Recent Reading

Happy (belated) new year, everyone! My Who Weekly horoscope is excellent, and I am told that I have a lot of 4s in my favour this year, 4 being a Chinese lucky number—I turn 44 in a couple of weeks and 2008 also contains a double 4, so here's to a great year ahead!

And here's my December reading:

Breakfast at Tiffany's by Truman Capote

Never read this before, and what a pearler it is. I was a little surprised, shocked even, at how specific/explicit it was about Holly's professional activities, and irritated to find the romance with the narrator/George Peppard character was a Hollywood construct (I should have known), but also very pleased to find Cat there in all his ginger tabby glory.

Town by James Roy

James Roy is one of my favourite Australian writers—he's consistently good across genres and ages—and I think Town may be his best book yet (although I have an eternal soft spot for A Boat for Bridget). Town is a collection of stories, each told in turn by a different young person from an anonymous Australian country town—one for each month of the year. Cumulatively, the stories build a picture of the town and the collective and individual lves of its young residents, even as each story is strongly constructed in its own right. The voices are strong and distinct, much as in Steven Herrick's excellent verse novel from earlier this year, Cold Skin. (Ooh, I feel an essay question coming on!)

Joel and Cat Set the Story Straight by Nick Earls and Rebecca Sparrow

Comparisons to Nick and Norah's Infinite Playlist will be inevitable, but this book is a whole other creature entirely. Like Nick and Norah, it is written in alternate chapters by Earls (Joel) and Sparrow (Cat), but it extends over a couple of weeks, not one night, and is very different in tone and content.

What I really liked about it was the sort of internal hypertext--or meta text, I forget which one I mean--which is the story Joel and Cat have to write in alternate chapters for a school assignment. Both their relationship and the creative process is laid bare in these hilarious mini-chapters, which are also an extremely funny take on what girls and boys respectively like to read.

Almost flawless plotting, great characterisation and just a terrifically entertaining read. Probably my number one YA for 2007.

Suburban Freak Show by Julia Lawrinson

I am a huge fan of Julia's novels, but have largely categorised her as a writer who takes on serious topics—racism, mental illness and so on. Little did I know she has a great facility for comedy until I read this almost picaresque novel about super-smart and ambitious, but not very empathetic first year uni student Jay. (Is that a nod to Wonderfalls, she thinks aloud?) The characters and plot are drawn with fairly broad brushstrokes, but it's wildly entertaining and has a perfectly fabulous metafictional nod to itself at the end of the novel. She's a clever cookie, our Julia.

Skullduggery Pleasant by Derek Landy

I enjoyed this as far as I read it, but it took a little too long for my taste to really get underway. I'd have preferred the conceit to be more quickly and efficiently established (cut to the chase, Landy!) so I could settle into the alternate world the author proposes. Still, there's fun to be had and I gather he really does not need my imprimatur. A skeletal Artemis Fowl, perchance?

One Good Turn by Kate Atkinson

I read Case Histories earlier this year, which I loved, and One Good Turn is just as good, although a bit different in tone. Less private eye-ish, more crime procedural meets French farce, if that's not stretching it. Anyway, I love Jackson Brodie and I love a good set of believably rendered coincidences, so this was perfect almost-holidays reading.

This time the action is set in Edinburgh, where Jackson has travelled with actress girlfriend Julia (one of the sisters from the first case in Case Histories—beautiful characterisation by Atkinson) for the Festival. He has recently come into money, retired as a private eye and is suffering an identity crisis.

The action opens with a violent road rage incident, which Jackson witnesses, as do a handful of other characters whose stories, of course, will prove to be inextricably interwoven. Atkinson handles all these threads and the afore-mentioned coincidences with incredible dexterity, and leaves not a thread untied.

