The great thing about literature is that sometimes it really adds to your life in more ways than simply entertaining you.
Sometimes, a great book can kickstart a new interest or hobby; it can make you aware of ideas, people or places you had never considered before and can leave a lasting impression on your thoughts, behaviour or even lifestyle.
Now, I'm not saying that Noah Charney's tale of people nicking stupidly priced daubs is a masterpiece, far from it. But it came along at just the right time for me. Recently I've found a new interest springing up in my soul. People who know me well will say, 'oh yeah?' and try to cover their mouth as they yawn, because I tend to develop a new fascination with something obsessive every other week. But I think this one might be a keeper, simply because it's so unexpected.
I never thought I'd say this, but recently I've developed a fledgling interest in art history. Not the nonsense that art school twats turn out these days, I've never had time for that and I've always tended to think of art in general as highly over-rated and a place for dickheads to hide their lack of talent. Last week I bought 1001 Paintings You Must See Before You Die and the 20th and 21st century chapters were almost entirely filled with primary school rejects; good canvases ruined by someone drawing three lines and a dot and calling it 'a reflection on the futility of life' or some such rhubarb - needless to say, those chapters were pretty much skipped.
But real art, the stuff turned out when people had less tolerance for arty-farty-ism and you were likely to get your head lopped off if you dared portray the king's nose in a way he didn't like, is actually very interesting indeed. Because proper art does actually speak a language which is concealed from the viewer unless you research it a bit and, you know what, it's kinda fascinating.
It started years ago with my first visit to Rome, a city absolutely stuffed to the gills with beautiful and breathtaking works of art, from paintings to buildings. When I went a second time, I'm afraid my art knowledge came from Dan Brown's Angels and Demons, rather than any higher minded source. But, say what you like about that novel, it did at least introduce art and sculpture to the masses and following his false trail around the Eternal City was both fun and educational.
A few weeks ago I watched a couple of documentaries about the Baroque movement, purely because the first episode looked at Rome, and to my surprise, I found it mesmerising. The codes and iconography to be found in great paintings, not as part of some conspiracy but simply because good painters are genuinely trying to say something, is captivating and left me keen to know more. So I bought the art book and it really did open my eyes even further.
Then I remembered that a couple of Christmases ago, a relative kindly gave me a bumper pack of cheaply produced paperbacks which I had kind of forgotten about, one of which was The Art Thief. So I thought I'd give it a whirl. Written by a genuine art crime expert, it gave some fascinating insights into that world and even mentioned some of the paintings in my new non-fiction book, leading to the cross-referencing between fact and fiction that can make this sort of reading such a joy.
Now, don't get me wrong, The Art Thief isn't going to win the Orange Prize any time soon. But it was entertaining enough, even if it was a bit top heavy on facts sometimes - Charney's central character, Gabriel Coffin, is a charismatic art crime expert (wonder where he got that idea) and the snippets from his lectures are a thinly disguised device for the author to show off his own knowledge. By the end, I'd had enough, particularly as I lost track of the twisty-turny plot about halfway through. Paintings are stolen, fakes turn up in their place, which have in turn been painted over originals, which turn out to be fakes anyway.....uh???
While some of the supporting characters, such as the droopy London detective and his entertainingly quirky French counterparts, are nicely done and add a bit more depth to proceedings, Coffin is too two-dimensional - handsome, rich, smooth, a smartypants - to really hold much interest. And the twist barely merits a brief shrug of the shoulders, let alone a shocked intake of breath. But it gave me a bit more of a steer on how to read paintings so in my world, it has done its job.
Saturday 26 February 2011
Review: Beyond Black By Hilary Mantel
Hilary Mantel is one of those writers with whom, along with Sarah Waters, Will Self and Stephen King, I would happily swap brains at the drop of a hat.
Prior to Beyond Black, I had only previously read her Man Booker Prize-winning epic, Wolf Hall. Magnificent and intricately researched as it was, I did find it hard-going in places and so I was a bit nervous about reading more of her work in case it went straight over my head.
While I was working in a bookshop recently, I was replenishing the 'M' section when I noticed some blurb on the cover of Beyond Black in which someone stated it was 'the greatest ghost story in the language'. As a ravenous consumer of supernatural fiction, I snapped it up immediately and was surprised and delighted by what I found inside.
In a dramatic change from Wolf Hall - which takes the reader on a marvellously confident romp through the early career of Henry VIII's chief advisor, Thomas Cromwell - Beyond Black plays out in the far less colourful and deadly setting of modern day Reading. Alison is an obese but successful psychic, whose life could be described as lonely if it were not for the cacophony of spirit voices with which she must contend on a daily basis.
