Strands of Bronze and Gold by Jane Nickerson: Book review

What to drink

Strawberry velvet cocktail

Not an authentic cocktail as such, I envisage this as a mix of strawberry puree, vanilla ice cream and chambord, with a shot of vodka. Fittingly, this would be a crimson cocktail - the colour of blood and our heroine’s hair. Creamy and luxurious, this drink seems sweet at first but leaves a cloying taste in the mouth and sits like a lead weight in the stomach.

What’s what

Strands of Bronze and Gold is a retelling of the Bluebeard fairy tale. As fairytales go, it’s not one I’m intimately familiar with, aside from the recollection that Bluebeard was a murderous lunatic who massacred all his previous wives. In fact this turns out to be the gist of both the fairytale and the book - but the book somehow manages to not quite do this meagre source material justice.

It got off to a good start - our main character Sophie was sufficiently spunky and original, with an amusing inner monologue. The book is set in the antebellum South, a setting which works to create the overall disquieting atmosphere of gothic dread.

Perhaps the first few chapters are a bit slow, but they are entertaining in a voyeuristic way, as like Sophie we are drawn into the luxurious world of her godfather Bernard. Thankfully Sophie realises fairly early on that Bernard is an unappealing perv so we aren’t subjected to too much Fifty Shades of Grey style drooling on her part. The air of menace is built up fairly well, and suspense develops from the genuine unpredictability of Bernard’s actions and Sophie’s scheming to placate him.

"Thinking like him was impossible. He was mad. His madness encompassed a terrible selfishness with neither compassion nor empathy, a terrible anger, a terrible possessiveness and a terrible lust for blood." Pg 318

Unfortunately Strands… is not without its problems. A subplot focussing on slavery and the Underground Railway fizzles out narratively and raises some questions surrounding the book’s treatment of race. None of the black characters in the novel are fully fleshed out, existing only as devices to assist the characterisation of Bernard and Sophie. We know Bernard is Bad because he beats the slaves. We know Sophie is Good because she feels pity for the slaves. The slaves themselves, the Abolitionist movement, and the full horrors of the institution of slavery are not developed beyond this limited use.

All of the novel’s characters except for its heroine and villain are in fact subject to this flat ineffectual realisation. Ok, yes - the story is about the suffocating and abusive relationship between Bernard and Sophie but I think this would have been highlighted even more if we had a sense of the world and the people she was being cut off from. It is hard to understand the sacrifice she makes in agreeing to marry Bernard for the sake of her family as to the reader they are little more than ciphers, and unsympathetic ciphers at that. Gideon, her alternative love interest, is engaging enough at first - but again it’s hard to emphasize when these two fall in ‘love’ seemingly overnight.

The second half of the book does not work at all - there are big issues with the pacing here. As with so much horror writing there is a swift descent into the macabre which quickly becomes ridiculous and so not in the least frightening. The paranormal elements of the novel worked as vague suggestions but are overdone and unnecessary towards the end. And this is where the book could really have done with sticking more to its source material. On re-reading Bluebeard on wikipedia, it’s really fucking gruesome! Where are the pools of bloods and hooks on the walls? Or at least tell-tale stained keys and morbid curiosity? Some of the more interesting elements of the original story seem to have been jettisoned and sadly the padding Nickerson added to her take on the tale was little compensation.

Verdict

Doesn’t live up to its initial promise. Fairytale retellings have to justify the extra pages they add to the Grimm Brothers’ originals versions and this did not.

On the big screen

I don’t see this working except as a low-budget late-night horror flick. The storyline is too predictable and devoid of surprises for even the likes of a channel five made for tv movie, and Sophie’s witty inner monologue would no doubt be lost behind a pretty, insipid face.

Highbrow/Lowbrow

Great literature this ain’t, although bonus literary points for folk roots? I feel as if beneath the romance trappings and silly ending there is a great masterpiece waiting to be written based on the Bluebeard fairytale… or maybe not.

Journal of the Plague Year by Daniel Defoe: Book review

Drink with this

Bloody Beer

Bloody Mary was the obvious choice of cocktail for a book which delights in dwelling on the screaming agonies of Londoners infected with the Black Death. Bloody Beer, a variation which substitutes vodka for light beer, is more appropriate given the gallons of ale guzzled by the denizens of London throughout their times of hardship. Bloody Beer is also commonly served with a ‘beef straw’ which sounds more like a 17th C pub nibble than a cocktail ingredient of today. The typical Bloody Beer adornment of Worcestershire sauce is satisfyingly English, while its black pepper and hot sauce are in keeping with the pungent remedies resorted to in vain attempts to stave off death.

