reading

December 19, 2023

Different Times

The Mystery of Tally-Ho Cottage is not a classic of modern literature that I had read before last week. It is also one I don’t feel the need to read again. I came across it in a box of old books and was intrigued – it was by Enid Blyton, but I did not recognise it as one of the Famous Five books I remembered from my childhood. It was, in fact, a precursor to that series. One of a dozen or so books centred around the exploits of ‘The Five Finder-Outers and Dog’ (Honestly, I’m not making this up!). The first half dozen pages described the return of Fatty from his holiday, much of this section was taken up with the others describing how fat Fatty was (hence the nickname I guess) and how vindictive and stupid PC Goon the policeman (also fat) is.

The story then heads into a ridiculous plot that had something to do with some cruel dog sitters, missing people, and a stolen painting. If you know much about Enid Blyton you will probably guess that the art thieves were foreigners (in turbans no less), and that the children – in particular the brave, clever and resourceful boys – solve the crime in spite of the bungling policeman. I may have got some of that wrong, I was anxious to end my ordeal by page 100 and kind of skim-read the second half.

In the book I am currently writing I had referenced this element of Enid Blyton’s writing in a derogatory way and was unsure if I should leave it in. Having happened upon this book I am now more inclined to add to it.  I don’t think we should excoriate people who grew up in an era with vastly different values to those we now consider the norm (although EB was criticized in her own lifetime for some of the views she portrayed), but we should recognise how far society has moved on. But don’t pause to celebrate for too long, I’m pretty sure we still have a way to go yet.

November 3, 2023

Seahorses.

I recently got back from a trip to Italy where I enjoyed some late summer sun and gave my shorts and flip flops their last outing until next year. It was a great week, brilliant scenery, fantastic food, a visit to Pompeii and some beer. What’s not to like?

While I was away I did no writing at all, but I did manage to read a fair bit. I took a limited number of books which I had exhausted before the week was out. My wife had been reading Remarkably Bright Creatures by Shelby Van Pelt and I asked her what it was about. She gave me a full synopsis – every last plot twist and nuance of the story – thinking I would not read it. She had made this assumption due to the lack of spaceships, monsters or dystopian nightmares.

But I did read it, and I loved it. It’s about an octopus called Marcellus (fun fact, Italian for octopus is polpo – which is such a great word.) I won’t tell you the story, but I would recommend the book.

Anyway, this is all leading to a confession. When I was younger I thought seahorses were fictional/mythological creatures, like unicorns or dragons. It was years later, as a young adult, that I was amazed to actually see one in an aquarium. My own family laugh at this foolishness, although in my defence there were limited ways of fact-checking this sort of information in the 1970’s. Also, you have to admit that seahorses are pretty unlikely animals, aren’t they?

So, after years of being the butt of jokes, I was delighted when one of the characters in the book admitted to the same misunderstanding in their own childhood. I felt elated, vindicated and happy not to be the stupidest person in the entire world.

I am currently reading The Bandit Queens by Parina Shroff, which I am also enjoying very much in spite of the lack of spaceships, monsters or dystopian nightmares. I haven’t finished it yet – so no spoilers please.

January 12, 2023

Real life is messy.

I like books, both reading them and writing them.

The other evening, I found myself idly wondering what it was that I liked about them – aside from the obvious, and maybe superficial fact, that the stories take me somewhere else.

But maybe that’s just it. When I write, I plan out the story, I use a proper ‘like we are told at school’ style; they have a beginning, a middle and an end. There are things that happen in the middle – events, twists, a problem and a resolution. And I am in control of all of it, I can choose what happens to whom and when it happens. Best of all, I can end it how I want, probably a happy ending with no loose ends and everybody lives happily ever after.

By and large this is also what happens in the books I read, it is a tried and tested formula. I know there are exceptions to this, sometimes the heroes don’t make it, occasionally catastrophes and disasters are not averted and often the story doesn’t seem to reach a conclusion (because we all love a sequel).

When I compare this to the uncontrolled and uncontrollable mess that is my actual, real, lived life it makes perfect sense that I like books. If I was writing my life, there are certainly things that I would edit. I would make things simpler, have less loose ends, head towards a happy ending, cut out some of the head-spinning complications and remove some of the petty and inconsequential details.

Or maybe it’s that richness and mayhem that is the point? Probably I will continue to put other people’s lives in fictional good order and let my own lead me to wherever it will, I like surprises.

I have two books in editing that will be ready to publish this year, depending of course on the vagueness and vagaries of the rest of my life. Happy reading, and happy writing, and happy new year to you all.

We should be more like birds – they seem to know what they’re doing.