My Hero

The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie (henceforth TPOMJB): a slim book which, it turns out, manages to cram in an awful lot of stuff to talk about. Deceptive. Very much like Miss Jean Brodie herself.

I must admit, I chose this book as a purely selfish act. I read it in my teens and absolutely loved it. Looking back, I think I fell slightly in love with Miss Jean Brodie (MJB) and secretly wished I had a special teacher who would lead lessons under cherry trees, telling us about her love of Giotto, Mussolini and her racy love life rather than long division and the agricultural revolution. (As you can imagine, the likelihood of this actually happening in a Sunderland comprehensive was pretty remote, but isn’t it always in the most unlikely of places that romantic dreams flourish?) Unsurprisingly I never got a Miss Jean Brodie: I did however get a lifelong love of eccentric female novelists of the early 20th century (Elizabeth Taylor, Olivia Manning, Jean Rhys et al) and now, many years on, it seemed like the time to revisit my teenage crush. Though none of you were quite as enamored as her the first time round, you did have  a similar experience; a vivid memory- whether formed by the TV series, the film or the novel- of Jean Brodie to which informed this second reading. An interesting (and I think unique) situation for the book group to be in.

Alas, like green 20/20 and snogging behind Jackie Whites market, some things aren’t quite the same when you try them again. And while TPOMJB was just as compelling and complex as before, Miss Jean Brodie herself was agreed to be a whole lot more disturbing than we remembered. For me, it turned out my crush wasn’t so straightforwardly appealing as I first thought.

As you might expect, much of the book group conversation centred around the characterization or, more accurately, the character of MJB. This is an important distinction as one of the things much commented on was the meagre amount Spark actually tells us about MJB. We never get inside her head, we never see her in “her own space” without the girls, we hear her reflect on her actions, never even hear her say much that isn’t one of her wonderful catchphrases. What does it mean when she says she’s in her prime? Is she? We know virtually nothing. Yet she somehow manages to dominate the story, change the course of the girls lives and create endless speculation. Is she benign, only doing what’s best for the girls, or a malevolent autocrat, a pre-figuration of Hitler? Is she a sad figure whose only power is her power over the girls or is she funny, a kind of brisk, Scottish stereotype? Why is she so seductive? Why does she do the things she does? What influence does she really have on the girls lives? It’s a testament to Spark’s genius (yes, I know, I don’t use the “g” word lightly) that her spare, dense prose rewards the reader with so much to think on.

Boy did we talk and talk, obviously reaching no decisive conclusion but then that’s not the point is it? (Unlike MJB, book group promotes diverse and lateral thinking!) Once I’d gotten over the fact that as a teenager I was in love with a tyrant, I was relieved to find out that one of the books which inspired me most was still as brilliant (and way more unsettling) as ever.

Also discussed:

• The form of the novel- flash-forwards, flashbacks, repetition, the way that the girls were labelled and their lives were prefigured
• The necessity of judging MJB’s actions in the context of the time- though now it seems remarkable that a teacher would have the girls to her house etc. perhaps not so odd then?
• The influence of the war- how their were a generation of women left in “war-bereaved spinsterhood” and how that effects MJB’s life and actions
• The themes of religion and politics (fascism in particular- does her rule over her set pre-figure the rise of Hitler?)

We also welcomed four new members to the first book group of 2012. Thanks all for coming along and hope you’ll join us on the 9 February to discuss Snowdrops by AD Miller. x

Well, it turned out that I managed to hit on the most un-festive book imaginable for December; as we all agreed, this was easily the strangest, most intensely menacing and (in places) terrifyingly violent book we’ve read all year. However, it managed to provoke the most interesting and intense discussion we’ve ever had; in fact we were so absorbed that an hour and a half flew by and we could have easily filled the same time over again.

