Works in Progress
The books I am reading at present are, in no particular order:
The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie by Muriel Spark in the Foliuo Society edition with illustrations by Beryl Cook. Having attended aa Girls School in Edinburgh, and having read this book several times before, re-reading it is a bit like going in Friends Re-united. I can identify each member ofThe Brodie Set with a real girl - myself included; similarly the teachers. I suppose this will be true for many people, whether their schooling took place in Castlemilk or Cairo, Lambeth or Lyons; different schools will have their own histories (official or true) but children the world over are very alike and their teachers, too, will be cast from the same mould as each other - always allowing for their individual idiosyncracies.
The Slap by Christos Tsiolkas first published in Australia by Allen & Unwin. My copy is an Atlantic Books paperback. I discovered this when I chanced upon an episode of the TV serialisation and wanted to know more. It's about a fairly large group of friends, relatives and acquaintances and the plot turns on their individual responses to an incident at a BBQ in the yard of one family to which everyone has been invited. An adult slaps a child, and the immediate and subsequent reactions test the strebgth of the network of their relationships and cause a lot of soul-searching and questioning.
I am trying not to watch further ahead in the TV serial than where I am in the book.
The Fiery Cross by Diana Gabaldon in a large- format paperback published by Century, part of the Random House Group. This is the fifth in the series now known collectively as The Outlanders which is also the title of the TV series based on the books. I found the first book in my parents house after my mother died, read and enjoyed it. and went on to follow the sequence. That is something I like to do. I read all of Inspector Morse by Colin Dexter, and the 87th Precinct series by Ed McBain. I am up to date with Donna Leon's Inspectore Brunetti stories set in Venice and Jonathan Kellerman's series featuring Alex Delaware.
And in my Kindle, I am presently reading Dr Thorne which is third in the Barchester Chronicles by Anthony Trollope. My reading has always been quite eclectic. For relaxation I enjoy tales of murder and its detection - whther by professionals (in the form of Police Procedurals) or amateurs. As a corollary to them - if that is the correct term - I also enjoy books with a strong female lead character, either as narrator or principal. They may involve murder but not necessarily, and romance as an adjunct rather than being essential. While I have no romantic or sexual interest in men in real life, I don't mind if the women in the books I read do have that kind of inclination. After all, we probably wouldn't be here without that in our mothers and grandmothers and though I am unlikely to give birth myself, there are plenty of children in my own family and I have lots of fum with them. Indeed, I am sure that quite a lot of them have more fun here with me and my partner than in their own homes - we seem to employ less rules and ask them what they want to eat or do. None of which is about books, probably because I am easily given to demonstrate my temndency towards tangents.
Wednesday, 29 July 2015
Tuesday, 28 July 2015
The Unlikely Pilgrimage of Harold Fry
Rachel Joyce
I bought this for my Kindle a year or more ago but hadn't done more than read the first chapter until last week, when was one of the books featured on BBC Radio 4's A Good Read. And so as soon as I finished The Budapest Protocol, I turned to this and started it again - and read on and on. It is such a simple story - one morning Arthur Fry, aged 65, retired for six months from his work at a local brewery and living in Kingsbridge, Devon, with his wife Maureen, receives a letter in a pink envelope. It is from a former work colleague whom he has not seen for 20 years, but is now dying from cancer in a Hospice in Berwick-on-Tweed. Harold decides that he must write and, after some difficulty in wording his letter, sets off to post it. And doesn't stop. While not being dressed or shod for a long-distance walk, some 468 miles according to my Google Maps Route Map, Harold keeps on walking - he is wearing yachting shoes, casual trousers, a collar and tie and alight jacket. He suffers blisters and infections, and meets all manner of strangers - and most of them confirm his belief in the inherent goodness of people. When he feels that he is running down his retirement savings, he becomes a rough sleeper - in sheds, barns and anywhere else he can sleep for free without breaking in or causing damage, And as he walks he sends postcards home to Maureen who had no idea why his short stroll to the Pillar Boc was taking him so long until his first telephone call. And a chance conversation with a girl in a petrol station convinces him that by walking to Berwick and believing in the power of faith (although he has no religious belief) and by letting his old colleague to stay alive for him, the cancer can be cured.
I have always enjoyed accounts of walking journeys, ever since I first read David Grayson's The Friendly Road. And no matter where the jorney is set, or the reasons for it, there is always, for me, a sense of liberation in setting out, with or without a planned route and a certain destinatiom, unassisted (or restricted) by a car, and so able to vary the terrain, stroll through woods, and particularly meet strangers - whether just to say "hello" or "Good morning, it's a fine day," in the passing, or to perhaps have company for the distance and time both are heading in the same direction.
