Book #311

Reviewer: Inspirationalreads

At the time we were all writing erotica at a dollar a page, I realised that for centuries we had had only one model for this literary genre – the writing of men.  

The preface of Delta of Venus is taken from Nin’s The Diary of Anais Nin, Volume III, and explains how she came to create this collection of erotica.  Through her famous friendship with Henry Miller, she is encouraged to start contributing to Miller’s collection of stories for a book collector.  When she forwards her stories she is told to “…cut out the poetry and anything but sex.  Concentrate on sex.”  She continues to submit them, the stories becoming more “outlandish, inventive and exaggerated.”

What starts as a need for money to fund her and her literary friends lifestyles, the final postscript of this preface, added over thirty years later, sees a more philosophical Nin.  Here she discusses the difference between Henry Miller’s masculine approach to the project and her feminine  poetic approach.

I had a feeling that Pandora’s box contained the mysteries of woman’s sensuality, so different from man’ and for which man’s language is inadequate.

Thus, Delta of Venus was born.  Female written erotica is a hot topic at the moment due to the popularity of a certain trilogy.  Much speculation and equal parts love and scorn have been heaped upon E.L James Fifty Shades Trilogy, which having not read I can not comment on.  What is of interest is that it is erotica (apparently in the tamest sense of the word, but again, I shouldn’t even comment) written by a woman for women and it has tapped into something that appears to be lacking.  There is a wealth of erotica that is written by women but not as accessible or as mainstream as their male counterparts.  So at the very least, this book and its authors comments about it, make it very relevant over 60 years after it was written.

And so, to the stories themselves.  What elevates Nin’s writing here is the very thing that the book collector complained of; the poetical, lyrical feel to these make them beautiful.  The words themselves feel sensual, the tone so fitting with the subject matter elevating it from lurid and seedy.  By her own admission, to combat the complaints over being over-poetical, there is a lot of boundary pushing here.  Necrophilia, incest, rape and bestiality all feature here and it does make for uncomfortable reading.  You admire how it is written and why it is being written but it is not an easy read.  A lot of this can be rationalised by the preface, but still, you know, icky.  Now, that isn’t a familiar word from me, is it?

In any list of any nature similar to that of 1001 Books to Read Before You Die, there will always be comment or disagreement about why something is on the list and I have to confess to thinking that about a number as well.  But it is very clear why  Delta of Venus its significance to not only erotic literature but female written erotic literature being key. I can clearly say that I admired the writing and what Nin was hoping to achieve (outside of the $1 a page she was paid) or attribute to it.  I was going to write that an open mind is needed when going into reading this, but this speaks to not approving or even relating to some of the more extreme subjects covered, just an understanding that they are in there and the purpose of why they are.  So be forewarned if you decide to take the trip.

Book #302

Reviewer: Inspirationalreads

The Cement Garden is McEwan’s first novel, and while there is not much to link it to his later and more well known novels such as Atonement or On Chesil Beach, his familiar unsettling touch and straight forward prose is clearly evident and should be welcome signs to McEwan’s fans.

Told from the perspective of 15 year old Jack, the story opens shortly before the death of his father. He is the second of four children ranging from six to 17 years old, there is a distance between the children and their father which is more than made up by the uncomfortable closeness of the children, particularly Jack and his two sisters, 17 year old Julie and 13 year old Sue.  And so, we come to a disclaimer that is becoming quite a regular feature in my reviews; this short novel is not for the faint-hearted or easily icked-out.  The uncomfortable tone of this story kicks off right from the start and it begins with the game of doctor Jack and his two sisters are playing in the opening passages.  When the children’s mother also passes away not soon after their father, the children decide to bury their mother in cement in their basement to prevent them being put into care and possibly separated.

What happens next is a predictable spiral into chaos and disorder.  The children are ill-equipped to look after themselves or each other and each reacts to this horrible turn of events differently.  Tom, the youngest at 6, regresses into baby-like behaviour.  Sue withdraws into her books and diary.  Julie at 17 attempts to take on the running of the household, not always successfully.  And then there is Jack.  Even before the passing of their parents, Jack was already unsavoury (I really can not think of a better word). It is through Jack’s eyes and the presence that Jack imposes on his surroundings that McEwan brings his skill of unnerving.  Jack goes out of his way to stay unwashed, revelling in the impact his acne-ridden image has on his mother and siblings.  He is unhealthily interested in his sisters but stays on the fringes, his observations more from his peeping and spying than from the intention of looking out for his family.