So what did we talk about? Yikes- way too much to go into in too much detail (would become THE LONGEST BLOG IN HISTORY). The two stories, the book within the book, why choose that structure, was one story stronger than the other, was it all a dream/ hallucination? What did it tell us about reading and the relationship between reader/story or reader/writer? What was so unsettling about the book? Was it the weirdest book ever written? Were we convinced by “Nocturnal Animals” and was the writing meant to be good or rubbish? What was the significance of Edward not coming to see Susan at the end? Why??? Much of the chat centered around the “message” that we thought Edward was trying to give Susan by writing the book- it turned out a lot of us spent much of the book trying to figure it out in the same way Susan did and all expected the message to be revealed at the end of the novel. Was it all about abandonment? Was it about weakness? Was Tony morally culpable for the crimes? Was “Tony” Edward’s fictional version of Susan? I ventured my pet theory that perhaps there was NO message at all, and the point (if a book has a point) is that the reader makes connections to themselves and “sees” personal significance where there is none intended. In short, the reader “writes” the book themselves: the book was about Susan rather than anyone else.

But that too is just another idea and the utter joy of this truly bizarre book is there is no way you can come to a conclusion. We maybe didn’t LOVE this book (too odd to be straightforwardly lovable) we were utterly intrigued and beguiled by it. A super book group and unanimous agreement that this was certainly worth the reissue. Massive thumbs up to Atlantic from us.

So it’s testament to Rebecca Hunt’s writing that she manages to not only pull this off, but to do it with such originality, wit and humanity that the WHOLE BOOK GROUP  adored it. So much so that  I fear I’m not going to even begin to do our discussion justice or manage to pick up on the many things that people loved in this blog. This is my attempt:

• The brilliant characterisation of depression as a real, intensely physical thing, with a weight and solidity that those of us who have experience of the illness recognised as accurate. Ditto for the depiction of depression as so logical, as something with a purpose. We were impressed with the complexity of the relationship that both Esther and Churchill had with Mr Chartwell, not just loathing him but looking to him with familiarity, for comfort and support. These nuances made the relationships between the characters and Mr Chartwell “real” and hints at the seductive nature of depression. We thought it a real achievement that something that is so difficult to describe was articulate so precisely.
• The depiction of Churchill, particularly his relationship with Clementine, which lots of people picked out as being extremely moving. An interesting take on a “national hero”.
• Rebecca Hunt’s quirky relish of language which marks her out as a original and exciting voice. How many other authors would describe light streaming in the window as the same shape as a “pair of tennis shorts”?

Discussion about the book spiraled into thoughts on first novels, mental illness as “the last taboo”, books as therapy and our pretty much universal suspicion of dogs. It also really astonished me (in a good way!) how open and honest people were willing to be in bringing personal experience to the book, which really enriched our chat. A big thanks for that- not an easy thing to discuss by any means.

Also, for fact fans, Churchill did die in 1965. His dad did have syphilis and his daughter did commit suicide.

And for those of you who wondered about Hunt’s personal experience of depressions, I found this interview.

And onto December. Can the love last another month….?

Laura is bad

First of all, I hang my head in shame when I see how long it has been since I last wrote this blog. I am an incredibly neglectful book group leader. I could make excuses, but really it’s just a bit rubbish. So, apologies. I’ll try not to let it happen again.

Especially  as I really, really love book club, most particularly the way that despite 3 years (!!) in the job I still have no idea how you will all react to a particular book. Just for laughs I try, before leaving the office to come to a meeting, to guess which way it will go. And for the past two months I have got these predictions massively, woefully wrong. A quick summary:

When God was a Rabbit by Sarah Winman

What I thought you’d say: Hate. Too whimsical, waffly and annoying. Looses steam half way through and just peters out disappointingly.

The verdict?: Pretty much universal love. Praise for the evocation of childhood and sibling love, the eccentricity of the characters and family and loved the fairy-tale quality of both the story and the writing. Difficult topics treated in a sensitive and realistic way. Although you agreed that it did loose a bit of pace, most of you whizzed through it and couldn’t put it down.

The Possessions of Dr. Forrest by Richard T Kelly

What I thought you’d say: That you enjoyed it. Cracking story with a good pace that really held your attention. Effective use of gothic tropes in a modern day setting. A bit daft but a lot of fun (and properly scary in places).

The verdict?: Pretty much universal loathing. Hated the heightened gothic language, couldn’t differentiate between characters, not interested. General dislike of the gothic genre. Unnecessary “confession at the end which simply reiterated all that had gone before. Few redeeming features. (Except for Julie who LOVED it).

