Review: See What I Have Done by Sarah Schmidt

I freely admit that I picked up See What I Have Done simply because it's beautiful. I was browsing in Waterstones and just doesn't resist the embossed grey cover and the neon orange pages. I even put it down a few times and tried to walk away, but I just couldn't follow through. Luckily, I ended up enjoying the story almost as much as the aesthetics (even though I spent an unreasonable amount of my reading time stroking the cover).

Plot summary: When her father and step-mother are found brutally murdered on a summer morning in 1892, Lizzie Borden - thirty two years old and still living at home - immediately becomes a suspect. But after a notorious trial, she is found innocent, and no one is ever convicted of the crime.

Meanwhile, others in the claustrophobic Borden household have their own motives and their own stories to tell: Lizzie's unmarried older sister, a put-upon Irish housemaid, and a boy hired by Lizzie's uncle to take care of a problem.

This unforgettable debut makes you question the truth behind one of the great unsolved mysteries, as well as exploring power, violence and the harsh realities of being a woman in late nineteenth century America.

I knew parts of the Lizzie Borden story - I knew that her parents had been murdered and that it was publically accepted that 'she done it,' but somehow it couldn't be proved in Court and she was subsequently acquitted. Turns out I was wrong about some of the most fundamental parts, however - it occurred in Boston, not London as I had thought, and she was a full-grown adult. Maybe it was just because she features in a skipping rhyme, but I thought I knew she was a child when it happened. This was king of jarring, to be honest, but my lack of knowledge is hardly the author's fault.

See What I Have Done is primarily a story about the people surrounding the death of Mr and Mrs Borden, not the facts of the case. The narrative of the chapters alternate between Lizzie, her sister, their maid and their uncle's colleague (weirdly) as they discuss the events of the fateful day and shortly afterwards. There wasn't a great deal of distinction between the four as their voices sound eerily similar, with the exception of the heavy implication that Lizzie has some sort of mental illness. Still, they were all very readable and the function of all four characters was evident.

I'm slightly confused about the inclusion of their Uncle's friend, Benjamin, however. I've done a bit of googling and I can't work out if he was a real person, or if he was just included to provide an alternative theory as to the murders. I know it's a very character-driven piece of fiction, but I can't quite see the benefit of completely fabricating a person who became heavily involved in the plot of the novel. It may be that I've just missed him in my 'research' (although it's a bit of a stretch to call it that) but even if so, some parts of the story could never be verified.

With that in mind, I'd imagine it's only very loosely based on actual events. The author states in her Afterword that 'the case didn't interest me in the slightest,' but she became interested in the people after Lizzie had come to her in a dream. As you may have guessed, it's a very... floaty Afterward.

I enjoyed reading this book, although even now I'd be hard pressed to tell you even now what the evidence was, who the suspects were and why Lizzie wasn't convicted. The story ends immediately after the funeral and before the Police investigation really starts, and then there's a quick epilogue ten years or so later. There's no discussion of it at all and it's odd that even the characters barely wonder in their narratives who murdered Mr and Mrs Borden.

As I said, the characters were interesting and it's well-written enough. Lizzie herself was crafted remarkably well, particularly with regard to her twinges of instablity. There's only a hint of it, but it's there. It's just bizarre that a book about Lizzie Borden doesn't discuss who murdered her parents. There's a heavy implication throughout that she was responsible, but this is mostly based on her mental state and not factual evidence, and the novel doesn't actually reach a conclusion. The different factors aren't tied together very well at all and it's very vague about what could have happened. It's even difficult to piece together a chronology as the narratives of the characters doesn't always match up with regard to timings - they jump around a little and it's quite jarring.  

See What I Have Done is an interesting idea and it definitely captivated my attention. It also corrected the erroenous information I had about Lizzie Borden's age and the geographical location. However, I finished the book a little unfulfilled. I just don't understand the point of writing a book that feels unfinished. Why discuss Lizzie Borden and not theorise who the murderer was!?

You can stay in Lizzie Borden's house! Is this not the best thing ever!?  

Review: The French Lieutenant's Woman by John Fowles

At least I know how to spell 'lieutenant' now...?

I think I'd heard of this book before, in the vague way that a book's title is occasionally ingrained into the public consciousness, without any understanding of the content or theme of the novel. Such was The French Lieutenant's Wife. I'd heard of it, but what did I know about it? Nada.

(EDIT: And apparently I've still learned absolutely nothing as I keep calling it by the wrong title... )

Plot summary: Of all John Fowles' novels The French Lieutenant's Woman has received the most universal acclaim and today holds a very special place in the canon of post-war English literature. From the god-like stance of the nineteenth-century novelist that he both assumes and gently mocks, to the last detail of dress, idiom and manners, his book is an immaculate recreation of Victorian England. Not only is it the epic love story of two people of insight and imagination seeking escape from the cant and tyranny of their age, The French Lieutenant's Woman is also a brilliantly sustained allegory of the decline of the twentieth-century passion for freedom.

I bought this after spotting it (and eleven other books - oops) in a charity shop, despite being completely unenlightened by the vagueness of the synopsis above. Even though I knew absolutely nothing about the plot, I simply had to read it based on how much I'd loved The Collector the year before. I'd adored John Fowles' formal yet chatty narrative, and the way his characters (although dislikeable) were brought to life. I knew at the time that I had to read more of his work. All of it, if possible.

And here we are. The French Lieutenant's Woman is a simpler plot than The Collector, at least prima facie. The book is set in Lyme Regis in the 1860s, and revolves around a young, recently engaged couple, Charles Smithson and Ernestina Freeman. In the same town, there's a young woman by the name of Sarah Woodruff who has been scorned for a scandal involving, you guessed it, a French lieutenant. 

That's it, really. That's the story. The beauty with this novel, however, isn't the plot, it's the beauty and ingenuity of the prose. It's sort of meta, or it would be if that didn't seem an inappropriate word to use regarding a setting of 1867. Instead of the dark, stream of consciousness narration present in The Collector, the narrator spends a lot of time talking directly to the reader, with phrases such as 'you'll have to excuse Charles, he was merely a product of his time.'