What I have been skirting around is that there are incestuous overtones going on here.  All right, there is actual incest that occurs in The Cement Garden.  There, I’ve said it.  Kind of a spoiler but not a huge one as it occurs very early on and seems to be one of the key things associated with the story.  Which is a shame as it seems to be a major thing when really it is a factor in this disturbing tale.  While it is right up there in uncomfortable stakes, it is more the idea of the blurred lines of what should and should not be for these children who are put into a very adult (and a macabre one at that) situation.  While it is predictable that the wheels will come off, it is what happens along the way that is is interesting; interesting, awful, tense  but like the proverbial train wreck, hard to turn away from.

Yet, for all this there is a forced feeling to it all.  It is an interesting situation that these children are in but I found myself thinking more about the motivations of McEwan rather than that of our characters.  I thought more about what he was hoping to achieve with it all, then let myself be carried away by the story itself.  There is an emotional aloofness, an almost calculated feel to it.  I admire it for the technical brilliance that is always evident in McEwan’s work and this his first, is no exception.  A small part perhaps is down to me wanting to distance myself from something so abhorrent to me,  that these characters are so odd and the situation so perturbing that I found myself reading from afar rather getting right into the story.  But also, the style of writing is distancing and cold itself, of which I suppose I should be thankful but ultimately did not really allow me to enjoy it fully.

This is a quick read, interesting in parts and a quite easy one to cross of the list if you don’t mind being creeped out a little.  Sorry, creeped out a lot.  McEwan seems to be quite popular among the film community as this is one of six of his novels that have been adapted to film, Enduring Love and Atonement included and both on the list.  So, not highly recommended by me but being a quick read works in it’s favour.

Book #23

Reviewer: Inspirationalreads

Set in modern day Mumbai, the family matters at hand are those of Nariman Vakeel, his two step-children, his daughter and her family.  Currently living with his step-children Coomy and Jal, the ageing Nariman falls and breaks his ankle causing an increase in his care and an increase in resentment from Coomy and Jal, with Coomy becoming more and more desperate to be rid of the old man.  Roxana, Coomy and Jal’s half sister and Nariman’s daughter, lives with her husband and two children in a tiny apartment, and it is here that the scheming Coomy successfully off-loads Nariman.

When the two week stay becomes four and then six, family relations become strained.  Roxana’s husband Yezad becomes increasingly suspicious of Coomy and Jal.  Roxana is torn between the love and obligation she feels towards her father and understanding her husband’s frustration, their living arrangements less than ideal before Nariman arrived and the strain of another mouth to feed and body to house proving too much.  For Coomy, it is the desperation at stopping her step-father from returning that takes her schemes to new heights and her brother Jal, an unwilling participant in all of these plans is guilt-ridden about the whole thing.  At the centre of it all is Nariman; with his body betraying him, it is his mind that he lets wander, remembering his past and the road to his current situation.

There is so much that is familiar in this story and so much that is exotically foreign to me.  Mistry’s words creates so vividly the colour, smell and feel of Mumbai.  Beyond the physical surroundings,  the Zoroastrian religion plays a big part, what it means to them to maintain their Parsi heritage and all that this involves.  In creating this setting we also have our colourful side characters adding levity with their humourous idiosyncrasies and each playing their role in contributing to the turn of events.  The world created is full and distinct, where I felt that I was plunged into somewhere that I could clearly imagine despite never having stepped foot in India, never having known about the  Zoroastrian religion, so much of it alien to what I know and have experienced.

For all this difference to me and my physical world, there is much of the actual family issues that I could relate to. Nariman also has Parkinson’s and as he ages and starts to fail physically it isn’t rage and anger he feels but the need for reflection and from this regret.  His awareness of how burdensome he has become is heartbreaking, as is the toll that his presence is taking on Roxanna and her family.  The financial struggle of this family is all too familiar.  As is the idea of dashed dreams, wanting more for your children and being worn down by the daily grind.  These are not themes particular to this part of the world; these are some of the most basic of human concerns. Yet for all this understanding of their situation, it is never allowed to become mundane and too commonplace as there are still touches of melodrama, especially with Coomy and her scheming. She is a great character, faintly ridiculous but ultimately proving to be the antagonist of our story.

