Review: The Moonstone by Wilkie Collins

The Moonstone has to be one of my all-time favourite books. I originally read it as part of a read-a-long hosted by Lit Nerd in 2013 (!) and I subsequently read The Woman in White, which I liked but possibly not quite as much. As I'm now participating in a read-a-long of a biography of Wilkie Collins (see my first check-in post) and, as I'm feeling a bit sorry for myself anyway, I thought that re-reading The Moonstone alongside might be just the thing to cheer me up.

Plot summary: When Rachel Verinder receives a gift of an astonishing yellow diamond from her bitter old uncle for her eighteenth birthday, she has no idea that the stone brings great danger with it. When the diamond goes missing during the night the ensuing investigations gradually bring to light the sinister history of the jewel and the passions and plots of those close to Rachel.
  
Whilst that is an accurate summary, it's almost irrelevant. The fascination with The Moonstone isn't the plot or the mystery; it's how wonderfully it was written.

The basic premise is that the mystery of the diamond has now been concluded, but one of the principal characters is now trying to put together a file on what happened and has asked several other characters to relate their understanding in a sensible, logical manner. We're left with a chronological narrative, from the (extremely biased) perspectives of several changing points of view.

Some parts of this novel are downright hilarious. My favourite characters are Mr Betteredge, a gently sexist butler with absolute loyalty to his Lady, and Miss Clack, an extremely devout and irritating younger relative. It makes me happy that I bookmarked the same quotes this time as I did during my first reading.

From Mr Betteredge:

It is a maxim of mine that men (being superior creatures) are bound to improve women - if they can. When a woman wants me to do anything (my daughter, or not, it doesn't matter), I always insist on knowing why. The oftener you make them rummage their own minds for a reason, the more manageable you will find them in all relations of life. It isn't their fault (poor wretches!) that they act first, and think afterwards; it's the fault of the fools who humour them.  

From Miss Clack:

Here was a golden opportunity! I seized it on the spot. In other words, I instantly opened my bag, and took out the top publication. It proved to be an early edition - only the twenty-fifth - of the famous anonymous work (believed to be my precious Miss Bellows), entitled The Serpent at Home. The design of the book - with which the wordly reader may not be acquainted - is to show how the Evil One lies in wait for us in all the most apparantly innocent actions of our daily lives. The chapters best adapted to female perusal are 'Satan in the Hair Brush'; 'Satan behind the Looking Glass'; 'Satan under the Tea Table'; 'Satan out of the Window' - and many others. 

I love how the characters all now know who stole the diamond as they're writing their narratives but have been forbidding from setting it out. It results in them sort of bickering amongst themselves as they criticise decisions that have already been made and indignantly rant about accusations levied at the time. It's so petty and clever and perfectly done. I love (and sympathise with) Miss Clack's petty hatred of Rachel Verinder especially.

It's funny and an absolute joy to read. Reading Wilkie Collins' biography alongside this book has provided a slight insight into certain matters. Druscilla Clack, for example, highlights Mr Collins' distaste for the religion into which his parents tried to force him and the strong female characters throughout the novel confirm (as the biography alleges) that he was quite sympathetic towards women in general. Unlike Mr Betteredge, clearly.

The Moonstone isn't all fun and games, however. It's quite dark in parts - a cursed diamond is stolen, sinister 'Hindoo' men are lurking about, massive debts are entered and hearts are broken. It's lauded as being one of the first modern detective novels (it preceded Sherlock Holmes by 19 years) and I can absolutely see why. There's an all-seeing detective who is never taken seriously, a locked room mystery and witness accounts almost always hold something back. For all that, though, it has dated really well and I still couldn't figure out whodunnit until the very end.

Speaking of timelessness, the thing that impressed me the most about this book was the ending. For a novel about a precious jewel that was stolen from an Indian tribe, the ending is very respectful towards different cultures. It was something that I expected to jar with me throughout my reading, but it was a very pleasant surprise. Very ahead of its time.

I can't explain how much I adore this book and it has to be on my Top Ten Favourite books ever. The characters are delightful (even if you wouldn't exactly want to have dinner with them), the mystery is riveting and the writing is hilarious. Please, please read The Moonstone and then immediately come back here and talk to me about it.

Review: The Godfather by Mario Puzo

Let me start out by saying that I actually didn't want to read this in the slightest little bit. It was offered to me by my secretary at work, who I actually really like, and my super brilliant social skills kicked in and I panicked and said 'Yes please!' That's right, I read it out of obligation. Do I have any regrets? No, I do not. The Godfather is, to my absolute surprise, actually very good. It's a classic for a reason.

Plot summary: Almost fifty years ago, a classic was born. A searing portrayal of the Mafia underworld, The Godfather introduced readers to the first family of American crime fiction, the Corleones, and their powerful legacy of tradition, blood, and honor. The seduction of power, the pitfalls of greed, and the allegiance to family—these are the themes that have resonated with millions of readers around the world and made The Godfather the definitive novel of the violent subculture that, steeped in intrigue and controversy, remains indelibly etched in our collective consciousness.

The only previous experience I had with The Godfather was when a boyfriend sat me down to watch the three hour movie... of which I promptly slept through at least two and a half hours. Ever since then I've used the movie as an example of one of those massively over-rated pop culture tripes, that everybody (especially men, in this case) feels compelled to say they like but nobody actually does. I couldn't follow who the characters were, there didn't seem to be much of a plot and, to be honest, I couldn't understand a damn word they were saying.

I haven't rewatched the film since reading the book, so I can't comment on it fairly. I barely remember it (sleeping through the majority of a film will do that to you) but I've read that it sticks very close to the book. With that in mind, it may just be that I find it easier to follow fiction in print than on the screen. There has to be a reason for it, because I ended up liking The Godfather book an awful lot more than I did the film.

