The Story Sisters by Alice Hoffman: Book review

Drink with this: Corpse Reviver #2
An appropriate name is always a good place to start, especially one with a touch of the morbid. A book steeped in fairy tale and myth also deserves a cocktail with a bit of history. The Corpse Reviver #2 was brought to the world’s notice in 1930 in Harry Craddock’s The Savoy Cocktail Book. Originally invented as a hair of the dog cocktail, it’s sadly fallen out of fashion but is more than suitable for a novel where transformations and revivals are hard won but ultimately possible. Corpse Reviver #2 is a drink of layers – floral Lillet, burnt orange Cointeau, tangy lemon, biting absinthe and gin. These overlapping flavours will go well with this tale of powerful complexity. 

What's what: 

The Story Sisters, appropriately enough, is a novel centring around three sisters as they grow up. At the crux of the novel is a terrible event which happened to the oldest sister, Elv, the summer she turned eleven. The rest of the novel ripples out from this one catastrophe, its consequences proving far-reaching and destructive for the whole Story family.

This is the first Alice Hoffman book I've read and perhaps unfairly my perception of her is of a slightly downmarket Barbara Kingsolver. Perhaps a more apt comparison would be Anne Tyler, with a dash of magic and many more adjectives. Like Tyler or Kingsolver, her strength is in her portrayal of family relationships – and their breakdowns.

After reading the novel I learned that Hoffman is associated with magic realism. Perhaps this applies more to her other works – as an avowed hater of magic realism, it didn’t particularly intrude on the story for me this time. There is a fairytale motif running throughout – although that sounds far too cuddly and girly for the dark and demon filled imaginings of the novel. Central to the plot is the fantasy world – Arnelle - the three sisters invented as children, where monsters are real and must be fought and loyalty and bravery are the most important qualities. This world has its own language and is so all-consuming the sisters become isolated from their parents and school friends. As they grow older this world recedes from their lives, but the sense of a barely glimpsed otherworld persists in the novel. Several sections are set in a Paris where demons lurk outside windows, visible only to the venerable old ladies who watch over the girls. The prose is rich and treacly and dripping with imagery – it wouldn’t be to everyone’s taste but it’s completely in keeping with the fantastical content.

                                                                                                                            

"In every fairytale there were always three sisters: the eldest was brave, the middle one was trustworthy, and the youngest had the biggest heart of all. " pg 52 The Story Sisters

                                                                                                                            

The story was a slow-burn, not gripping at first but one I couldn’t stop thinking about afterwards, with deeply imagined and plausible characters and great emotional resonance. I was initially drawn to it because it was about three sisters – but I found Elv difficult to sympathise with for most of the book. Despite this her creation of Arnelle as a coping mechanism and her anger along with all her actions following on from this felt extremely realistic.

One of the saddest parts of this very sad novel was the slow inevitable fading of this invented world from the girls’ lives as they grew older. There was a dark undertone throughout, which was part of the appeal for me and an antidote to a book which otherwise might seem just another fairy story or family saga.  

                                                                                                                            

"What people called the truth seemed worthless to her; what was it but a furtive, bruised story to convince yourself life was worth living." pg 66 The Story Sisters

                                                                                                                             

Verdict: Intense and evocative. Depending on you feel about the premise, either immerse yourself in it or avoid.

On the big screen: This would be an amazing movie! It needs a melodramatic, noir treatment. I imagine the look of Burton but the feel of a classic noir film such as Murder my Sweet or Gilda.

Highbrow/lowbrow:  Lowbrow – this ain’t won any literary prices yet. Not one to be ashamed of though, more in common with Atwood than Picoult.
 

Five Children and It, The Phoenix and the Carpet, Story of the Amulet, : Book review

Drink with this: Shirley Temple.

Classic non-alcoholic cocktail, with overtones of an earlier age of childish simplicity and innocence. Sickly sweet pink grenadine foiled by spicy and mischievous Blytonesque ginger ale.

The deal: Five Children and It, The Phoenix and the Carpet and The Story of the Amulet are a series of books featuring siblings who encounter various magical objects. As a child reading Nesbit I was gripped by Five Children and It. Re-reading as an adult was a comforting experience, and FCAI would more than hold up for the first-time adult reader too. The second and third novels in the series were in essence reprisals of the first, with ever more plot holes and narrative inconsistencies. If you didn't read these as a child it's probably not worth bothering now.

However this series is a good place to start in familiarising yourself with Nesbit, whose writing still has a lot to offer today. Five Children and It has never been out of print since it's initial publication in 1902 and along with a rollicking plot line, Nesbit's narrative tone has a lot to do with this.

