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: Tell The Wolves I'm Home by Carol Rifka Brunt

I... don't understand. I genuinely and utterly feel like I've missed something with Tell The Wolves I'm Home, as I don't feel moved, tearful or even a little sad. I mean, I didn't hate it but it's a profound 'meh' from me on this one, if such a thing isn't too much of an oxymoron.

Plot summary:
There's only one person who has ever truly understood fourteen-year-old June Elbus, and that's her uncle, the renowned painter, Finn Weiss. Shy at school and distant from her once inseparable older sister, June can only be herself in Finn's company; he is her godfather, confident, and best friend. So when he dies far too young of a mysterious illness that June’s mother can barely bring herself to discuss, June's world is turned upside down.


At the funeral, she notices a strange man lingering just beyond the crowd, and a few days later, June receives a package in the mail. Inside is a beautiful teapot she recognizes from Finn's apartment, and a note from Toby, the stranger, asking for an opportunity to meet.


A the two begin to spend time together, June realises she's not the only one who misses Finn, and if she can bring herself to trust this unexpected friend, he might just be the one she needs the most.

I really like the idea of this plot - older relative dies of AIDS and a close younger relative discovers his secret gay lover. It just really appealed to me as something slightly different and I care quite a lot about HIV/AIDS and the associated hysteria in the 1980s. Except I nearly gave up after twenty pages. Tell The Wolves I'm Home is horrendously emotionally manipulative - I've read My Sister's Keeper and it wasn't THIS bad. It's not even subtle - you're really, really bashed over the head with the Sad Mallet to the point where I felt that AIDS was being used almost.

In the end I was glad I persevered. I got into it properly after roughly a third of the book or so, when the drama had settled down and the character growth began. There were plot points I liked and some (more) that I didn't, but occasionally I saw some nice touches that gave the book a bit of character. The room in the basement, for example, or the portrait.

The problem was, I hated everyone. I know that's almost the point of a book like this one - I was shocked and almost offended by the general attitude and ignorance towards AIDS. I know it was basically prompted by fear of the unknown illness, but June's family's treatment of Toby just angered me. So yes, manipulativeness aside, I understand my dislike. Unfortunately I also hated June, which is most probably not the point.

She's annoying, wet and sulky. Theoretically she's fourteen but I struggled with thinking of her as anything but around ten years old. My biggest issue with June, though, was her relationship with her uncle. Not necessarily that she had feelings for him because I'm sure that's natural, but that everybody knew and encouraged it. Why did nobody, including him, deal with that in a sympathetic and understanding manner? I don't see it as necessary - the plot would have worked just as well with a close uncle/neice relationship, so why shove that in there?

Let's move on to Greta. Again, she's over-done and unrealistic. I'm used to stroppy teenagers in fiction but she's too over-the-top and just becomes an irritatingly Actual Bad Person. Also...

Spoilers below. Highlight to read.

What the hell is with the whole 'Oh, I'll just lay down in the woods and dramatically cover myself in leaves because I know June will be psychic enough to decide she has to find me?' crap. WHAT IS THAT!? I think that stuck out as the most unrealistic and over-dramatic part of the whole novel. Which takes some doing.

Spoilers over. 

I think I'm done with ranting about the characters. I know I've spent most of this review discussing them, but they spoilt the book for me. They're just the standard stereotypes of loner girl, bitchy sister, kind uncle, distant mother but then with bits of unrealistic weirdness thrown in.

I guess my main point about Tell The Wolves I'm Home is that it tries too hard. If the story had just been simply about a girl whose uncle died of AIDS and so she sets out to befriend his secret lover, that would have been fine. I would have been moved and affected quite naturally, but this way was too forced and I ended up irritated. As you may have noticed.

Read more positive reviews of Tell The Wolves I'm Home at An Armchair by the Sea and Devouring Texts. 

Review/Rant: Tess of the d'Ubervilles by Thomas Hardy

So it's a little known fact that I write my review notes in the colour I deem most appropriate for that particular book, based on usually nothing more than a passing whim - red for FEED, orange for Mr Penumbra's... and so on. Do you know what colour I chose for Tess of the d'Ubervilles? Black. Blackest black black black black black.

Plot summary: The chance discovery by a young peasant woman that she is a descendant of the noble family of d'Urbervilles is to change the course of her life. Tess Durbeyfield leaves home on the first of her fateful journeys, and meets the ruthless Alec d'Urberville. Thomas Hardy's impassioned story tells of hope and disappointment, rejection and enduring love.

The following review will contain spoilers for Tess of the d'Ubervilles by Thomas Hardy, mainly because I want to rant.