It still took me twenty to thirty pages to work out who was who, but in a 600 page book that's hardly the end of the world. It seemed quite heavy going at this point - it was mostly explanatory prose with some dialogue thrown in - and I still wasn't sure if I was going to like it. There are a lot of characterS in The Godfather and it does take some time to get to know them all.

That's the thing about this book though. For all its reputation and controversy, there's not all that much action. There's some, obviously, and I'll get back to that later, but it's more about the Family ties, the atmosphere and the dialogue. For that to work, you do need to know a little of their background, so I can forgive it for being a little slow to start.

I'm not sure at which point I realised I was enjoying this book. It's quite slow-paced, but I was engrossed before I really knew it. I liked the tone of it, I think. It's very dark - whenever I think of it, I picture it hidden in the shadows somehow. There are some amazing twists and turns that I didn't see coming and made me literally gasp out loud.

It is brutal, in parts, but it's more that the decisions and plans made are brutal rather than the actual violence itself. It's a lengthy, notorious novel about the Mafia so obviously there is some violence but it's no more graphic than what you'd see in an everyday thriller (and less graphic than some).

However, The Godfather isN'T perfect. The thing that irritated me the most is Mario Puzo's apparent need to explain what a character means when they've finished speaking. As an example:

*Somebody speaks*

'What was important was that Barzini by speaking out was saying that...'

This happens a lot and it's profoundly irritating. I know what the inference was from his speach, I read the damn thing. I don't need to have a translator bobbing along next to me. God. It's otherwise written to a reasonable standard, which made this particular issue stand out all the more. 'What Kay Adams meant by this was...' ARRGGHHH.

Secondly, the author's view towards women. I know, I know. 1960s Italian-American mobsters. I know. But it goes further than that. Minor spoilers, but only for the minorest of sub-plots:

Highlight to read.

Okay, so there's this woman who won't sleep with a particular Doctor for months. She eventually does, and then cries, and then the Doctor says, "Oh, it's because you have a giant vagina! Women have killed themselves because of that before. I'll pay someone to fix it and then I'll test out the results!" And then she says, "Oh, thank you for still being willing to have sex with me!" to which he replies "No, no. We'll have to have anal instead." So she cried and thanks him even more.

It gets worse. She goes for the surgery and they detail it explicitly. A whole page is dedicated to how to surgery is performed - 

'Kellner was working on the diaohragm sling, the T forceps held the vaginal flap, and exposing the ani muscle and the fasci which formed its sheath. His gauze-covered fingers were pushing aside loose connective tissue.'

A whole page. It's just weird and unnecessary. But seriously, WHY IS THIS HERE!?

I can deal with the whole 'women deserve to be beaten if they don't behave properly.' I don't like it and I certainly don't condone it, but it was somewhat to be expected in a book like this. The above section is unnecessary, crude and incredibly offensive. The whole thing (her reaction included) bothered me to such an extent that I had to put the book down for a day.

If I discount that scene, I did really enjoy The Godfather. There are a few other bits that didn't really make sense for them to be there at all and that scene bothers me a lot, but we're talking four pages out of a 600 page book. I loved the slow pace and the atmosphere of The Godfather. The twists take you completely by surprise because I felt as though I knew every character completely, and genuinely felt a little lurch in my stomach as I realised what was happening. I don't think I'll read the next book, The Sicilian, as it follows somebody completely different, but I was pleasantly surprised by how much I enjoyed The Godfather and I will be looking for my own copy soon.

Read Laura's review of The Godfather at Devouring Texts.

 

 

Review: Peter Pan by J.M. Barrie

Peter Pan is the first book this year that completely embodies the spirit of The Year of Reading Whatever the Hell I Want. I've had the 1996 set of children's classics as long as I can remember, and therefore this book (and The Wizard of Oz, The Water Babies, etc) has sat on my shelf since pretty much forever. Only, when Ellie mentioned that she was reading it, I couldn't remember ever having actually picked it up myself. I mean, I'm sure I must have but I had zero recollection. So, in the spirit of reading whatever the hell I want, I thought 'eh, I'll read it now!' And I did.

Plot summary: One night when Mr and Mrs Darling were out, Peter Pan flew down to their house. In no time at all he had taught their children, Wendy, John and Michael, to fly, and they were off to Neverland on the most exciting adventure of their lives. In Neverland, where the lost boys never grew up, they met mermaids and pirates - including the terrible Captain Hook, whose hand had been eaten by a crocodile.

I'm so happy I read (or reread, who knows?) this book - it's completely different from what I was expecting. It's surprisingly well-written for a 1912 children's book in a sort of chatty, snarky tone that made me snort at times. Whilst the plot is obviously aimed at a younger generation, I never once felt that I was reading something too young for me as I was busy amusing myself with the writing. 

Or at least, I was when I didn't try and over-think it. I was talking about this with Ellie, and we couldn't quite work out whether the tone was meant to be tongue-in-cheek, or whether Mr Barrie was actually quite serious about his comments regarding women and the like. I'm leaning towards intentional humour as it's just a little too over the top if he meant every word.

The bed was tilted against the wall by day, and let down at 6:30, when it filled nearly half the room; and all the boys except Michael slept in it, lying like sardines in a tin. There was a strict rule against turning round until one gave the signal, when all turned at once. Michael should have used it also, but Wendy would have a baby, and he was the littlest, and you know what women are, and the short and the long of it is that he was hung up in a basket.

Wendy's play-acting as a mother was pretty much my favourite thing about the whole novel and I really hope it's satirical. She's meant to be about twelve years old, but runs about doing chores and to her babies. Her smugness is genuinely hysterical.

When she sat down to a basketful of their stockings, every heel with a hole in it, she would fling up her arms and exclaim, "Oh dear, I am sure I sometimes think spinsters are to be envied."

Her face beamed whenever she exclaimed this. 