It has a similar tone to The Crimson Petal and the White, come to think of it. It's very much as if the narrator is guiding you along, nudging you to keep up and follow the characters. The author actually pops up as a minor character at one point, just to sit there and muse about the nature of novel-writing. It's odd, but not jarring.

It's balanced very well though, and stops short of becoming abstract. There's a definite story here and it's not difficult to follow, despite the frequent musings of the pecularities of the Victorian Age. If anything, that was my favourite thing, and it seems to be what has earned The French Lieutenant's Woman its glory.

She was a ploughman's daughter, fourth of eleven children who lived with their parents in a poverty too bitter to describe, her home a damp, cramped, two-room cottage in one of those valleys that radiates west from bleak Eggardon. A fashionable young London architect now has the place and comes there for weekends, and loves it, so wild, so out-of-the-way, so picturesquely rural; and perhaps this exorcizes the Victorian horrors that took place there.

I hope so; those visions of the contented country labourer and his brood... were as stupid and pernicious a sentimentalization, therefore a suppression of reality, as that un our own Hollywood films of 'real' life... Each age, each guilty age, builds high walls round its Versailles; and personally I hate those walls the most when they are made by literature and art.

I can't find the quote that I actually wanted to share, but the frequent and direct comparisons between the Victorian era and the current time (well, the 1960s) are so naturally inserted into the text, and are so imminently readable, that I just devoured them.

Honestly, without them the book wouldn't be half as interesting. The plot is simple and the main character is profoundly irritating. Charles Smithson is just awful. One minute he loves Ernestina for her little quirks, the next he can't stand the exact same little quirks... ugh. And his attitude towards Sarah Woodruff also doesn't make a whole lot of sense.

The ending is... odd. You're provided with an ending in the natural course of the novel, obviously, but then the author pops up and says 'but because I'm a writer, I can explore what also could have happened,' and then we're provided with two other endings. It doesn't state which is the 'real' one, but then that's sort of the point - Fowles states that because the whole thing is a work of fiction, each ending is as real or unreal as the next.

He's right, I suppose, but I do really prefer a fixed ending. 

It's fine though, my enjoyment of The French Lieutenant's Woman wasn't spoilt by Charles Woodruff nor John Fowles. Read this just for the prose, which reminds me quite a lot of The Crimson Petal and the White, with a smidge of The Collector. It's so, so well-written in such a unique manner, that I really do recommend that everybody pick it up.

Read my review of The Collector.

Review: All Quiet on the Western Front by Erich Maria Remarque

There isn't really an appropriate word to describe this book. Amazing is over-used and wonderful sounds too cheerful. Perfect would be incorrect. If I can't even find the right word for the first adjective in the whole review, I'm not going to be able to do this book justice when it comes to actually talking about it, but I have to try. All Quiet on the Western Front was so much more than I expected and it completely blew me away.

Plot summary: In 1914 a room full of German schoolboys, fresh-faced and idealistic, are goaded by their schoolmaster to troop off to the 'glorious war'. With the fire and patriotism of youth they sign up. What follows is the moving story of a young 'unknown soldier' experiencing the horror and disillusionment of life in the trenches.

I thought this was about cowboys. Yeah, I know. I can see the giant poppy too.

I'm not even sure why I picked it up off my shelf that morning. I was in a rush and panic-picked a book that I could comfortably leave on my seat without a client believing they were being represented by a mushy teenager. Snobbery, so sue me. I glanced at the blurb and, after being disillusioned of my cowboy-related fears, I shoved it in my bag.

I read the first few pages at lunchtime and didn't know whether to cry or be sick. You know when a book grabs you completely within a page or two, and the world just sort of... stops? I put the book down and was just sat, staring blankly into space whilst everything that had just happened swirled around my head.

Every second that I was not reading All Quiet on the Western Front, I wanted to be. It's simultaneously really easy to read and really difficult. It's quite obviously not a happy story. There are no chirpy evacuees, no whirlwind romances and no duck-shaped gas marks. This is solely one soldier's experiences of life at the Front and it is brutal.

What make this book a classic, however, is the humanity of it. Paul is nineteen years old, bullied into joining up by well-intentioned teachers, and he is now numb inside. This is not a story of one man's terror, as Paul is past that now. Instead he is resigned to his death, protective of the new recruits, betrayed by authority and sickened by his life at home. There is so, so much feeling in this book.

They were supposed to be the ones who would help us eighteen-year-olds to make the transition, who would guide us into adult life, into a world of work, of responsibilities, of civilized behaviour and progress - into the future. In our minds the idea of authority – which is what they represented – implied deeper insights and a more humane wisdom.

But the first dead man that we saw shattered this conviction. We were forced to recognize that our generation was more honourable than theirs; they only had the advantage of us in phrase-making and in cleverness. Our first experience of heavy artillery fire showed us our mistake, and the view of life that their teaching had given us fell to pieces under that bombardment.

While they went on writing and making speeches, we saw field hospitals and men dying: while they preached the service of the state as the greatest thing, we already knew that the fear of death is even greater. This didn’t make us into rebels or deserters, or turn us into cowards – and they were more than ready to use all of those words – because we loved our country just as much as they did, and so we went bravely into every attack. But now we were able to distinguish things clearly, all at once our eyes had been opened. And we saw that there was nothing left of their world. Suddenly we found ourselves horribly alone – and we had to come to terms with it alone as well. 

There is a narrative, to an extent. Paul gets sent on offensives, gets some home leave, gets injured, etc. There's a story here, to an extent, but it's much more valuable for the emotion contained within. It's as if somebody has handed you a big ball of Feelings, tied up with string.

All Quiet on the Western Front is traumatic. Not for the graphic gore or the bloodshed (although obviously there's fairly prevalent), but for the aspects of war that we are so removed from. I read this three weeks ago now and it's still going through my head. That said, it somehow avoids being a depressing book. I never felt miserable, despite reading about the atrocities that are somehow acceptable in wartime. Instead I felt, and still feel, so incredibly blessed and so lucky that our generation has been able to experience growing up without fear.