A medium's life is far from glamorous, it seems. Alison spends her time trekking up and down the M4 corridor and circumnavigating the M25, whiling away the hours in rain-soaked traffic in order to entertain well-paying audiences in various town halls and pub function rooms. The story offers a hilarious glimpse at the gruesome reality of this supposedly mystical profession, as Alison endures the bitchy frustrations of fellow circuit entertainers who may or may not be genuine.
As she begins to make a good living from spiritualism, Alison unexpectedly hires the bitter and abrasive Collette to be her personal assistant, thereby bringing together two disappointed women in a dreary lifestyle that drives fear into the heart of any female singleton. Almost eaten alive by anger and frustration, Colette makes a formidable presence, while Alison tries to come to terms with the childhood nightmares that still trouble her well into her 30s.
This novel is an absolute masterclass in the magic of the mundane; in which the boring realities of life take on a compelling quality and unsympathetic characters are so well-drawn, they speak more clearly to the reader than any delightful hero of lesser books. One of those novels where nothing really happens in terms of plot points, yet you can feel life unfolding before your eyes all the same, Beyond Black is a truly inspiring example of work by someone who can just write with their eyes closed.
Hilary Mantel, I hate you. Yours, A Jealous Aspiring Writer.
Prior to Beyond Black, I had only previously read her Man Booker Prize-winning epic, Wolf Hall. Magnificent and intricately researched as it was, I did find it hard-going in places and so I was a bit nervous about reading more of her work in case it went straight over my head.
While I was working in a bookshop recently, I was replenishing the 'M' section when I noticed some blurb on the cover of Beyond Black in which someone stated it was 'the greatest ghost story in the language'. As a ravenous consumer of supernatural fiction, I snapped it up immediately and was surprised and delighted by what I found inside.
In a dramatic change from Wolf Hall - which takes the reader on a marvellously confident romp through the early career of Henry VIII's chief advisor, Thomas Cromwell - Beyond Black plays out in the far less colourful and deadly setting of modern day Reading. Alison is an obese but successful psychic, whose life could be described as lonely if it were not for the cacophony of spirit voices with which she must contend on a daily basis.
A medium's life is far from glamorous, it seems. Alison spends her time trekking up and down the M4 corridor and circumnavigating the M25, whiling away the hours in rain-soaked traffic in order to entertain well-paying audiences in various town halls and pub function rooms. The story offers a hilarious glimpse at the gruesome reality of this supposedly mystical profession, as Alison endures the bitchy frustrations of fellow circuit entertainers who may or may not be genuine.
As she begins to make a good living from spiritualism, Alison unexpectedly hires the bitter and abrasive Collette to be her personal assistant, thereby bringing together two disappointed women in a dreary lifestyle that drives fear into the heart of any female singleton. Almost eaten alive by anger and frustration, Colette makes a formidable presence, while Alison tries to come to terms with the childhood nightmares that still trouble her well into her 30s.
This novel is an absolute masterclass in the magic of the mundane; in which the boring realities of life take on a compelling quality and unsympathetic characters are so well-drawn, they speak more clearly to the reader than any delightful hero of lesser books. One of those novels where nothing really happens in terms of plot points, yet you can feel life unfolding before your eyes all the same, Beyond Black is a truly inspiring example of work by someone who can just write with their eyes closed.
Hilary Mantel, I hate you. Yours, A Jealous Aspiring Writer.
Review: The Kind Man by Susan Hill
In a previous review, I've mentioned the difficulties authors must face when trying to follow up on a huge literary hit.
Just as pop artists must struggle to live up to that big number one, still played at office parties twenty years later, so it must be a similar challenge for writers who have knocked out a story which instantly became a modern classic.
Susan Hill's The Woman in Black is a universally acclaimed ghost story which sits proudly alongside the work of MR James and Charles Dickens, when it comes to a beautifully constructed and truly scary supernatural fiction. Although Hill has since become a very successful crime writer, she has also turned out a number of other ghost stories and, in my humble opinion, none have come close to the giddying highs of Eel Marsh House and its creepy inhabitant.
Now it is not for me to suggest that her subsequent efforts have failed in their intention - indeed, she might have been aiming for something distinctly different from The Woman in Black, in which case she has succeeded. But as a reader, I found her second-to-latest book, The Small Hand, to be disappointing and I'm afraid I feel the same way about The Kind Man.
To be fair, I don't think this is meant to be a ghost story. I'm not entirely sure what it is meant to be, but I'm pretty certain it's not meant to be frightening, so fair enough. Thought-provoking it most certainly is.