What’s what

I discovered this book - to give it its proper name, A Journal of the Plague Year, written by a citizen who continued all the while in London - by way of an insalubrious Goodreads search for plague novels. Sometimes I feel as if The Stand has spoiled me for every other plague book out there - a sad realisation as my interest in infectious diseases has only burgeoned in the years since reading King’s masterwork.

Anyway I knew I had to have this Defoe as soon as I learned of its existence. Its not often I find a book which allows me to pretend to be intellectual whilst indulging my dirty literary cravings.

For a 17th C text this was surprisingly readable. I learned afterwards that it was an attempt by Defoe at historical fiction, and that the narrator is not actually meant to be Defoe himself but some anonymous third person. On these terms the book does not work at all. It is not a journal as we understand it today and doesn’t really have a narrative either.

“therefore I desire this account may pass with them rather for a direction to themselves to act by than a history of my actings, seeing it may not he of one farthing value to them to note what became of me.” Pg 5

However as a sort of unstructured collection of musings, speculation and facts on the infection in London in 1665 it’s worth a look. It’s written more like a report or a guide than a novel and is all the more interesting for that reason, with its dispassionate accounts of horrific scenes interspersed with comments on the official response to the disease and advice to future readers.

I did find it frustrating that we weren’t given more hands-on accounts of the fate of individuals and their families, or more details of the situation throughout the country as a whole. Some of the most interesting parts of the book were those which referred to the small everyday aspects of life in London in 1665, such as the mention of bear-baiting being banned due to the illness. Likewise it was very revealing of the prejudices and snobbery in place at the time. Defoe makes no secret of his contempt for the working classes or for women, or indeed for those who do not share his religious beliefs. It was instructional and more than a bit apposite in today’s climate to read his disapproval of the poor, including the ‘labouring poor’ who spent money ‘with abandon’. The more things change…

“But it was impossible to beat anything into the heads of the poor. They went on with the usual impetuosity of their tempers, full of outcries and lamentations when taken, but madly careless of themselves, foolhardy and obstinate, while they were well. Where they could get employment they pushed into any kind of business, the most dangerous and the most liable to infection; and if they were spoken to, their answer would be, 'I must trust to God for that; if I am taken, then I am provided for, and there is an end of me', and the like.” Pg 134

I loved the constant speculation on the causes of the plague and the efficacy of various treatments. It was remarkable and a bit spooky to read Defoe skirting around the edges of what we know now to be the facts of the Black Death.

“that many people had the plague in their very blood, and preying upon their spirits, and were in themselves but walking putrefied carcases whose breath was infectious and their sweat poison, and yet were as well to look on as other people, and even knew it not themselves; I say, they all allowed that it was really true in fact, but they knew not how to propose a discovery. My friend Dr Heath was of opinion that it might be known by the smell of their breath; but then, as he said, who durst smell to that breath for his information?” pg 130

Parts of the book are pretty gory, and these are the parts which read as a typical dystopian novel. In my opinion though the book isn’t nearly as grisly as I hoped expected, probably due to its focus on the facts and its distant and objective stance. With my historical ignorance coupled with my over-familiarity of cheap dramatic novelistic tricks, I expected the book to end with the whole of London and its plague-ridden inhabitants going up in cleansing flames as the city is consumed by the Great Fire. Spoiler: it doesn’t.

“lamentations were seen almost in every house, especially in the first part of the visitation; for towards the latter end men's hearts were hardened, and death was so always before their eyes, that they did not so much concern themselves for the loss of their friends, expecting that themselves should be summoned the next hour.” Pg 10

Verdict

Definitely worth a read if you are interested in the history of 17th century London or in disease. Otherwise you probably won’t find much to relish here.

On the big screen

Would love to see a BBC miniseries focusing on the plague in London in 1665. Ideally in the style of The Wire, illuminating the corruption and failed attempts to address the problem as much as the disease itself.

Highbrow/Lowbrow

Yes, the subject is about as grisly as it gets, but it still passes as highbrow due to its literary pedigree, its age, and its columns of statistics.

