nectar for food

a rabbit speaks:

he wrote poems about me

before i was kitten-born

black ink, no taste, smell

on paper, tree-like, thin

rustles beneath feet.

i did not hear them.

i lived, green fields

slopes

field banks

burrows dark, warm.

but i sensed what he said

he gave us names, lives

singled us to

within our kind.

now i am alone

live lone life.

myxie, he calls me

poem words

rabbits sniff, smell

butt blind, sickened

rabbit from my home.

i will die.

i eat bright colours

garden dark, dawn

petal flavoured scent

i am king, god

nectar for food.

A Room With a View - E.M. Forster

It's a novel I aspire to.  It begins with a babble, Miss Honeychurch at table, her aunt in attendance; and it continues as such - a minimum of Forster comment and all narrative.  Of course, it would have been wonderful if Forster had come out, told life, love as he really saw it.  But he didn't, and we must live with this.  He tells the tale of girl expecting boy, not expecting the boy who turns out to be her true love.  And that is what is fantastic - the eternal love that is proclaimed.  And truth.  The girl belongs to boy.  And boy to girl.  The narrative entertains, and confirms this as it progresses.  Love is wonderful - the best we can get, if we can get it.  Read this, and read it again - if you believe in love (or maybe more so if you don't).  Each reading is an assertion of achievable purpose and hope.

I Sing To The Air - Padraig De Brun

A bird speaks:

I slouch, some beggar starved of hope,

Feasted on the stale discards of past,

Towards dawn. I am wing-tired, slow,

A body, prime-passed, not now dead,

Long dying. I think morning thought,

What birds do, their always living,

Being, since the hour birth begins.

And other thoughts come, as thoughts must:

"Remember soon!" I do no know

As day arrives what this day is.

'Round me - again I do not know -

I live it now - it is just there -

Are roof-tops, grey, acute, spartan,

Dense, green bush, barbed as dwellings are,

My dwelling, my unwelcome hearth.

And then wires, black, unearthed wires

Hum beneath feet, chanting on, on.

Others stand as well - I know this.

No need for thought as I awake.

They wait. I wait. There is stillness.

We watch the ever-present night.

It is tense now, alert, frozen,

The movements of creatures, studied,

Preyed upon. And it is soon dead -

Night must know this - the lamb of dark -

Night risen, always daily dead.

And without a sound, new doom falls,

Rises with seeing, sight of things.

The sun comes from the east, jewelled

Like Juliet - a star of day.

It slaughters what it finds, rest's sleep,

Scavenges the corpse it kills, dark.

And night, recently gloried, fat

Is gone. All dreams, shivering, pass.

And then the song. Others sing first.

I wait. I will remember. Day.

Until a voice - I know that voice.

There is a sweet, butterfly sound,

And notes, bright-coloured, gambolling,

Caressing thoughts as new lambs do.

And there is joy-ordinary

All about. The very air breathes

Delicious life, speaks memories,

High shrilling, not now forgotten.

And I reply, gladly reply,

Remember the known, always known,

And I sing to the air, loudly,

I sing day's coming to the air.

Endless Night - Agatha Christie

Okay, she can write.  That's how she made her name, I suppose - sold a few books.  And as ever there's an economy of style - "it's the narrative, Stupid".  Christie doesn't waste words; she keeps us on the action.  I was surprised in a "that's interesting way" to find myself making a link between Agatha Christie, The Doors and William Blake.  After that came a slight disappointment.  Endless Night, as expected, is rich with fantastic characters and intrigue.  To resolve her complex mystery, however - no, I didn't guess who did it - Christie does a complete character make-over towards the end; the villain suddenly acquires qualities, a history that had not been there before.  This left me imagining that the villain was a convenience - someone had to be guilty; and more importantly I imagined that like me Christie did not know who did it until she had invented her convenience.  The novel then loses its sense of being crafted from the start, clever clues and distractions woven into the plot - there were none.  As a result I will take a pause from her mysteries for now.  I will only return when I have forgiven her.  This should not take too long.