Visit the British Legion's website and learn more about the Poppy Appeal here.

Review: Wolf Hall by Hilary Mantel

It amuses me no end that the previous owner of this book has scrawled 'BORING' at the top of the first page. Seriously. I wouldn't say it's strictly true but I can see where they're coming from. It's not the easiest book in the world to plough through.

Plot summary: England in the 1520s is a heartbeat from disaster. If the king dies without a male heir, the country could be destroyed by civil war. Henry VIII wants to annul his marriage of twenty years and marry Anne Boleyn. The pope and most of Europe opposes him. Into this impasse steps Thomas Cromwell: a wholly original man, a charmer and a bully, both idealist and opportunist, astute in reading people, and implacable in his ambition. But Henry is volatile: one day tender, one day murderous. Cromwell helps him break the opposition, but what will be the price of his triumph?

Historical fiction seems to run one of two ways.

Option A: Philippa Gregory
  
These books get a lot of stick but I quite like them. They focus more on bringing characters to life and sustaining your interest more than any sort of historical accuracy. There's a lot of dialogue and not much prose. They're entertaining and a quick read, and you really care about the characters, but you probably shouldn't put much stock in anything you've 'learned.'

Option B: Hilary Mantel

These books are long and dense. There's not much dialogue and background information tends to be explained in prose. These can be more of a chore to pick up than the other kind and often expect you to have some prior knowledge, but you come away feeling likeyou at least know more about the time period than you did previously.

Why is there no middle ground? Why do I have to choose between entertaining and informative!? Because, whilst Wolf Hall certainly felt educational, I'm pretty sure I would have been more inclined to continue turning the pages of a Philippa Gregory book.

It's just so... dense. See, I love the Tudors. I have a fairly impressive related non-fiction book section on my shelves and I'm That Person who always talks over television documentaries. I got the third highest score in the country for A2 history. But even I thought Wolf Hall was unnecessarily long.

It follows Thomas Cromwell, who rapidly rises from Cardinal Wolsey's Secretary to Chief Minister of Henry VIII, primarily by bringing about the King's divorce of Katherine of Aragon. It discusses Cromwell's ascent to power in great detail and is therefore centered around Tudor politics for a large portion of the book. Not the interesting politics either - Henry and Anne Boleyn rarely actually pop-up - it's consists more of the behind-the-scenes squabbling with other politicians. There's a lot of prose and a lot of dialogue and I really struggled to be interested in some of it.

It assumes a fair amount of prior knowledge which I just didn't have, egocentric above paragraph notwithstanding. I struggled to keep all the politicians and ministers straight, especially as they have two or three different titles used interchangeably. I couldn't always figure out who worked for who, and which party supported each side, etc etc. I shudder to think how long this book would have been if she's actually explained herself properly.

The bits that I did like, I liked a lot. Henry's squabbles with Anne Boleyn, for example. But even then, I'm tempted to consider whether it's just the history that I like. I have always, and will always, take great pleasure in the fact that Anne was eventually executed. Justice be served and all that. Funny how I started to take an interest in this novel when Henry started flirting with Jane Seymour.

I'm not sure it's actually all that well written either. It follows Thomas Cromwell, as we've established, but I don't think the narrative refers to him once by name. It just says 'he did this, and he did that...' When three or four people are involved in a scene, it mays it very difficult to figure out exactly who's talking and several times I had to skip back a few paragraphs just to figure out what's going on.   

I think it would be fair to say that I liked this more than it appears from the above (one day I'm going to embroider that on a bloody pillow). There were parts of it that I did enjoy, I just struggled to pick it up once I'd put it down again and some it I outright skimmed. I'll probably buy the next book, Bring Up The Bodies, if I see it in a charity shop, but I admit that's partly because Anne Boleyn hasn't died yet...

Read Bex's thoughts about Wolf Hall at An Armchair by the Sea. 

Review: Queen of Bedlam by Laura Purcell

I've started using the library near work recently. Firstly because it gets me away from my damn desk instead of actually taking the final step and making a nest out of my paperwork, but secondly because the fifteen minute walk each way won't exactly hurt either. The upshot, book-wise, is that I've been requesting books like mad and I've been able to try out all those books that were on my wishlist but I wasn't quite ready to take the plunge and purchase. Enter Queen of Bedlam.

Plot summary: London 1788. The calm order of Queen Charlotte’s court is shattered by screams. The King of England is going mad. Left alone with thirteen children and with the country at war, Charlotte has to fight to hold her husband’s throne. It is a time of unrest and revolutions but most of all Charlotte fears the King himself, someone she can no longer love or trust. She has lost her marriage to madness and there is nothing she can do except continue to do her royal duty.

Her six daughters are desperate to escape their palace asylum. Their only chance lies in a good marriage, but no prince wants the daughter of a madman. They are forced to take love wherever they can find it, with devastating consequences.

The moving true story of George III’s madness and the women whose lives it destroyed.

I know relatively little about George III and Queen Charlotte, other than he was the father of Hugh Laurie's Prince Regent but went slowly mad (which was the reason for the Regency in the first place). Medical historians now think he was suffering from porphyria, which is a genetic blood disorder that can cause psychiatric disturbance. It's actually really interesting, which is why I wanted to read Queen of Bedlam in the first place.

Unfortunately the book isn't like that at all. Perhaps the clue is in the title - Queen of Bedlam, not Mad King of England. It's about Queen Charlotte and the eldest of their daughters, Princess Royal, and it's so... girly.

It opens right as King George starts to lose his grip on reality. On one hand, we're straight into the action. On the other, we have no basis for comparison. We don't know if Charlotte and George are actually in love, what he used to be like, how his relationships stand... as a result, I just didn't care.  

So Charlotte is stomping around and Princess Royal (why does the narrative refer to her as that? She had a name) is just whining constantly about how she doesn't get to go anywhere. They're not even unlikeable. To be unlikeable you have to have some form of substance.

