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.

Review: 'All My Friends Are Superheroes', by Andrew Kaufman

A while ago, it started to dawn on me that books I love were being adapted into bad films; for example, the adaptation of Philip Pullman's 'Northern Lights' (or, 'The Golden Compass' as it is known on the other side of the pond and in Movieland), in which Chris Weitz removed religion from the plot of the film and just referred to an ambiguous, all-encompassing authority - which completely defeated the object of the entire 'His Dark Materials' trilogy. Meanwhile, the adaptation of Alice Seabold's 'The Lovely Bones' was overshadowed by Peter Jackson's visions of heaven, and how much fun he could have with the special effects. Whilst I'm sure that, to others, they were enjoyable movies, by the time I got to see them I knew the novels almost by heart, and so was bitterly disappointed when I saw what a hash Hollywood had made of them. Consequently, 'All My Friends Are Superheroes' is a story that I really, really hope is never made into a film.

I can't really explain what it is about this book that I love so much; there are so many things that make me happy when I read it. I guess the first and foremost thing is, of course, the story.

The story is about a man called Tom. Tom is your average bloke, who happens to be married to a superhero, The Perfectionist. In fact, he is the only 'regular' guy in his group of friends, in that he doesn't have a superpower of any kind - he can't time travel, or calculate the net worth people on the street, or absorb the stress of others....In fact, the only thing irregular about him is that he is invisible to his wife, and only his wife, as her ex-boyfriend (the cleverly-named Hypno) hypnotised her to never be able to see him. He has only one aeroplane flight in which to convince her that he is real, before she uses her superpower - the ability to make everything around her perfect - to move on and start a new life. The main drive of the plot is centred around his recollections of their relationship, the realisation that she is entirely oblivious to him, and his attempts to persuade her of his existence. It is a beautiful ode to love. Tom is utterly convinced that he can appear to his wife again, and tries with increasing desperation to reveal himself to her. Meanwhile, the scenes in which The Perfectionist believes she is living alone after Tom's apparent disappearance is quintessential of a person struggling to move on after a relationship; she mopes, rationalises, persuades herself that he will come back if she completes certain tasks, and eventually tries to escape the memories of him.

Then, of course, there is the fact that it is set in an alternate reality where there are superheroes! Well, superheroes might be a bit of a stretch - the general perception of a 'superhero' is  a costumed wonder-person who uses their special powers for good: these ones, though, are as normal as a person with a superpower can get, in that they don't really do anything with their powers (superpeople might be more apt, but it doesn't have the same ring to it.) One of the more central characters to the plot, The Amphibian, is a bike courier, because 'he can survive on both land and water , but really, what use is that? Who's going to give him a job for that?' (Actually, I came up with a few - retriever of golf balls from lakes, diver, swimming pool cleaner, like Tom... But I suppose that ruins the magic a bit). If anything, some of the superheroes seem a bit weary of their powers - The Ear, for example, always stuffs his ears with cotton wool because, as you may have guessed, his hearing is so sensitive he can't bear it. This is a strange quality of the book - the superheroes of this novel just don't consider themselves special, because they've all got a superpower of some sort, and in a strangely fitting way, it makes the novel more special; it highlights how people tend to underestimate their own talents, and shy away from using them.

The way the peripheral superheroes are introduced is a also a bit different; some are part of the main plot, such as The Ear, The Perfectionist, Hypno and The Amphibian, but others are just 'thrown in' as a representative few of many examples of superhero there can be, such as The Businessman, The Dancer, Mistress Cleanasyougo... They are all introduced via intervals in which a list of other superheroes are detailed, with the basic breakdown of their power, how they use it and how it affects their lives. These brief hiatuses add background to the world in which the story is set, whilst also amusing the reader. I myself was particularly impressed by Falling Girl, who's special power sounds suspisciously like my own issues with gravity... 'A small sample of things she's fallen from include trees, cars, grace, horses...' and so on.Then there are the briefest of chapters - barely a page long - discussing how one might discover themselves to be a superhero, or how supervillains don't really exist, which all add to the gently amusing tone of the book, giving explanations and arguments as factually as if you were reading a textbook.

There is, as you might expect, an element of magic to this novel - I mean, you've got the superheroes, you may as well take the fantastical side a bit further, right? - which just further increases the all-round loveliness of the story (I'm running out of adjectives for lovely by now, but the book really, really is just that). One of my favourite scenes involves an encounter with an Anxiety Monster, which is not only actually quite terrifying, but personifies perfectly the feelings you get when you are incredibly nervous, or anxious, and indeed does it so well that I found myself half-wondering why I'd never seen one before. It's little touches like these that Kaufman has added that turn this into... (I don't want to use the phrase, I'm using it too much in this blog, I'll get typecast....) Oh, alright, a modern fairytale. There, I said it. But that's what it is! It plays on the childlike love of having a superpower, vanquishing monsters, fighting for the love of your life, whilst coupling it with realistic aspects of adult life, the kind you didn't consider as a child: jealousy, lost love, jobs, burglary, fights. You're allowed to feel that same innocent joy you might've felt with Cinderella, whilst also nodding wisely at how real life isn't all fun and games.

I guess I might as well just come out and say it; I love stories that are like fairytales for grown-ups, because I don't see any reason why the kids should get all the good ones, and this is one of the best I've come across. It's sharp, clever, poignant, romantic without being sentimental, fantastic whilst retaining elements of realism. It's a short story - barely a hundred pages long - but strangely, I didn't feel disappointed when I reached the end; instead, I was glad it was so short, because it means I can read it in one sitting, should I ever need a quick pick-me-up on a dark day. It's witty, but not funny in a laugh-out-loud kind of way: whilst you may never chuckle while you're reading it, you'll be smiling for hours after you've finished it.

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.