Cornflower Books

When books find readers

    A light-hearted question for today inspired by a recent post of Frances's in which she talks about a book which had caught her eye in a shop and which she'd then seen referred to in several magazines. It had obviously taken her fancy, though she hadn't made the decision to buy it, and Frances goes on, "I was still curious. So when a copy found its way to me recently via a friend who thought I might enjoy it but knew none of this background, I was confident in another one of my freaky beliefs that a book had found me".

    I love this slightly fey notion that books might 'find' their readers, that some serendipity occurs to fulfil a desire, that somehow the 'right' book comes to hand by chance. Has this ever happened to you?   

Have you read ... Kate Atkinson?

    The first episode of Case Histories, a drama series based on Kate Atkinson's Jackson Brodie novels and "set amidst the iconic landscapes of modern Edinburgh" is to be aired later this evening. Naturally, the Edinburgh tag gets my interest, but I've long been keen to read those books and others by Kate Atkinson who cropped up as one of the Cornflower readership's most popular writers last year. I don't possess any of her books, though I've heard nothing but good about the likes of Case Histories, Behind The Scenes At The Museum and One Good Turn, but what do you think?

     Have you read them, and which would you particularly recommend?

Derby day

    Sadly, Her Majesty's horse Carlton House didn't triumph in the Derby today, though what a nail-biter of a race it was, and a marvellous win for Pour Moi and his young jockey, but this talk of the turf is relevant to books as DJ Taylor's novel Derby Day - based around a version of the 1868 Derby - is now out. If you've read this post you'll know that I recently had the pleasure of interviewing David for Solander, the magazine of The Historical Novel Society, and to mark publication of his latest book, that article follows here:

Art for art's sake?

 

    Let me say straightaway what an impressive book this is. Gillespie and I, the second novel by Jane Harris - whose The Observations was widely acclaimed - is a bravura work, its pace finely controlled, its plot like a rope played out, as taut or slack as dramatic effect requires, its setting so well re-created that the reader could find their way around the Glasgow of the 1880s, should the need arise. But beyond all that, what really makes the book is the central character, Harriet Baxter, and as it's a first person narrative, it's Harriet's voice which literally and metaphorically carries the story.

    I can't say much about what happens in the book without giving away more than I should, but it begins in 1888 when the International Exhibition of Science, Art and Industry staged in Kelvingrove Park was a major draw for visitors to the city. Up from London has come the art-loving Miss Baxter, a spinster in her mid-thirties, who takes rooms near the park, intending to spend a few months enjoying the attractions. A chance encounter brings her into contact with the family of Ned Gillespie, a young artist whose work she admires and whom she had met once briefly before, and as time goes on so her friendship with the Gillespies means she's a frequent guest in their house and quite a fixture in their lives. But events then take a disturbing turn and a major crisis befalls the family, one in which their new friend, concerned observer as she is, becomes closely involved.

    The story is told by Harriet in the form of a memoir she is writing, back in London, almost fifty years on, and what makes it so interesting are the subtle shifts in her account. Is she a reliable narrator? Is she what she seems? Are there ulterior motives behind this apparently generous, caring and helpful woman, and does her charm conceal a manipulative streak? It's to Jane Harris's credit that the reader has moments of doubt as to the veracity of the tale throughout, and notes the quick but telling references to events of understated but unmistakeable significance - she's teasing us so beautifully, playing us as an angler does a fish. I could go on at length here, but suffice to say that there's real skill involved, and not a word out of place in what is, in sum, an exercise in perception, objectivity, and the borderline between interest and obsession.

    As to the when and where, Ned Gillespie is a fictitious member of the loose group of artists known as The Glasgow Boys (Lavery, Guthrie and MacGregor get a brief look-in); most of the action happens in the city's West End, and the meticulous research has paid off in terms of settings and detail, and there's a brilliantly done (and accurately rendered) set-piece trial scene which takes place here in Edinburgh. That all amounts to a very strong and pre-possessing framework on which to hang an ingenious and quite gripping tale, but there's so much more to it than a good plot in a suitable setting with drama and wry humour combined - it's the psychological acuity which is so clever. I loved it!

Can you recommend ...?

 

    Following on from the Recommended and sought post on Cornflower, and the reader recommendations here, Oxslip has asked us all for help with her holiday reading, and here are her specifications:

"I need a book that will last 14days. For a 2d train journey down through France, 10d walking in Corsica, 2d train journey back and I'm quite a fast reader. So something densely written with lots of plot and lots of pages available in paperback. I know it's quite a bit to ask, my other half will be on his Kindle so I can't use that, but I don't want to carry too much up and down the GR20 Any suggestions?"

    So, what do you think? The first thing to come to my mind was Vikram Seth's A Suitable Boy. At almost 1500 pages, and in paperback, it's a book I enjoyed enormously, though it's quite a while since I read it. A love story and the story of India, it is "vast and amiably peopled", "vivid, evocative and beautifully written", "a marvel of nineteenth-century storytelling in the language of today... This is quite a novel". And from the front cover of my edition: "Make time for it. It will keep you company for the rest of your life."

    I know of someone who took that book on holiday and literally carved it into four or five sections, passing on each chunk to her husband to read as soon as she'd finished it!

    Any other ideas?

All for one, or one for all?

    Here's a question for you: if, all of a sudden, money were no object (and space- and time-constraints weren't an issue, either), would you buy masses of books all in one go, i.e. everything you have on your wishlist or had earmarked to read some day, or all that took your fancy in the bookshop, or would you, despite this new freedom to acquire whatever your heart desired, limit yourself to just one or two books for now, with the intention to read them and only then go back for more?

    I'm interested to hear your responses because, as with a lot of these reading habits topics, they say so much about us. Would we, for instance, see this windfall (and I'm assuming now that we are free to spend it on 'frivolous' things) as the chance to have the library of our dreams - and if so, what might it contain? There is the view that just owning books is a pleasure in itself, seeing them there within reach, to pick up when the mood takes us; having them is the thing and reading them is a bonus. On the other hand, would acquiring a great many books at once mean that by the time we got around to reading most of them, the mood and the moment had passed and somehow they no longer appealed, as, fickle creatures that we are, we had moved on to the next new interest or taste?

    I put this question to Mr. C. and he said (a) he would splurge and buy all that he wanted in one go, but also (b) he would have an amanuensis come in first of all to catalogue the existing collection to see exactly where the gaps were.

    What would you do?