I love her. Well, much more than I like Peter himself, anyway, who is much more of an arse than he appears to be in the Disney film. Is it okay to not like Peter Pan? He's rude, verging on cruel, to the other boys and Wendy sometimes, and there's a passage about how the whole island sort of relaxes and breathes a sigh of relief when he's not there, but tenses up again whenever he returns. Disney made him much more loveable.

The plot is very similar to the Disney movie (or should I say that the plot of the Disney is very similar to this!) as it doesn't appear that they changed much. The mermaids, the Indians, the crocodile... it's all here, if slightly more brutal. Still, it was a classic adventure book aimed at boys, what can you expect? Captain Hook dismembers one of his crew with his own hook and references are made to tripping over the bodies of the people Peter Pan has quite casually murdered. Nice. 

I actually do recommend this book. It's much engrossing than I expected, with a writing style that's just perfect, regardless of intent. I'm tempted to wander off and watch the film now, but I honestly don't think it's anywhere near as good as the book. 

 I'll link to Ellie's review here, if she posts one. Feel free to twiddle your thumbs in the meantime.

Review: Miss Buncle's Book by D.E. Stevenson

The gift note tucked inside the cover of this book tells me that Charlotte bought this for me in 2012 during my law exams, bless her. My exams finished, I subsequently became distracted by things that did not involve having to look at words on pieces of paper. It happens. Three years down the line and I really wish I'd read this sooner. Sorry Charlotte.

Plot summary: Barbara Bunde is in a bind. Times are harsh, and Barbara's bank account has seen better days. Maybe she could sell a novel ... if she knew any stories. Stumped for ideas, Barbara draws inspiration from her fellow residents of Silverstream, the little English village she knows inside and out.

To her surprise, the novel is a smash. It's a good thing she wrote under a pseudonym, because the folks of Silverstream are in an uproar. But what really turns Miss Bunde's world around is this: what happens to the characters in her book starts happening to their real-life counterparts. Does life really imitate art?

Dorothy Emily Stevenson (later Peploe) was a Scottish author in the 1930s and 1940s. She wrote a lot (40+) of light, romantic novels, in the good old days where nobody had sex and marriage proposals were conducted with a cup of tea in front of the fire. Miss Buncle's Book follows suit, although it seems to be her most famous work. This book is just lovely - it made me want to snuggle down into an armchair and drift into the world of Silverstream.

Or Copperfield, as the little village is described in Miss Buncle's new book. A little short of cash (and flatly refusing to have anything to do with keeping chickens), Miss Buncle decides to earn some money the only way she can - by writing a book. By her own admission she is slightly devoid of imagination, so she writes about the only thing she knows - the inhabitants of the village around her.

Miss Buncle's Book charts the release of her book and the desperation of the villagers to uncover just who is responsible for that 'despicable piece of trash.'

It's just so nice. Even the characters who are slated in her book aren't really nasty - they just receive a gentle nudge in the right direction. Not that they see it that way, of course. However, it's also quite clever in a subtle, satirical way. Miss Buncle is naive, but Dorothy Stevenson was most certainly not. Her observations are framed in such a way that will make readers smirk, even while Miss Buncle is chatting quite unknowingly to the two young lesbians next door.   

On that note, it's quite a forward-thinking book. There are lesbians (in trousers!) and a man and a lady are friends. It makes the book cute and lovely, but at the same time it doesn't feel horrendously outdated. Now I think about it, it could have been set this year and it wouldn't have seemed any different.

I've now added a good four books of Ms Stevenson's to my wishlist, including the sequel to this book, Miss Buncle Married. From this book alone, I would read everything she has ever written, although admittedly it may take me a while. I do wonder why less than ten of them are back in print, but I'll worry about that when I've exhausted the accessible novels.

In short, I really do recommend Miss Buncle's Book for a charming, witty novel that gently pokes fun at village life.

Read another review of Miss Buncle's Book at A Midnight Blog.  

Review: Carmilla by Joseph Sheridan le Fanu

I've been on a bit of a Victorian gothic kick lately - The Yellow Wallpaper, We Have Always Lived in the Castle and now Carmilla. Unfortunately I now seem to have run out of options and I'll be relegated to The Fault in Our Stars or something equally ghastly. I'm joking of course - that's dreary and depressing in a whole different way :/

Plot summary: A young woman living at her father's castle is the narrator of this novella. When a mysterious and beautiful stranger is stranded at the castle in odd circumstances and becomes a guest, the heroine quickly forms a close bond with her --but she subsequently discovers that her "friend" has a dark and lethal secret.

So. Apparently Carmilla was written twenty six whole years before Dracula, which surprised me because that's where I thought the whole popular myth originated.   Well, it may be responsible for the prominence of the superstition today, but it certainly wasn't the origin. The usual accoutrements of vampirism are present in Carmilla - pinprick marks on the neck, sexual attraction (admittedly very tamely - we are in 1872, after all), stakes and coffins. They even use the word 'vampire,' which indicates that the myth was at least somewhat well known at the time.

It's a damn sight shorter than Dracula, only 98 pages or so, and it's much more female-orientated. The blurb of my copy made it sound just short of some gothic lesbian fantasy (I can only imagine the Google hits I'm going to get now...), but it's really not like that at all. 

Essentially, Laura is a bored nineteen year old girl who ends up with a beautiful, female houseguest. They quickly become close friends and occasionally exchange the occasional cheek stroke and mutterings of adoration. Girls Gone Wild XXX, it is not. I realise I sound quite disappointed about this, but I was surprised by just how much I liked this book. 

The plot itself is quite simple, but it's suitably ominous and creepy. There's even a Van Helsing-esque character who comes along to teach us all the secrets of the vampires. Which, admittedly, aren't all that secret in 2015. But points for effort, ey?