Thing is, I like historical fiction to give me some background information about the characters and the period, so I can feel like I'm learning as I read. Queen of Bedlam could be any badly written book about any time period. It's just pages and pages of whiny dialogue and thought monologues, with very little actual prose. 

I admit I didn't finish this. I could have, in fairness. It wasn't so bad that I simply wasn't able to finish it, but then I can't think of a single pleasant thing to say about it, other than the subject matter and the author can hardly get credit for historical fact, even if she doesn't choose to reference it in her work. I got about half way through and then gave up. No regrets.

(You know you spend too much time at work when you accidentally end a blog post with 'Regards' and start looking for your e-signature...)

How do you like your historical fiction? Moving and light, or factual and informative?  

Review: Go Set A Watchman by Harper Lee

This nearly didn't happen; I nearly didn't even purchase Go Set A Watchman. The release date kind of sprung up on me and I was still umming and ahhing the night before. I loved To Kill A Mockingbird, and so I was torn between not wanting to ruin the book I adored, and the possibility that the new book could be amazing - Harper Lee did write this, after all, however long ago. I apologise to everybody to whom I agonised over this decision. I quite obviously did purchase this book and, what is perhaps more shocking, is that I actually liked it.

Contains spoilers because I need to talk about the ending.

Plot summary: Maycomb, Alabama. Twenty-six-year-old Jean Louise Finch - 'Scout' - returns home from New York City to visit her aging father, Atticus. Set against the backdrop of the civil rights tensions and political turmoil that were transforming the South, Jean Louise's homecoming turns bittersweet when she learns disturbing truths about her close-knit family, the town and the people dearest to her. Memories from her childhood flood back, and her values and assumptions are thrown into doubt. Featuring many of the iconic characters from To Kill a Mockingbird, Go Set a Watchman perfectly captures a young woman, and a world, in a painful yet necessary transition out of the illusions of the past - a journey that can be guided only by one's conscience. 

Obviously there's a lot of controversy over Go Set A Watchman -  whether Harper Lee actually consented to its release, whether it was necessary to publish it at all and particularly over the alternations to the character of Atticus Finch. Incidentally, I read an article on the struggles now faced by people called Atticus, and... really? You didn't struggle before this!? I mean, I'm glad your parents are well-read, but... really?

Anyway, from all the hoo-hah, I was expecting that this first draft of a first draft of To Kill A Mockingbird also showed Atticus as a preliminary mock-up - the version that was planned before he became what we all know and loved, and he would therefore likely be different. I was prepared for that. I didn't like the idea and I wasn't sure how I'd deal with it, but I understood.

Except, thankfully, it's not even that. I thought Atticus' alteration was an unintentional by-product of the earlier book; something to be disgruntled about but ignore. However, I'm not sure it's really fair to complain that Atticus is different, when the very fact that he's different is part of the plot. It actually works really well and I like it a lot. Essentially, Scout (sorry, Jean Louise now) has to struggle with the concept that perhaps her father is flawed after all - having pinned all her own moral standings and ideologies on Atticus, she now has to deal with what happens when one of his beliefs breaks away from her own.

It's a clever idea and it mixes things up a bit. I'm not sure how interesting this would be if you hadn't read To Kill A Mockingbird. There would be nothing to compare Atticus to, and therefore most of the nuances of the plot would pass you by. I mean, it makes sense as a stand-alone, but you wouldn't feel Scout's disconnect quite as harshly. That said, why would you read this book before the other? It comes later, both in terms of storyline and publication, so perhaps I'm worrying too much.  

The writing style is distinctly that of To Kill A Mockingbird. It has the same tone, the same atmosphere and just general snugliness. There are a few sentences that were so convoluted I had to read over it a few times to work out what it was trying to say, but we know that this book was barely edited. There are also a few references to American statutes and decisions that just assume you're intimately familiar with them as it never bothers to explain what they actually were, and I was thrown off track a few times by this.

So yes, I liked Go Set A Watchman. I still do, in fact. The only problem is that I finished this book yesterday and haven't been able to get it out of my head ever since. The ending, and the build-up to the ending, is... not what I expected and it left me reeling. I knew, KNEW, that it would turn out that Atticus and Hank were acting sort-of undercover in order to keep an eye on those pesky racists in the village. KNEW IIIIIIIIT. To the point where I was getting quite annoyed at Scout for not realising it sooner.

But then... that did most certainly not happen. Like I said above, I accept that Atticus has changed and I think it makes a good storyline. I'm just not sure I agree with the message of the book and it left me all frowny and scowly. Essentially Scout is appalled at how racist her town has become - her family now even refuse to associate with her beloved housekeeper because of the colour of her skin. Still though, an interesting storyline.

But it's resolved by her uncle hitting her, calling her a bigot and explaining to her that she just has to accept it. Then she nods and smiles, and feels incredibly guilty for daring to contradict her father because she should absolutely just accept that he thinks black people are lesser. She accepts that SHE'S in the wrong.

"You deny them hope. Any man in this world, Atticus, any man who has a head and arms and legs, was born with hope in his heart... They are simple people, most of them, but that doesn't make them subhuman.

You are telling them that Jesus loves them, but not much. You are using frightful means to justify ends that you think are for the good of the most people. Your ends may well be right - I think I believe in the same ends - but you cannot use people as your pawns, Atticus." 

God, Scout. How bigoted of you. 

I'm not necessarily offended, because I understand that times have changed and therefore so have attitudes towards, well, everyone. Black people, women, homosexuals... we're pretty lucky to live in the time that we do. I also know that Go Set A Watchman is almost entirely unedited. It's just that it's confusing and there's no real resolution other than Scout's misplaced acceptance.

To clarify, I'm happy with the book overall and I'm really happy that we got a chance to read it. I just wish that the ending had been a little more thought-out and I didn't disagree with the message so desperately.

How did you feel about Atticus' transformation? Has this book affected how you feel about To Kill A Mockingbird? 