Lady Windermere's Fan - Oscar Wilde

I read Lady Windermere's Fan because I was going to audition for a part - that of Lord Darlington.  As I see it Wilde never quite decides whether he is writing a comic satire, or something more serious - even realist in nature.  The result is a delightful play, nonetheless - Mrs Erlynne is a fantastic character, Lord and Lady Windermere as well.  Supporting them, more typically Wilde - The Importance of Being Earnest - are an array of idle rich caricatures who say clever things that are ultimately meaningless, or meaningless things that are contradictory and are comic because they are expressed with such seriousness.  The character of Darlington, however, reminds me of a 'piece of ill-digested cheese', as Scrooge might say.  Darlington had two key scenes.  In the first he is a fop, flattering Lady Windermere and courting a bad appearance so that people will not take him seriously.  In the second he is serious, no explanation given, proclaiming love and determined to leave the country if Lady Windermere will not have him.  I did not go for him then, imagining Darlington a shoe-in, a convenience to hold together a too-complex plot, one that Wilde - to return to the cheese - did not fully digest.  I imagine too that this is why Darlington - unlike the other serious characters - did not receive a fitting comic closure - he just disappears.  Finally, I imagine that Wilde might have made this a fantastic comic satire, or realist drama, if he had properly thought it through.  As it is Lady Windermere's Fan is delightful and flawed.

Beware of Pity - Stefan Zweig

Brilliant and dreadful; I imagine that Wes Anderson (Grand Budapest Hotel) does him best - intense and parodic at once.  Zweig is insistently 19th century - I am reminded of Turgenev, slow detailed, soft - with moments of high, almost too high drama.  He is also informed by 20th century thinking; an acquaintance of Freud, he believed that the sexual liberation taking place around him was actual and transformational liberation.  I have read a novel, Beware of Pity, two novellas - Chess and Twenty Four Hours in the Life of a Woman, and an extract from his autobiography - The World of Yesterday.  At times I was amazed - this guy really understands stuff; wow!!!!!!, that is exactly what should have happened, how did he do that.  At other times, labouring in details that might have been skipped, condensed, I was genuinely bored - "got the message, Zweig; get on with it."  Zweig made his early reputation translating the work of poets.  My temptation then is to recommend his work to up-and-coming writers who will translate his writings into good, solid, masterpiececal brilliance.  Alternatively, just have a go; at the end of each book, I felt that the time allowed to reading it had been rescued, made worthwhile.

Chitty Chitty Bang Bang - Ian Fleming

Chitty Chitty Bang Bang is realistic in places.  It concerns a family, the Potts, who have a much-loved car that makes an unusual sound Chitty, Chitty - Bang! - Bang!; so they name the car Chitty Chitty Bang Bang.  After this moment of realism the novel becomes quite bizarre.  I am reminded firstly of the Famous Five - they say 'Golly' a lot, and they are frightfully hungry after life-threatening adventures.  Then, as might be expected from Ian Fleming, there are clear hints of James Bond narrative-types - taking on a gang of international criminals and maybe escaping (I don't want to give the plot away) at the point of greatest peril.  Only, to complete this reference to James Bond, having defeated (or maybe defeated) a criminal mastermind - casually risking the lives of his wife and two children along the way - James Bond is jolly pleased with himself and sets off on a new adventure - 'the children aren't scared', he explains to his wife, 'so it must be alright.'  The novel is written for children, of course - though I can't imagine children reading it.  The story is just too something - I can't quite put my finger on it - to suit the child audience that I imagine.  What I love, however, is its period-pieceness.  It comes from an age when driving at 100mph (or flying, or speed-boating) with your simply adorable children sitting in an armchair seat behind - no seat belts - is an example of ordinary, if quirky family fun; and where the everyday maternal care of Mum (Mimsie) is demonstrated by her cautioning of her children to be careful when examining the crates of dynamite they have just discovered.  (Fleming then endorses this by reminding his child-readers that they should listen to the cautions of their mothers; but worthy of note is the fact that he doesn't seem to have his tongue anywhere near his cheek when offering this writerly advice - he means it.)  Anyway, for most of this novel I didn't know whether to laugh or exclaim in a 'what!'-like manner; so if you would like to experience a similar reader-response this might be the book for you.  If not, try the film - much more straightforward and 'truly scrumptious'.

