Richard III

Okay, so I know this is primarily a bookish blog but a memory trigger today got me thinking about a trip I made a few years ago that meant a great deal to me. So I made a blog post about it.

It was March 22nd 2015, a Sunday afternoon. I was watching Channel 4. Richard III's coffin was being driven from Bosworth Field to Leicester Cathedral. I had followed the story of the king in the car park avidly so this was essential viewing. While I was watching I received a text message from a friend, also watching, who has a similar interest in history. The message read, 'Do you fancy driving up to Leicester to see the coffin?' I didn't hesitate. 'You bet.' was my reply.

So at some ungodly hour on March 25th we set off for Leicester. We arrived just before 8.00 in the morning and we parked at the first opportunity in this unknown city. Too early to get our bearings or ask anyone. It was a shopping mall car park. Practically deserted at this hour.  We descended in the lift.  A young girl was waiting to go up in as we left so we asked her if we were anywhere near the cathedral. She looked horrified and told us, 'No, it was quite a way away.'

This wasn't what we wanted to hear so we wandered around at ground level and stood bewildered in the street needing to make a decision. One of us, and I think it was me, spotted a grand ecclesiastical looking building far down a lone avenue. Something about the road looked familiar from the TV programme. So we started towards it. With each step we became increasingly less confident that this was the right direction. We saw some people standing by a bus stop.  We asked if we were heading the right way for the cathedral. They just shrugged or shook their heads. A  lady walking in the opposite direction to us clearly heard the word 'cathedral' for she enquired if that was where we were headed. When we said yes she agreed to take us! She explained that she was only popping out for a coffee and it was no real problem to show us the way. We learned that she worked in the visitor centre but because all the activity of the last few days she taken the day off as she was exhausted. She bombarded us with information on our walk which was fascinating. She been witness to the progress of the excavation of the bones and had seen Phillipa Langley. 

Because of a fall I'd had previously in the week, as a precautionary measure I'd taken a walking stick with me. One reason was because I wasn't sure how long I could manage to stand before we could get in to see the coffin. The news had suggested that the queues were 3 or 4 hours long. So I asked our guide, who we learned was called Kath, if the queues had quietened down at all and she said no, quite the opposite, they had got longer and longer. My heart sank but she smiled and said. 'There is some provision for disabled people, let's go and ask.' Okay, I'm not disabled. I did feel bad. It seemed like false pretences. But my intuition said just go along with it. So we continued to follow her .

We passed numerous personnel in high visibility jackets, some of them seemed to know Kath. She asked one where disabled people should go. She was told there was provision round by the Chapter House. We went on none the wiser but Kath clearly knew exactly where that was and confidently led us forward.

We rounded the corner past, some grey stone buildings we'd been walking alongside for some several metres and saw the cathedral and the green and the outbuildings and the crowd snaking their way back through the cobbled streets and alleyways of Leicester. Kath approached one of the official, uniformed guides and asked again where disabled people should go and the guide said, 'Just go straight in!' 

So we went in the cathedral door and stood right next to  the coffin of King Richard III.

The time on the photo was recorded as 8:49 on March 25th. We'd barely been in Leicester an hour and we'd seen the coffin! Rather than drive straight back south again we decided to visit Bosworth Field. It all felt so right. As if that's what we had been destined to do. The next day I watched the funeral on TV. And I made a thank you card and sent it to Kath c/o The Richard III Visitors Centre, Leicester. 

The Burning Chambers - Kate Mosse

One of the first things that always strikes me when I read Kate Mosse’s historical fiction books is what a deep love she has of the Languedoc area of France. The passion shines through both the fiction and the fact. As always the historical research is thorough and plausible.

The Burning Chambers details the riots of Toulouse in 1562 between the Huguenots and the Catholics. Mosse creates a palpable picture of the carnage that occurred during those riots and the atmosphere of mistrust that ensued throughout the region.