Also contains strong language, for said reason.

This seems to be a complete love it or hate it book. Everybody seems to have an opinion about Tess, whether it's a heart-breaking novel of tragedy and perseverance or a whiny novel about a pathetic protagonist (and some fields). I'm no exception and while I conclude that it does have good points, they were vastly overshadowed by my desperate need to hurl myself out the nearest window.

See? Blackest black black.

Tess of the d'Ubervilles consists of lenghy essays about farming techniques and abstract philosophical ramblings, interspersed with the most depressing story since Les Miserables, and at least the clue is in the name with that one.

Since I've already done a spoiler warning, I figured I'd summarise the plot for y'all:

• Tess' horse dies a painful death. Tess blames herself.
• Tess goes to work as a chicken lady, where she gets raped by Alec. Tess blames herself.
• Tess has a baby, which she dramatically names 'Sorrow,' just before it dies.
• Tess goes to work on a dairy where she falls in love with a nice man. She is not worthy.
• He loves her back and so she resolves to kill herself, naturally.
• He proposes, but after the wedding he confesses that he's not a virgin as he consensually spent a consensual weekend of consensual sin with a consensual woman.
• Tess confesses she was raped.
• Angel is shocked and disgusted by her sin. Tess blames herself.
• Angel eventually runs away to Brazil after a) days of being abusive and b) suggesting to Tess' friend that she be his mistress.
• Tess blames her fucking self.
• Tess' father dies and her mother emotionally blackmails her.
• Tess runs into Alec and becomes his mistress.  
• Angel changes his mind after a year and comes home, but finds Tess has finally seen sense (debatably).
• Tess kills Alec.
• Tess and Angel go on the run... until she is eventually executed after four pages of describing a field.

Now look. I know this all sounds frightfully dramatic - lots of action and suspense and whatnot. Except... no. It's just tedious and miserable. It's a long book to drag out those fifteen bullet points and that's done by tedious essays about morality and the importance of self-reflection.

Tess is the problem, as you may have guessed by my passive-aggressiveness. I just HATED her. She was so mind-numbingly sorry for herself when actually, everything was her own doing (except the rape, obviously). She could have fixed her problems by standing up for herself - even Angel said that he would have respected her more if she stood her ground. She's pathetic. PATHETIC.

So easefully has she delivered her whole being up to him that it pleased her to think that he was regarding her as his absolute possession, to dispose of as he should choose. It was consoling, under the hovering terror of tomorrow's separation, to feel that he really recognised her now as his wife Tess, and did not cast her off, even if in that recognition he went so far as to arrogate to himself the right of harming her.    

No. Just no. She's so pleased that he referred to her as his wife, that she's quite willing for him to harm 'his property.' He sleepwalks, picks her up and carries outside and she's genuinely thrilled at the idea that he's going to drown them both. I'm actually thumping the keys so hard it hurts my fingers right now.

What annoys me most is that she doesn't learn. There's no comeupannce (you know, aside from her eventual execution) and she never understands the importance of self-respect. She just trudges on, sighing dramatically and holding her hand to her head. 

Yes yes, it was a different time period. But the point is, I'm in this period and it aggravates me. I know Hardy was (theoretically) writing from a pro-Tess perspective about all the wrongs men did to her, but it doesn't stop her being the least likeable character in the whole of fiction.

Angel isn't much better - aside from the obvious double standards of 'hey, I spent a weekend with a random woman but I hate you for being raped' asshattery, he morally objects to her (unwilling) lack of virginity but is just fiiiiine when she murders somebody.

 
The ending doesn't make much sense either. I wasn't traumatised or heart-broken, just slightly bewildered. I mean... why kill him? Yes, he raped you but the time for revenging that was long past. You had a little whine that he lied to you but actually he didn't - he surmised to you that Angel wasn't coming back (a reasonable assumption under the circumstances) and you believed him because you are a fucking moron. You don't have to believe everything everybody suggests to you and then you don't have to kill them when you do.

It's out of character and non-believable. I mean, I understand the point is that she finally 'snapped' after all this hardship and took what she wanted instead of what others desired for her... but it still doesn't fit. The very ending itself is incredibly anti-climactic - there's more focus on a stray field than anything else. 'Oh by the way, Tess was executed... but look at this greenery!'

It's suprisingly accessible and easy to read, content aside. There are some marvellous quotes and some beautiful prose, but they were overshadowed by the hugely irritating characters and over-emphasis on farming. I'm quite interested in what Thomas Hardy actually intended this book to say, because I know there's a message here. Either that or he really hated women.