Carry Me Down by MJ Hyland

I'm not exactly sure what I thought if this! I admire the craft, but I am not, perhaps, entirely convinced of the psychology. I guess I felt I expected to be more compelled, and more shocked, and the ending left me unsatisfied, even though I have generally no issue with open endings. I guess in the end I preferred her first novel, How The Light Gets In.

and finally

A Traveller in Time by Alison Uttley

Possibly my all-time favourite children's book, Alice in Wonderland and Seven Little Australians notwithstanding. I re-read this from time to time, usually around Christmas time, and it never disappoints—it's always as romantic and impossible as ever. This year's reading did reveal the limitations of memory, however. I have long believed that Francis Babbington (my answer to the "which fictional character would you marry" question) was made Lord of Misrule at the end of the novel, and have indeed cited this as the second reason for calling my website/blog "Misrule" (the first reason being it is the name given to the Woolcot family home). But I was wrong! I must have conflated it with another book, no doubt a historical novel of some description (Jean Plaidy, perchance?) I read as a ten or twelve year old. Anyone have any clues as to what it might have been?

And while I'm finishing up, please post your favourite reads in the comments facility. Cheers and here's to a wonderful 2008. (I have high hopes myself!)

The Off Season by Catherine Gilbert Murdock. I enjoyed Dairy Queen last year—with some reservations—but this is a much more assured piece of writing. Characterisation is solid, the romance is believable and fresh, especially in its "resolution", and the family dynamics are satisfyingly explored. The conservative rural, sports-mad milieu is also beautifully realised—I am looking forward to the forthcoming third "DJ" novel.

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The Thirteenth Tale by Diane Setterfield. Echoes of 19th century gothic literature colour this stately novel of biography and secrets. I loved it—it's a ripping good yarn in that peculiarly English genre of the literary mystery.

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Someday This Pain Will Be Useful To You by Peter Cameron. This is as good as everyone says it is. Comparisons to Catcher in the Rye are inevitable, but this stands on its own as a fine portrayal of an disaffected, world-weary 18 year old New Yorker.

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Stories from Country: My Pony Hooky and Other Tales by Bob Randall as told to Susan Haworth. Uncle Bob Randall isn't an official National Living Treasure, but he should be. These are wonderful stories of life growing up on the top end in the 1940s and Uncle Bob's voice comes through clearly and beautifully. Now, can we please somehow get more such stories of contemporary Aboriginal life published?

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Tantalize by Cynthia Leitich Smith. Margaret Mahy once said that food is the sex in children's books—and food is at the heart of this very sexy vampire fantasy that (happily) doesn't for a moment resile from the dark. Shades of Buffy, inevitably, with (potential) werewolf boyfriends and addiction-as-metaphor*, but Smith's take on a community riven by its inability to reconcile with its own dark heart is all her own. Readers disappointed by the representation of gender in Stephenie Myer's "Twilight" series will find no such passive heroine in Tantalize's Quincie—but they can surely look forward to a sequel...

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Song of the Sparrow by Lisa Ann Sandell. I still haven't quite finished this, because I have actually put it aside in disappointment. I have a particular interest in retellings both of fairy tales and of other classic stories, and so I was very pleased to see that someone had tackled the story of Elaine of Astolat/The Lady of Shalott (I learned the Tennyson poem by heart at 13 and have a print of the Waterhouse painting hanging above my bed) but I'm afraid this one just isn't doing it for me.

It's a verse novel, and while I appreciate the historical-as-opposed-to-mythical setting, I am not sure the verse form suits the story best. I want more of the detail that a prose narrative would allow (in this case, I feel more would have been, well, more!)—and for me, the book does beg the question attended to by finer minds than my own—is it really verse? I've also found the pacing off, and the Gwynivere and Lancelot characters one-dimensional. On the positive side, the experience of dark age battles is viscerally realised, as is the drudgery of life in the war camps for the (unrealistically) only resident woman (even though the almost certain regular threats to Elaine's virtue and physical safety is downplayed almost to the point of being non-existent). And on this note—anyone whose read it have any thoughts on how anachronistic a historical heroine Elaine is in the novel?

Still, it's getting good reviews, so perhaps I need to have another stab at it.