I'm not really interested in cars or motoring - as my parents' generation often referred to what we might now call 'going for a run' in the car and prefer cycling or walking - though necessity and practicality mean that I do much less of either. But they are my preference and I have done a numberof Corbetts and a couple of Munros along the way. I've stayed in Youth Hostels in Scotland and Ireland and encountered many interesting and fascinating people. Someone once said to me that a stranger is just a friend you haven't met yet, and I suppost that most of us have also found ourselves in a similar situation to Harold, in that the passage of time has meant that a friend, or colleague, becomes a stranger bu circumstance. Like Harold, I'm not on Facebook and though I made contact with a few old schoolfriends through Friernds' Reunited, when I changed jobs, or moved house, I left behind many acquaintances and some good friends, and I've never been good at maintaining long-distance relationships. So the Pilgrimage of Harold Fry spoke to me and struck a deep chord.
And I'm not going to spoil things by giving any more information. It is a life-affirming story, well told, with humour, compassion and great heart. Harold and his wife and their neigjhbour Rex and the former colleague in Berwick, are believably real people and they all have back-stories that give them weight and substance. Definitely a Good Read for me.
Rachel Joyce
I bought this for my Kindle a year or more ago but hadn't done more than read the first chapter until last week, when was one of the books featured on BBC Radio 4's A Good Read. And so as soon as I finished The Budapest Protocol, I turned to this and started it again - and read on and on. It is such a simple story - one morning Arthur Fry, aged 65, retired for six months from his work at a local brewery and living in Kingsbridge, Devon, with his wife Maureen, receives a letter in a pink envelope. It is from a former work colleague whom he has not seen for 20 years, but is now dying from cancer in a Hospice in Berwick-on-Tweed. Harold decides that he must write and, after some difficulty in wording his letter, sets off to post it. And doesn't stop. While not being dressed or shod for a long-distance walk, some 468 miles according to my Google Maps Route Map, Harold keeps on walking - he is wearing yachting shoes, casual trousers, a collar and tie and alight jacket. He suffers blisters and infections, and meets all manner of strangers - and most of them confirm his belief in the inherent goodness of people. When he feels that he is running down his retirement savings, he becomes a rough sleeper - in sheds, barns and anywhere else he can sleep for free without breaking in or causing damage, And as he walks he sends postcards home to Maureen who had no idea why his short stroll to the Pillar Boc was taking him so long until his first telephone call. And a chance conversation with a girl in a petrol station convinces him that by walking to Berwick and believing in the power of faith (although he has no religious belief) and by letting his old colleague to stay alive for him, the cancer can be cured.
I have always enjoyed accounts of walking journeys, ever since I first read David Grayson's The Friendly Road. And no matter where the jorney is set, or the reasons for it, there is always, for me, a sense of liberation in setting out, with or without a planned route and a certain destinatiom, unassisted (or restricted) by a car, and so able to vary the terrain, stroll through woods, and particularly meet strangers - whether just to say "hello" or "Good morning, it's a fine day," in the passing, or to perhaps have company for the distance and time both are heading in the same direction.
I'm not really interested in cars or motoring - as my parents' generation often referred to what we might now call 'going for a run' in the car and prefer cycling or walking - though necessity and practicality mean that I do much less of either. But they are my preference and I have done a numberof Corbetts and a couple of Munros along the way. I've stayed in Youth Hostels in Scotland and Ireland and encountered many interesting and fascinating people. Someone once said to me that a stranger is just a friend you haven't met yet, and I suppost that most of us have also found ourselves in a similar situation to Harold, in that the passage of time has meant that a friend, or colleague, becomes a stranger bu circumstance. Like Harold, I'm not on Facebook and though I made contact with a few old schoolfriends through Friernds' Reunited, when I changed jobs, or moved house, I left behind many acquaintances and some good friends, and I've never been good at maintaining long-distance relationships. So the Pilgrimage of Harold Fry spoke to me and struck a deep chord.
And I'm not going to spoil things by giving any more information. It is a life-affirming story, well told, with humour, compassion and great heart. Harold and his wife and their neigjhbour Rex and the former colleague in Berwick, are believably real people and they all have back-stories that give them weight and substance. Definitely a Good Read for me.
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