In her misery she rocked herself upon the bed. The clock struck the solemn hour of one, that hour when fancy stalks outside reason, and malignant possibilities stand rock-firm as facts.

We're done here, I think. I'm glad I've read Tess of the d'Ubervilles but I can't particularly say that I enjoyed doing so. I could have dealt with the sad plot, but not with Tess herself. It's a lifeless trainwreck of misery. 

This book was:

• My Favourite Quote of 2014
  

So. I know at least one of you that loves it and at least one that hates it. Where do you stand on Tess of the d'Ubervilles?

Review: Wide Sargasso Sea by Jean Rhys

That has to rank up there with the strangest book covers of all time. Bananas, really? Ugh. Anyway, I have to admit to not really getting along with Wide Sargasso Sea - I found it confusing, uninteresting and vaguely disparaging to the character of Mr Rochester. It's only saving grace was my sudden, desperate need to go read Jane Eyre. Which I did, so... win.

Plot summary: Born into the oppressive, colonialist society of 1930s Jamaica, white Creole heiress Antoinette Cosway meets a young Englishman who is drawn to her innocent beauty and sensuality. After their marriage, however, disturbing rumours begin to circulate which poison her husband against her. Caught between his demands and her own precarious sense of belonging, Antoinette is inexorably driven towards madness, and her husband into the arms of another novel's heroine.

SPOILERS FOR JANE EYRE!

Just in case you weren't aware, Wide Sargasso Sea was written in 1966 as a semi-prequel to the classic work Jane Eyre. Jane herself doesn't feature; instead it follows the sad life of Bertha Rochester, the mad wife of the love interest in Jane Eyre, about whom almost nothing is known. 

It's written in three parts with different narratives - a young girl watching her mother spiral into madness, a newly-married husband and an older woman in despair. The change of POV can be incredibly confusing as there's no warning and no title to tell you which character you're following. I spent the majority of the second part working out who on earth was talking, as it's really not clear at all. It didn't help that I didn't know the main character's name until halfway through the damn book.

There isn't actually a massive connection with Jane Eyre, or not that I could see. I didn't recognise Mr Rochester when he eventually popped up until quite late on. Considering that was pretty much the only reason I read it, it didn't help, especially when the story itself isn't always that riveting. It was repetitive enough for me to think the narrative was actually telling the same event from different perspectives, when it was actually a different event about twenty years later. It's not subtle in the slightest and tries to bludgeon The Point home as hard as possible.

When it does link up with Jane Eyre, it's quite confusing. There is literally no reason why Antoinette suddenly becomes known as Bertha, and there's only a half-hearted attempt to explain it. It doesn't make sense. The whole thing feels like a story that Jean Rhys wanted to write and so she threw in some Eyre-allusions so people would actually read it. 

That said, the third part reads almost like a different book. It connects, it makes sense and it's written incredibly well. Whatever problems I might have with the plot of Wide Sargasso Sea, Jean Rhys can clearly write emotion well. I finished the book profoundly depressed, but that's a sign of an author that knows how to get inside your head. It's stormy, atmospheric and a tense read.

It's also possible that part of the reason I wasn't fond of this book is that it doesn't set Mr Rochester out as an even semi-decent person. I mean, we know from Jane Eyre that he did things in his past he's ashamed of, but Wide Sargasso Sea sets him out to be almost evil. As the only character really consistent in both books, he's the sole measure we have for comparison and it just... doesn't. His conduct, his dialogue and his thoughts don't match up with the Mr Rochester we know. It could be anybody; it's just not recognisable as that same character. 

As you can probably gather, I was less than impressed. It wasn't a good enough to story to stand on it's own feet and the connection to Jane Eyre wasn't strong enough to support it either. It could have been the backstory of Jane Marple or Jane Bennett, and it would hardly have made a difference. The third part of the book really is well-written, but those few chapters of emotion aren't sufficient to over-ride the repetitive, derogatory chapters from the remainder. 

Have you read Wide Sargasso Sea? Did you think it was true to the original novel?

Review: Forbidden by Tabitha Suzuma

That awkward feeling when your boyfriend asks what you're reading and you mumble that you're reading a book for pre-teens about incest.

She is pretty and talented - sweet sixteen and never been kissed. He is seventeen; gorgeous and on the brink of a bright future. And now they have fallen in love. But... they are brother and sister.