There's not a whole lot more I can say about Carmilla, considering it's 98 pages long and we're all familiar with the basic vampire tale. I liked this an awful lot more than I expected though - there are no frills and no padding. Just straight-up creepy vampire women :)

Read my review of Dracula here.  

We Have Always Lived in the Castle by Shirley Jackson

I added this to my wishlist right after finishing The Haunting of Hill House earlier this year. I'd link you to a review, but like almost every other book I've read this year, I didn't write one. I chose to learn Russian instead. Yes, I am also a little confused as to why. Anyway, I knew I wanted to read every book she had ever written, and We Have Always Lived in the Castle is the author's most famous work. I now completely understand why and I'm in total agreement. It's amazing and I want to lick it.

Plot summary: Living in the Blackwood family home with only her sister Constance and her Uncle Julian for company, Merricat just wants to preserve their delicate way of life. But ever since Constance was acquitted of murdering the rest of the family, the world isn't leaving the Blackwoods alone. And when Cousin Charles arrives, armed with overtures of friendship and a desperate need to get into the safe, Merricat must do everything in her power to protect the remaining family. 

I was absolutely hooked by the end of the first page. It's narrated by Merricat, or Mary Katherine Blackwood, in a very formal yet oddly chatty tone. She lives with her sister, who was formerly on trial for poisoning the rest of their family, and their Uncle Julian, who somehow managed to survive the whole thing. It's one of those books where the truth is finally unearthed with little hints here and there, dotted in and amongst the narrative of their daily lives.

The trial and the murder aren't the focus of We Have Always Lived in the Castle though, not really. It's more of a background feature to explain why the two women live alone and why the village dislikes their presence to such a vehement extent. The subtlety of it makes it all the more fascinating. The main plot revolves around their Cousin Charles, who suddenly rolls up one day and begins what Merricat refers to as The Change.

As with most of Shirley Jackson's books (from the two I've read and what I've heard of the others), there's a very Gothic, mysterious atmosphere that seems to creep from the very pages. Merricat likes to hide little treasures in the ground of their property, as apparently this will create some kind of ward to protect her and Constance from the outside world. She never quite comes out and says that she believes she has magical powers, but the implication is very much there. 

My name is Mary Katherine Blackwood. I am eighteen years old, and I live with my sister Constance. I have often thought that with any luck at all I could have been born a werewolf, because the two middle fingers on both my hands are the same length, but I have had to be content with what I had. I dislike washing myself, and dogs, and noise. I like my sister Constance, and Richard Plantagenet, and Amanita phalloides, the death-cup mushroom. Everyone else in my family is dead.

There's also a mental illness theme that runs through this book. It seems to be a trademark of Shirley Jackson's to keep the reader on their toes - half the time you're not sure whether the characters have psychological issues or there really is something worrying going on. Aside from Uncle Julian's obvious difficulties, both Constance and Merricat have been affected by the trial and the death of their family, and it shows in their actions. Both are agoraphobic, although to different extents, and both are stuck in the mindset they carried during That Time six years previously. It's very cleverly written. 

I don't feel like this review is really doing any justice at all to the book. It's hard to capture the subtlety and the atmosphere of this book, that is just written so beautifully. Even the ending is perfect, in a lot of different ways. I haven't been able to stop thinking about it since I turned the last page and I would be very surprised if this book didn't make my Top Ten Books of 2015 list. 

Read Laura's review of The Haunting of Hill House at Devouring Texts.

Moby Dick Read-a-Long - There's Safety In Numbers!

I know, I'm sorry. I seem to have a knack of picking the books to read-a-long that nobody wants to read ever.

But isn't that kind of the point? We read War & Peace, because seriously, who on earth is going to plough through that on their own? Now we're going to read Moby Dick, a) because that's what the huge majority of people voted for, and b) I've had it for three years and hadn't even picked it up until today (and that was only to check how many pages the damn thing had).


So yay, read-a-long!

It's going to run in the same way the War & Peace read-a-long did. Every Sunday I'll post a list of questions/prompts that you can follow if you want to. If not, just chuck together a quick update post of your own devising, pop back here and link up.

We'll be tweeting about it using #letsreadmobydick so feel free to join in even if you don't have a blog.

Let's see... there are 634 pages in my edition and I've allocated six weeks for the read-a-long. That's just over 100 pages a week and it looks surprisingly accessible from my quick flick through.

So come on, you know you want to. As Charlotte pointed out last time, there's safety in numbers!

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: War & Peace by Leo Tolstoy

It's been a while since we finished the War & Peace read-a-long and I hope everybody's finally got used to reading whatever the hell they want again! It took me a few weeks to get rid of the pervading feeling of guilt I felt because I was reading something that wasn't an epic Russian classic. Now we're a few months on, I thought I'd take the time to write a proper, overall review of the book, with the benefit of hindsight, time and space.

Plot summary (HA!): Tolstoy's epic masterpiece intertwines the lives of private and public individuals during the time of the Napoleonic wars and the French invasion of Russia. The fortunes of the Rostovs and the Bolkonskys, of Pierre, Natasha, and Andrei, are intimately connected with the national history that is played out in parallel with their lives. Balls and soirees alternate with councils of war and the machinations of statesmen and generals, scenes of violent battles with everyday human passions in a work whose extraordinary imaginative power has never been surpassed.

The prodigious cast of characters, seem to act and move as if connected by threads of destiny as the novel relentlessly questions ideas of free will, fate, and providence. Yet Tolstoy's portrayal of marital relations and scenes of domesticity is as truthful and poignant as the grand themes that underlie them.

I love how even the blurb can't be arsed to try and unravel the various plots... 

War & Peace can best be summed up in one simple sentence - 'not as bad as I expected.' I mean, come on. It's one of the most intimidating books available in the English language; people who have never touched a page of this tome use it as a simile for something unecessarily long or arduous. It's long, it's huge and it's filled with teeny tiny little text.