Review: Cross Stitch (Outlander #1) by Diana Gabaldon

Cross Stitch, the first book of the Outlander series that has recently been made into an Amazon Prime TV show, has been on and off my wishlist for years. I'll add it because it seems fun and interesting, but then remove it a few weeks later because it looks unecessarily long and it must have a Mills and Book-alike cover for a reason, right!? 

My point is, I could have read this book years earlier. I hate that.

Plot summary:
In 1945, Claire Randall is back from the war and reunited with her husband on a second honeymoon in Scotland. Innocently she walks through a stone circle in the Highlands, and finds herself in a violent skirmish taking place in 1743. Suddenly she is a Sassenach, an outlander, in a country torn by war and by clan feuds. 

A wartime nurse, Claire can deal with the bloody wounds that face her. But it is harder to deal with the knowledge that she is in Jacobite Scotland and the carnage of Culloden is looming. Marooned amid the passion and violence, the superstition, the shifting allegiances and the fervent loyalties, Claire is in danger from Jacobites and Redcoats - and from the shock of her own desire for James Fraser, a gallant and courageous young Scots warrior. Jamie shows her a passion so fierce and a love so absolute that Claire becomes a woman torn between fidelity and desire, and between two vastly different men in two irreconcilable lives.

Do you ever get that feeling where you know you're going to fall in love with a book by the end of the very first page? On the face of it, the blurb doesn't sound like my usual cup of tea at all. I mean, peri-wartime nurse gets transported to 1740s Scotland where she falls in love with a manly rebel... BUT SHE ALREADY HAS A HUSBAND!? No, thanks. I'll be alright.

Except I don't think I could possibly be alright if I never got to finish this series. There's just something about the tone of the book that infers a touch of respectability to a plot that could turn very silly very quickly. There's a pervading atmosphere throughout, whether Claire is on an isolated Scottish moor or in a bustling castle kitchen, it always seems so real. If I had to sum this book up in one word, it would be 'immersive.' Whenever I picked up this book, I instantly became part of the fictional world - it's just that well-crafted.

Initially I was worried that this would go over my head as I know next to nothing about this period (or most others, to be fair) of Scottish history, but it takes the time to explain what's happening without ever being condescending. To be fair, the rebellion and the Jacobite plots form more of a sub-plot than the main focus anyway. 

There was one point in the story that actually made me literally gasp out loud. A plot twist that I'd never have seen coming and it just made absolute perfect sense. I had to put the book down and excitedly text Charlotte, just in case she'd somehow missed this gigantic revelation when she'd read the book herself. She hadn't, naturally. But it's just SO GOOD. 

I quite liked Claire herself, and she did have the potential to annoy me rather a lot. I appreciated how she didn't just immediately accept that she'd been transported to 1743 and merrily go on her way, like a lot of other protagonists in these books. It took her a while to come to terms with the implications of her new life and to actually believe what the hell was going on. That takes an awful lot more effort to write than "Oh cool, Scotland, you say!? Awesomesauce."

The one thing that bothered me about Cross Stitch, and I'm not usually sensitive to this kind of thing, was Jamie's treatment of Claire. Well, no. That's not strictly true. I understand that, in the past, women were treated in a manner that we now see as barbaric, and it would be unreasonable to expect historical fiction authors to pretend it never happened. So I can deal with that. I wouldn't say I enjoy it, but I accept it as probably not being too far from the truth.

What did bother me was Claire's complete acceptance and self-justification of the beatings she received. She made a token objection at first and then managed to totally reason it out to herself, and it WASN'T because she was trying to hide her identity. I just feel that this isn't in keeping with a World War II nurse somehow - you have a backbone in the rest of the book, where did you hide it then!?

It also doesn't show a lot of consistency for Jamie's character, which comes across throughout a lot of the novel. He's sold as the gentle, educated Clansmen, to the point where we're constantly told that he's a 23 year old virgin because he's never found the right woman. Fair enough. But then he's actually quite horrible and possessive to Claire, over and above what you'd expect from a man from 1743 (because naturally I'm an expert in such things). I'm having trouble reconciling it as anything but an excuse to shove in some aggressive sex and spanking scenes. Speaking of which, NO MEANS NO, arsebag.
 
I should add that I can't help but see him as the kilted pirate from Essgee Production's version of The Pirates of Penzance. My mother and I know it intimately although it doesn't do Jamie a lot of credit... 

Cross Stitch is 880 pages long but I read the whole damn thing in a few days and I could happily have read more. It's so immersive, even when Claire is just sat cleaning out medical supplies. It's atmospheric and fascinating and... argh. It doesn't matter whether you're in a backgroundy bit or an action bit, it's equally engrossing. I feel like I need the second book, Dragonfly in Amber, quite desperately, so I'm sure you'll be hearing from me soon. In the meantime, READ THIS.

Visit Diana Gabaldon here or find her on Twitter.

Review: The Paris Wife by Paula McLain

So I know I'm not meant to be talking about this yet. The Paris Wife was the January pick for our online book club and it would have made more sense for me to discuss it here afterwards, otherwise the other eleven people will be subjected to my over-emotional and hysterical ramblings (you'll see) twice. That said, I really want to talk about it right now, having finished the book approximately twelve seconds ago, so I'll just have to try and come up with something intelligent to say for the 'meeting.'

Plot summary: Chicago, 1920: Hadley Richardson is a shy twenty-eight-year-old who has all but given up on love and happiness when she meets Ernest Hemingway and is captivated by his energy, intensity and burning ambition. After a whirlwind courtship and wedding, the pair set sail for France. But glamorous Jazz Age Paris, full of artists and writers, fuelled by alcohol and gossip, is no place for family life and fidelity. Ernest and Hadley's marriage begins to founder, and the birth of a beloved son only drives them further apart. Then, at last, Ernest's ferocious literary endeavours bring him recognition - not least from a woman intent on making him her own.

Let me start by saying that there is absolutely no chance of any kind of objectivity in this review. I hate Ernest Hemingway and always have. I don't like his works, I don't like his attitude and I don't like his character. I've read a biography and a half, plus two of his novels and his every existence irritates me. If I could, I'd ban every single one of his novels... except he'd probably love the notoriety. The Paris Wife, however, forced me to look at exactly why I hate him so much. This isn't going to make for pretty reading.