The interesting thing is that, hate or love, these were two great meetings with lots of chat, laughing and discussions (and cake, don’t forget the cake!!). So though I cant always predict which way you’ll all go, I suppose I can rest assured that you’ll definitely have an opinion and that always makes for a great book group.

It’s Mr Chartwell by Rebecca Hunt next. Obviously no predictions, but I’m certainly looking forward to hearing what you have to say!

We also previewed some of the reading list for the autumn (now listed on the rather natty list to the right). I really hope some of the autumn choices will make you smile in a similar way. I won’t be holding my breath though….

Also launched today is the very exciting Durham Book Festival 2011 programme. Get your tickets booked early to avoid disappointment!

Christos Tsiolkas take note...

Oh Christos Tsiolkas- how pleased you must be that the rest of the book-buying world didn’t agree with the Official Sunderland Book Group Opinion. How pleased that we are not the Commonwealth Prize Committee nor the Booker Prize longlisters. Because we didn’t like this one at all. Really. Almost no disagreement. We just hated it.

So, though the rest of the world may look on in disbelief, at the last meeting (as is becoming tradition) we swerved away from mainstream opinion and discussed the myriad ways we detested this book, which ranged from the obvious (awful sex, liberal drug taking, filthy language) to the more considered:

• lack of character differentiation- everyone equally angry, having the same awful sex,   hating each other in exactly the same way.
• unbelievable, hysterical, over the top, soap opera style plot
• possibly misogynist
• really dull, unimaginative writing style

To quote India Knight who, we agreed, said it much better than we could; “the whole novel has this ludicrous comedy-macho sensibility. You get the feeling that if he’d been forced to read ‘literary’ fiction, Raoul Moat would have gulped it down at one sitting.” “There is no joy, no love, no hope, no beauty [in it]. Just hideous people beating each other up, either physically or emotionally.”

And so on and so on. We didn’t like it. I don’t have much more to say.

Or maybe I do. Just that I’m really looking forward to the next meeting which is now on the 21st July. We’ll be discussing Rupture by Simon Lelic, (thankfully) a totally different proposition to The Slap. Indeed, I have not yet counted one c word. I’ll also (drum roll!) be revealing the Autumn programme of books!

The things we liked: the 50’s setting, the sassy Lexie and the suave Innes (who most people developed a major crush on), a tale of a woman carving out her niche in the world, the sense of place and time,particularly the sense of places being “layered” with previous events and inhabitants, the quality of the writing and the foregrounding of the “realities” of motherhood, so frequently overlooked in novels.

And now the problems: a lot of rather two-dimensional minor characters, a slightly “stagey” feel to the whole book, the omniscient “knowing” narrative voice used throughout the Lexie story(which as dubbed “the voice of doom”) and an over-reliance on fairly unbelievable plot points (Tom’s recall of his childhood? Discovering Jackson Pollock behind the dressing table? Would Curtis of really married Margot???) left most of us with a feeling of short-changed by a book which promised so much. While we almost universally praised the quality and ease of the prose, for me at least, it seems a shame that a writer as so obviously “good” as O’Farrell has produced a novel of such little substance; as Kelly so accurately said “a Mars Bar for the brain”.

So a mixed bag but mainly a feeling of being a wee bit underwhelmed, something which I can almost guarantee that we wont be saying about next months book The Slap by Christos Tsiolkas. I think this may be the sort of book that its impossible not to have an opinion of- and I’ll leave it up to you to guess what mine is…..

So the revised date is 19 May and the meeting will start at the usual time of 6.45pm.We’ll be reading Maggie O’Farrell’s The Hand that First Held Mine. I really hope this isn’t too much of an inconvenience to anyone (but, be warned, as you’ve got  extra reading time I’ll accept no excuses for not getting to the end!!).

I’m looking forward to seeing everyone soon! xx

A gratuitous picture of my cat

First of all, apologies for the late posting of this blog. I wrote this ages ago but forgot to post it. I am officially an idiot. Anyway, on with the book….