But this is a book that’s more than ‘just’ the history and we would expect no less from Mosse, a master story teller and weaver of fictions. The story of Minou Joubert is the backbone of this tale and the unfolding of the secrets of her past. It’s cleverly done with little clues scattered throughout that interweave with the unfolding tale of the escalating conflict. 

Minou is a strong female lead character who primarily dominates the narrative for much of the book and when she doesn’t it is the male lead Piet Reydon who keeps it all going. I am loathe to detail too much of the plot. The book cover blurb contains all you need to know before reading. And once you start reading I’m pretty sure you won’t want to stop!

The story is beautifully constructed, setting a scene, allowing the reader to engage with the characters and throwing into the mix all manner of doubts as to the ultimate integrity of some of the players. There’s plenty of excitement and a tense conclusion as the survival of some of the key characters hangs in the balance. Finally the ends are tied together if the astute reader hadn’t already figured for themselves the secrets of the past. The narrative flows easily and although it is a 500+ page book you can read it as effortlessly as you might a more slender volume. Nothing is superfluous, the pace is maintained and engages the readers’ attention right through. 

Scattered throughout the book are some well observed truths that endure in out 21st century world,

‘You will know that if the lie is repeated often enough, in the face of the clearest evidence to the contrary, even the most level-headed of men start to believe it.. Falsehood easily becomes accepted truth.’

‘…. human beings have learnt rather to repeat the mistakes of the past, and more vilely.’

Of the arms dealer Pierre Delpech, ‘Which ever side won, he was in profit. His weapons killed without discrimination.’

An possibly most pertinent of all, ‘How was it that, in more than three hundred and fifty years, so little had changed? So much suffering, such waste and cruelty. And for what?’

I personally enjoy historical fiction very much   I believe it fulfils an important role because it can present history in a palatable way to those disinclined to pick up a factual history book initially. But I  think there is a fine line between a believable fiction running alongside the history because the potential for contrivance is ever present. So a balance needs to be struck which I think Kate Mosse does. There are one or two instances here which strike as purely fictional devices but then it IS a work of fiction. But I think the real icing on the cake is when an historical novel sends you googling the actual event(s) in history. Did I do that, reader? Yes, I damn well did!! 

I also enjoyed my own personal serendipity; for having little or no knowledge of the Huguenots I’ve read two books already this year where the Huguenots feature. This one, obviously and Sonia Velton's Blackberry and Wild Rose.

It seems that this is the first in a series of books and I will look forward to furthering my acquaintance with these characters. It’s a thoroughly enjoyable, informative and entertaining read. My thanks to Nudge/New Books for a copy. 

Libraries - A Reflection

This article originally appeared on the Nudge/New Books website. I regularly retweeted it on Twitter when discussions about libraries came up. Unfortunately when they revamped their website  articles and reviews of more than a few months old disappeared and cannot be accessed. So I am posting it to my blog because it is still valid and pertinent for me. 

 Update August 2019. Recently I've been using the library even more.  I've been scheduling library books into my reading timetable. And I've been taking my friend's grandchildren to the library too. It's been an absolute delight. At the moment they are one year old, three years old  and six years old respectively. The one-year-old races around at alarming speed for one so young, stops every so often, picks up an animal book and brings it to me. The three-year-old will find any Peppa Pig book and enjoy having that read to her. The books she picks for herself have  all been Beatrix Potter books because they are small. And the six-year-old is overwhelmed by the wealth of books available for her and she finds it difficult to make a choice. She got so many out the first time that yesterday she just took three out, feeling that would be better for her.  Currently they take them out on my library ticket. But we did get the appropriate forms for their mum to fill-in. Hopefully when she has time she will join them so that they are fully fledged members of the library.  The library staff have been so welcoming and yesterday gave each of them a sticker book. 

Photo by Louisa Hennessey via Flickr

I can't remember how old I was when I first visited the library but it was before I learnt to read. I know that because the books I chose I begged and begged my mother to read to me at most inappropriate times during the day. Our local library was a typical 50/60s build. A one story building with a glass elevation at the front.  It had an undefinable but most distinctive smell.  My late mother continued to use this library until a few months before her death and I remember taking her there once and finding that despite all the changes to the library the smell remained. 