Unusually for the period she was writing in, she engages her reader (assumed to be a child) directly and as an equal. A compact is formed in which it is is given that magic is a literal matter of fact, grown-ups will never get it, and bonds between siblings are sacrosanct. Within the space of the novel, adults are marginal and suffer from both stupidity and an inability to perceive things obvious to children.

Her world is inclusive and timeless, a cosy and nostalgic environment. Misfortune, usually occuring in the form of being sent to bed without supper, is a fact of life but is rarely insurmountable. The Story of the Amulet sees real-life problems insinuate themselves into the plot but thankfully these are easily dispensed with by the end of the novel.

                                                                                                                            

"Manages to make even the modern adult reader feel like a refugee from a childhood filled with magic"

                                                                                                                            

Along with this comes the deep and abiding satisfaction of narrative resolution. Of course we all want to read about children who have the ability to travel through time, or place, or be granted wishes! And then we want to see these wishes unfold, sometimes with dire consequences. It's this underlying pragmatism and prim denial of happy ever afters which stops this series descending into saccharine fairy-tale territory. Wishes don't last forever and usually have a down-side.

Verdict: Holds it own despite being over a century old. Satisfyingly nostalgic after an inital suspension of disbelief. Manages to make even the modern adult reader feel like a refugee from a childhood filled with magic.

On the big screen: Both a film and TV series of FCAI have already been done. I've seen at least one of these but it left only a vague impression. With its absurd elements though, this might be a series of novels which better exist in the imagination. Or maybe I just hate how 90's CGI they made the Psammead look....

Highbrow/lowbrow: As a relic of a bygone era, it has now been elevated to classic status by default. I'm going to go with highbrow, as easy entertainment of its day requires effortful detachment now to enjoy in the same way.

Tangled, dir. Nathan Greno : Film review

Drink with this: Golden Slipper (Yes, it’s a children’s film. What?)

When you’re talking Disney princesses, surely it has to be a cocktail.  Golden, like Rapunzel’s flaxen tresses.  And a slipper has to be the most Princessy accessory, second only to the tiara. Ok, it relates to the wrong Princess, but after a few of these you won’t be so judgy. (Incidentally, while considering this I Googled ‘Golden Cocktails’. Well! Urban Dictionary can be so enlightening.)

Tangled is the story of Rapunzel, and was originally named after the eponymous heroine.  It was rebranded either as a cynical marketing ploy, or as an attempt to appeal to boys as well as girls, depending on what you believe. It was Disney’s much touted 50^th animation, and Quentin Tarantino’s self-professed fifth favourite film of 2010. (I love that he has a numerical list of favourite films. Its so in keeping with the Tarantino who started off working at a video store.) Number five places it one above True Grit on his list; also loving the juxtaposition.

But why not? Disney at its best is spectacular. Most people of my generation speak of the Disney films of their childhood with the kind of veneration only otherwise reserved for Harry Potter. Sadly though, Tangled is not Disney at its best. It is very enjoyable though. The tale of Rapunzel is followed faithfully-ish until the tragic parts. (blinding of the hero, exile to the desert, etc etc. )

I’m no expert on animation at all, so will only say….it looked good? I think? I wasn’t wowed by it, but I did think at several points it was very pretty. Critics generally seem agreed on this. The score was likeable too – I would happily listen to these songs again, although they don’t rank up there with the greatest Disney soundtracks.

Onto specifics:  in my heart, the only Rapunzel retelling which counts is the Sondheim’s, from Into the Woods. With this in mind, the treatment of the witch rankled slightly. She was treated as an essentially evil character, but she seemed loving enough until Rapunzel tried to escape. The film showed her cooking Rapunzel her favourite meals, telling her she loved her… And ok, keeping her prisoner in a tower, but what parents aren’t misguided from time to time? And then when Rapunzel is united with her real parents  - SPOILER – it’s all hugs and festivals, with not a thought for the woman who raised her singlehandedly for eighteen years! Ungrateful bitch.

Into the Woods on Broadway

But seriously, I was dissatisfied with the witch’s story. Why was she obsessed with youth and beauty? Did she really love Rapunzel? If not, why did she look after her so well? Should I really have expected Disney to take on these questions? (Sondheim did. That’s all I’m saying….)

When marketing the film, Disney made a big deal of it’s hero Flynn Rider, as part of its rather transparent attempts to pretend the film isn’t essentially about a princess and her hair-care. Flynn Rider disappointingly turns out to be called Eugene, but aside from that he was an acceptable hero. Dashing but decidedly non-threatening, as you would expect. Overall, more attractive than the Beast once transformed, less attractive than Aladdin. 

