Books from Birthdays

It's my birthday soon, so I thought I'd have a flick through the back catalogue of books I have been given as birthday presents over the years by various people. Funnily enough though, despite being a lover of books since, well, forever, people just don't seem to buy me books, and I'm not entirely sure why. Maybe they think I'll have them already, or perhaps they're worried I won't like them... I don't know! So, given that fact, I've stepped outside the box, as it were, and gone for a bit of a megamix of books I received as gifts - Christmases, Birthdays, just-because books, and picked out my favourite ones - or at least, the ones that stuck with me.

1. Maus, by Art Spiegelman

This was given to me by a friend for my 20th birthday, I think it was. I'd recently discovered graphic novels in the form of Watchmen, by Alan Moore and Dave Gibbons, and was quite intrigued by this world of 'adult comics'. I'd discussed Watchmen with said friend - a fellow literary fan, though of a more intense nature than myself - who bought me this. It came as a bit of a surprise - I found it difficult to act pleased when I saw a huge swastika under the wrapping paper - but I'm so glad they bought it for me. As you might have guessed from the German title and Nazi imagery, it's about World War Two; and what's more, it's the real story of a man who's father was a Polish Jew, and somehow - always a horrifyingly amazing feat - survived the Holocaust. This is his story, of how he went from being a fairly well-to-do young man, to being on the run from Nazis, to Auschwitz, and how he survived it all. It's harrowing, as all literature, imagery and films to do with World War Two and the Holocaust are, and made all the more awful - as with A Child Called It - by the fact that this is not a story in the usual sense of the word; it is true, every last ghastly detail. The story is told in a way that, I suspect, is meant to somehow 'lighten' the content - the Jews are portrayed as mice, the Nazis as cats and the Americans as dogs. Owing to the natural relationships of cats, mice and dogs, it's an interesting plot device - and also helps depict certain aspects of the war in an easier-to-understand light; for example, the Polish are depicted as pigs, so when the Jewish mice try to disguise themselves to avoid being carted off by the Nazi cats, the mice wear pig-nose masks on their faces. It's childish and chilling at the same time - the first time I saw it, I wanted to laugh, then remembered what I was reading. Then, of course, the Nazi cats can be shown to have sharp teeth and spiteful claws, whilst the American dogs - playing man's best friend here, as in life - are shown as friendly, smiley creatures. It's this plain, black-and-white imagery - enhanced by the fact the entire book is drawn in black-and-white - that makes the horror all the clearer. Spigelman - quite rightly - does not scrimp on details; he has not written this to sugar-coat it, and so there are some nasty images, and some even worse descriptions. However, if I would ever recommend a book on the Holocaust, this would be it; it's heart-breaking, horrifying and will keep you awake at night, but there's also some light-hearted moments and it certainly increased my understanding of what the Holocaust was, and what it meant to survive it.


2. Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, by J. K. Rowling
Going to throw in a completely different direction here, because I fear I've depressed you all with Number One. This was given to me as a Christmas present and is the only Harry Potter book I ever received as a present - being a fan, I always pre-ordered my copy of the rest of the series, and promptly read them all the same day. I love all the Harry Potter books but this remains one of my favourite of the series, for many reasons, but mostly because this is (in my opinion) the one where everything changes. The previous books - The Philosopher's Stone and The Chamber of Secrets - are more childish, as expected, given that the protagonists hadn't yet entered their moody teens, and whilst most people choose Goblet of Fire as the turning-point - given it's deeply darker content, and mid-way point of the series - I tend to think Prisoner of Azkaban is the real set up for some deeply dark goings-on. For starters, this is the only one without a noticeable Voldemort presence in some form - which I found disturbing as I'd generally prefer to know where old Voldy was, and he is distinctly quiet in this one. Secondly, this is the one where the servant rejoins the master, which is deeply ominous, given that if said servant had been killed, like certain characters wanted to, the rest of the books would not have panned out like they had - Voldemort would not have risen to power as quickly without him (or her - I'm deliberately trying not to give too much away, after a misplaced Facebook comment about a bet ruined the end of the seventh book for a friend). Thirdly, this is the first book to feature death - kind of - in relation to a character who is not evil (Ginny is never believed to be dead, just close to it, in Chamber of Secrets, so she doesn't count) - it's setting you up for a full-on execution in the next book, and the next, and the next... All in all, whilst this isn't the obvious turning point of the series, it is the one that prepares you for a darker view of the wizarding world, as Harry begins to grow up and discover just what being 'The Boy Who Lived' really means.