Set in a poor rural village in some indistinct time in the past, The Kind Man follows the story of a young woman who marries a nice chap and settles down to humble working class life. While her sister turns out several children, only to sink into depression and lovelessness, the woman has one daughter who later dies.
The grief-stricken couple attempt to go on with her lives, but things take an even worse turn when her husband loses his job and develops cancer. But there seems to be a miracle in store for them both - a miracle which will have far-reaching and unforeseeable consequences.
I'll be honest - I got bored with this story. It is immensely well-written, but the pace was slow, even for such a short novel, and I was a bit irritated by the apparent moral that kicked in towards the end. I also didn't really understand the connection between their daughter's death and the husband's experience. Although I could guess at it, I found that I didn't really care because the story didn't seem to fit together properly in my mind.
A great story should leave you feeling equally fulfilled and bereft when the final page is turned. Unfortunately, the characters in The Kind Man were not compelling enough to capture me and as the story also failed on that point, I was quite relieved to be able to put the book down and move on to something else.
Just as pop artists must struggle to live up to that big number one, still played at office parties twenty years later, so it must be a similar challenge for writers who have knocked out a story which instantly became a modern classic.
Susan Hill's The Woman in Black is a universally acclaimed ghost story which sits proudly alongside the work of MR James and Charles Dickens, when it comes to a beautifully constructed and truly scary supernatural fiction. Although Hill has since become a very successful crime writer, she has also turned out a number of other ghost stories and, in my humble opinion, none have come close to the giddying highs of Eel Marsh House and its creepy inhabitant.
Now it is not for me to suggest that her subsequent efforts have failed in their intention - indeed, she might have been aiming for something distinctly different from The Woman in Black, in which case she has succeeded. But as a reader, I found her second-to-latest book, The Small Hand, to be disappointing and I'm afraid I feel the same way about The Kind Man.
To be fair, I don't think this is meant to be a ghost story. I'm not entirely sure what it is meant to be, but I'm pretty certain it's not meant to be frightening, so fair enough. Thought-provoking it most certainly is.
Set in a poor rural village in some indistinct time in the past, The Kind Man follows the story of a young woman who marries a nice chap and settles down to humble working class life. While her sister turns out several children, only to sink into depression and lovelessness, the woman has one daughter who later dies.
The grief-stricken couple attempt to go on with her lives, but things take an even worse turn when her husband loses his job and develops cancer. But there seems to be a miracle in store for them both - a miracle which will have far-reaching and unforeseeable consequences.
I'll be honest - I got bored with this story. It is immensely well-written, but the pace was slow, even for such a short novel, and I was a bit irritated by the apparent moral that kicked in towards the end. I also didn't really understand the connection between their daughter's death and the husband's experience. Although I could guess at it, I found that I didn't really care because the story didn't seem to fit together properly in my mind.
A great story should leave you feeling equally fulfilled and bereft when the final page is turned. Unfortunately, the characters in The Kind Man were not compelling enough to capture me and as the story also failed on that point, I was quite relieved to be able to put the book down and move on to something else.
Review: If The Dead Rise Not By Philip Kerr
I went into a fair bit of detail about Kerr's anti-hero, Bernhard Gunther, in my review of a previous book so I won't go crazy on this one, but here is a brief recap.
Gunther is a gumshoe in 1930s and 40s Berlin, an ex-policeman who was forced to play his part in the war but didn't enjoy it and holds no sympathy for Nazi ideals. These experiences have scarred him to a degree and he has a refreshingly honest approach to some of his clients, but it is clear that he is pretty much still a good guy.
This novel spans two time periods and settings - the pre-war tension of 30s Germany, where Gunther falls in love with a beautiful American guest while working as a hotel detective, and 50s Argentina, to which Gunther has been forced to flee under the guise of a Nazi war criminal in order to escape a trumped-up murder charge. Here he bumps into his former lover again and falls headlong back into her problems.
His escape to Argentina was set up in a previous book and the way in which Kerr's stories dovetail together show a really nice commitment to the character, while still making a great stand-alone read. Sure, there is some pretty cliched wish fulfilment going on here, such as the way in which gorgeous women fall helplessly into Gunther's bed the moment they meet him, and one twist regarding his former lover's daughter can be seen coming a mile off.
But Kerr's stories are gripping enough to keep things feeling fresh and just on the right side of cheesy, for Gunther gets involved in some pretty dark doings and confesses to feeling scared at the right moments.
In short, a brilliantly entertaining novel for fans of hardboiled detective fiction or indeed, anyone just looking for a bit of well-researched and well-written fun.