My usual take on these novels is to replace the main characters names with standard non-famous-person names to see if the actual story and prose still hold up on their own. To the extent that that was possible here, it does seem to. It's written very well, providing a nice balance of 1930s Parisian atmosphere with dialogue and plot. The dialogue isn't stilted and I didn't have a problem keeping the many characters straight. If I were to replace 'Hadley' and 'Ernest' with 'Richard' and 'Carol,' I feel that it would still be an interesting book.

My only issue with the book itself was that every so often the narrative will change over to Hemingway's point of view. It's only for two pages or so, but it doesn't seem to be evenly spaced out and in my view it's not necessary. It reads as though those passages were shoved in later in an attempt to make the character seem less unlikeable. They're all about how confused he is and how guilty he feels, etc etc. I'm sorry but they're just not plausible. I've read enough about him and known someone enough like him to fully accept understand that they don't think like that. It's not in their nature.

He's real though. Paula McLain has done a truly excellent job in bringing Ernest Hemingway to life. Obviously we'll never meet him and therefore can't give her points for accuracy, but this version of him fits with everything I've read and seems to just jump off the page.

The problem with his lifelikeness (hey, that's a word - or it is while I'm frantically typing like a madwoman anyway), is that I was so damned furious when I'd finished the book. He walks over everybody, screws over his friends and gets annoyed when they object, and generally treats everybody like they should cater to his every whim. He seems to genuinely believe that he should be held to a better standard than everybody around him, regardless of how much they've gone out of their way to help him.

I had someone just like that in my personal life for a while and so this book got to me quite strongly. I was angry and upset with Hemingway for his behaviour, with Hadley for not being stronger and with myself for putting up with it. Sometimes it's hard to separate a book from your own experiences and feelings, but they can bring a semblance of clarity to what had previously confused you. In addition, it shows how beautifully this book is written that it brought my own experiences to the fore.

I'm not sure that Hadley herself was quite as fleshed out as she seemed a little flat and her behaviour was inconsistent. She was ridiculously stoic for a while to an extent that irritated me greatly -  of course he's going to move his Mistress into the house if you don't tell him that you object! It's fucking Hemingway. Instead she decides to be all martyred, but then goes mental and slaps him... and then goes back to martyrdom. Everyone reacts differently to these things, but I felt that her behaviour could have been smoothed out a little.

I'd actually like to sit here and rant about her complete lack of backbone - she lets Hemingway do far too much to her because she's scared she'll lose him if she complains. It really was profoundly irritating. Unfortunately I don't feel that I can fairly do that as I'm not sure how much of it was known to be actually true in real life, and it would hardly be the author's fault for accurately recreating it.

This book surprised me. I'd owned it since July 2012 and never once seriously considered opening it. In fact, I probably still wouldn't have, if it weren't for Bex and her book club. Personal feelings about Hemingway aside, this is a wonderful book. I knew the story already and it still didn't put me off from enjoying the real characters, the beautiful descriptions and somewhat moving story.

Read a much more objective review of The Paris Wife at Write Meg!

Review: The Song of Achilles by Madeline Miller

If you hear a tiny cheer coming from a corner of the blogosphere, don't worry, it's just Charlotte. She's been trying to get one of us (any one will do) to read this ever since she adored it back in April 2013.... wow, April? That's scary. Anyway, she eventually bought me a copy as part of a Ninja Book Swap as apparently I wasn't moving fast enough on my own. However, I now agree with Charlotte wholeheartedly - everybody should read this book.

Plot summary: Greece in the age of heroes. Patroclus, an awkward young prince, has been exiled to the court of King Peleus and his perfect son Achilles. Despite their differences, Achilles befriends the shamed prince, and as they grow into young men skilled in the arts of war and medicine, their bond blossoms into something deeper - despite the displeasure of Achilles's mother Thetis, a cruel sea goddess. But when word comes that Helen of Sparta has been kidnapped, Achilles must go to war in distant Troy and fulfill his destiny. Torn between love and fear for his friend, Patroclus goes with him, little knowing that the years that follow will test everything they hold dear.

Mild spoilers if you don't know the outcome of the Trojan War. Which you should.

I actually had no idea what this was about before I picked it up, not even that it involved the Seige of Troy. I have no excuse for this, considering the book is called The Song of ACHILLES. If pressed, I think I would have guessed that the book was a new story about a descendant of Achilles, his namesake or an imitation. 

Anyway, I would have been wrong because this is about That Achilles. In a way, it's probably a good thing I hadn't realised, as it would only have delayed my reading it. It's not that I don't find the Trojan War interesting, but it has been done an awful lot - I've read Troy by Adele Geras, The War at Troy by Lindsay Clarke and of course I've seen the Eric Bana movie. I didn't have much desire to read the same story again just yet.

Except The Song of Achilles is different, so different. Instead of being a boring recitation of dates, places and characters, this book focuses almost exclusively on Achilles and his lover as people, not historical/mythological figures. The war goes on in the background, almost - it's happening and it's still explained thoroughly, but mostly in the context of their relationship.  

To put the difference in context, I have never rooted for the Achaens/Spartans before. Usually I hope fiercely that just this once, the city of Troy will remain unsacked. Inevitably, it never does and I feel sad for all the people who lost their home, children who were murdered and women who were raped. I always want Helen and Paris to be happy together and the invaders to just go home.

Well, I still wanted that this time round but suddenly I care an awful lot more about the Greeks. I have never been even remotely bothered about this side before, but I caught myself wishing that they'd hurry up and invade so that Achilles and Patroclus would be safe.

It's told in the first person which allows the atmosphere and tension to just seep from the page. There's a huge contrast between the peaceful scenes with Chiron at the lake to the drama in the midst of battle. It's as if Madeline Miller sat there and observed the whole thing, scrawling notes on a anachronistic pad of paper - I felt every emotion as if I were present.