This is a very full and rich novel.  Complex in some respects but simple and familiar in others, all things that can describe families everywhere.  Highly recommended to those who love India, enjoy great characterisation or who have family matters of their own.

Book #603

Reviewer: Inspirationalreads

Having always known that one day I would read Rebecca, I have avoided absolutely everything and anything spoilerish to do with it.  It is a novel that has so seeped into pop culture that it has been hard to do so.  Vague knowledge of what I assumed was a Pemberley-type Manderley along with that famous first line and an awareness of some sinister hag named Mrs Danvers was all that broke through my barrier.  Jayne Eyre, Wuthering Heights and Persuasion have all been left on the shelf, suffering for my costume-drama movie and television addiction and having seen someone else’s interpretation rather than read straight from the source.  How thankful am I that this self-imposed ban on all and any interpretations of Rebecca meant I had an unsullied read and got to appreciate it in all its gothic, spooky beauty.

Our narrator is Mrs de Winter, whose first name is never revealed to the reader. Opening with that famous line about her dream of Manderley, this first passage sets the tone straight away for what is to follow.  This dream, of the once majestic homestead of her husband, renders the house overrun by nature, sinister and at the closing of this passage we learn;

We would not talk of Manderley.  I would not tell my dream. For Manderley was ours no longer.  Manderley was no more.

From there we go to the beginning.  Our unnamed heroine recounts how she first meets Maxim de Winter.  She is a companion for a wealthy older woman who treats her as a general dogsbody and is obsessed with seeing and been seen.  When the debonair Mr de Winter walks into the hotel they are staying at, he immediately becomes the focus of both of their attention.  But it is the younger, more innocent of the pair who catches his eye.  When they get the opportunity to spend some time together, it escalates to more and very quickly our young narrator moves from lady’s companion to the wife of wealthy, older, sophisticated Maxim de Winter.  After an idyllic honeymoon where the new Mrs de Winter begins to finally overcome her disbelief at being married to such a man, they return to his home, the beautiful and famous Manderley.  Home to the overwhelming grandeur of the house, a house that is intertwined with the memory of the first Mrs de Winter, Rebecca. Having died in a tragic and horrific boating accident a year earlier, she is in every room; the carefully selected room adornments, physical mementoes in the form of handwritten notes and invitations, the memories of those in the house .  If this is not enough to intimidate our young bride, the formidable housekeeper, Mrs Danvers, is on hand to further drive home the memory of the more beautiful, captivating Rebecca.  That Mrs Danvers loved Rebecca is obvious as is her dismay at the new marriage and thus her disapproval of the new mistress of Manderley.  But there are secrets here at Manderley, secrets that begin to unravel despite the intentions of those trying to cover them up.  And at the centre of it all Rebecca, casting a shadow on everything even from the grave.

I can be quite the sceptic when reading older books.  I have had to learn to appreciate them for their language and style and also take into account how novel an idea is for it’s time, how it was the precursor to a lot of those that have followed.  I do not necessarily need it to be a page turner, for the story to keep me hooked with a lot of twists and turns and shocking developments.  The more I read about reading and writing, the more I read about how these things are dismissed as cheap and an easy way to sell something to the masses, the undiscerning.  But there is something in the art of storytelling, the tradition of sitting around telling a tale and entertaining those around you that will never get old for me and will always make me appreciate at the very least the effort that goes into it.  What this off-track ramble means in this context is that I thoroughly enjoyed the tale that is Rebecca.  There are a few well-trod literary paths here; young, docile, insecure young woman with the more urbane older man; stern older woman influencing and manipulating; an ever-present ex-wife.  But the tale itself is so interesting, it really was a page turner.   What surprised me was how this was not a supernatural tale, but a psychological one.  How insecurity and naiveté can be twisted, how love and admiration can become blinding, how everything is not what it seems.