Is Tangled a feminist film? You may think this question isn’t even worth asking, but actually I think Disney were going for some kind of Feminism Lite/ Girl Power type vibes.  In fact, I get a faint whiff of the defensive from this film. On the whole, Tangled represents a massive leap forward from their earlier output. Rapunzel transforms into an unprincess-like brunette with a sassy short haircut at the end of the film – and Flynn seems to prefer her this way. She can wield a frying pan with aplomb, and is pretty spunky and resourceful.  She gets major bonus points for sweeping Flynn off his feet and kissing him first, and although they do get married, the emphasis is on the fact that this is many years later.

Yet, the wholly domestic scope of Rapunzel’s ambitions is surely a bit limiting. She’s been imprisoned in a tower her whole life, and then on escape she’s only interested in Flynn?  The fact that the ending of the film presupposes that their marriage is ‘the big question’ everyone is wondering about is slightly irritating. As is the ‘joke’ Flynn makes that Rapunzel proposed first. Why is this presented as so laughable?

These are relatively minor concerns; I could probably find more to get angry about if I tried. But I don’t really want to try. I liked Tangled. It may not be my fifth favourite film of the year, but it’s probably the best Disney I’ve seen in a while. 

Verdict: Worth watching when hungover. Or with your kids/siblings/nieces/nephews, depending on where your life is at.

Take 2: I just wish that this was slightly more like the Disney of yore. Not that I think Beauty and the Beast is a feminist masterpiece, so this must stem from pure nostalgia. Aside from that, I want them to redo it and give Flynn a less annoying voice! Seriously, after two hours it really begins to grate….

Highbrow/Lowbrow: Do you really need me to tell you? Lighter and fluffier than Up, yet ranks far above Hannah Montana.

The Woman in White by Wilkie Collins: Classic Review

Drink with this: Gin and tonic.

Gin, as well as our classic under review, was hugely popular in the Victorian age. Tonic, originally containing quinine, was added to create a refreshing, anti-malarial drink ideal for empire-building in steamy climates. Therefore the gin and tonic is where mass popularity and aristocratic sensibilities meet. Invented eleven years after the publication of TWIW, so drink alongside to be as avant garde as the novel itself.

The Woman in White has never been out of print since 1859. This kind of enduring popularity is hard to dismiss. (But I intend to anyway.) When first published, it represented a remarkable innovation in terms of narrative structure and thematic concerns. But like any good ideas, the features which originally made the novel stand out have since been explored, exploited and improved on by so many authors that their original incarnation feels dated, and even irritating.  This is not to say the novel isn’t still worth reading. As a study in Victorian mores and in the context of 19^th century literature, it’s fascinating. It just doesn’t necessarily stand alone as an enjoyable and suspenseful read in the way it seemingly did 150-ish years ago. 

 It is often described as a precursor to the detective story, but it really bears no resemblance to the modern detective novel. Collins’ characters fumble around for whole chapters, clueless about what’s going on. Meanwhile the reader skims impatiently through, having figured out the ‘mystery’ pages ago. It is de rigeur in the genre nowdays for the ending to leave certain details unexplained. (See: Stieg Larsson, Jo Nesbo) The careful advanced signaling of every single secret in the novel felt clumsy in comparison.

                                                                                                 

"If the cinematic idea of the male gaze can exist in literary form, it undoubtedly exists here."

                                                                                                      

TWIW was revolutionary in its heyday for its treatment of motifs such as forbidden secrets hidden underneath a veneer of respectability, and its examination of the lack of legal standing afforded to married women. But even by the standards of its contemporaries, its investigation into woman’s rights feels unsatisfactory. Tenant of Wildfell Hall, for example, (Anne Bronte) takes a much more impassioned and considered look at the same issues, which also happens to be from the viewpoint of the character affected. And compared to other sensation novels of the Victorian era – Lady Audley’s Secret, anything by Oscar Wilde, and even Dracula – TWIW seems rather tame.

My biggest issue with the novel was its treatment of female characters. If the cinematic idea of the male gaze can exist in literary form, it undoubtedly exists here. Wilkie’s female characters never really felt believable to me. The clammy, leering presence of the author was something I was uncomfortably conscious of in every scene which involved a woman. Laura, the ostensible heroine, is stripped of both agency and voice in the novel, while also running the gamut of insulting female stereotypes. (Attractive dimwit, subservient angel, child-like romantic heroine, hysterical/insane woman).

 Marian, with her intelligence and bravery, arguably represents a more positive portrayal of a woman; yet each of her admirable qualities is filtered through the prism of her ‘masculinity’. She is clearly established as a ‘deviant’ woman, unworthy of sexual consideration except by the monstrous Count Fosco. Only within this context is she allowed to act as narrator, and engage with the male characters on their own terms.