3. Any Human Heart, by William Boyd

This was a book that I was very unfair to, in the beginning. I was given it as a Christmas present, but basically ignored it for about seven months, which is quite unlike me; I tend to at least try to give a book a go. There was nothing about it that particularly bothered me, or put me off; I just simply found other things to read. Also, I think I'd heard that there had been a TV mini-series, with the affable Jim Broadbent, and whilst that wasn't off-putting either, I can't say it inspired interest. To put it bluntly, I didn't care. Oh, how wrong I was! Though, I must admit, it's only with finishing the novel that I found how much I appreciated it. To summarise, it is the story of a man, Logan Mountstuart (I love that name) throughout life, from teenager to elderly pensioner, told through journals that he kept throughout his life, with some intervals between ages, where Logan seems to stop writing his journals for a while. The fact that it is a life told from near-beginning to end, in as realistic terms as possible, is an incredible feat, and the way in which Boyd is able to convey the changing character of Logan as he ages - starting off as a typically boisterous schoolboy, all the way through to a lonely, elderly man - is even more impressive. I've occasionally dabbled in writing myself (not a groundbreaking revelation, I'm sure) and one thing I've always struggled with is characterisation; yet here is one man, from 18 to 80 (more or less), and you can see him aging before your very eyes. Half way through I actually stopped and flicked back to the earlier pages, and marvelled at how much Logan had changed, and how far he had come, and how seamless it all was. I couldn't understand how it was done, and did find myself half-wondering if Logan Montstuart was a real person, and that William Boyd had published his journals for him. That, in essence, sums up the book; the transition through life, as Logan struggles through the lows and soars through the highs of his life, is seamless. I can't really describe it any other way. I was a good two-thirds of the way through and still expecting some kind of climax - a revelation, perhaps, or the return of a long-lost friend - when the penny finally dropped; this is meant to be like life. And alright, so there are not going to be that many people who had spats with Virginia Woolf, or a friendship with Ernest Hemingway, but nevertheless, Logan's is just a life, like everyone else's; he suffers heartbreaking disappointments, breath-taking moments of sheer luck and stomach-dropping betrayals, and yet throughout all these moments, it never quite occurs to you that THESE are the climaxes, these are the moments that will affect the rest of the novel - simply because it doesn't feel like a novel, it feels like you are reading the journals of a man who lived a full, rich life, across several continents and careers, with many interesting people and some perfectly dull ones.

 4. The Iliad and The Odyssey, by Homer
I'm mentioning this, not because I love the stories, or even because it's a marvellous new interpretation, or translation, or anything clever like that. I'm mentioning it - in a bit of a gushy way, so I'll try to keep it to a minimum - because it was a present last year, from the boyfriend, and it is a bloody wonderful edition. Probably published entirely for suckers like me, who can't resist an attractive book, it's bound in blue leather with gold script on the covers, as well as embossed Greek-like images, and has gold-edged pages. It is beautiful, and I love it. I love it so much, in fact, that I don't really read it, because I'm a bit scared I'm going to rip the pages. What I love most about it, however, is the fact that it was bought for me because said boyfriend knew it was something that I would want, instantly, because it is a beautiful edition of two of my favourite stories, held together in glorious binding and splendour, suited to the royal heroes of the pages within. It's also probably the first copy I'll have of either story that won't be decimated by myself - The Iliad paperback has been in the bath, and I'm on my second copy already of the paperback Odyssey, having left the first out in the Egyptian sun on holiday one year, the result of which was melted glue and Book One in the swimming pool. And finally, I know a few fellow Classicists have been known to read my little blog, so guys, if you're there, and you want a decent copy of The Iliad and The Odyssey in one book, in prose, to keep for years and years and years - behold! Look no further. It's got everything - the wonderful epics, maps, and a cover that not only matches the brilliance of the poems it is translated from, but pays homage to them. It may not be worth anything in years to come, but I already treasure it as if it were a family heirloom - and I kind of hope, one day, it will be.