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Blood Brothers by Peter Corris. I've been a fan of Corris's Cliff Hardy crime novels since the 80s, so I was pleased to see he'd written a YA novel—but this turned out to be another disappointing read. The main problem for me with this one was that the relationship that drives the novel's action is never realised "on stage". We barely "see" the antagonist, but have to understand and empathise with the fallout of the breakdown of the friendship between said antagonist and protagonist (and focalising character) Bart. And there's way too much exposition ("telling not showing", as I try to imprint into my students' understanding of the principles of narrative fiction)—and so the final scene of reconciliation and closure simply lacks impact. A shame—there's good material here, but sadly under-realised.

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So, five great and satisfying reads, and two disapointments. Not a bad ratio, I'd say!

And December reading is going well, one day in. Cheers.

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*This article by Justine Larbalestier is a must-read for Buffy fans, and I really hope that Justine doesn't object to me quoting from it at some length, but she says perfectly what I have so often said (with far less articulation) in my own head:

I loathe defending Buffy to other fans. I feel like I'm defending a close relative. I want to tell them, "If you can't say anything nice, then shut up." I am not rational about it. While defending the show I will say anything, no matter how illogical. I will frequently contradict myself. I don't care. If a particular writer is attacked I will dredge the record for good episodes or lines they've written. I will airily wave aside complaints about plot holes as a clever play with the tropes of the genre. I'll make stuff up: "That was not a crap line. It was a direct reference to Cansino's last film, The Widow in the Shadows made for RKO just before he was blacklisted. Had a limited release in 1962. Nope, not available on DVD. Though apparently there's a French bootleg video."

I cannot stand fans being so narkily and pickily critical of the show. Don't they understand how tight the TV-land budget of time and money is? Don't they understand that certain actors aren't always available? Don't they want to enjoy the show? Anyway, why does everything have to be about whether each episode or season was good or not? Don't they realise that you can't possibly decide that until you've watched it at least five or more (often way more) times? I wish they would embrace proper criticism, that mystical process whereby you can write thousands of words about the object you dissect without once revealing whether you like it or not.

Of course, I also can't stand fans who (like myself) defend Buffy against all criticism no matter how just. Or who like it for the wrong reasons. The show is not perfect. There have been bad episodes. I know that. I just can't stand to hear others say it.

I first read Kate Atkinson a few years ago—Behind the Scenes at the Museum and Human Croquet. I know I liked them both, but I don't have a very clear memory of either. (I'd reread them, but my copies seem to have disappeared. Huh.)

I was given Case Histories for either my birthday or Christmas a ages ago. I haven't had a lot of time to read for pleasure for ages—especially adult fiction—but now the thesis has been submitted, and I am commuting again, I can carry a novel with me to read on the train. Yay!

Case Histories is a wonderful and (eventually) satisfying novel. I am a big Ruth Rendell/Barbara Vine fan (although not so much of recent books, which have been a tad too predictable), and Case Histories appealed to me in the same way that Rendell/Vine does—interwoven stories, explicable coincidences and the depths of human emotion, but without the delving into the depths of the darkest corners of the human psyche. The crimes recounted in the "case histories" are as grim and tragic as anything Rendell explores, but Atkinson retains a sense of humanity and decency that is sometimes hard to find in modern crime fiction.

I'm not even sure you could fairly classify Case Histories as crime fiction, although murder is at the heart of each the (eventually) interwoven tales of loss and grief. These are stories, and characters, to take to heart—not that you don't with the best of Ms Rendell/Vine (once a fan, always a fan... I'm nothing if not belligerently loyal). Nor do I mean this to be a comparative lit exercise—not by any means.