That is not to dismiss the writing here.  Through our narrator, du Maurier creates an atmosphere that is impressive and intimidating all at once. On her approach to Manderley:

The length of it began to nag at my nerves: it must be this turn, I thought, or round that further bend: but as I leant forward in my seat I was for ever disappointed, there was no house, no field, no brand and friendly garden, nothing but the silence and deep woods.  The lodge gates were a memory, and the high-road something belonging to another time, another world.

Achieving with words what a movie would use low-lights and a tense soundtrack, the reader immediately feels the building tension.  The new Mrs de Winter is in awe of her surroundings and true to character, is easily cowed by Mrs Danvers.  That she is frustratingly quick to think less of herself and to give in to Mrs Danvers machinations is in keeping with that of a young woman, who previously was  thought of nothing more than a servant herself.  The 21st century  woman in me could not help but want to go in and shake her by the shoulders, but for her to be any more or to react any differently would be completely out of character and would not let events play out in the anxiety-ridden manner it did.

I am grateful that I was so severe in my pre-read ban of all things Rebecca related.  It did not stop the story from being familiar but it did allow me to be absolutely entertained and to understand what all the hoopla is about.  This is a great, old-fashioned tale elevated by the setting of tone and atmosphere by its author.  The characters can be harshly judged as one-dimensional, but they are each a dimension of the story as a whole.  A great addition to the gothic-romance genre and to this list.

Book # 38

Reviewer: Inspirationalreads

Rex and Christine lived their hey-days in 1970’s London, heavily involved in the rock and roll scene.  Rex, a guitarist, played in a successful band and Christine was a costume designer, creating outfits for popular bands and rock stars.  For various reasons, Rex stopped playing guitar but his band continued on to great success and fame, particularly the lead singer, Lester Jones.  When they begin their family, Christine too becomes less involved.  Twin boys Archie and Gabriel are born to them, but tragically Archie dies at 2 years old, leaving his brother Gabriel growing up with parents who remain caught up in their past, the free-love, authority-loathing tenets of their glory days.  Our story with them begins with Gabriel at 15 years old; sensitive, creative and who still “talks” with Archie.  Christine has finally tired of Rex who remains jobless and unmotivated, forcing him from the family home.  In a bid to move on in her life she gets a job and appears to be moving towards responsibility and adulthood, something Rex still seems loathe to do.

Rex and Christine seem so familiar to me and yet I can’t say I know anyone truly like them.  At least not parents that I know.  But in my wider circle of friends and acquaintances there are those who have held on to the ideals and dreams of their youth, so that their approaching middle age and all the responsibilities that come with it seem to be something to avoid, mock and at some level, abhor.  With Rex, his dream was quashed not through a lack of talent but through circumstances not entirely of his own making, makes him cling to a dream of not what-could-have-been but what-should-have-been.  Christine’s attempt at moving towards responsibility appears to be more about getting rid of Rex and a certain freedom that she attains through this.  The voice of maturity and clarity comes from Gabriel.  He felt a lot younger than the 15 years he was supposed to be but still more mature than his parents.

On paper, the story seems to be quite run of the mill; estranged parents helped towards personal growth by their special child.  However, there is a freshness and unexpectedness that Kureishi has brought to this tale that I thoroughly enjoyed.  The character of Gabriel is a study in contrasts; childlike and innocent but aware enough to steer his parents and to be able to handle some other, more odious characters.  It is truly a modern story in feel; situations arise that are unpredictable, not quite organic in feel but not working to a formula either.  Not an unpredictability due to twists but an unpredictability that arises from impetuous and impulsive humans doing impetuous and impulsive things.  It is this that I found refreshing and combined with its short length made it a quick, easily enjoyed read.

It would be hard to categorise this novel.  It is a family drama but it is also funny in parts.  A comment on parenthood not necessarily equating with maturity, particularly if the focus is too much on the past, not on the present or the future.  There is even the smallest touch of magical realism which is the only part I felt really didn’t fit, which in a novel where there are lots of different experiences and aspects to make up the full human experience, just left me feeling a little confused.

Enjoyable therefore for the unique reading experience for me resulting in a clear 3/5 star rating.