So why read it then? Well, while I concede this makes me an awful human being, I wanted to Have Read It. I know, right? In my defence, I don't intend to trot it out at dinner parties (like I have the type of friends who host dinner parties anyway) or bludgeon people with my reading history. I just like secretly holding the fact to myself, that I have read War & Peace.

In truth, it was alright. I will admit that it started a great deal better than it ended as it suffered a gradual decline into tedium. To begin with, I was looking forward to picking up War & Peace, which is a statement I never thought I'd say. I was managing to read other books alongside, but I didn't mind putting them aside to go back to 1800s Russia.

It opens in the city itself, with a lot of gossip, scandal and drama. To be honest, it could be a Jane Austen novel if you replaced all the furs with ribboned bonnets. Who wants to marry who, who's too poor to marry, who needs to settle down and stop messing about with the boys... etc. It's interesting.

We then flit to the war with Napoleon. I found the wars bits mildly less interesting, but it was somewhat reassuring that I could pick out odd parts that I remembered from A-level history. The problem with the military parts is that Tolstoy assumes you already know and intimately understand the Napoleonic Wars. He refers to the Russians as 'we' and occasionally tangents into discussions of what should have been the appropriate cause of action.

This does sound a little odd, but if you were reading a historical fiction novel about World War II, aimed at English-speaking audiences, you wouldn't really expect it to bother explaining the war and how it happened and who was Allied with who, would you? I suppose Tolstoy didn't really expect his epic novel to become the renowned worldwide staple that it is today, and therefore didn't bother explaining himself all that much.

Anyway, I managed to struggle through the war parts with a combination of Shmoop and my slightly foggy A2 knowledge. I admit that I did spend most of it wishing we could hurry up and get back to the court gossip though. The two parts tend to alternate, at least for a while - War, Peace, War, Peace, War, Peace. Unfortunately, as the war becomes more serious and Russia starts to lose, it becomes more:

War, Peace, War, War, War, War, Peace, War.   

By this point, I think a lot of us had started to struggle. It was quite long-winded, quite dry, a little ranty and we had been reading the damn thing for two months by that point. It's hard to tell whether our disssatisfaction was purely due to the book itself or our desire to read something, anything else.

My main issue with War & Peace is that it seems Tolstoy didn't plan a damn thing before writing it. Aside from the obvious point that the book is unecessarily, obnoxiously long, he goes off on mad tangents that I can only assume were affected by whatever was going on in the real world around him that week. We spend a few chapters off on an insanely detailed hunting trip because (genuinely) Tolstoy was on a hunting expedition in real life. In another part, one of the characters decides to shlep off and join the Freemasons - it's rumoured Tolstoy came across some Masonic documents around that time.

His lack of planning is also evidenced by the sub-plots that are left hanging and aren't dealt with, and his sudden killing off of characters that he doesn't need anymore. Look, it's 1800s Russia. I understand that a lot of people are going to die. Yay realism. But he spends ages building up your relationship with a certain character... and then kills them off in a pragraph because they've become unecessary! ARGH.

The ending is quite anti-climactic as well, as it just assumes you know what happened after Napoleon limped out of Russia. It just kind of... stops.

The fundamental, over-arching Point of War & Peace, and correct me if I'm wrong, seems to be that military leaders don't have a whole lot to do with the eventual outcome of battles or revolutions. It's more related to the spirit of the people and the wings of the butterfly. There's a whole pretentious epilogue to spell this out for you, but that's the very basic gist.

I'm glad I understand the underlying principle or I may have felt that the three months I spent reading this book were a waste of time. As it happens, I don't think that. I enjoyed reading this, much more than I expected to, and I've come away understanding a little more about Napoleonic Russia. I don't see myself needing to read this again, honestly, but I am glad we took the time to immerse ourselves properly in this epic novel.

We're FREEEEEE!   

Review: The Double by Fyodor Dostoyevsky

Because every sane person decides to pick up a heavy Russian classic in the fortnight before they're supposed to be reading War & Peace. I'll admit, slogging through The Double has not made me feel good about my ability to reach the end of Tolstoy.

Warning: rubbish review ahead, but there is nothing to say about this book.
 
Plot summary: A lonely government clerk - shy, awkward, blundering - finds himself pursued by a mysterious stranger. Somehow he looks familiar. In fact, he realizes, he looks exactly like him. He even has the same name. But, unlike him, he is charming and confident. Soon the stranger starts insinuating himself into his life. He works at his office, stays at his apartment, ingratiates himself with his colleagues. No one seems surprised. Who is he? What does he want? Is he a double, or something darker altogether? 

I'm sure I'm missing all kinds of symbolism and metaphor here, but I review for enjoyment and I did not enjoy this book.

It's blessedly short, but it still took me more than a week to read due to the rambling narrative and irritating protagonist. It has what could be quite a sinister, interesting plot and the concept did occasionally make me shudder but that's definitely not down to Golyadkin's indecision about whether to blot his paperwork or not.

I'll be honest - I usually try and avoid using the word, but it's boring. To say it has such a dark plot, bugger all actually happens. Lots of worrying and even more pacing, but that's about it. It's also rather depressing, but hey, it is a Russian classic. Excuse me while I go rein in my shock. 

Worryingly, it's quite difficult to follow as obviously Russian literature is notorious for using three similar-sounding titles for every character. Add to that two characters who are actually the same character and it can't really get any worse.  

I'm rather concerned about reading War & Peace now. To be fair, I read and enjoyed Anna Karenina with no trouble at all, but The Double really was very difficult. I know that there will be people reading this who are rolling their eyes for my lack of actual literary criticism, but that's fine. I'm sure the book is a masterpiece of Russian class commentary or something, but the fact is that The Double is Not An Interesting Book To Read.

Sign-up to the War & Peace read-a-long now! 