We went to the library every Saturday, usually in the morning and usually with my father. I used to take out the maximum number of books that I was allowed. As a young child it just amazed me that I could come into this building and come out with an armful of books that I didn't have to pay for and they were mine, all mine for the whole week. And then the following week I could go back return them and take out another load. It got to the stage where by bedtime Saturday I had usually read the lot!  And I think that's where I developed the habit of rereading because I knew I would have to wait a whole week before I could get any more so I just used read them all over again. The system used was very different from the computerised, digitised systems of today. The books you borrowed were ticketed and date stamped to show when you had to return it by. Oh, how I loved those date stamps! My grandmother bought me my own with an ink pad once and I took immense pleasure from stamping all my own books. Playing libraries was a favourite game of mine. 

The library was the first place I was ever allowed to go to on my own. I don't remember how old I was but I do remember walking there and walking back with a bag full of books.  I felt pretty good about it. When I grew older I used to cycle there and fill my saddle bag to overflowing with books.  There was a generous bicycle park there which was quite unusual at the time. It would have been rude not to have used it! I used several of the libraries in the area where I lived  and I continued using those libraries thoroughly and regularly until I left secondary school. 

Sadly since then my use of libraries has been fairly sporadic. There was a time when professional commitments didn't actually allow me a lot of time for personal reading. A midlife change of direction which caused me to turn my back on my professional career and take up a clerical job rejuvenated my love affair with libraries. The office I was working in was directly opposite the town’s library. And I spent many a lunchtime in that building. I came back from lunch with armfuls of books much to the amusement of some of my less literary colleagues.

But now…… I struggle to remember the last time I visited my local library. I’m ashamed of that. I was a giver for World Book Night a few years back and the books were delivered there for me to collect. I went in a couple of years ago for a specific reference book.  And my local library is a truly wonderful space. (See picture above.) It's an old Victorian rectory of warm, red brick and it stands in beautiful grounds with a scented garden for the visually impaired, an enclosed childrens’ playground, seats aplenty where you can see the sea and watch the squirrels, so tame, they will sit by your feet to be fed.  It's a very peaceful place. With the local government cuts a few years back they wanted to close the building down but opposition and petition saved it. Even my brother who now lives in Shropshire signed the petition from all those miles away. The library remains open, manned entirely by volunteers.

So why don't I go to the library any more? Is it because I've joined the ereader/kindle generation? NOOOOO. I loathe them. It’s real books I love.  As a child growing up the family didn't have money for new books. So the library was a treasure trove. What’s changed? I buy books now. I guess as soon I started earning and there was any sniff of disposable income I’d buy a book. People gift me books for birthdays and Christmas. People pass books on to me. I buy from charity shops and jumble sales and second hand book shops. And of course there are the wonderful review copies of books I receive. And so my To Be Read shelves groan under the weight of the books there. I feel I must prioritise my reading. I know that if I went to the library I would not be able to resist the books there. I would emerge with the full complement allowed to me and struggle to read them by the return date because of all the other books I ‘need’ to read. 

I am fearful that ultimately, we may lose libraries altogether. And I have to take some blame. If I'm not using the library how can I bemoan its demise? So I’ve made a decision. I’m going to try and visit the library maybe once a fortnight and take out just one book. It’s going to be hard but I’m gonna try and do it. Because I think libraries are wonderful, valuable places. I don't want to see them go. I have so much to thank them for. Would I be the reader I am now without them?

Whilst I haven't managed the 'once a fortnight' I anticipated I am pleased to say that since I wrote this article I do now visit my library regularly. I go every three weeks but often I renew the books! But it's becoming a habit to go in there again. And that can only be a good thing. 