The Neverending Story - Michael Ende

It was my second time to read The Neverending Story; and like the best of books it suggested itself, grabbing my attention as I stared hopefully at the bookshelves.  I was duly prepared for Fantastica, a land populated by stories and under threat from the 'nothing'.  At its best this book is sublime - a real treat for the imagination and fantastically written; it even tops Momo, another Michael Ende favourite, in places.  In other places, however - about half-way through, when Bastian Balthazar Bux began to create his own world, it slumped a little, reading like a book with fillers.  But I won't knock it for long about that; I thoroughly enjoyed it, flew through it and would happily have read more.

The Ordinary Tale of Captain Love by Padraig De Brún

The next book I am going to talk about is The Ordinary Tale of Captain Love, not yet published but fresh from the pen, and written by the co-owner of Pilchard Books (my husband). You will need to read the book to find out the significance of this picture.

I had already posted a review about The Ordinary Tale of Captain Love, but I didn't do it justice, mainly because I was worried I would be accused of bias. But so what? The author is my husband, and I have just finished, this, his third novel, as yet unpublished, and I feel really excited and proud. I am quite fussy about books, and if they don't grip me, I am very shallow and move on to something more gripping. This was not the case with this tale. I struggled to put it down. My main concern with this story, and I say this very carefully, is that it might not suit the audience that likes the Richard and Judy or Oprah book recommendations, and so it might be tricky finding a publisher. However, a recent event has made me realise that there is a strong possibility that I am wrong.

A couple of weeks ago we attended an event organised by the School of Creative Startups, and the first session was a debate about the Business of Books. We actually went because I thought it was going to be about bookshops, but it was more about authors, agents, and the publishing industry. It was very interesting, but one thing that stood out for me was that publishers are looking for that something different, special. And that's when I realised that that is exactly what my husband has. It is a very creative and unusual story, with twists and turns into the lives of a range of unique characters. Although William is the main character, there are several other fabulous characters, including two policeman, who remind me of the two policemen in Much Ado About Nothing. This story has everything: unexpected death, celebrity scandals, genuine love, cultish religions, adventure in the form of a young girl seeking love from a weak manipulator, and very strong and believable characters, my favourite being Bertie, the misunderstood creative writing tutor, who has made his success via dark pirate stories. This book does have some controversial moments, such as the debate over the character of Bertie, and the cruel treatment of Sophie by David, but there are some characters who you will really treasure. It is a really good read, and a genuinely creative tale.

Wonderboys - Michael Chabon - A Review by Padraig

This book came as a recommendation.  It also sat on our bookshelves for several years, calling out occasionally: 'read me; go on, read me; you'll enjoy it.'  So I did.  And in fairness the opening pages, even the first night's read, filled me with a familiar jealousy - Chabon can describe the minutiae of detail deliciously.  Fortunately, or unfortunately, that experience then ended, and what came next was a determined trawl through a book that had all the dramatic tension of drying paint - drying paint with some self-indulgent self-disgust thrown in for laughs.

Anyway, the blurb and credits told me that Wonderboys is hilarious; so if you like Chabon's humour, go for it.  Personally, I shall leave Chabon on the shelves, occasionally calling to me, for some time to come.

Murder is Easy - Agatha Christie

Please look away now if you are easily offended.  The following sentences make some anachronistic reference to cats.

One of the things that I like about Agatha Christie, a quality that means that I have moved straight on to a new Christie novel, is that she was writing from a different age.  Her social comments then - for example, the tensions between different generations, give us some sense of how things have, and have not changed.

