat lovers for sure. I defy any cat lover not to love it. The author loves her cats and there is very much a sense of ‘love me love my cats’ in it which all cat lovers will identify with. Probably dog lovers too? But it has a broader appeal I think in terms of looking at somebody who manages to turn their life around and find contentment. The writing style is relaxed and easy. So one level it’s a undemanding book. But on another level it offers you a lot of food for thought.

Let’s Do It The Authorised Biography of Victoria Wood - Jasper Rees

 2016 was a year full of celebrity deaths. Beginning with David Bowie and ending with George Michael. I wept for both and in between I wept for Victoria Wood. I can remember, when I was younger, some conversations between my parents. One or the other lifted their face from the newspaper to announce that ‘so-and-so died’ and there would be an exchange of commiserations and sadness. And I wouldn’t know who ‘so and so’ was. But as I’ve aged and the people that have meant a great deal to me culturally have begun to age and die it continues to strike me how curious is the sense of bereavement one feels from somebody you’ve never met. I was never an especial David Bowie fan but I was aware of his influence and the pioneering nature of his art. And I did feel a great sense of loss when I learned of his death. But I did always love George Michael. In fact seeing him live was one of the greatest performances I’ve experienced. Being just a few feet away from the man singing “Careless Whisper” still raises the hairs on my neck. But somehow the death of Victoria Wood touched me deeply. And I’m not sure why. Her wit delighted me, her way with words. Her perception and rendering of the ordinary and the every day into something funny, and the fact that she acknowledged things that you thought maybe nobody else saw in the same way that you did forged some kind of invisible bond. Being on the same wavelength maybe.

I didn’t read the biography her brother wrote. I believe there was some kind of hoohah about it. People were criticising him for exposing, perhaps details that were a  little too personal. But something drew me to Jasper Rees’s authorised book. I found it to be a thorough and expansive account of Victoria Wood’s life. Much is taken from her own recordings, letters and interviews. And there are numerous contributions from those who knew her, including her closest family. So I kinda felt I was getting the real story. And I found it interesting. I admired her work ethic. You watch a TV show or one of her dramas or series without realising just how much she put into it. And I learnt a little of the person that she was behind the TV and showbiz persona. And I think part of the appeal was her “ordinariness”. It somehow made her more real than some of the glitzy, glamorous showbiz people out there.

And still I cried when I got to the section about her illness and her death. Did I think that by reading a biography it would keep her alive? No, that would be silly. But I still have this sense of loss when I think of Victoria Wood. She made me laugh. Out loud. I’d like to laugh again. Out loud. I often ponder how she would’ve dealt with coronavirus and the pandemic. I have little doubt there would be songs and piercingly witty observations about the situation that might take us out of ourselves for a while. But that’s often what a good comic does. Takes you right out of yourself so you can relax and laugh. I actually think Victoria Wood was something close to a genius. A genius in terms of comedy. Or maybe we’re back to just being on the same wavelength. I mean these absolutely kill me - Kimberly’s friend tried to teach herself Flemish, ‘in case I ever go to Flem.’ ‘Vauxhall Viagra’ is another. “I knew I was getting old when I saw a pair of Dr. Scholl sandals and I thought. ooh,  they look comfy.” And of course the Barry and Freda song. It is genius. I remember watching it on TV the first time she performed it and I was crying with laughter.

I miss her.