A Letter from Sarah - Dan Proops

I struggled with what to make of this book, initially, to be honest. It was clearly a debut novel, a narrative that spoke of an author trying to find a voice. But I did wonder whether the work had been a victim of stringent editing as there was a lack of flow to the structure of the narrative in some parts. Short, simple sentences that often contained prosaic detail but didn’t further the story overall. As I progressed though I began to wonder whether it was actually a very clever piece of work constructed very deliberately to highlight the protagonist’s fragmented state of mind, a consummate study in loss and despair. Clever too is the writer’s ability to manipulate his readers emotions towards the various characters in the book. I’m thinking particularly of Nigel and to an extent Darius. 

Adam’s sister has been missing for seven years. Both he and his overbearing father, Darius, are distraught at her loss. Unexpectedly on the seventh anniversary of her disappearance Adam receives a letter purporting to be from her. She is apparently alive and well and living in Brooklyn and demands his secrecy as to her existence. I don’t want to divulge anything else except to say Adam’s search takes him across the Pond a couple of times and back again. 

The story deals with themes that include grief, loss, faith, belief and the extreme anxiety that these states can provoke. It’s an interesting story because it goes beyond the mere missing person scenario and hints of something more which certainly made me keen to read on to see if what I suspected was accurate. It also highlights the strain that relationships on all levels can suffer and how an individual’s ability to function on a day to day basis can be compromised.

It’s not a feel good book, there’s a lot of sadness in it although there are sporadic attempts at positivity.  I found the ending inevitable, predictable to a degree although you’re never quite sure. There’s something compelling in the story but I struggle to agree with the inside blurb critic who claims it is ‘a literary masterpiece’. If you buy the book on that basis I think you would be disappointed but if you want a compelling, contemporary and compassionate story you’ll be satisfied.  Another part of me feels there may be a hint of catharsis in this story? It clearly means a lot to the writer and for that reason alone it is a worthwhile piece of work. And I thank Urbane Publications for the opportunity to read this story.

Last Ones Left Alive - Sarah Davis-Goff

I never did like the word ‘zombie’. It’s too Marvel/DC comics and Lichtenstein for me to the extent that it’s hard to take seriously. So I applaud the invention of a different word to describe the ‘z’ creatures in this debut novel from Sarah Davis-Goff. What’s the word? Oh, no!! You read the book and find out. I’m not telling you. 

But zombies by any other name will smell as rank and pose the same threats with a biff, a pow and a bang. So how do you make a zombie novel retain some credibility and not let it deteriorate into Zombie Apocalypse the Musical on Ice? Well, you let Ms. Davis-Goff write it for starters. 

In a dystopian landscape where Cormac McCarthy meets James Dashner, Goff seeks not to explain the hows and whys but to describe the nows and thens. Orpen is our girl, part Katniss Everdene, the rest completely  herself and synthesises the contrasting narratives between the tranquil but unexciting life on Slanberg, an Irish island, to the epic survival strategies on the Irish mainland. Part of you wills her never to leave Slanberg but the other part of you urges her to find out what else is out there. Ostensibly she travels to the mainland to find help for Maeve. Who is Maeve? Read the book!!

If you think you’ve read it all before, then be patient. Yes, there are hallmark elements of any number of post apocalyptic and dystopian fictions. But this one’s different. 

Firstly, I may be wrong, but much of the dystopian fiction written, certainly, in the last twenty years has been predominantly set in the US. I think. If that’s unfair I apologise. These stories are set in the UK.

•  Nineteen Eighty-Four by George Orwell
• The Time Machine by H.G. Wells.
• Never Let Me Go by Kazuo Ishiguro.
• Brave New World by Aldous Huxley.
• The Children of Men by P.D. James
• A Clockwork Orange by Anthony Burgess.
• The White Mountains by John Christopher.
• The Memoirs of a Survivor by Doris Lessing.

Last Ones Left Alive is set in Ireland. So right away it implies a specific dynamic from an historical and political perspective that eliminates the need for the author to waste time with the hows and whys. Toss the Brexit conundrum into the mix, which is surely incidental as I doubt it was in the writer’s mind when she began writing this, and it’s perfect!!