For a book about emotional repression, MJ Hyland’s “This is How” certainly provoked some strong reactions at the last meeting.  Cards on the table, I absolutely loved this book- I though it was gripping, beautifully written and almost heartbreaking sad portrait of a character at odds with the world- yet, as the discussion started, I thought I might be on my own.

Because those who didn’t like this book REALLY didn’t like it! It seems that lots of you found Ptrick to be  an extremely unsympathetic and unnerving central character. You wondered about whether his background really was “bad” enough to provoke such extremity and struggled with his inability to accept any responsibility for his actions. The words “boring”, “unconvincing” and “disappointing” reared their ugly heads. It seems a lot of people were left feeling “so what?”.

And then all of  a sudden a couple of late arrivals pitched up and the discussion abruptly changed. Like me they’d had a strong emotional reaction to the book, recognising Patrick as a troubled and perhaps “ill” young man. Interestingly their backgrounds in mental health meant they framed his inability to understand emotion, his problems with relationships and his fastidiousness in the context of a mental health disorder or autism/ Aspergers Syndrome. This lead on to a discussion about authorial intention (were these conditions in the authors mind when she wrote it? and, if so, why were they not mentioned? would it not make Patrick’s motivation easier to understand?),  the “medicalisation” of bad behaviour and the terrible loneliness of suffering from an “invisible” condition which places you outside of the mainstream. The question of whether we needed to put a name to a condition and whether that enables us to better accept peoples actions (even if they re as unpalatable as Patrick’s) plagued us. Should we expect an author to provide us with “answers”?

This brief surmise doesn’t for a moment capture the depth of our discussion and, as you’d expect, we didn’t resolve any of these questions. However, I think we all came away with a sense of knowing the book more deeply, questioning our own reactions to it and maybe understanding our own worlds a little bit more. And what more can you ask from a book?

And as an extra treat MJ Hyland herself will be at the session of the Living Room Book Group in Newcastle on the 3rd May. It begins at 6.30pm and I for one have a lot of questions to put to her. Hope to see some of you there…. x

Official approval for Jonathan Coe

While mulling over the multiple meanings of the title “What a Carve Up”, our fabulous March book, I was reminded me of a conversation that I had with a lady who I was trying to persuade to join in the book group fun. And her objection was that she didn’t like the idea of “pulling a book to bits”; she reckoned that would ruin it. It’s not an unique view by any means; from time in memorial people have complained that application of intellect and scrutiny somehow destroys the mysteries of artistic creation. Even the divine Keats objected that literary critics (and scientists…) “unweave the rainbow”.

But it seems to me that what this view misses is the bit AFTER the pulling apart, the bit where we reform the book and try and apply all we have discussed to the whole. After every book group I come away with a deeper sense of appreciation for a book- even if I didn’t enjoy it myself- because a few people have said a few incisive things that shift my perspective or make me see a connection that I didn’t before. And that, my dears, is the beauty of the book group.

I was struck with this sense a few times on Thursday as we discussed “What a Carve Up!”. Even though this had been my book choice, I struggled a bit with it and thought that others might too- it’s by far the most demanding, formally experimental and involved (some might say confusing…) book we’ve read for a while. While reading it I had been overwhelmed by a sense that I DID like the book but, for whatever reason, wasn’t “getting it” in quite the way I should. It was a severe bout of RAS (reading anxiety syndrome). But having a discussion about it with a bunch of people who had really embraced the novel helped me reformulate my own thoughts and made me able to better appreciate all the parallels/ coincidences/ hidden meanings that mix together to create this incredibly funny, incredibly angry and, we agreed, still timely novel. So, thanks everyone!

In short, we liked:

• the humour
• the politics (nice to have an “engaged” novel)
• the writing and stylistic experimentation
• the mix of characters, from the grotesque Winshaws to the more “realistically” depicted Michael, Fiona and Phoebe who we could relate to and empathise with.

We weren’t to keen on:

• a bit overlong and maybe one twist too many?

I should also give an honourable mention to the two book-groupers who absolutely loathed it. If you’re reading this Mr Coe (I wish!!!), you can’t win ‘em all….

Can’t wait for next time. x