Tell the Wolves I'm Home by Carol Rifka Brunt: Book Review

What to drink 

Spiced mulled cider

Not a modern cocktail but one evoking centuries past and autumn woods where wolves may indeed have howled. Fitting for a book whose themes may seem contemporary but really come down to universal ideas of love, guilt and loss. Warming and rich but with a tart and exotic cardamom and cloves edge.

What's what

Usually I dispense with a synopsis in favour of jumping straight in to the proper business of some literary slagging. (I wouldn’t characterise what goes on in this ‘ere blog as something as grandiose as literary criticism) But not this time. Why is it so much harder to write about perfection? 

Tell the Wolves I’m Home is about June, a misfit teenager in the dark ages known as 80s America. Her beloved uncle Finn has just died of AIDS and she spends much of her time wandering the woods imagining she lives in medieval England rather than suburban USA, with a bitchy sister and distant parents.

Ostensibly the book is about June and her family attempting to deal with the aftermath of Finn’s death, and his legacy to them - a portrait of June and her sister Greta.

But as with all great works of art, both the portrait and the novel are about so much more. There is a plot and lots of things do happen - but Tell the Wolves I’m Home really comes down to character.

“That’s what I want for you,” he said. “I want you to know only the very best people.” That’s when I broke down and cried, because I already knew the very best people. Finn was the very best person I knew. pg 57

It’s such a relief to read a book with characters you actually care about. There is nothing worse than committing to 400 pages with someone and discovering after 200 you don’t give a toss whether they live or die. It’s probably not completely fair to describe June as a misfit, as she is unutterably awesome - self-aware and courageous. Brunt gives her character space to develop as the novel goes on and she learns more about herself and her place in the world.

An important part of the book was June’s relationship with Greta. This part of the novel tore me to shreds almost as much as the death and debilitating illness within the book. It’s all so painfully real - the descriptions of the games the girls used to play as children and their previous closeness, followed by the distance between them as teenagers. This is achingly counterpointed by the relationship between Finn and June’s mother, who never recovered the friendship they once had.

"The sun kept on with its slipping away, and I thought how many small good things in the world might be resting on the shoulders of something terrible. "pg 237

At some points I did wish that Greta was the main character. I was desperate to know what was going on in her obviously miserable heart, and although we found out eventually, it didn’t feel like enough! It’s a proof of the writer’s skill that Greta was no incidental secondary character but vividly drawn and more realistic for her every unknowable.

Which brings me to Toby. Oh Toby! The first clue this book was going to break my heart was the letter from Finn to June: ‘Take care of Toby. He has nobody.’ Finn’s ex-partner, he is completely estranged from June’s family at the start of the novel. Of course he won me over completely by getting June drunk on the fabulous sounding Volcano bowls. What’s not to love?

"My mother gave me a disappointed look. Then I gave her one back. Mine was for everything, not just the sandwich." pg 236

This is of course a coming of age book but one which felt refreshingly different. Sometimes growing up is about getting drunk with the most unsuitable people and when it comes to the wolves; 

"You may as well tell them where you live, because they’ll find you anyway. They always do."
Pg 328

Verdict

Heartbreaking and beautifully written. One to sob over alone with a glass of wine then force upon every member of your book group because it’s just that good.

On the big screen

This could be a wonderful film. It’s an extremely visual book, and so many scenes would translate directly into amazing set pieces. Definitely one with more of an indie vibe, but I would hate to see the melodrama and emotion downplayed. This deserves a soaring score and some sweeping outdoor cinematography.

Highbrow/lowbrow

Highbrow for sure! Ok, maybe it’s not Angels in America but the writing is incredible and the melodrama does not in the slightest detract from the fact that this is a book about Serious Subjects.

The Divine Comedy (Cary’s Translation) by Dante Alighieri: Book review

Drink with this: Campari and soda

Italian to the core of its fiery red depths. An acquired taste, appreciated by the connoisseur. The bitter herby tang of the campari is almost punitive, but stick with it and there are moments of glory.

What's what: 

                                                                                                                         

In the midway of this our mortal life,

I found me in a gloomy wood, astray

Gone from the path direct:

Pg 2, Ibid

                                                                                                                     

How to review a 14th century classic, which the venerable Wikipedia describes as “the pre-eminent work of Italian literature, and….one of the greatest works of world literature”? In my case, as flippantly as possible!