So, disclaimers aside, may I recommend Case Histories to you. It's a puzzle of a novel. You know, as a reader, that each of the separate case histories/murder mysteries will somehow intersect, as will the binding (third person) narrative of the private detective Jackson. For this reader, the novel offered a completely acceptable blend of explanation and mystery. Enough ends were closed to leave me satisfied—enough were left open to keep me happily wondering. I'm not particularly perturbed by open-ended stories, as long as there's a narratively substantial reason for it (I'm thinking of Tim Winton's The Riders here). Not everything that happens to you can be easily or happily resolved. Perhaps, nor should it be. So as far as fiction goes, a good read, a satisfying novel—narrative truth can lie in unanswered questions. Ain't that life?

1. What a Piece of Work by Dorothy Porter. I read this chilling, remarkable verse novel while I was dog/house-sitting for friends this weekend. Set in Callan Park in Sydney, where I once worked in the NSW Writer's Centre (on the cover of the book) and now go for my walks.

2. Problem Child by James Roy. Just started this—interested to see where James goes with this unreliable narrator—the bully who thinks he's the victim. Knowing James, this will be more than the run-of-the-mill "how to" bullying-themed middle school novel.

3. Keturah and Lord Death by Martine Leavitt.

Gorgeous romance/fantasy in the tradition of folk/fairy tale and Scheherazade's 1001 Arabian Nights. This month's group read on adbooks.

4. Fatal Storm by Rob Mundle. Dramatic and affecting account of the 1998 Sydney to Hobart yacht race.

5. "Dancing Through the Minefield: Some Observations on the Theory, Practice and Politics of a Feminist Literary Criticism" by Annette Kolodny. Published in Feminist Studies, Vol. 6:1 (1980: Spring)

For the everlasting thesis...

6. My high school diaries.

A journey back into my adolescence. Very revealing!

My friend Toni has started a blog about good reading and writing. Check out Mockingburg!

I've just read Gabrielle Carey's So Many Selves, her memoir in three long essays. It's a wonderful book, and it's really a privilege to read the most intimate thoughts and reminiscences of one of the authors of Puberty Blues.

I recently left a comment on Read Roger about my early adolescent reading of Go Ask Alice, my first exposure to "dirty realism", which I read as pure fantasy: I was 12 , and Alice's "life" was far more foreign to me than any fantasy novel I'd ever read, and in fact, I read it as a fantasy. By the time Puberty Blues came along, I was older, and I'd known girls like Debbie and Sue, been friends with them, in fact; the Westie equivalent to Puberty Blues' Shire chicks and surfies (although it has to be said I never really knew if all the stories they told of their sexal exploits were true, or fantasies to tease the minister's daughter). And I had gotten to know real surfie boys at our holiday house at Macmasters Beach, and I recognised the essential truths Carey and co-author Kathy Lette were telling in their tale. (I remember going to see the film at the cinema in Gosford with some of my holiday girlfriends, and we left vowing to learn to surf. We never did, but it's a small testiment to the empowering effect of the story.)  Puberty Blues was probably also my introduction to censorship and to gatekeepers' outrage at a YA novel that shocked and frightened them. Here's a quote that struck home:

Since then I have come to recognise the general hatred that the media, and perhaps the Australian community at large, have for "youth". It makes sense to me now why it was practically impossible to get intelligent, sensible coverage about a book that dealt with troubled young people, especially a book written by two women. Young, female, outspoken, articulate, sexually experienced—there were all characteristics that were loathed by the mainstream media and Middle Australia. p. 77

The other two essays in the book are of equal interest, although for less personal reasons. The second, "A Reluctant Novice", tells of Carey's time in Northern Ireland (Derry, to be precise), and Carey's discovery of a spiritual mentor via the writings of St Teresa of Avila. The third, "Mexican Masks" is about her time living in Mexico, the cultural challenges faced by being a white woman living in an impoverished Mexican village, her attraction to the philosophy and history of pre-Spanish Nahuatl culture, and the relationship with her daughter's father.

I finished So Many Selves this morning, and I was reluctant to close the book. I wanted more—more fine writing, and more time with Gabrielle Carey. It's not often I feel that at the end of a book. But I'm lucky that I will get my second wish: Carey is speaking at my local library this Wednesday, and I'll be there.