What stood out for me - as a lover of language - is the use of pussy, or 'old pussy' to describe the ageing spinster women in the village of Wychwood.  The phrase is somewhat pejorative; it describes single women who are gossips, inclined to be fanciful and likely to have a cat as their closest companion.  Christie uses the word with a casual affection, however; and her 'old pussies', as Miss Marple, or Miss Pinkerton in this case, ably demonstrate, are generally underestimated - they are the ones who solve the crime.

Which, of course, is what I didn't do.  I knew who the killer was from the first moment I met the character.  Then, having followed a narrative that introduced a range of other plausible suspects, my suspicions were confirmed - my chosen suspect was the one.  Christie, however, simply toys with her readers - me as well.  She allowed me a few pages of I knew I was right smugness before she upended the novel and showed me that I was wrong all along.  Well done you 'old pussy'
.

The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe - C.S.Lewis

Some people will say that there's a problem when Peter gets to kill a villainous wolf, stabbing it with his sword so that it is covered with blood and hairs.  Susan and Lucy, meanwhile, get to weep over a dead Aslan, or play nurse to wounded soldiers.  Such anachronisms aside, however - and there are others who will argue that men should not kill either, should rather take on some peace-time nurturing qualities - this is a delicious book, teaching us how important it is to be honest and kind and fun-loving.  I recommend it then; and now that I am out of the wardrobe, I might try to get back in sometime.

The Magician's Nephew - C.S.Lewis

The pleasure of this book was enough to take me on to the second one, so the recommendation is already there.  It is well-written, as you would expect, simple language, well-constructed.  It is also politically incorrect - for republicans at least - favouring a world of royalty and a clear segregation between the ruling and the ruled classes.  What I noticed, to my surprise, is the similarities - without the cruelties - to The Island of Dr Moreau (H.G.Wells).  The animals talk, some of them at least, and they take on human qualities - one of the concerns for Aslan is that they will slip back into their animal ways.  Anyway, to return to the beginning, I recommend this book.  If you haven't read it, you're missing out.

True Grit - Charles Portis

This came as a recommendation.  I had also seen the John Wayne film - I have since seen the re-make.  It opens as a revelation; the blurb suggests echoes of Mark Twain, but I was reminded of Harper Lee - To Kill a Mockingbird.  The heroine is young, fresh, direct and innocent.  She has a lively style to match - plenty of small-town wisdoms and original political/religious comment.  The ending is disappointing, however.  Having spent half the book preparing Mattie Ross, a fourteen year old girl, for her journey into Indian territory with Rooster Cogburn - a True Grit Deputy Marshall, Portis seems to tire of the story.  We rush through the details then - all the killings and survivals - at a helter skelter pace, and lose most of the slow adventure of the build-up.  I finished it nonetheless, and would recommend the book - if only for the
first hundred pages.

The Invention of Hugo Cabret - Brian Selznick

As a student of film one of the lessons I enjoyed learning concerned the difference between the film pioneers, the Lumiere Brothers and Georges Melies.  The Lumieres were realists; and they busied themselves travelling around and filming real things - one of their classics is The Arrival of a Train in La Ciotat; the plot involves a train arriving in La Ciotat.  

Melies, however, was an illusionist; he specialises in surprising us, or making us dream.  His stories are absurd fantasies; and he takes us among other places to the moon and the sun - his explorers journey to the sun in a train.  Of course, in real terms, Melies travelled far less than the Lumieres - Melies filmed in a studio; but the lesson remains the same, the further a film takes you - think Star Trek - the less the characters actually have to travel.

Anyway, I love this book.  I also loved the film; but the book, with its many illustrations and film stills, has a particular charm of its own.  It concerns Georges Melies, though it is not a biography; it is a fantasy about a boy who saves Georges Melies by finding and re-building an automaton that Melies once invented.  As children's novels do it has simple, recognisable morals; it is also full of pleasure, awe, excitement and escape, and it is determinedly, deliciously old fashioned.  Well worth it.