Around two pages into the 650 page translation I realised a two-pronged approach would be advisable. First, an initial skirmish, a casual, shallow, skim over the surface. Much, much later – perhaps years  or even decades, who can say -  an in-depth re-reading and analysis, backed up by true scholarly understanding.

Unfortunately I don’t think The Divine Comedy lends itself very well to the 21^st C casual reader. There is a wealth of historical and mythological information needed to fully tackle this classic, which in previous centuries would have been inherent to a gentlemanly education. Lacking even in Latin, I didn't muddy the waters by attempting to read any notes as I went along. Instead I read it in the same way I would any other book, in little bursts on the Northern line, straight up and on the rocks, no embellishments to sweeten the experience.

Centuries later, what endures is Alighieri’s command of language. The pain of never-ending sections where for pages I too was lost in the woods of indecipherable verse and convoluted sentence structure were almost eclipsed by the occasional blinding image or evocative phrase. The air in hell is ‘with solid darkness/ Stain’d,’ (pg 11, Ibid) and it’s impossible not to grasp Dante’s meaning when he says of the souls suffering in Inferno:

These of death

No hope may entertain: and their blind

Life

So meanly passes, that all other lots

They envy.

Pg 12

I love the idea of the story as well. Symbolism aside, the premise of an Italian dude lost in the underworld, then on a journey through hell, purgatory and heaven seeking a beautiful woman sounds pretty awesome.

Having said that, much of the plot seemed pretty irrelevant now. Dante’s Odyssey was ultimately very parochial, and at times accompanying him didn't feel much different than walking to the shops of our small town with my gran – everybody was Italian and everybody knew him or at least his family and wanted a bit of a blether. This endless recitation of Italian names heightened the reader’s disconnection, and yes, boredom. I had constant sense of an entire story passing me by because I was too stupid to decipher it beneath the 14^th C version of in-jokes.

I'm not a stranger to a bit of classic lit and in years gone by have munched through every Shakespearean sonnet, Ulysses, the majority of Dickens and so on and so forth. But Dante nearly did me in. There were whole pages, reams and reams of text, where I had no clue what was happening and cared less.

                                                                                                                     

O foolish wrath! Who so dost goad us on

In the brief life, and in the eternal then

Thus miserably o’erwhelm us.

Pg 49

                                                                                                                                                                   

The biggest frustration for me was that I somehow had formulated an idea that this whole journey through the underworld was a mission to rescue Beatrice. I was greatly disappointed when she only appeared half-way through, in the form of an untouchable and awfully smug angel goddess oracle. Then her perfection was played up so much I thought (hoped) she was going to turn on Dante and banish him back to the Netherworld. But no, she genuinely was perfection incarnate,

‘with such a smile,

As might have made one blest amid the

Flames’

Pg 400

There are ideas here which must have been big and revolutionary in their time, but which we are so accustomed to now that they seem commonplace. The image of a man lost in his own life, unsure of the way forward. The idea of purgatory as a never-ending toil up a mountain without end, trying to see through the fog. Heaven as a place of light and beauty where our deepest and most complex questions are explored.

Inferno was the most vivid section, with some of the most powerful imagery, which is no doubt why it is the best known. Purgatory was less impactful but easier to understand – more enjoyable with more of a clear story thread. Here it was actually possible to work out what was happening from one canto to the next. Paradise was densely impenetrable and deeply tedious. Lengthy metaphysical and religious speculations formed the body of this section, with little plot development. 

                                                                                                                     

and that, which next

Befalls me to portray, voice hath not

Utter’d

Nor hath ink written, nor in fantasy

Was e’er conceived.

Pg 508

                                                                                                                                                             

This was in keeping with the general movement through the work, with the first section dealing with the more base bodily functions (references to sex and excrement) the middle section dealing with prosaic actions such as exhaustion, endless toil, and confusion or other overpowering emotions, while the third section was concerned with the mind and the soul.

The shades Dante meets are all principally concerned with their reputation, and continuation in the world below. Yet throughout it is stressed that renown amongst other men is transient and what is crucial is the eternal life of the soul. Dante tells us that everything else passes while only God’s love remains. 