5. Old Possum's Book of Practical Cats, by T. S. Eliot

Now, I could tell a bit of a fib here, and say 'this is one of the first books I was given, and has been a favourite of mine since childhood', given that it's fairly obviously a book for children. The truth is, however, that this is present from my mum and dad, the annual Christmas book. Every year, I get one - sometimes two - and whilst, for the most part, they are pleasant, they're also generally of somewhat more nostalgic than sentimental value, and so I don't tend to go mad for them. This, however, was one of those rare books that I was genuinely surprised, and delighted, to receive. I've been a fan of T. S. Eliot's poetry since studying them for A Level English Literature, but had no idea he had written this collection, and was even less aware of the fact that my parents knew I liked his work; it's not the kind of information I was expecting them to know about me, to be honest. This collection, as you can probably tell, is all about cats - so, given that I am an owner of two cats, combined with an appreciation of Eliot's poetry, this was a pretty sound choice of gift. There are fifteen poems in all, and they all feature excellently-named felines - my favourites being Growltiger, Mungojerrie and Mr Mistoffelees. They are a mixture of what I am tentatively titling 'Cat Appreciation', in that they are mini odes to cats, focusing on their habits - my favourite poem being 'The Ad-dressing of Cats', which dictates the proper manner in which to greet a cat (for example, if you find an unfamilar cat, it's best to err on the side of caution and address him thus: 'I bow, and taking off my hat, ad-dress him in this form: O CAT!') Given that cats are somewhat snobbish creatures, it's this kind of ludicrous formality that exists throughout the poems to make them a hugely enjoyable read. Coupled with some beautiful illustrations by Alex Scheffler, the illustrator who also gave life to The Gruffalo, you've got a collection of poems that are beautiful to read, wonderful to hear and gorgeous to look at.

World Book Day: What do you want from a book?

HAPPY WORLD BOOK DAY, EVERYONE! To celebrate, I'm pondering on what exactly makes a good book, which could take a while as it's not an easy question, as everyone has a different answer and even then it can depend on what kind of mood you're in. For example, on a day when I'm feeling a bit classic-y, I might say 'Oh, I simply adore Emily Bronte's 'Wuthering Heights' (though hopefully I wouldn't say it in such a pretentious way.) Alternatively, if another day I'm feeling a bit... cooler, shall we say, I might go for 'High Fidelity' by Nick Hornby. (Incidentally, I said 'High Fidelity' was my favourite book in a job interview once... I didn't get the job. Probably should have gone for 'War and Peace' by Tolstoy, or something. Though I did talk about 'The Chronicles of Narnia' for about half an hour in my interview for my current job, so maybe the first interview people just didn't like Nick Hornby). Generally, though, I'll go for 'To Kill A Mockingbird', by Harper Lee, because I love it; it's simple, nostalgic (and by that I mean the kids playing, coming-of-age, and so on - not the inherent racism of the Southern USA in the 1930's), and has an excellent plot that seems to give more to you each time you read it. But what about the technicalities of a good book?

When I was at school, I was taught that there are three key elements to a good story: a beginning, a middle, and an end. I have since found out that this is only true if you are under the age of eleven and writing something for homework, as some of the best books I've ever read have had whopping cliffhangers, and some of the earliest examples of Western storytelling start in media res, or in the middle; yes, I'm talking about The Iliad and The Odyssey. The former actually starts about nine years into the Trojan War, and recounts everything that has happened prior through characters swapping memories about the events leading up to the poem's beginning. Similarly, our first real glimpse of Odysseus is nearly at the end of his journey home, when he's stuck with Calypso on her island; he's already bumped into Charybdis, Scylla, Circe and the like, and it's not until he's washed up with the Phaecians that we hear about any of these adventures. So that's beginning-middle-end out of the window; you can start a story almost anywhere you like; it just adds to the mystery. How did this person end up there? Why are those people arguing? What mistake are they referring to? You've barely made it past the first page and already you're needing to know more.

One thing I, in particular, like about a novel, is when it's told from the first person. With first person narration, you only get to see what they get to see, and hear what they hear, so you have to figure things out alongside them. This can be enjoyable, because if you're more emotionally invested in what you're reading, it's a more interactive reading experience. However, it can also be misleading; as I mentioned in my last entry, I found myself sympathetic towards Alex of 'A Clockwork Orange' fame, even though he had committed obscene acts of violence and degradation. Even though I knew he was a bad person, because I was seeing the world from his point of view, I could only see things his way. Similarly, a first-person narrator needs to only tell you what they want to tell you, so if they want to leave out a crucial piece of information, and save it til the end, they can. I love stuff like this; it allows the author to develop a character with many levels, and add extra nuances that a novel with something more of an ensemble cast just can't quite achieve.

