Why is reading different on holiday? We have more time, yes, but there’s more to look at, new experiences, unconquered territory. And why should we read different things? The classic “beach read” is a glossy paperback, usually based somewhere exotic, and often sporting some sun-tanned flesh on the cover. It might be easy reading, but aren’t we better able to take on a challenge when we’re separated from the quotidian demands?
I didn’t plan my holiday reading, but it hasn’t been hard to see the patterns. I read this book which I suppose you’d categorise in “business” because the working from home dilemma looms large for me. It is the best of times, it is the worst of times. This book sensibly encourages those of us who can, to think about those who can’t (bin-men, brain surgeons.) How can we remain creative and connected? And how can we avoid building a two-tier society where those who have comfortable homes and jobs which support remote working move further from the largely low-paid service workers who bring us our comforts. I wasn’t expecting American writers to be so keen on collective action, in particular Trade Unions. The book is sparky and easy to read, provocative and thoughtful.
I read my first Mendelson book only a month or two ago and I’m a fan. She writes carefully about families, and the monsters she creates are believable. The first book I read had a dreadful mother, this is the turn of the father, a fading artist whose wife is keeping her growing success a secret. Add in unhappy grown-up children, all the partners and lovers and plenty of good food in an atmospheric location and you’ve got another bestselling winner.
I’ve had this book for ages but didn’t start reading it until I was going to the location of The Outrun, a field in Orkney. Much of the book is set in a version of London I also recognised, and the writer is very open about her struggles with alcohol and the impact it had on the people around her. She’s offered treatment and she takes it and she succeeds. There’s so much more though, and the return to Orkney forces her to examine her past, the mental illness that dogs her father, and her own hope for the future. It reminded me very much of lockdown life, perhaps the isolation of the Islands echoing the isolation of that time? Liptrot finds joy in nature; working in the fields of her family farm, handling the ancient stones as she rebuilds walls, and listening to bird song. We see the stories and inhabitants of Orkney through her steady gaze and the book is powerful and interesting. Liptrot never sets out to be a cliche of inspiration, and she fulfills the brief given to all writers – show, don’t tell.
This was jolly fun, a wartime romance and something deeper. The nasty Mrs Bird refuses to answer any question which contains a hint of unpleasantness. This includes, but is not limited to: sex, desire, loneliness, anger and the painful realities faced by the Home Front. Of course our plucky heroine steps in and begins writing back to the correspondents Mrs Bird ignores. Trouble ensues, bombs fall, loved ones perish, but, as we know, peace came.
This would never be described as a romance, but that’s exactly what it is. Two lonely men getting on together, and working on a project for the ages: vast, elaborate crop circles. They’re a charming if rather anti-social pair and the book describes a hot summer in the 1980s perfectly. There’s a hint of folklore, political commentary and the gentle pain of two voiceless characters trying to leave their mark on the world.
This writer is a renowned expert on Golden Age Fiction, regularly appearing on podcasts and broadcasts, a past winner of the CWA Diamond Dagger and currently president of the Detection Club. He’s written a number of books in two series (the Lake District and Liverpool books.) This was the first of his I’d read. I found it a slow start, and I got the central twist pretty early, but it speeded up and was pacy, full of good interesting detail and although Golden Age in style, the substance was ultra-modern in detail and depravity. Might need a long pause before I tackle the next one in this series, starring female detective, Rachel Savernake.
I probably wouldn’t have read this so soon after The Outrun, but there I was in a bookshop in Orkney, and there was the book. This one is set in Berlin and follows Liptrot’s search for love, or at least connection, togetherness. As in the earlier book, nature becomes her quest and she travels the city birdwatching in the most unusual places. She’s very frank about the issues facing the Tinder generation and at times the book is very moving. I’m not sure how well this stands up without having read The Outrun first, but I had done, and together they gave me a strong sense of a person coming into their own.
I ended the month where I began, on holiday but reading about work. In this case, the wretched, dangerous and undervalued work engaged in by millions of Americans. Bernie Sanders writes with flair and rage about how politics has failed – is failing – most people. Billionaires and millionaires aside, everyone’s struggling with poor healthcare, poor leadership and no hope. Sanders is as critical of his own party as he is the opposition, he’s clear it is the system itself and not individual politicians which needs to change (no-one escapes judgement but he’s fair.) He has great humanity and doesn’t despair. Like the first book in the month, he calls for collective action from the ground up, unionisation and a refusal to support the status quo.
Suzy D Harris 