Featuring lots of wintry nature scenes, some books, and a few snippets from a very different Christmas.
Music: ‘Red Berries’ by Angus and Julia Stone
Featuring lots of wintry nature scenes, some books, and a few snippets from a very different Christmas.
Music: ‘Red Berries’ by Angus and Julia Stone
Following my review of David Gillham’s Annelies: A Novel of Anne Frank, in which it is imagined that Anne survived her time in Bergen-Belsen concentration camp and returned to Amsterdam, I wanted to make a list of alternate history books. The first book on the list, Stephen Fry’s Making History, is one of my absolute favourite novels, and the others are ones which I would like to get to sooner rather than later. I have not purposely chosen alternate histories set around the Second World War, but these seem to be amongst the most prevalent, and all really appeal to me as a reader.
1. Making History by Stephen Fry
‘In Making History, Stephen Fry has bitten off a rather meaty chunk by tackling an at first deceptively simple premise: What if Hitler had never been born? An unquestionable improvement, one would reason–and so an earnest history grad student and an aging German physicist idealistically undertake to bring this about by preventing Adolf’s conception. And with their success is launched a brave new world that is in some ways better than ours–but in most ways even worse. Fry’s experiment in history makes for his most ambitious novel yet, and his most affecting. His first book to be set mostly in America, it is a thriller with a funny streak, a futuristic fantasy based on one of mankind’s darkest realities. It is, in every sense, a story of our times.’
2. The Man in the High Castle by Philip K. Dick
‘It’s America in 1962. Slavery is legal once again. The few Jews who still survive hide under assumed names. In San Francisco, the I Ching is as common as the Yellow Pages. All because some twenty years earlier the United States lost a war — and is now occupied by Nazi Germany and Japan. This harrowing, Hugo Award-winning novel is the work that established Philip K. Dick as an innovator in science fiction while breaking the barrier between science fiction and the serious novel of ideas. In it Dick offers a haunting vision of history as a nightmare from which it may just be possible to wake.‘
3. Radiance by Catherynne M. Valente
‘Severin Unck’s father is a famous director of Gothic romances in an alternate 1986 in which talking movies are still a daring innovation due to the patent-hoarding Edison family. Rebelling against her father’s films of passion, intrigue, and spirits from beyond, Severin starts making documentaries, traveling through space and investigating the levitator cults of Neptune and the lawless saloons of Mars. For this is not our solar system, but one drawn from classic science fiction in which all the planets are inhabited and we travel through space on beautiful rockets. Severin is a realist in a fantastic universe. But her latest film, which investigates the disappearance of a diving colony on a watery Venus populated by island-sized alien creatures, will be her last. Though her crew limps home to earth and her story is preserved by the colony’s last survivor, Severin will never return. Aesthetically recalling A Trip to the Moon and House of Leaves, and told using techniques from reality TV, classic film, gossip magazines, and meta-fictional narrative, Radiance is a solar system-spanning story of love, exploration, family, loss, quantum physics, and silent film.’
4. Dominion by C.J. Sansom
‘1952. Twelve years have passed since Churchill lost to the appeasers, and Britain surrendered to Nazi Germany after Dunkirk. As the long German war against Russia rages on in the east, the British people find themselves under dark authoritarian rule: the press, radio and television are controlled; the streets patrolled by violent auxiliary police and British Jews face ever greater constraints. There are terrible rumours too about what is happening in the basement of the German Embassy at Senate House. Defiance, though, is growing. In Britain, Winston Churchill’s Resistance organisation is increasingly a thorn in the government’s side. And in a Birmingham mental hospital an incarcerated scientist, Frank Muncaster, may hold a secret that could change the balance of the world struggle forever. Civil Servant David Fitzgerald, secretly acting as a spy for the Resistance, is given by them the mission to rescue his old friend Frank and get him out of the country. Before long he, together with a disparate group of Resistance activists, will find themselves fugitives in the midst of London’s Great Smog; as David’s wife Sarah finds herself drawn into a world more terrifying than she ever could have imagined. And hard on their heels is Gestapo Sturmbannfuhrer Gunther Hoth, brilliant, implacable hunter of men…’
5. The Plot Against America by Philip Roth
‘In an astonishing feat of narrative invention, our most ambitious novelist imagines an alternate version of American history. In 1940 Charles A. Lindbergh, heroic aviator and rabid isolationist, is elected President. Shortly thereafter, he negotiates a cordial “understanding” with Adolf Hitler, while the new government embarks on a program of folksy anti-Semitism. For one boy growing up in Newark, Lindbergh’s election is the first in a series of ruptures that threatens to destroy his small, safe corner of America – and with it, his mother, his father, and his older brother.’