I also love it when an author can competently manipulate plots into a certain direction, without directly pointing out to the reader. I like to think things like, 'Now what's going on here?', 'What does he mean by that?', and 'Why have I been told this now?'. This is one area of my life where I actually enjoy being strung along; I detest books where the big twist, or the climax, is not only being hinted at every page, but isn't even being hinted at; there may as well be a big neon Post-It stuck in between the crucial pages, with the words, 'BIG TWIST COMING: [PERSON W] AND [PERSON X] DISCOVER [PLACE Y] AND [PERSON Z] ARE NOT WHAT THEY SEEM - AND PERSON X DIES!' I mean, come on. Don't take me for an idiot! If you're going to have some kind of crucial moment, be subtle - gently hint, suggest, imply, lead up to it; don't have every chapter finish in a 'menacing' cliffhanger that alludes to the same thing (I'm looking at YOU, 'Sense and Sensibility and Sea Monsters'). I love having those moments where you almost cannot believe what you're reading, and have to rifle back through the previous chapters to double check you're getting it right. Not only does it improve that first read, but it makes later ones better; even though the next time around you know what's coming, you can still start to look out for the hints. 'Company of Liars' by Karen Maitland was particularly good at this, and even now, about four years after the first read, I'm still discovering new elements that allow me to view the entire novel in a different way.

I'm going to be a real nerd here; I love a proper plot. As my anti-Starbook rant of a few entries' ago, I flipping hate a book where nothing happens. This is why I've yet to read 'The Corrections' by Jonathan Franzen, even though it's been on my shelf for over a year and even though it's becoming a film soon, which I'll probably go see rather than (gasp/horror) read the novel, because as far as I can tell, nothing happens, and I'm sorry, I'm not wasting a week on reading something where my wandering around the house as I read it is the most action I encounter.... *Sigh*... *Relaxes*.... Sorry about that; outburst over. I just really loathe books without a structure, because you don't feel like you're getting anywhere, and that's frustrating. I don't care if it's is a metaphor for life, or something; I like pace, I like information, I like characters who interact with each other. Realism I can get everyday; give me something to stay up til 3am for! One of the things that I think made the Harry Potter novels so successful was their structure; by centering the main plot around the school year, the target audience were able to relate to the books, and so were able to keep pace with it. For example, you generally discovered something crucial around Christmas, and you always knew you were getting close to the climax when the Easter Holidays and exams were mentioned. A journey works just a well; then you have a destination for the novel and the characters, something to work towards; it just helps the novel flow better.

Realistic characters; that's another one. I know I just said I don't like books that focus on day-to-day issues, but I do like my characters to generally be relatable,although this is not applicable to all novels; one of the reasons I enjoyed the Troy series was because the characters were so thoroughly predictable, and it allowed me to get swept up in the overall story. In other books, though, such as 'Ralph's Party' by Lisa Jewell, realistic characters are what make the novel. I loved this book because it showed the characters as if they were real people; they were selfish, anxious, occasionally neurotic, enthusiastic, apprehensive, sometimes in denial and at other times so certain. There weren't any cliches, the good people could be bad and the bad people weren't as they seemed; it was characterisation at it's best, and you can't have a good book without decent characters - they're the force that drives the novel.

Now's about the time when I might start to think of a conclusion, but the truth is, I could keep typing this forever (not literally, of course). There are so many things that make a good novel, and whilst I think plot/decent characters/narration are fairly logical points to make, there are so many more that could be mentioned. For example, Jasper Fforde, author of 'The Eyre Affair', 'Lost In A Good Book' and all the other Thursday Next novels, starts each chapter with an exerpt from some essay, or interview, that not only hints at what's to come in this chapter, but also gives you a background knowledge of the universe in which the novels are set. And then, of course, there's the much lauded 'One Day' by David Nicholls; whilst I didn't actually care that much for the book, I did appreciate just how achingly clever it was to only set it on - of course - one day each year, for twenty years. That's the kind of plot device that makes me want to claw my face, it's so unique. But of course, there's only one thing that can truly make a good book, and that is - to bring this thing full circle - how it makes the reader feel. All the people in all the world can be telling you to read such-and-such a book because it's, I don't know, representative of a generation, or thought provoking, or it's so funny you'll cry. But if you don't feel it's representative of a generation, or if it doesn't keep you awake at night as you mull it over, or if you remain stoically unamused, it's not going to be a good book for you. I've thought for a long time that any music is good music if it makes you feel something, be it happiness, laughter, or sadness, and this is applicable to books too. I've mentioned before that my favourite novel is 'To Kill A Mockingbird', and it is; but it's tied in that place with a little-known novel called 'Miss Pettigrew Lives For A Day' by Winifred Watson, which is a true rags-to-riches story that is so delightfully fairytale-esque that I go back to it again and again. I love them both, but in different ways, because they make me feel different things, and I think there you have my answer; a good book makes you feel something, anything, and it makes you want to read it, and re-live it, over and over. Good books are the ones on the shelf that are dog-eared and battered, and they'll be different in every home.