Review: I Capture the Castle by Dodie Smith

Somehow I wasn't even aware of the existence of I Capture the Castle until Laura's review earlier this year... although now I reread that, she didn't know about it until she was 20 either. Huh. Anyway, apparently it's one of those staple classics that every woman should read (aside from the fact that neither Laura nor I 'stapled' it until we were 25)... but I'll be honest. I don't get it.

Plot summary: Cassandra Mortmain lives with her bohemian and impoverished family in a crumbling castle in the middle of nowhere. She records her life with her beautiful, bored sister, Rose, her fadingly glamorous stepmother, Topaz, her little brother, Thomas, and her eccentric novelist father who suffers from a financially crippling writer's block. However, all their lives are turned upside down when the American heirs to the castle arrive and Cassandra finds herself falling in love for the first time.

I know, I'm sorry. I really wanted to like this one, especially as I know it's so universally loved and I occasionally do like books, you know. It just read to me like an older, longer and more tedious version of Little Women.

This book had its good points. It absolutely did. My review notebook doesn't quite enlighten me as to what they were and I'm a month behind with reviews, so I can't remember myself... but I'm sure it did. Probably. My lasting memory of I Capture the Castle is of beautiful prose but not a whole lot of actual content.

It's a very character-driven novel, which is I usually quite like. Unfortunately the characters are alternately flat and lifeless, or so annoying I want to shake them. Combining the two is quite a feat. It's told using a first person narrative as we're theoretically reading Cassandra's diary... so how is it possible that I feel I don't know her at all? I may as well have been reading the minutes of my dentist appointment it's so abnormally clinical.

My problem, character-wise, is that we're told to like somebody and then suddenly told not to like them, but by other characters. We're never shown their true personalities so we can make up our own minds, thus it feels a little bit convoluted at times. Cassandra changes her mind about people so often that the other personalities never get chance to stabilise.

However, the prose is beautiful and there are some lovely passages. There's one where Cassandra talks about how she imagines scenarios in her head but then grows to rely on them to get her through the day, which is something I think a lot of teenagers do. I don't find her to be at all relatable on the whole, but this particular quote kind of resonated with me:

Rose came in while Simon was kissing me and was absolutely livid - or was that a later imagining? There have been so many that they have gradually merged into each other. I don't think I could bring myself to describe any of them in detail because, though they are wonderful at the time, they give me a flat, sick, ashamed feeling to look back on. And they are like a drug, one needs them oftener and oftener and has to make them more and more exciting - until at last one's imagination won't work at all.

Most of it, however, was simultaneously boring and melodramatic. I found the first half to be much more interesting than the second half, because it does start to drag towards the end. I felt that the entire point of the novel was lost as it tried to follow too many different paths at the same time. The actual ending made me want to push Cassandra off an extra large cliff as I really can't stand self-imposed martyrdom.

I kind of feel like I should apologise for not liking this book and I'm not really sure why. I know it's loved by an awful lot of people but it's just not for me. The flat and irritating characters plus a rambling plot just didn't add up to something I could 'click' with. I think I'll stick to Little Women.

Read Laura's more positive review of I Capture the Castle at Devouring Texts. 

Review: The Tenant of Wildfell Hall by Anne Brontë

I haven't had much success with Anne Brontë in the past - I've read Agnes Grey but was too simultaneously bored and grossed out by it to say I enjoyed it. However, I was in a Brontë mood after a recent trip to Haworth and the Parsonage (it's about 15 minutes away from my house - no excuse) and the pretty Penguin English Library edition was screaming for my attention from the shelf. Please don't let there be baby-bird-squishing in this one...

Plot summary: Gilbert Markham is deeply intrigued by Helen Graham, a beautiful and secretive young widow who has moved into nearby Wildfell Hall with her young son. He is quick to offer Helen his friendship, but when her reclusive behavior becomes the subject of local gossip and speculation, Gilbert begins to wonder whether his trust in her has been misplaced. It is only when she allows Gilbert to read her diary that the truth is revealed and the shocking details of her past.

I started loving The Tenant of Wildfell Hall almost immediately. I knew next to nothing about the story - for some reason, I had in my head that it was about a young family that lived next door to Wildfell Hall, which was full of ill repute and shame... but apparently not. It did mean that every turn and new character was an absolute surprise, so I was able to discover new revelations at the same time as Gilbert, the narrator.

That took some getting used to, by the way. I didn't realise immediately that the main character was male, which led to some slightly confusing moments. It was partly my own fault for just assuming that the narrator would be female (as is the case with most Brontë novels) but I also can't help but think that the voice just 'sounds' female. Ah well, no harm done.

Whilst I wasn't overfond of Gilbert (the man basically assaults a Pastor and then gets all huffy when said Pastor doesn't want his help to stand up), I really did like Helen, at least to begin with. I felt super defensive of her when the townsfolk were all snooty and smug, which is always the mark of good writing. She does get very preachy and condescending from the 2/3 point or so - and unnecessarily mean to Walter.

It's almost like she grows a backbone... but then has it surgically removed just to prove what a moral and grovelling person she is. The book does give a reason for her doing that, so I suppose (grdugingly) that it does make sense but it doesn't mean I have to like it... *grumbles*

The Tenant of Wildfell Hall is massively ahead of its time. It's no surprise at all that it didn't get a good reception when it was first released. It seems to poke fun at those who would prefer women to be meek and silent, which is odd because that's kind of how I think of the Brontës. It also speaks out against domestic violence, which you pretty much weren't allowed to do in 18-whatever (EDIT: 48!). It's interesting to see the difference between modern pro-women literature and this book, which has to be oh-so-much more subtle.

It’s your business to please yourself, and hers to please you. I’m sure your poor, dear father was as good a husband as ever lived, and after the first six months or so were over, I should as soon have expected him to fly, as to put himself out of his way to pleasure me. He always said I was a good wife, and did my duty; and he always did his—bless him!—he was steady and punctual, seldom found fault without a reason, always did justice to my good dinners, and hardly ever spoiled my cookery by delay— and that’s as much as any woman can expect of any man.