6. The Last Days of New Paris by China Miéville
‘It’s 1941. In the chaos of wartime Marseille, American engineer – and occult disciple – Jack Parsons stumbles onto a clandestine anti-Nazi group, including surrealist theorist André Breton. In the strange games of the dissident diplomats, exiled revolutionaries, and avant-garde artists, Parsons finds and channels hope. But what he unwittingly unleashes is the power of dreams and nightmares, changing the war and the world forever. It’s 1950. A lone surrealist fighter, Thibaut, walks a new, hallucinogenic Paris, where Nazis and the Resistance are trapped in unending conflict, and the streets are stalked by living images and texts – and by the forces of hell. To escape the city, he must join forces with Sam, an American photographer intent on recording the ruins, and make common cause with a powerful, enigmatic figure of chance and rebellion: the exquisite corpse. But Sam is being hunted. And new secrets will emerge that will test all their loyalties – to each other, to Paris old and new, and to reality itself.’
7. Blackout by Connie Willis
‘Oxford in 2060 is a chaotic place, with scores of time-traveling historians being sent into the past. Michael Davies is prepping to go to Pearl Harbor. Merope Ward is coping with a bunch of bratty 1940 evacuees and trying to talk her thesis adviser into letting her go to VE-Day. Polly Churchill’s next assignment will be as a shopgirl in the middle of London’s Blitz. But now the time-travel lab is suddenly canceling assignments and switching around everyone’s schedules. And when Michael, Merope, and Polly finally get to World War II, things just get worse. For there they face air raids, blackouts, and dive-bombing Stukas–to say nothing of a growing feeling that not only their assignments but the war and history itself are spiraling out of control. Because suddenly the once-reliable mechanisms of time travel are showing significant glitches, and our heroes are beginning to question their most firmly held belief: that no historian can possibly change the past.‘
8. It Can’t Happen Here by Sinclair Lewis
‘The only one of Sinclair Lewis’s later novels to match the power of Main Street, Babbitt, and Arrowsmith, It Can’t Happen Here is a cautionary tale about the fragility of democracy, an alarming, eerily timeless look at how fascism could take hold in America. Written during the Great Depression when America was largely oblivious to Hitler’s aggression, it juxtaposes sharp political satire with the chillingly realistic rise of a President who becomes a dictator to save the nation from welfare cheats, rampant promiscuity, crime, and a liberal press. Now finally back in print, It Can’t Happen Here remains uniquely important, a shockingly prescient novel that’s as fresh and contemporary as today’s news.‘
Have you read any of these? Which are your favourite alternate history books?
Back in February 2017, I had the honour of visiting the Anne Frank Huis in Amsterdam. I have been aware of Anne’s story ever since I can remember; indeed, one of my first reading memories is of encountering her biography in a written-for-children format at school, and sobbing. Since I was old enough to read her diary in its entirety, I have done so every couple of years without fail, and am always moved to tears.
I was a little wary of David Gillham’s Annelies: A Novel of Anne Frank when I first spotted it in the library. It tells an alternative story, of Anne Frank surviving the persecution she faced during the Holocaust in the Bergen-Belsen concentration camp, and moving back to Amsterdam to live with her father, Otto. However, I do find ‘what if?’ stories rather fascinating; Stephen Fry’s Making History is a prime example of just how good this sub-genre can be. I decided, therefore, to pick up the paperback edition of Annelies.
The opening section of Annelies creates an imagined narrative which relies heavily upon her own diaries. Events that I have read of so many times in Anne’s own beautiful writing are rendered in a different voice here. The preface of each chapter contains a quote from Anne’s diary, which I felt was a nice touch.