Review: Troy Trilogy by David and Stella Gemmell

A very good, very brave friend of mine recommended these books to me. He's brave because the poor lad, as a fresh-faced, first year undergrad of Accounting and Economics, foolishly sat down to watch Wolfgang Petersen's Troy with me, a fresh-faced, first year undergrad of Classical Studies. What ensued was around two and a half hours of me obnoxiously interrupting every few minutes to explain why it was all wrong, that Achilles/Brad Pitt should be dead by this point and that the whole thing was pointless without including the gods. Needless to say he hasn't watched it with me again, so it was with a courageous heart that he suggested I read these books, already a favourite with him, although he was hasty to clarify that it wasn't anything like the film Troy.

The basic premise, as you can probably guess, is The Iliad, the epic poem by Homer. Told from the point of view of several characters closely linked to the legend - Andromache, wife of Hector; Odysseus, the infamous storyteller and strategos; and Aeneas, the future founder of Rome - the tale begins long before the war, in a time when relations between Agamemnon and Priam - the respective kings of Mycenae and Troy - were, if not good, apparently more... cordial, shall we say, than they end up. The novels progress to show a fairly believable breakdown of that cordiality between the kingdoms, and how this impacts on the lives of the central characters.

What I enjoyed most about reading these books was that they were, actually, kind of believable, and gave plausible suggestions for certain aspects of the Trojan legend. For example, there is a relatively unique interpretation for the birth of the Trojan Horse, which both sticks closely to the story we know, but also seems almost realistic. I don't want to give anything away, but I've got to say it's a feasible explanation, and demonstrates perfectly how, as time moved on and the story was re-told by bards, it could've taken on the form that we know - a great wooden horse, with the enemy in the belly.

There are, of course, many recognisable characters from the myth - as well as Andromache, Aeneas, Priam, Agamemnon and Odysseus, there's also Hekabe, Kassandra, Penelope and Menelaus - all the familar names. There's even - if you've a knowledge of the Old Testament - a little side-story involving a very familiar prophet of Judaism and Christianity, which not only gives one particular character a decent vehicle, but also very nicely gives you a timeline for when the Trojan War occurred (of course, we can't be very sure when the War really happened - our best sources, ancient historians such as Herodotus, place the war at anything between the 12th and 14th centuries BC - hardly a narrow window.) But there are also several original characters, who allow the story to travel outside the confines of the myth, as opposed to the well-known characters, who are tied tightly to the events of the legend and so cannot stray too far from the original story. This is an effective tool, as it not only widens the scope of the War and it's impact, but also allows the Gemmells to explore different aspects of the myth - such as the impact on the soldiers, on citizens of Troy and on those who live far from the city where the War takes place.

I do want to make one thing clear; these are not, by any stretch of the imagination, anything but 'popcorn literature' pieces. There's the usual gratuitous sex scenes, and the dialogue between some of the characters is pretty cringeworthy at times. And as for characterisation - well, they're hardly complex; tortured hero with a secret past; rejected lover who can't let go; warrior woman who doesn't stand for any trouble from any man;  happy-go-lucky soldier who loves a battle and a drink...  Pretty standard. The battle scenes are interesting, though - and they'd have to be, as this is, after all, a story about a war. And whilst there's some really original interpretations in there, they are just historical novels and not anyhing to set any store by. But I'll tell you what else they are; immensely enjoyable, exceedingly difficult to put down, and they do inspire interest in the original legend; I've now started re-reading my copy of The Iliad. I must admit that, if I'd found these on my own, I probably would've shied away, maybe even sneered a bit. I would've missed out on a really fun read, and what's more, I know I'll read them again and again, because they tell one of my favourite stories in a way I've never heard it, and one that I think I prefer above all other interpretations I've heard.