Awesome. All I ever wanted was a man who shows up on time for me to feed him. Be still my beating heart.
I loathed Arthur, simply because he could be real (and probably is). He never hit, slapped or raped Helen once, but the novel doesn't shy away from saying that abuse doesn't have to be physical. Hell, that's a concept many people struggle with today. I suspect that Anne Brontë drew on her brother's behaviour as inspiration for this book, and if so, then I pity her posthumously.

Her gradual change of feelings towards him is very well done. It's subtle and actually almost masterful, instead of having Helen just wake-up one morning and realise that her husband is abusive. She slowly grows stronger as he tests her endurance daily... which is why it's so infuriating when she regresses a little.

    He would not hear of my attending the funeral, or going for a day or two, to cheer poor Frederick's solitude. It was quite unnecessary, he said, and I was unreasonable to wish it. ... 'Besides, dear Helen,' said he, embracing me with flattering fondness, 'I cannot spare you for a single day.'
    'Then how have you managed without me these many days?' said I.
    'Ah! then I was knocking about the world, now I am at home, and home without you, my household deity, would be intolerable.'
    'Yes, as long as I am necessary to your comfort; but you did not say so before, when you urged me to leave you, in order that you might get away from your home without me,' retorted I; but before the words were well out of my mouth, I regretted having uttered them. It seemed so heavy a charge: if false, too gross an insult; if true, too humiliating a fact to be thus openly cast in his teeth. But I might have spared myself that momentary pang of self- reproach. The accusation awoke neither shame nor indignation in him: he attempted neither denial nor excuse, but only answered with a long, low, chuckling laugh, as if he viewed the whole transaction as a clever, merry jest from beginning to end. Surely that man will make me dislike him at last!

I admit that it got a little tedious between the end of Helen's story and the end of the book, when the narrative switches back to Gilbert. I felt that it slowed down the pace of the book somewhat and the whole thing could have been wrapped up a lot quicker. I understand it was necessary to learn about Gilbert's reaction but perhaps not in quite so much detail.

To conclude, I ended up enjoying The Tenant of Wildfell Hall way more than I expected to. It's a very character-driven novel, but the detail with which they're written is almost unbelievable. I felt desperately sorry for Helen, wanted to do vile things to Arthur and even resisted scowling at Gilbert too much. I'd even go so far as to say that this book is the second best Brontë novel.

Read Bex's review of The Tenant of Wildfell Hall at An Armchair by the Sea - although her review is eerily similar to mine!  

Review: Brideshead Revisited by Evelyn Waugh

You wouldn't believe how long I've put off reading Brideshead Revisited. A friend of mine read it when we were 17 or so and adored it - unfortunately when I picked it up based on her recommendation, I couldn't get past the first page. I'm not sure what made me pick it up now - other than my new TBR challenge, anyway. Perhaps I just felt particularly masochistic that day. Did I enjoy it? Umm... well, parts of it. Read on.

Plot summary: The most nostalgic and reflective of Evelyn Waugh's novels, Brideshead Revisited looks back to the golden age before the Second World War. It tells the story of Charles Ryder's infatuation with the Marchmains and the rapidly-disappearing world of privilege they inhabit. Enchanted first by Sebastian at Oxford, then by his doomed Catholic family, in particular his remote sister, Julia, Charles comes finally to recognize only his spiritual and social distance from them.

'The golden age?' Seriously? If this is golden, I'd hate to see what the 'grey and depressing age' looked like.

Even when I'd pulled this from the shelf and settled down in my chair to read it, it took me forever to start it. You know when you're holding a spoonful of particularly nasty medicine and you're aware of how awful it's going to taste, so you keep bringing it to your mouth but then inadvertently stopping yourself? Yeah, that. It took me about 30 minutes to read the first line after a continuous pattern of opening the book, finding the right page... and then snapping it shut again immediately.

Once I eventually had begun reading, I was pleasantly surprised. The prologue is a little dreary as it's set in a rainy military camp, but I understand why that was a necessary part of the plot. After that the book changes completely and becomes rather charming.

I love Sebastian (even though I can't seem him as anyone but Hugh Laurie in my head) and his teddy bear, Aloysius. He's eccentric but in a loveable way - he reminds me of a more mischevious Jay Gatsby. Every single page was a pleasure as I delighted in the light-hearted atmosphere of their days at University.

"That," said the barber, as I took his chair, "was Lord Sebastian Flyte. A most amusing young gentleman."
"Apparently," I said coldly.
"The Marquis of Marchmain's second boy. ... What do you suppose Lord Sebastian wanted? A hair brush for his teddy-bear; it had to have very stiff bristles, not, Lord Sebastian said, to brush him with, but to threaten him with a spanking when he was sulky." 

I was beginning to wonder what people were talking about when they stated how bogged down in religion and morality Brideshead Revisited is. I just didn't understand - there was only teddy-bears and wine! And then I knew. Oh how I knew.

So we have the prologue which is miserable but necessary, and then it switches to light-hearted teddy-bear romping. Unfortunately it then changes back but adds an extra dash of sheer despair for good measure. My god this book is depressing. Nobody is happy in this book - alcoholism, unrequited love, Catholic hand-wringing... it's all here.

It seems like nothing actually happens - there are lots of problems and issue, but none of them are ever resolved. I don't mind sad novels if there's a point to them, but I just don't understand what that would be in Brideshead Revisited. Obviously there is one as it's a hugely popular classic novel but honestly, I lost interest in trying to figure out what that might be (other than Catholicism = misery). I still don't understand certain key aspects, such as why Charles and Julia couldn't get married. 

It doesn't help that nobody is actually likeable in this book; not after they leave University, anyway. I felt that Sebastian was the key figure and I missed him when the narrative moved away from him - everybody was too busy swanning about in despair to actually make me like them.  