I wasn't sure how the first person narrative was going to work all the way through to the end, but it's clever and beautiful and amazing... and I cried on a train. Like, actual tears dripping down my face. I'd love to post quotes but they'd ruin everything.

I don't think this review has actually helped much as I'd have achieved much the same thing by posting a picture of myself with a pathetic expression and a wad of tissue. If you take one thing away from this though, let it be that The Song of Achilles is far more than a dusty retelling of the Trojan War - it's a beautiful and realistic story about a demi-god and a human, and their everlasting love.

This book was:

• The Most Surprising Book of 2014
• The Most Beautifully Written Book of 2014 

Read Charlotte's review of The Song of Achilles at Lit Addicted Brit.

Review: Z: A Novel of Zelda Fitzgerald by Therese Ann Fowler

This might seem like an odd read for me, considering that I didn't 'get' The Great Gatsby and I only tolerated Tender is the Night. I didn't know that much about F. Scott Fitzgerald's wife, however, other than she's seen as one of the first flappers and allegedly had a few mental health issues. Plus the book is pretty. It does help.

Plot summary: When beautiful, reckless Southern belle Zelda Sayre meets F. Scott Fitzgerald at a country club dance in 1918, she is seventeen and he is a young army lieutenant. Before long, Zelda has fallen for him, even though Scott isn't wealthy or prominent or even a Southerner and keeps insisting, absurdly, that his writing will bring him both fortune and fame. When he sells his first novel, she optimistically boards a train to New York, to marry him and take the rest as it comes. 

What comes, here at the dawn of the Jazz Age, is unimagined success and celebrity that will make Scott and Zelda legends in their own time. Each place they go becomes a playground: New York City, Long Island, Hollywood, Paris, and the French riviera - where they join the endless party of the glamorous, sometimes doomed Lost Generation that includes Ernest Hemingway, Sara and Gerald Murphy, and Gertrude Stein. Everything seems new and possible, but not even Jay Gatsby's parties go on forever. Who is Zelda, other than the wife of a famous - sometimes infamous - husband?

This is clearly a very fictionalised account, although to be fair it never pretends to be otherwise. A large portion of the novel is dialogue which I would assume comes straight from the imagination of the author. After all, we can know dates and facts, but few private conversations are actually recorded for posterity. It's not really a problem as this is a novel, but it's something to keep in mind.

It's an odd mix of style - there are some truly wonderful literary passages, but then some very light and fluffy parts. It can be possible to mix the two, and I know that some people's lives are like that, but the two styles read like two separate books. It results in a novel that's very up-and-down - I had to be careful to put it down during a part I was enjoying or I simply wouldn't have wanted to pick it back up again!

I do like Zelda Fitzgerald - as a fictional character here, at any rate. It begins a little obviously - you're practically bashed over the head with how unique and sparkly Zelda was a girl. Hindsight is always twenty-twenty, after all. The character settles down shortly afterwards and I did find myself rooting for her. She was so... naive, I suppose. So hopeful.

Parts of it, like the below passage, did affect me quite strongly. The narrative doesn't really go into Zelda's (or Scott's, actually) mental illness very thoroughly and I did notice the absence.  It seemed like such an odd aspect of her life to skip over. Her time in various hospitals is documented, but not really the reason she was there or the eventual outcome.

We drank too much after dinner, and when my parents had gone to bed, we ended up in a truly ugly fight - and I ended up with a black eye. I was of the mind that I deserved what I got; it had seemed to me a fair fight, no different than I'd have had with my brother or any of the kids I'd grown up with. When my folks saw me in the morning, though, they were horrified.

Obviously, it's very sympathetic towards Zelda and at least moderately anti-Scott. I'm aware that authors rarely write books about historical figures that they didn't like to begin with, but I was surprised how thoroughly any flaws or repurcussions from Zelda's actions were glossed over.  Again, I know it's a novel but it's not a very well-balanced one.

I did finish Z furious at F. Scott Fitzgerald and with half a mind to boycott his novels (although I admit this would hardly be an inconvenience), so it clearly did affect me. Unfortunately it's not a feeling that stuck with me and I've now sunk back into my usual Fitzgerald-related apathy.

I think that's the kicker for me with this one. I did enjoy it but it's almost instantly forgettable. I wasn't particularly desperate to finish it and it's not something I'm likely to reread, but I don't regret the time I spent with it. If I were you, I'd probably head to the library for this one.

Read Lit Nerd's review of Z here.

Review: Longbourn by Jo Baker

Oh Longbourn. I wanted so hard for us to be friends. I even think we were friends for a while, but then you spat on that friendship by putting all my favourite characters into a bag, shaking them up and then raping their original personalities for good measure. No friendship can survive such a betrayal, even though we started out on such good terms. I am afraid that I simply do not like you and we should go our separate ways.

Plot summary: It is washday for the housemaids at Longbourn House, and Sarah's hands are chapped and bleeding. Domestic life below stairs, ruled with a tender heart and an iron will by Mrs Hill the housekeeper, is about to be disturbed by the arrival of a new footman, bearing secrets and the scent of the sea.

For in Georgian England, there is a world the young ladies upstairs in the drawing room will never know: a world of poverty, love and brutal war.

In case you haven't gathered, Longbourn is a retelling of Pride and Prejudice from the perspective of the Bennetts' servants. Or that's the theory anyway, but we'll get to that. I'm one of that rare breed that's up for a spin-off, despite loving the original beyond all rational comprehension. I have 65 copies of the damn thing, and I'm still willing to read a retelling because I love the characters. I wish more than anything that Jane Austen had written a sequel; as she unfortunately refrained, modern retellings will have to suffice.

I hadn't actually heard of this one until Ellie pointed it out to me in WH Smith's last week but I knew it was instantly a must-have. It's such a unique concept and the few pages I skimmed were written so beautifully that I brought it home and read it right away. Genuinely, I loved it. The prose could have been Austen herself it's so descriptive and lovely. It flows, unlike some of the other spin-offs I've read with their clunky language and anachronisms. I'd even go so far as to say that it's the best I've ever read in that respect.

