- spent nine hours in a car...
- driven through three different nations...
- drunk only seven cups of tea...
- written two poems...
- argued with my brother about parcel-opening etiquette, the pronunciation of 'demeanor', the existence of Sean Kingston and the first appearance of James May on Top Gear...
- saved a dying plant...
- and ignored most of the work I was supposed to to over Easter.
Sigh.
I had a very nice time in Edinburgh last week though. Lots of tea was drunk, I got to see Char, I ran an okay 5k and met some people from Fetch, which is my favourite (not-an-actual-) place in the world. I bought myself a new collection of poetry, and then I bought Anita Diamant's The Red Tent, and finished it in a matter of hours. Genuinely, the best thing I've read in... Christ, ages.
It's weird, I haven't really had much time to read what I've wanted to read while I've been at university, which is kind of depressing in itself. What's been more depressing though is that I hadn't really enjoyed anything I'd had to read for uni. With just three exceptions.
Exception No. 1: Samuel Beckett - Waiting for Godot.
Which I was sort of already in love with. I wrote my extended essay for my IB about Waiting for Godot... I was also in it before (I was Vladimir, which was interesting) so I knew it pretty well. So I'm not counting this as a book I read for uni. So, really, it's not an exception at all. I'm confused...
Exception No. 2: Angela Carter - The Magic Toyshop.
We read this one just after Christmas. I originally wasn't even going to bother reading it because my edition has quite a horrible cover and I'm quite easily influenced. But I got very taken in by it and basically existed in a trance until I'd finished it. And then we did Freud who totally ruined it for me, but I'm working on forgetting about him. Freud never happened. We never talk about Freud.
Exception No. 3: Primo Levi - If This Is A Man
Weirdly, weirdly gripping and wonderful. ALSO, absolutely horrible and heart-breaking. I had to hide it in a spare pillowcase for a few days after I'd finished it so I wouldn't have to look at it.
When I read The Magic Toyshop, it renewed my faith that there are actually good books out there. Somewhere out there between the Conrads, Ngugis, Bowens and Kureishis there are people who write interesting, engaging and imaginative thinks. Thank GOD.
And then I had a good week when we read Primo Levi. But whenever I think about Primo Levi, I can't help but feel like I have to read some Dave Gorman or Danny Wallace to counter the utter sadness.
That's not to say that Levi is... it's not like he wallows in self-pity and he always seems quite calm and... well, he has the odd burst of venom - there's one point where he says something about all Germans having an infantile delight in shiny, many-coloured objects - but you can't ever really get away from the actual subject. It's a very, very good book and I'm glad I've read it and I want other people to read it, but it is depressing.
But apparently reading The Truce afterwards will reaffirm some faith in humanity. Books to read: The Truce.
So, anyway. The Red Tent is the best book I've read in a long time, and it's the only book I've been able to read for myself since July. Sob. And it was brilliant - it took me until 2am one night to finish it and I went to bed in an absolute state and felt in pieces for all of the next day. Which clearly is the marking of a good book. Clearly.
Anyway, now I'm going to make another list. This time it's going to be a brief list of my favourite books. And we're not including poetry, because it's a Sunday, and I'm hungry and supposed to be working, and poetry would just take too long:
10. Gustave Flaubert - Madame Bovary
Here is quite a big secret: I hate Flaubert. I read Madame Bovary for the first time over a period of a few days while lying in the front garden with my feet in a small children's paddling pool. I read a very bad translation and often got distracted because the Tour de France was on and it was distinctly more exciting than Flaubert. Flaubert also has this annoying habit of using six hundred words when one will do. A description of a woman's hands may take five pages, for example. And, of course, there are basically only five points in the plot, but Flaubert stretches them out to cover about a million pages. BUT, and this is something we never talk about, Madame Bovary is genuinely a very good book. It's long and flamboyant and really, really irritating. But, it's also weirdly compelling. And it gives you a nice feeling to finish it. But, anyway, we never talk about Madame Bovary.