I can sort of, kind of, maybe see why this is a classic, but that doesn't mean I have to like it. 

Don't think I'm not aware of what a philistine-ical (hey, that's a word) review this is - just whining about how depressing Brideshead Revisited is and completely missing all of the themes etc. In my defence, I read and review for enjoyment. Frankly and finally, I did not enjoy this.

Help me out - what am I missing with Brideshead Revisited?

Review: To Kill A Mockingbird by Harper Lee

I have spent the last two days so engrossed in this book that I have an uncomfortable tight feeling in my stomach, and I was actually vaguely surprised upon looking up that there is a world apart from 1930s Alabama. I was indifferent about beginning my reread of To Kill A Mockingbird, but now I'm not sure whether to cry, throw up or just continue to wander round with a shellshocked expression. This book is just unbelievable.

Plot summary:
'Shoot all the bluejays you want, if you can hit 'em, but remember it's a sin to kill a mockingbird.'

A lawyer's advice to his children as he defends the real mockingbird of Harper Lee's classic novel - a black man charged with the rape of a white girl. Through the young eyes of Scout and Jem Finch, Harper Lee explores with exuberant humour the irrationality of adult attitudes to race and class in the Deep South of the thirties. The conscience of a town steeped in prejudice, violence and hypocrisy is pricked by the stamina of one man's struggle for justice. But the weight of history will only tolerate so much.

Hmm. I thought the 'mockingbird' of the story was Boo Radley. Thoughts?

I wish there was a way to really and truly impress on everybody just how much they should read this book. I know some schools teach taught it (nice one, Michael Gove) but it's not the same as reading it alone, allowing it to affect you and being willing to take on everything it can offer. I have read it before, in 2009, but I don't think I really 'got' it - or at least, I don't remember feeling the same way I do right now.

To Kill A Mockingbird is the best book I've read all year, which is saying something as my first read was Pride and Prejudice. It helps that I know that book by heart and this was full of surprises, but it doesn't really matter. I literally finished the book ten minutes ago and skipped a review list of twelve just because I want to talk about it now, so excuse me when I start to ramble.

The story builds slowly but very effectively. It's told from Scout Finch's perspective, who is barely eight years old. She only gradually comes to understand what's happening with regard to the trial and even then can't really reconcile the facts with the implications. It's the innocence of the children that really brings home the injustices - Jem, who is 12, is just so damn certain that Tom Robinson is going to be aquitted, with the condescending but well-meaning arrogance of a child. They don't understand people as a whole, and just how deceitful and prejudiced they can be.

Their father, Atticus, has shown them the correct path but they haven't yet grasped that he's different from the townfolk. As their only reference point, they assume that he is the norm, not the exception, and the evidence to the contrary only unbalances their perception of justice.

   "Doesn't make it right," Jem said stolidly. He beat his fist softly on his knee. "You can't just convict a man on evidence like that - you can't."
   "You couldn't, but they could and did. The older you grow the more of it you'll see. The one place where a man ought to get a square deal is in a court-room, be he any colour of the rainbow, but people have a way of carrying their resentments right into a jury box. As you grow older, you'll see white men cheat black men every day of your life, but let me tell you something and don't you forget it - whenever a white man does that to a black man, no matter who he is, how rich he is, or how fine a family he comes from, that white man is trash."

This isn't some dry, dusty legal drama - far from it. The tension and atmosphere in the courtroom scenes is unbelievable. We only see excerpts of the trial as a play-by-play of any case would bore us all to tears, but the parts we do read are just perfect. I honestly felt like I was sat on the balcony with Scout, Jem and Dill, watching every cross-examination and hysterical witness. It seems real.

Obviously some interesting moral and legal questions are raised, but Harper Lee never lectures or drags down the story with them. Apparently the book is based on her father, Amasa Lee, who defended a black client in 1923. Hence the accuracy of the fictional court procedure and presumably the societal attitudes as well, I'd assume.

   Jem was shaking his head. “I know it’s not right, but I can’t figure out what’s wrong — maybe rape shouldn’t be a capital offense....”
   Atticus dropped his newspaper beside his chair. He said he didn’t have any quarrel with the rape statute, none what ever, but he did have deep misgivings when the state asked for and the jury gave a death penalty on purely circumstantial evidence. He glanced at me, saw I was listening, and made it easier. “—I mean, before a man is sentenced to death for murder, say, there should be one or two eye-witnesses. Some one should be able to say, ‘Yes, I was there and saw him pull the trigger.’”
   “But lots of folks have been hung — hanged — on circumstantial evidence,” said Jem.
   “I know, and lots of ‘em probably deserved it, too — but in the absence of eye-witnesses there’s always a doubt, some times only the shadow of a doubt. The law says ‘reasonable doubt,’ but I think a defendant’s entitled to the shadow of a doubt. There’s always the possibility, no matter how improbable, that he’s innocent.”

What really makes this book are the tiny scenes that are trivial and unnecessary for plot development, but touch you nevertheless. My favourite scene in the whole book was where the 'Negroes' donate a larder full of food - just little things that show how intricate and rich with detail To Kill A Mockingbird really is.

My only criticism (and it's a small one) is that I feel it hasn't aged all that well. I mean, it's still more than readable but once or twice I felt a little lost. I'm not always sure what they're getting at. For example, at one point Scout says that she knew what Atticus was trying to do, but it takes a woman to do that kind of thing. I had absolutely zero idea what Atticus was trying to do and I still don't.

I don't think I've adequately expressed the sheer wonder of the this book, but I've reached the end of my frantically scribbled notes. There's just so much symbolism, detail and tension without ever descending into moral lecturing. If you only read one book this year, please let it be this one.

Read Ellie's review of To Kill A Mockingbird (and the film too) at Book Addicted Blonde.