Secondly there’s a strong feminist bias in the book that’s more The Power than The Handmaid’s Tale. Orpen is raised by her mother and Maeve. Their relationship is tacit. In the rest of the book there’s is only one male character. Orpen seems to be running the gauntlet in one form or another her whole life. And there’s a curious sense of her journey running full circle in a way but it’s the last thing you expect. I’m loathe to develop that any further for I would have to offer spoilers. It’s clever though! By jove, it's clever. 

The sense of isolation is strong and developed well in terms of a physical isolation and isolation within groups. It is only towards the conclusion that the you get a sense of the inclusive for Orpen. 

Some ‘catchy’ mantras - Beware Tall Buildings.

Watch Your Six

                                    Remember your JIC (Just in Cases)

This is a very laudable debut novel. It’s a confident piece of writing. A strong narrative that flows evenly building up to some nail biting sequences. The characters are few so it was crucial to render them believable. The reader isn’t spoon fed, there’s much to conjecture but not so much that you feel you’ve been short changed.  And there’s a vague optimism at the end. It’s exciting.

My thanks to Georgina Moore and Tinder Press for a proof of this book.

An Interview with Linda Green

Today sees the publication of Linda Green's ninth novel, The Last Thing She Told Me, which I reviewed earlier this week. And it's World Book Day too! So I am delighted to present an interview with Linda. Many thanks to Linda for these insights into the book and her writing and thanks also to Milly Reid at Quercus Book for facilitating this interview. 

1. To my regret I’ve not read any of your previous work but having read The Last Thing She Told Me I’ve a feeling it won’t be too long before I do! For the benefit of me, mostly, I guess! But also for any other readers who are ‘new’ to you could you tell us little about your journey into novel writing? Your inspirations and your motivations?

My journey into novel writing was a particularly long and tortuous one! I’d wanted to be an author from the age of nine (despite coming from a working class family of non-readers). I loved writing and spent ten years in regional newspaper journalism before giving up the day-job to write my first novel. I had 102 rejections from agents over the next seven years, before I finally got my first book deal!

2. I read that you have a background in journalism and I was wondering how much that enhanced the research you did to fuel the narrative of The Last Thing She Told Me and how you went about it? 

My journalistic background is a big help for research. I covered a lot of stories as a journalist and many of them have lived on in my head. I also keep a file (both of physical newspaper cuttings and online articles) of stories which interest me. One of those was a story about an elderly lady who had died, and her children had found the remains of several babies in shoeboxes in her wardrobe. I did a lot of online stories about similar cases of people discovering secrets about their parents following their death.

3. Possibly following on from the previous question the book has a powerful ‘message’, for want of a better word, and to a degree does illustrate the progress, albeit still limited, that our society has made in respect of the issues detailed in the book. For example Nicola is able eventually to discuss what happened to her with her daughter Ruby. I think there is still a long way to go. Did you find it hard to get women to talk about their experiences?

As a journalist, I was privileged to interview many women who had gone through traumatic abusive experiences. I have to say that most young women seemed to find it much easier to talk about what they had gone through than older women. Though often for older women, it was a huge relief when they finally did so. We have made a lot of progress but there are still far too many cases of women being made to feel shame over what has happened to them.

4.You hint in the “About This Book’ section at the end of the story that it was something your grandmother said to you a couple of years before she died that kindled the thoughts that presumably resulted in this gripping book. Without wishing to pry were your grandmother’s experiences related to what happened to Betty and Irene?

Something my grandmother said to another member of my family before she died suggested she had never told us about something which was important to her. Sadly, we’ll never know exactly what that was (although I don’t think it was related to what Betty and Irene went through) , but it made me think about the secrets that generation of women kept for so many years.  

5. I found the women in the novel from Betty through to little Maisie very strong, the male characters less so. Was this an intentional device?

I wanted it to be very much a book about these four generations of women from the same family. I also wanted it to highlight the incredible strength women like these have demonstrated in order to deal with things which have happened to them. The male roles in the novel are very much as ‘supporting actors’. It’s the women and their strength which I wanted to be the focus. 