The research that has gone into Longbourn is also astounding. It opens with Sarah and the other household staff cleaning the Bennett's petticoats; I'm hardly an expert in Georgian laundry but the detail is just wonderful. The novel as a whole does give a feel for the era in a way that other books just don't capture.

Unfortunately, the prose and the detail just can't rescue this book from the abyss. It's pretty damn bad. It's sold as the servant's perspective on Pride and Prejudice, but it does so only in the loosest way possible. Don't for a minute think that this is about Elizabeth or Jane, or even Lydia - it's very much about the servants and their petty issues.

Which would actually be fine, if they were servant-related issues. Instead we're treated to Sarah's whining about the Bingley's black footman and her petulant sulking with Mrs Hill. The familiar events of the original are mentioned almost in passing, as a background to Sarah's incredibly unrealistic life. I really don't think it could stand up as a story in its own right - only the ties to the original kept this afloat and that was a near thing.

There's sex, war, violence, slavery... everything that Pride and Prejudice lacked apparently. Clearly Austen must have just forgotten to put it in, so let's heap it in with a shovel! I'm not sure if maybe the aim was to show that the 'upstairs' girls don't have to think about these things and 'downstairs' girls do, but it just doesn't work. It doesn't fit in a novel that tries to recreate Austen. It's actually quite graphic in parts and I really didn't appreciate trailing through the account of a soldier in the Napoleonic War. If I wanted to read historical military fiction, then I would - I really don't need to be surprised by the mass murder of children in an Austen recreation. Jesus.

Sarah herself is pretty horrendous. She's alternately whiny, stubborn, stupid and naive. There are literally no likeable qualities about Sarah and towards the end she makes a decision so catatonically stupid that I wanted to thwack her with the book so she could feel my pain. I know literary heroines aren't renowned for their good sense and rational decisions, but COME ON.

Just wait until you see what they've (the author is a They now, apparently) done to Mr Bennett. The other original characters are more or less true to form, to be fair. Jane, Elizabeth, Lydia, etc... they don't feature much in the book but they act reasonably as expected when they do pop up. Mr Bennett though, absolutely not. I just don't understand why that was necessary - there's no way on this Earth that That would have happened and it really, really frustrates me.   

I struggled to finish this book as this story continues past the end of Pride and Prejudice, after Elizabeth and Darcy (he's in the entire book once, for less than a page) are married, and it really flounders without the support system of the original. I was desperate to skim-read the last chapter or two, just because it dragged on beyond all logical necessity. 

To conclude, Longbourn starts very well indeed, with beautiful prose and thorough research. Unfortunately, it quickly sinks into being sappy and boring with one-dimensional, irritating characters and it simply would not be able to stand on its own feet without its links to the original. 

Read my review of Death Comes to Pemberley here.

Review: The Last Runaway by Tracy Chevalier

I own every book Tracy Chevalier has written. I've painted portraits with her, I've hunted for fossils and I've woven portraits - each and every time feeling like I was part of the text. Each book has taught me something new, provoked an interest in a section of history I barely knew existed. And yet I had little previous interest in The Last Runaway. It's about a very specific time and a place completely alien to and after all, it had been a while since Ms Chevalier had produced a book. It would be fair to say that I approached it with reservations... which were then completely blown away.

Plot summary:  When modest Quaker Honor Bright sails from Bristol with her sister, she is fleeing heartache for a new life in America, far from home. But tragedy leaves her alone and vulnerable, torn between two worlds and dependent on the kindness of strangers.

Life in 1850s Ohio is precarious and unsentimental. The sun is too hot, the thunderstorms too violent, the snow too deep. The roads are spattered with mud and spit. The woods are home to skunks and porcupines and raccoons. They also shelter slaves escaping north to freedom.

Should Honor hide runaways from the ruthless men who hunt them down? The Quaker community she has joined may oppose slavery in principle, but does it have the courage to help her defy the law? As she struggles to find her place and her voice, Honor must decide what she is willing to risk for her beliefs.

Let me start by saying I had no interest in 1850s Ohio. It might even be more accurate to say that I had minus interest in 1850s Ohio. It just wasn't something I'd ever cared about and couldn't see myself ever doing so in the future. However, Tracy Chevalier has a gift for awakening an interest in her readers that they never knew existed. This woman can make me care about anything.

There's just something about them. For a start, they're very hard to classify as a genre. On the face of it they should be historical novels, but they're much, much more character-driven than is usual. It's this that really makes her books stand out, The Last Runaway included. I don't know how she does it, but this is a masterpiece of characterisation.

Honor Bright is a wonderful character, despite her slightly twee name. She whines a little, but I think most of us would in her situation. It's rare to find such well-rounded and real characters in fiction and I finished the book feeling like I knew her personally. The other characters were slightly less complete, but yet it still felt like the effort had been made to help them jump from the page.

The ending is slightly more dramatic than I was expecting, I think. I took up an entire page of my review notebook writing about it, so it clearly made quite an impression. Unfortunately I can't quite decide that that impression actually is. I'm not sure it quite fit with the rest of the book or the characters, but my gut reaction was, for want of a better word, "OMG!" The shock really hit me hard so it can't have been that unrealistic or I'd have dismissed it.

There's one tiny thing that bothered me, and it is a small thing. Honor frequently refers to her time spent in England... but it sounds like no England I've ever heard of, even in the 1850s! I know the author has spent more than a decade in this country, but it still comes across as an American's idea of what the UK should be like. In addition, shouldn't her name be Honour, then?

I really did enjoy The Last Runaway, all the more so because I wasn't entirely sure what to expect. I'd say the bottom line is that it doesn't matter if you think you have no interest in the subject matter - a truly great author can capture your attention regardless, and Tracy Chevalier does exactly that. An engrossing plot, wonderful characters and beautiful scenery - definitely one of the best books of the year.  

Thank you to Harper Collins for providing me with a copy of this book! Visit Tracy Chevalier's website here, or find her on Twitter.