9. Leo Tolstoy - War & Peace
Now, in utter truth, I haven't yet finished War & Peace. I desperately, desperately want to, but I can't. This is because Tolstoy has already killed off my favourite character and it was looking more and more likely that he was going to kill off my new favourite character, who I'd also fallen in love with by this point (sigh), so I had to stop reading. I can't cope with it just yet. Sorry. But I can't. It's just too awful. The book, however, is brilliant. Tolstoy gives us a ridiculously long and detailed lesson in Russian history, with slightly dull and unnecessary focus on its military tactics and dealings. Somehow though, he still manages to give extraordinary personalities and development to every one of his characters, and the (STUPIDLY LONG) story is beautifully told. But, it is absolutely crucial to have the Anthony Briggs translation. His translation has this real vividness and liveliness that I couldn't find anywhere in any other version. God help anyone who tries to read an earlier edition.
8. Glen Duncan - I, Lucifer
Not the most serious of books, but fantastic for it. The voice is sharp, witty, charming, disgusting and deliciously insane. The narrative is massive and wandering and doesn't like to be confined by silly things like time or realism. The plot is odd, but interesting - Lucifer is offered what he views as a holiday, a chance to live in a human's body (the body of a writer, to be precise, the imaginatively named Declan Gunn) on Earth for a bit. It's very playful, very daring and very, very funny.
7. Charles Dickens - Hard Times
I've come to the conclusion that I don't really like Dickens when he writes things set in London. Not really sure why this is. The solution, however, is the Coketown setting of Hard Times. It's surprisingly easy reading - you don't even have to think for yourself because Mr. Dickens is only too happy to tell you what you think. It is also nice to occasionally read something which you know will have all its loose ends securely tied by the end. The only downside, really, is Dickens' awful attempt at writing a working class accent. Please, Charles; don't try.
6. Malorie Blackman - Noughts & Crosses
Okay, yes, so strictly speaking it's a children's/young adults' book. But that doesn't change the fact that it's written beautifully and uses the story of Romeo & Juliet better than Romeo & Juliet. It's also one of those devastating books that you may find yourself still getting upset over years lately. Sob.
5. Dave Gorman & Danny Wallace - Are You Dave Gorman?
Not very literary, not very serious, but fun, obsessive and wonderfully self-indulgent and ridiculous; Dave Gorman tries to prove that he can find and meet 54 other people called Dave Gorman. His sheer madness is countered brilliantly by Danny Wallace as the voice of reason. Who, er, isn't always the voice of reason at all, and in fact often turns out to be the voice of the devil on Dave Gorman's shoulder. Excellent book.
4. Angela Carter - The Magic Toyshop
A very weird little book with a diabolical plot. It can be ruined a bit by going in and analysing every paragraph and I really do think that ignoring all Freud references is the way to go, but Carter's writing is undeniably fantastic. The story is disturbing and engaging, and wonderfully told.
3. Anita Diamant - The Red Tent
Another weird one - Diamant imagines and tells the story of the Biblical character Dinah and her family. It's a pretty epic book, which manages to start about twenty years before the narrator, Dinah herself, is even born, and continue until after her death. It also manages to pull this off, which is no mean feat, considering. The plot is long and fairly devastating, but it is also extremely hopeful, life-affirming and weirdly empowering.
2. Danny Wallace - Yes Man
I firmly believe that if any book in the world, in any language and from any time, had the ability to change a person's life, it'd be this one. It sounds like a contrived premise (Wallace decides that he will say YES to every question, invitation and suggestion...) but it is by no means a contrived story. It is horrendously, outrageously funny, and deliciously happy and joyful. Cannot be recommended highly enough.
1. Kate Chopin - The Awakening
I had to read The Awakening for college a couple of years ago, and was quite worried when I was told that it had the same plot as Madame Bovary. Which is true. It has pretty much exactly the same plot as Madame Bovary. However, Chopin's Edna is much more likable and understandable than Flaubert's Emma. While Flaubert seems to be even cruel towards his character, Chopin writes Edna Pontellier so that we understand her and are sympathetic towards her. The whole novella feels carefully worked and written, but it still feels free-flowing and always seems to have a sense of purpose. It's also just a little bit heart-breaking.
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