6. There are things in the book that are quite upsetting, certainly from a readers’ perspective but from the writer’s perspective was it emotionally demanding to write?

Yes! I cried on numerous occasions while writing it. The characters are very real to me and I felt their pain. I wouldn’t want it to be any other way though, as if they don’t move me, how can I expect them to move readers? 

7. I loved the structure of the book! The journal entries and letters were, mischievous almost, subtly deceiving and really made the reader think. Was it always your intention to construct the book in this way?

It was. Again, it made it quite difficult to write but I wanted to weave the the different narratives together and give readers plenty to think about! 

8. How do you approach your writing? By that I am wondering if you have a special place, special time, any special routines and rituals?

My writing room is a back bedroom of my house in West Yorkshire. There is a big window looking out onto the garden and I am particularly skilled at gazing out of it! But I can also write pretty much anywhere – trains are a particular favourite. Certainly when my son was younger it was very much the case of grabbing any odd bit of time I could. It’s amazing what you can get done in an hour when you set your mind to it.

9. I know that being an avid reader is almost compulsory for a writer so a question I always ask is if you can remember the first book you read that moved you to tears, if any?

I think it was probably Black Beauty by Anna Sewell. Years later I cried while reading War Horse by Michael Morpurgo to my son. I think Before I Die by Jenny Downham must be the book I have cried most while reading, though. Beautifully written but heartbreaking.   

10. And finally having enjoyed this novel so much I am bound to ask when we can expect another new one! And is there anything you can tell us about it?

My next novel should be out in ebook this autumn and in paperback early next summer. It’s called The Second Time We Met and tells the story of a quirky ten-year-old boy and his unlikely friendship with a woman in her late fifties who works in a café. I’d advise readers to keep the tissues handy!

The Last Thing She Told Me by Linda Green is published by Quercus in paperback on 7^th March.

The Last Thing She Told Me - Linda Green

I couldn’t read this fast enough!! In fact I read it so fast I’m sure I must have missed bits because  I HAD to know what happened!! 

A four generation page turner loaded with suspense ‘The Last Thing She Told Me’ looks at the hidden family secrets of three generations. The fourth generation being the children bearing some of the brunt of the fallout from what has gone before.  I am loathe to offer spoilers or give too much away but do steel yourselves because there’s some challenging , as well as emotional, events in this book.

Many thriller and suspense stories are all about the action and the twists but add emotion to this one and it’s quite explosive. One of the problems of being an avid reader of this genre and beyond is that you are alert to all the ‘tricks’ that a writer might employ to garnish the thrills. I did suspect one or two things here but it just fed the smartarse in me rather than dilute the impact of what happens.

I thoroughly enjoyed the structure of the novel. The straightforward present time first person narrative of Nicola complemented the narratives of the past. I’m even afraid that’s a bit of a spoiler. I thought it was very clever and had me fooled almost till the end convincing me that my smartarse meter doesn’t always work in the hands of an experienced writer.

In addition to the thriller/suspense aspects there was an absorbing exploration into family dynamics and the need for us to establish our own identities and understand our origins.  Social comment was powerful, raising issues very contemporary today. Again I don’t want to ‘spoil’ by being too specific. But reference to #metoo wouldn’t be out of place. The novel also highlights how social and cultural dogma can inhibit and distort intentions provoking unjustified and undeserved feelings of shame, and self loathing  even in young women.

The female characters are all pretty strong women although Nicola might disagree with me in her moments of intense self doubt as to whether she had taken the right path. The male characters are ‘paler’ and functional. But then I think it is a predominantly female book, if it’s okay and PC enough to say that? If it isn’t I’m sorry. 

I’m not sure if you can call it an enjoyable read? Much of what happens is harrowing and upsetting but there are redemptions scattered throughout. I found it a page turner. and I don’t often say that!

My thanks to Milly Reid at Quercus Books for an advance proof.