Chez Spud

I’m not totally sure where I’m going with this. I’m no book reviewer, and I don’t particularly enjoy reading book reviews if I’m honest. I much prefer it when someone I know and love thrusts a book in my hand and says, ‘Try this. I think you’ll enjoy it’. Or, ideally, I find an author I adore and then I read everything they’ve ever written. The latter is a poor strategy for new/dead/slow writers but it’s a reasonably rewarding strategy.

So why am I even contemplating a kind of book review? Because I’m hopeless at remembering the details of books I’ve read, regardless of whether I loved/hated/tolerated them. I can categorise books I’ve read according to those groups, but I can very rarely tell you why. I’m only ever left with the impression of a book, or the whisper of a feeling, but the details escape me within days of having finished it. That’s never unduly bothered me until I decided to buy my mother-in-law my favourite reads of 2011 for her birthday a few weeks back. My plan had been to write a few notes on a postcard slipped in to each book, explaining why I loved it and why I thought she’d enjoy it. The truth was I just couldn’t bloody remember anything beyond having loved the book and an urgency to share it with fellow bookworms.

‘Book of the Week’ on Radio 4 last week was ‘Stop what you are doing and read this’, a collection of essays about reading and why it’s important and what it means. Five of the ten essays were abridged and read by the authors for Radio 4. I was fixed to the sofa today by a very poorly back, and it was compelling listening. The book is now on its way to me courtesy Mr Amazon. I think I enjoyed Jeannette Winterson’s essay the most, she spoke so simply and honestly about the power of the written word to elate us. In particular she talked about how reading isn’t ‘down time’ it’s ‘up time’. I’ve never really considered that. Reading, for me, is what I do at bedtime, on trains or (in my old life) on the beach. I wouldn’t dream of reading during the day as my ‘quick pit stop’ activity. Somehow crochet, blogging or generally mucking about on the internet don’t count as ‘downtime’ in my twisted mind. I haven’t especially enjoyed any of the Winterson books I’ve read, but her words struck me powerfully enough to want to buy the book of essays and pore over hers in particular. I’ve picked out her programme of the five because it’s the one that struck me most powerfully, but the other four were stunning too … each in their own particular way. iplayer is your friend if you fancy it but be quick! Only a few days left.

But how do you review a book if you don’t like reading them and aren’t very good at it? The answer, I would think, is that you don’t. You leave it well alone. Or you perfect the art of the quick and dirty review. Here’s mine of Good Behaiour by Molly Keane:

“Set in 1930s Ireland and narrated by Aroon, the less loved awkward daughter of an increasingly impoverished aristocratic family. A book that improves as you read it, tackling parental disappointment, upstairs/downstairs relationships, homosexuality, infidelity, maternal coolness and – especially – the destructive power of self-deception. It’s a quiet kind of book. I didn’t learn much about Anglo/English relations though that’s the backdrop to the novel and nor was it especially well observed. But I enjoyed it nonetheless and it was worthy of a read. It’s a Persephone kind of book, akin to Whipple but less elegantly perceptive ”

I can’t imagine it’s a book I would rush to recommend, but it’s a good solid novel. I’d give it a B.

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