                                                                                                                     

Wherefore if thou escape this darksome

Clime,

Returning to behold the radiant stars,

When thou with pleasure shalt retrace the

Past,

See that of us thou speak among mankind.

Pg 67

                                                                                                                                                             

Verdict: How can you evaluate something when you are fully aware that most of it has completely passed you by? There were some powerful phrases and beautiful language but I’m not sure the experience of reading it is one which has much to offer the average modern reader. Thematically powerful with glimpses of enduring brilliance hiding in a thicket of punishing verbiage.
 On the big screen:There are several, none of which I think I’ll ever be able to face. There is also a video game which it turns out follows the plot (rescue Beatrice) I wistfully imagined while reading. All adaptations I’ve discovered seem to focus on the visually stimulating Inferno, with good reason.

Highbrow/lowbrow:  Right up there with the Bible in terms of pedigree, but with a more tedious conceptualisation of heaven. Doesn’t quite live up to Milton with regards to its interpretation of hell, but certainly as reputable.

Never Seduce a Scot by Maya Banks: Book review

Drink with this: shot of Maker’s mark

Ersatz whisky for this faux Scottish historical romance. Even within the bourbon shelves this book would be in the cheap row at the bottom. It lacks the tingling warmth of Jack Daniels, let alone the buzz of oak-aged single malt.

What's what: 

I have no excuse for reading this, and I only have myself to blame for my lack of enjoyment. By all accounts Ms Banks is very well-respected in the historical romance community. But – I wanted trash yes, but I wanted the gourmet hot dog of the historical romance world, not the canned version! (Apologies for the analogy, I spent two hours waiting in line for this place last week and now need to make use of the experience however possible.)

I purchased this novel during a literary rampage through fiction set in Scotland. I envisaged it as a kind of low-rent Outlander. Sadly the plot, such as it was, soon left me longing for a nice, logical time travel romp spanning generations, invoking the power of standing stones and sparkly gems.

Never Seduce a Scot suffers greatly from its lack of any time travel or glittery jewellery whatsoever. Eveline, deaf-mute since a tragic fall from her trusty stead, is forced into a marriage with Graeme, the chieftain of a rival clan in 17^th century Scotland. Her family are anxious as they believe her to be sweet but brain-damaged, yet they are powerless to resist as this decree comes from the King.

Of course, eventually the couple find true love in each other’s arms and Eveline’s deafness is miraculously cured also, through the power of an attractive man’s voice!

On to the positive. It was nice to see a deaf-mute character in a historical novel. This premise was part of the draw for me, and it seemed realistic that those around her would struggle to understand her condition.

That said, her recovery was just one of the coincidences in the novel which strained the bounds of credulity. The story had the fatal flaw of both being too ridiculous in its plot contrivances and too dull at the same time. There was a distinct lack of conflict following the marriage of the protagonists and no real tension to sustain the plot.

                                                                                                                             

" 'I love you Eveline,' he whispered, though he knew she could not hear him. 'Somehow, I'll make you hear me and you'll know that I love you as fiercely as it's possible for a man to love a woman.' " pg 308 Never Seduce a Scot 

                                                                                                                            

Sadly there was also a major lack of swoon to act as compensation. For a romance novel this was far from steamy. Graeme was no Jamie (red-headed hero of Gabaldon’s Outlander series) and Eveline was a text-book Mary Sue, winning the hearts and minds of everyone she meets through simpering niceness and good looks alone.

Lastly, the initial draw for me, the Scottish setting, felt pretty tangential to the story. Clearly Banks wanted to exploit the sexy highlander trope but there was absolutely nothing here which characterised this as taking place in 17^th C Scotland except for a few token references to kilts and clans.

I get that this was designed to appeal to an international (cough American cough) audience, but would an aye here or a dinnae ken there have hurt?  

Maybe I’m the only reader who wanted a bit of realism along with the miracle healing and unsexy sex. But why can’t we have our romance tightly embraced by vigorous plotting and beautiful writing? 

Verdict: Much too silly even by its own standards. Fails to be entertaining, which is surely unforgivable for a fluffy romance.

On the big screen: Could work either as a deadly sincere made for TV movie which amps up the steamy glances and rain-swept hill shots, or as a 50s style melodrama, with more of the above plus some bonus symbolism.

Highbrow/lowbrow:  The cover says more than I ever could.