Gunther is a gumshoe in 1930s and 40s Berlin, an ex-policeman who was forced to play his part in the war but didn't enjoy it and holds no sympathy for Nazi ideals. These experiences have scarred him to a degree and he has a refreshingly honest approach to some of his clients, but it is clear that he is pretty much still a good guy.
This novel spans two time periods and settings - the pre-war tension of 30s Germany, where Gunther falls in love with a beautiful American guest while working as a hotel detective, and 50s Argentina, to which Gunther has been forced to flee under the guise of a Nazi war criminal in order to escape a trumped-up murder charge. Here he bumps into his former lover again and falls headlong back into her problems.
His escape to Argentina was set up in a previous book and the way in which Kerr's stories dovetail together show a really nice commitment to the character, while still making a great stand-alone read. Sure, there is some pretty cliched wish fulfilment going on here, such as the way in which gorgeous women fall helplessly into Gunther's bed the moment they meet him, and one twist regarding his former lover's daughter can be seen coming a mile off.
But Kerr's stories are gripping enough to keep things feeling fresh and just on the right side of cheesy, for Gunther gets involved in some pretty dark doings and confesses to feeling scared at the right moments.
In short, a brilliantly entertaining novel for fans of hardboiled detective fiction or indeed, anyone just looking for a bit of well-researched and well-written fun.
Review: There Once Was a Woman Who Tried to Kill Her Neighbour's Baby by Ludmilla Petrushevskaya
Proper weird, this one. If you want contemporary tales that are a little bit freaky, this bird is probably your go-to gal.
Described as 'scary fairy tales', this slim collection of short stories covers some pretty broad ground. From the depressingly realistic scenario of a woman with mental health issues setting traps for her young neighbour's cute baby, to the wildly imaginative tale of twin sisters who are cursed to share one enormous body, Petrushevskaya veers from the bizarre, impossible world of the Brothers Grimm to the sort of mundane viciousness you see on the news every day.
Most of the stories have some sort of supernatural element, but not all. One is a rather unsatisfying snapshot of life among persecuted Russian peasants who are forced to scratch out a living in the forest, while another follows the attempts of a mother to set her wayward son on the right track in life, only to realise that she has no idea what that track might look like.
Whether her tale is magical or more pedestrian, the common thread that seems to run through Petrushevskaya's accomplished stories is an acceptance of life's disappointments and frustrations. The darkest and most disturbing horror story can leave you feeling entertained and even quite uplifted if it is safely removed from the normal experiences and truths of every day life. But this writer does not allow the reader to do that. Her themes seem to originate from the inescapable downside of being alive - the rejected lovers, the dead marriages, the loneliness, the crushed self-esteem, the unfairness of politics, the broken promises, the forgotten dreams. And god, that's depressing.
I'm glad I read this book because Petrushevskaya is a highly gifted writer and her ability to explore political and emotional themes through her work is evident. But I'm not sure I'll be seeking out any more of her stuff just yet. Sometimes you are in the mood for escapism and, despite the fairy tale label, Petrushevskaya's fiction is just a little bit too grounded in fact.
Described as 'scary fairy tales', this slim collection of short stories covers some pretty broad ground. From the depressingly realistic scenario of a woman with mental health issues setting traps for her young neighbour's cute baby, to the wildly imaginative tale of twin sisters who are cursed to share one enormous body, Petrushevskaya veers from the bizarre, impossible world of the Brothers Grimm to the sort of mundane viciousness you see on the news every day.
Most of the stories have some sort of supernatural element, but not all. One is a rather unsatisfying snapshot of life among persecuted Russian peasants who are forced to scratch out a living in the forest, while another follows the attempts of a mother to set her wayward son on the right track in life, only to realise that she has no idea what that track might look like.
Whether her tale is magical or more pedestrian, the common thread that seems to run through Petrushevskaya's accomplished stories is an acceptance of life's disappointments and frustrations. The darkest and most disturbing horror story can leave you feeling entertained and even quite uplifted if it is safely removed from the normal experiences and truths of every day life. But this writer does not allow the reader to do that. Her themes seem to originate from the inescapable downside of being alive - the rejected lovers, the dead marriages, the loneliness, the crushed self-esteem, the unfairness of politics, the broken promises, the forgotten dreams. And god, that's depressing.
I'm glad I read this book because Petrushevskaya is a highly gifted writer and her ability to explore political and emotional themes through her work is evident. But I'm not sure I'll be seeking out any more of her stuff just yet. Sometimes you are in the mood for escapism and, despite the fairy tale label, Petrushevskaya's fiction is just a little bit too grounded in fact.
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