Seventeen-year-old Lochan and sixteen-year-old Maya have always felt more like friends than siblings. Together they have stepped in for their alcoholic, wayward mother to take care of their three younger siblings. As defacto parents to the little ones, Lochan and Maya have had to grow up fast. And the stress of their lives—and the way they understand each other so completely—has also also brought them closer than two siblings would ordinarily be. So close, in fact, that they have fallen in love. Their clandestine romance quickly blooms into deep, desperate love. They know their relationship is wrong and cannot possibly continue. And yet, they cannot stop what feels so incredibly right. As the novel careens toward an explosive and shocking finale, only one thing is certain: a love this devastating has no happy ending.

I can't help but think that perhaps so many people have raved about this book simply because of the shocking subject matter. So many plots have been repeated until we know them by heart, so that when an author comes along with something just that little bit different (the more so, the better) she is pretty much guaranteed to get rave reviews, regardless of the actual quality of the book.

I'm not sure why, but I don't seem to be as repulsed by the concept of consensual incest as most people seem to be. It's not something I'd want to partake in, but I don't really feel like locking up everybody who does. In fact, I don't actually understand why it is against the law - preventing siblings from having children is one thing, but I don't get prohibiting their relationships. Maybe this had something to do with my lack of regard for the book, I'm not sure.

Anyway, my own views on incest aren't really at issue here. The point is, I just wasn't a fan. To me, the book was separated into two parts - the first three quarters of the book and then the final one. I had such differing opinions on the two that they may as well have been completely different books.

First off, I disliked Maya and loathed Lochan. I understand that they have a hard life looking after their three siblings, but well... they're so sulky. Again, they probably have a right to do so, I get it, but they don't really try and help themselves. They never once sit their mother down to try and reason with her or try and communicate properly with Kit. Lochan infuriated me - for no apparent reason at all, he refuses to speak in front of anybody non-family. It never really explains why, but it barely seems like he even tries. I honestly just wanted to shake him and tell him to get a grip.

I never really believed in their relationship either; it doesn't really show us why they're so different from every other brother-sister duo out there. I understand they were pushed into the role of parents and so thought of each other that way, but it doesn't really show that. You're kind of just supposed to accept that that is The Way It Is. Aside from anything else, they're teenagers. Incest aside, teenage love just isn't... well, it just isn't. Teenage relationships can stand the test of time, but most teenagers aren't as melodramatic as Lochan and Maya are.

That's the perfect word for Forbidden - melodramatic. Everything is exaggerated beyond the bounds of believability and there's a gloomy cloud of despair over the whole thing, even the supposedly happy parts. It wouldn't be so bad, but it's terribly written - so clunky and strangely awkward. It doesn't flow at at all. I've read a lot of reviews praising Ms. Suzuma for the beauty of it all, but the awful prose just made me cringe.

All that said... I do respect the ending. It's not something I saw coming, although the synopsis on the blurb already warned me of an unhappy ending (which was a bit strange in itself). But yeah, I liked the difficult decisions Maya and Lochan were forced to make - although after one particular event, I was all 'What? Really?' with an exasperated sigh. Over-dramatic again. As a whole though - it was a quite clever ending.

As for the very, very end - Maya's selfishness annoyed me. I could quite easily have stabbed her because God, that was ridiculous and entirely pointless. I know I'm kind of speaking in code here, but if you understand what I'm talking about, e-mail me and I'll happily discuss it :)

I think I didn't like this book because there was so much I didn't understand. Why did Lochan and Maya's relationship develop how it did? Why were their siblings so horrible? Why couldn't Lochan talk? If various points had been developed a little more and it had been written a little better, it could have been amazing. I'm 22 - I don't need sock puppets to comprehend the basic plot of a YA novel, but a little too much relies on the reader's willingness to 'accept' in Forbidden. 

Visit Tabitha Suzuma's website here, or find her on Twitter.

Review: Daughters of the Vicar by D.H. Lawrence

Okay, so I like D.H. Lawrence. I liked Lady Chatterley's Lover and I liked The Virgin and the Gypsy. This one though... t'ain't so good. It would beat Emily Bronte for the Most Depressing Book of the Year Award, and that's even if she really actually tried to be miserable. It's perfectly accessible and blessedly short, but I finished with the over-whelming urge to go buy D.H. Lawrence a puppy.

Looking for acceptance from his new congregation, the Revd Ernest Lindley cannot long ignore the fact that his parishioners are far from welcoming. Rather than confront such hostility, the Lindleys instead become ever-more isolated: he 'pale and miserable and neutral'; she 'bitter and beaten by fear'. And having raised their children to be similarly dispassionate, it surely seems inevitable that their daughters should enter suitable, but loveless, marriages. Whilst Mary becomes the dutiful wife, younger sister Louisa vows to experience love for herself - little knowing that such desires will divide an already broken family. 

