Two months of reading in one post again, because I had a little blip and lost my mojo. Don’t worry, I found it again, under a pile of books.
This was bowling along very nicely – lots of period detail, great heroine and a fascinating time in English history, plus some interesting BBC history too. About halfway through I began to feel it was a bit…something. I had a long think. Cool, is what I decided I meant. It was a cool read, a reserved and private experience. Then I noticed the title on the front cover (am I alone in forgetting the title of a book while I’m reading it? Rather like forgetting someone’s name while you’re still shaking their hand. Which I do.)
Transcription. The record of something but not the thing itself. Then the whole thing came into sharp focus. It is a web of stories, only the final pages revealing the thing of darkness hiding in the centre.
From one extreme to the other, this is a book of warmth and chaos. You’ll laugh, you’ll cry, especially in the closing moments. The Wangs are forced by crisis to spend much more time together than they’d wish, until they discover time together is running out. The book was written in 2016 (and doesn’t that now sound like 1939? A time before?) All the modern crises are there, and some new ones for me, reading about a family of Chinese Americans who are split – the older generation still rooted in the old country and the younger generation not just finding but building a new way of being. I really enjoyed spending time with the Wangs.
There followed a long pause in which I struggled to concentrate, got some work done, adjusted to my least favourite time of the year, and went to work. Then this happened:
If you haven’t heard of Fremlin, don’t worry. This book was published in 1959 but it returns to the light as fresh as a seaside morning. Part mystery novel, part family saga, and a huge sandcastle of scary scenes in the darkness. It was gripping, frightening, clever, deceptively simple. A proper tonic for when you’re struggling to read and want a book that is going to do all the work for you. Her dissection of a family is so crisp and cleanly done you’ll hardly notice until you’re looking into the entrails
My reading mojo was partially restored by Uncle Paul, but there’s no point pushing things is there? And I couldn’t be sure, when I started this, that it would work for me in my weakened state.
Hallett is a huge seller and writes twisty plots with lots of detail. It is the presentation that’s unique. The story unfolds through texts, What’s App messages, transcripts of interviews and phone calls, emails, official reports, and every form of communication except direct storytelling. I wondered at first if that would be at the expense of character, but no, Hallett is so good, the characters gradually emerge from the jumble of sources. Addictive and frictionless reading, and it felt so good to find something unputdownable for a few days.
I’ve enjoyed Cox’s writing before and this seemed like an obvious holiday read. What I loved about it was the accessibility of the nature he’s exploring. There’s a place for the more exotic tale, I know, but if you can’t take six months off and live in a shack on the beach in Chile in order to get closer to a small but famous vole, then a book about that vole can seem a little remote.
Cox writes about the nature anyone (in England) can find on a country walk. What makes it good reading is his facility for noticing, his humour, and his great humility. He assures us that the more you walk, the more you’ll fall down. Some other nature and travel writers give the impression they’ve never fallen over in the mud. Cox admits to getting lost, getting tired, considering getting a taxi home, and he’s very accurate about the sudden spooks that can come over you in a seemingly empty landscape. He writes very movingly about his family and his cats, and you’ll also laugh out loud.
He’s on instagram and substack if you want to see more of his work and his landscape. This book was published through Unbound and that’s another whole story in itself. A story of great hope and joy, worth a minute of your time.
I chose this book because I’d just been to the unveiling of a portrait of the late, great Fay Weldon. The portrait is fine, but the book is a better likeness. She’s right there in the first pages, leaning forward, puckish and twinkly. Weldon doesn’t hide herself in the characters, she’s quite clear they’ve no choice, she’s made the decisions and some are very sad but you’ve just got to get on with it.
The book is called Before the War but it really concerns a period After the War, the first one, when upper-class households lost their servants to the trenches, and ordinary men going about their day in the 1920s were carrying unimaginable memories. Many of the characters are unlikeable. Fortunately, Weldon is there with us to remind us they aren’t bad people, though they’ve done some bad things. Weldon’s cleverness and humanity keep the book alive, and she breathes it into the orphaned twins who are going to take the story forward into the next volume. Lots of beautiful period detail, very funny, and you’ll feel you’ve spent time with warm, wise Weldon.
Suzy D Harris 