Book 2 in the Simon Serrailler crime series is starting to feel a little like a cross between The Archers and Midsomer Murders. It’s not quite a domestic drama and it’s not quite driven by the police procedural elements.
I’m wondering whether poor Martha Serrailler is long for this world… angels of death seem to be working her care home.
So, reading this for my book group. It’s not my usual reading material: non-fiction, no plot or chronology, written by an eighty-two year-old playwright and Jungian psychologist.
It’s not an autobiography, not even a memoir. It is, according to itself, a notebook containing her observations on age and on society. Rambling. Unstructured. Containing a lifetime of knowledge, experience and opinion ruminated upon in the isolation of age.
It’s essentially a blog. And so far we have considered the nature of evil, humanity and age.
As an example, I’ll leave this snippet which I found quite moving.
The Man Booker prize, which is not without its politics, controversies and critics has, nevertheless furnished me with some of my most memorable reads recently: Eleanor Catton’s The Luminaries, which led me to her wonderful The Rehearsal, Ruth Ozeki’s A Tale For The Time Being, How To Be Both by Ali Smith, Niall Williams’ The History Of The Rain. Gorgeous, unique and powerful – occasionally experimental – voices.
The year’s list (the covers for which look amazing) are:
Bill Clegg (U.S.), Did You Ever Have a Family
Anne Enright (Ireland), The Green Road
Marlon James (Jamaica), A Brief History of Seven Killings
Laila Lalami (U.S.), The Moor’s Account
Tom McCarthy (U.K.), Satin Island
Chigozie Obioma (Nigeria), The Fishermen
Andrew O’Hagan (U.K.), The Illuminations
Marilynne Robinson (U.S.), Lila
Anuradha Roy (India), Sleeping on Jupiter
Sunjeev Sahota (U.K.), The Year of the Runaways
Anna Smaill (New Zealand), The Chimes
Anne Tyler (U.S.), A Spool of Blue Thread
Hanya Yanagihara (U.S.), A Little Life
So hopefully the above link has embedded the Google Sheets Spreadsheet into the blog to share how many of the 52 books I’ve read and whether – after a little hiatus – I have managed to keep on track.
Seem to be struggling with the Book Turned Into a Movie category… I’m sure that cannot be too tricky!
I’ve never fully understood the huge concern people have with spoilers… Maybe because I’m one of those people who prefer the journey to the destination.
Anyway, I’m the event that others might be upset, here be spoilers:
Now these are jolly nice looking covers. And Dragons!
Her head hurt. There was a sound grating against her mind, a music-less rasp like the rustling of paper. Somebody had taken a laugh, crumpled it into a great, crackly ball and stuffed her skull with it. Seven days, it laughed. Seven days.
I’ve never read Hardinge – although a quick Wikipedia search shows she was born in the same year and county as me! But there is something gorgeous in her use of figurative language: the crumpled crackly laugh above vanish “like breath from glass” as two warm hands close around hers “as if they were a nest for it” and recalling her name, Triss, “seemed a bit more natural” than her full name, Theresa, “like a book falling open on a much-viewed page”.
I do like each of these similes and metaphors… But I wonder if they all needed to be included in page 1 before Triss has even opened her eyes. I wouldn’t go so far as to describe it as purple prose… but maybe a hint of lilac is creeping in…