fiction

William – an Englishman by Cicely Hamilton

I was already falling way behind on book reviews even before The Summer of Tendonitis – “the summer of”, I say, as if it’s anywhere close to being healed on this, the last day of summer – and now I’m so far behind I’m not sure there’s any point in trying to remember what I thought about books I read in January. Why why why don’t I take better notes? I sit down to read with a pen and notebook and immediately get so lost in the text that I forget all about the concept of notes. I never learn.

I do have a pretty clear memory of reading William – an Englishman by Cicely Hamilton, however. Written in 1918 as the First World War raged around her, Hamilton mercilessly skewered the pompous men and women who were so fixated on their stubborn, tiny perspectives on social issues that they completely missed the towering disaster of a global conflict bearing down on them. I was stunned by how relevant it still is. Some things never change, I suppose.

William – an Englishman is the first title re-published by Persephone Books which “reprints neglected fiction and non-fiction by mid-twentieth century (mostly) women writers.” There are currently 139 titles on Persephone’s list and you better believe I’m going to try to track down as many as I can.

(Back in March, I wrote about Persephone title number three: Someone at a Distance by Dorothy Whipple. The fusspot in me believes I shouldn’t have done them out of order like this, but I think I was so jazzed about the Whipple book right after I finished it in March that I couldn’t help myself. It’s an exciting life, I tell you.)

The Pothunters by PG Wodehouse

To ensure my TBR list is truly unmanageable, I recently set a goal of reading all Wodehouse’s works in order of publication and…oh boy. Dude was prolific. This is going to take a while.

Wodehouse’s first novel was The Pothunters, published in the UK in 1902. Thank goodness for Project Gutenberg because I don’t think I’d have had a prayer of finding it anywhere else.

There are flashes of the trademark Wodehouse wit and humour here, but this is definitely the work of a young writer who hasn’t yet mastered his craft. I enjoyed the glimpse of life at a British boys’ boarding school at the very beginning of the twentieth century, baffling though it is.

Recommended only for a Wodehouse super-fan.

Brighten the Corner Where You Are by Carol Bruneau

Confession time: I don’t care for the paintings of Maud Lewis. This is heresy for a Nova Scotian, but it’s true. Folk art just isn’t my thing. I knew a little about Lewis’ difficult life (the health issues, the poverty, the tiny, painted house) since these facts are added to our tap water, but have never felt motivated to learn more. (And no, I haven’t seen that Maudie movie because movies also aren’t my thing.)

I had faith in Carol Bruneau’s ability to make me care about Maud Lewis, however, so I ordered a copy and, lo and behold, my faith was justified. It’s very good.

It takes courage to tell a story so familiar to so many in such a fresh way and it takes skill to know when and how to inject that story with moments of lightness and grace and humour. Bruneau’s got ’em . I think Maud Lewis would be pleased.

Someone at a Distance by Dorothy Whipple

When Dorothy Whipple submitted this perfect specimen of domestic fiction back in the early 1950s, her publisher was lukewarm about it, apparently, since the fashion in literature had turned decisively to action/adventure-type books and Someone at a Distance just didn’t fit the bill. It’s true that the plot summary probably sounds boring to thrill-seekers: Avery and Ellen have been happily married for 20 years. They have charming, precocious children, a lovely house and extensive gardens, and work that they each find personally and financially fulfilling. Then Avery’s cranky old mother hires a beautiful, young, French woman named Louise to serve as her companion and it becomes clear the clock is ticking on Avery and Ellen’s perfect lives. This is a quiet novel, for sure, but it definitely isn’t boring. Whipple is such a master at scene-setting and pacing and characterization that I couldn’t put it down. Highly recommended for anyone who doesn’t care for (or needs to take a break from) Scandinavian police procedurals, courtroom thrillers or post-apocalyptic hellscapes.

The Moving Finger by Agatha Christie

Audiobook, perfectly narrated by Richard E Grant.

I checked this out after watching the Joan Hickson version on VisionTV one night and not only was it better than the tv adaptation (this should go without saying), but it was even better than I’d remembered from my first read however many years ago. Ideal treadmill listening.

Victoria by Daisy Goodwin

Audiobook, narrated by Anna Wilson-Jones

A fictional account of the brief period between Victoria’s ascension to the throne and her engagement to Albert. It’s a light, easy, inoffensive story (except for Albert and Victoria being cousins, gross, but that isn’t the author’s fault) with a couple very mild social scandals, a doomed crush on an older man, and lots of talk about fancy hairstyles, dresses and balls. For an audience who craves this kind of thing, I bet it’s amazing. Personally, I found it a little underwhelming.