D.H. Lawrence seems to like the theme of contrasts in his book - usually between men and women, or the upper class and the lower. Daughters of the Vicar, however, seems to be slightly different in that it's more of a contrast between... well, the daughters of the vicar. Mary has dark hair while Louisa is fair -  Mary is willing to marry a man she dislikes for the sake of her family, whilst Louisa is disgusted and swears she will only marry for love. Even their love interests (and I use the term loosely) are polar opposites - Mr. Massy is 'a little abortion' while Alfred is a hulking, manly brute. It actually works very well, but the atmosphere has a very gloomy, poor-people-in-the-19th-century feel to it that seems to take over the entire book.

The explanatory notes in my edition told me that this was one of Lawrence's earlier works - a short story that was later broken up and various aspects used in his other books. It explains a lot. There isn't a likeable character in the whole damn thing - Mr. Lindley sulks because his parishioners don't like him and he's poorer than he wants to be, while his wife lies on a sofa and whines. Mary, the eldest, is very virtuous... imagine if Meg Marsh was more annoying and had a baby. She married her husband for the good of the family, which naturally gives her the right to mope about being a martyr. Louisa, the younger sister, resents Mary for that (the only relatable thing in the book) while her own love interest is awkward and gauche. 

The plot itself isn't too bad. It's an old staple of classic literature - the whole 'I will marry for love!' thing. It's nice, I understand where she's coming from. Parts of it make made me so angry though, that apparently I kept pulling a (and I quote) 'squinty cat face.' The way Mr. Massy speaks to Mary is intolerable, but the ending especially made me want to tear my hair out. I can only hope that the majority of parents managed to refrain from speaking to their children like that in those days, because it was honestly beyond belief.

So, you thought Insta-love was a modern, YA-esque creation? T'ain't. We know that there is an Unsuitable Love Interest, but we're not really told that Louisa even really likes him towards the end and I still couldn't tell you what his feelings for her are. It's kind of predictable but a little more explanation would have been nice.

Okay, so this isn't the worst book in the entire world. But it's the worst book of D.H. Lawrence's that I've read so far. It has a kind of dreary, monotonous atmosphere and I know that it's meant to and it's kind of the entire point, but it doesn't make for the most enjoyable reading.

Review: Flowers for Algernon by Daniel Keyes

I first saw this book years and years ago in Borders when I was about fourteen. I was attracted to it by the odd sideways layout (that I can't seem to find a picture of) but then promptly forgot about it until last week when I came across it in the library. Not only was I pleased to see it, I'm the first person ever to check it out which is always a tiny thrill.

Charlie Gordon, IQ 68, is a floor sweeper, and the gentle butt of everyone's jokes, until an experiment in the enhancement of human intelligence turns him into a genius. But then Algernon, the mouse whose triumphal experimental tranformation preceded his, fades and dies, and Charlie has to face the possibility that his salvation was only temporary. 

This has to be one of the most depressing books I've ever read, and I've read Sylvia Plath. It's the kind of book where you want to claw out your own eyes when you've finished so you never ever have to feel that miserable ever again. Only a very powerful book can make you feel that way, and Flowers for Algernon definitely succeeds. The last page in particular made me actually whimper with the sheer injustice. I was laid in bed at 2am (because I was that intent on finishing it) with my mouth wide open, gasping at what I'd just read.

Charlie isn't a likeable character particularly - before the experiment he is friendly yet naive, but afterwards he is so arrogant, cynical and hostile that I just wanted to punch him. Watching his rise to dizzying heights and then tumble back down can't help but make you feel for the man though. One of the most hurtful parts for me was watching Charlie realise that the people he thought were his friends had actually been mocking him for his odd behaviour. Similarly, he slowly remembers his childhood and his Mother who loathed him for being 'different.' Those parts in particular made me want to shun the human race completely and go live in a cave.

It's not an easy book to read, and not just because of the resulting misery. The first chapters are written in a very similar way to The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time as it's written as a sort of diary by Charlie himself. As his intelligence increases, so do his reports and eventually they read like a scientific report which is equally difficult to process. It's not an action-packed book by a long stretch - it's more Charlie's musings on what's happening to him and his record of the memories that are slowly coming back to him.

There is a film (called Charlie, I believe) but I never ever want to watch it. Ever. I don't think I can handle watching it on the big screen without spending the rest of the evening curled in the foetal position.

I highly recommend this book - it's written in such a subtle, changing POV that you can really empathise with the confusion Charlie feels - but not if you're feeling fragile.