                                                                                                  

"Too tedious to enjoy in an ironic ‘so bad it’s good’ kind of way" 

                                                                                                  

 Even within the genre of gothic romance, The Woman in White stretches credulity to its utmost limit. In Dickens’ capable hands, melodrama and coincidence are intrinsic parts of the world he creates and the themes he develops. Compared to his masterful command of these devices, Wilkie’s writing feels like a desperate attempt to keep the story trundling along, by any means possible.

It’s hard to evaluate TWIW fairly today. Too tedious to enjoy in an ironic ‘so bad it’s good’ kind of way – just as Kipling is too racist for this game – it is better appreciated as product of its times than by comparison to its modern equivalents.

Verdict: Worth reading, but only while taking part in an elaborate drinking game. Rules as follows – shot every time a woman faints/has hysterics. Chug every time Collins uses six words when one would do. Drink every time the ‘working classes’ are described in a condescending manner.

On the big screen: There have already been several films and TV series made of this, none of which I’ve seen. The book’s narrative structure, with first-person narratives from various characters, make it well suited for film adaptation. The fact that Laura is a pathetic idiot would be no obstacle to Hollywood success. I would love to see a Todd Haynes take on this, with the gothic melodrama amped up.  

Highbrow/Lowbrow: It’s a Classic, which automatically makes it highbrow, although it wasn’t regarded this way in the 19^th C.

Sirens (C4): TV Review

Season 1, Episodes 1 - 4

Drink with this: Corona and lime

Tries to appeal to men, by virtue of being beer, and to women, by coming with a slice of citrus fruit. Refreshing and cheap enough to drink on a big night out, but not really part of binge-drinking culture.

The first episode of Sirens is enjoyable enough, with several quite funny jokes. Unfortunately, episodes two and three string out these self-same jokes, with no introduction of any kind of over-arching series narrative arc to distract us. But as with the Mafia, so it goes with British comedy television programmes of the twenty-tens. Just when you think you’re out, they’ll pull you back in. The last seven minutes of the fourth episode felt genuinely engaging, and more moving than the previous one hundred and eighty-one minutes of television.

(I might have been carried away by all the Scottish characters in Episode Four. Five hours from home, I get a bit giddy when I hear Scottish accents now.  Sometimes my afternoon playlist at work is composed of the rather niche category of music by artists who are not only Scottish but who actually sing in a recognisably Scottish accent. ) But from an objective point of view, I would like to think that Episode Four could have marked a turn-around, where Sirens begins to pull its dangling threads together to create some kind of cohesive, beautifully knitted whole.

Sirens follows EMTs Rasheed, Ashely and Stuart while on and off shift, as well as policewoman Maxine Fox.  The portrayal of Maxine, as a female cop whose tough attitude makes it difficult for her to meet men, felt a bit hackneyed and tended to grate on me. Similar accusations of stereotype have been leveled at Richard Madden’s portrayal of Ashley, as the token gay guy. I did try to evaluate these claims, but I got distracted by his face. Sorry, but as Game of Thrones viewers will know, he’s just beautiful.

Sirens started as a blog, and then became a book before being made into a TV series. I’ve not read the book, but a look at Brian Kellett’s blog made me wish Sirens was a more faithful adaptation of it. As a glance into a world I know nothing of, I found it absolutely fascinating. Intense, funny, and at times despairing, there is a lot more reflection there on the NHS and its various processes than made it on screen. I want to see this stuff as a TV show! I’ve seen countless shows about twenty something guys trying to pull, but I’ve never seen a show about the daily workings of the ambulance service in Britain.

                                                                                                    

"If this is comedy, it’s just not funny enough." 

                                                                                                     

I feel that American drama and comedy are much more sharply delineated than their British equivalents. Sirens tries to be both comedy and drama at once, and so never really achieves a consistent tone. If this is drama, we need more character development. Even after four episodes, all the characters still felt one-dimensional to me. The aspects of the show which could be really moving or meaningful – the medical emergencies – are not explored in any serious way.

If this is comedy, it’s just not funny enough. It’s immature enough to appeal to viewers of the Inbetweeners – but seems tame in comparison.  We’ve all seen enough medical dramas now to be unfazed by anal surgery. Following the example of Scrubs or Green Wing and introducing a wider range of oddball supporting characters would also help.

By trying to do everything, Siren ultimately fails to do anything completely successfully.

Verdict: Worth watching as background tv, while doing the ironing. Or another activity of your choice. I don’t iron, but I imagine this is the kind of thing you might do.

Director’s cut: I want to remake this as a kind of British sixth season of The Wire. Why don’t we have great drama which looks at the NHS in the same way as the Wire looks at journalism, education, politics, and the police? Ok, we have loads of shows about the NHS. But this aspect – emergency services – is something which has not been given serious treatment.

Highbrow/lowbrow: No Angels for guys. Green Wing for Hollyoaks viewers.