The first short chapter of the novel really caught my attention, and immediately sets up the alternate twist of history. Here, Gillham writes: ‘And in that fractured moment, the world that would have been takes a different path: a flicker of the girl she once was makes a last demand for life. A breath, a flinch of existence… She coughs viciously, but somethingin her has found a pulse. Some vital substance.’ We move from here to Anne’s childhood, at a point in time before the Franks had to move into the annexe above Otto’s workplace, but when the situation is becoming grave. Gillham notes: ‘It’s obvious that things are not good for the Jews since the Hun occupied the city. It’s even obvious to a child that things are happening. Anne is not as oblivious as everyone believes. But why in the world should they dwell on it so?’
On her return to Amsterdam, nothing is as she left it. Anne feels like a completely different person, whose childhood has been left far behind her. She struggles to come to terms with the death of her mother, Edith, and her elder sister, Margot, as well as what happened to her in Bergen-Belsen. Her only way to survive, and to recover, is to ‘transform her story of trauma into a story of redemption and hope.’
Gillham continually asserts the solace which Anne felt within the pages of her diary, each entry of which she affectionally addressed to ‘Kitty’. He writes: ‘In her diary Anne turns herself inside out… Splashing ink on the paper, sometimes boisterously, sometimes angrily, often critically, perhaps even artfully. She has learned to depend on words to see herself more clearly. Her demands, her frustrations and furies, her unobtainable ideals, and her relentless desires, all a reflection of the lonely self she confesses only to the page, because if people aren’t patient, paper is.’
The historical detail here has clearly been well researched, and helps to situate Anne, particularly after her character returns to Amsterdam. Gillham shows how troubled anyone in her situation would be, and the myriad reasons as to why she is unable to settle back into her old life as though nothing has happened. The absence of her family is obvious at every point, and Gillham places emphasis on the rather tumultuous relationship which existed between Anne and her mother. The dynamics between each of the protagonists here have been so well drawn. Anne’s grief, when she makes the gruelling journey from the concentration camp to her old home, is almost palpable: ‘She no longer knows what home is now. Her family is dead. Without them how can such a thing as home exist?’
I have already mentioned that I had reservations about reading Gillham’s book, but I really should not have worried. He handles Anne’s story – both the real and the imagined aspects of it – with heart and compassion. Gillham’s version of her is recognisable; the plucky, confident Anne, which is so often shown in her diary, and in the accounts of those who knew her, is visible and apparent. Gillham writes, for instance: ‘Instead she has a swift desire to misbehave. She tastes it like spice on the back of her tongue.’
Gillham also shows the other side of Anne, the lonely, longing girl, which is sometimes revealed in her diaries. In one of the early chapters, the author explains: ‘This is the Anne she keeps a secret from others. The panicked Anne. The helpless Anne on the edge of a lonely void. It would not do for such an Anne to show up in the world.’ The Anne of Gillham’s creation is three-dimensional, sometimes so much so that the loss of her potential – and that of millions more murdered in the Holocaust – feels overwhelming.
The omniscient perspective of Annelies, which follows our protagonist at every turn, was effective, and I felt that every aspect of the story was well handled. It is often chilling – for instance, when Gillham asserts ‘Anne knows that she has no identity beyond the number imprinted on her arm.’ Annelies is both sensitive and immensely readable. It feels incredibly thorough, and there are so many touching moments woven throughout. In his author’s note, Gillham writes that he his ‘priority has been to honor Anne’s story with honesty and accuracy’, and indeed, this feels like exactly what he has achieved.
I have not made myself a yearly reading list for quite some time now. During 2020, I enjoyed the freedom of being able to pick up books whenever I wanted to, without having to think about whether they fitted into a challenge which I was participating in.
Although I am going to be continuing my freer reading going forward, I do have a tentative list of authors whose work I want to at least start during 2021. Whilst I am not going to force myself to pick up a book by every single one of these authors, I have written out a copy of the list in my reading journal, which I can refer to throughout the year. I feel that this will allow me to do something which offers a little structure, whilst still allowing me the choice of book which I pick up by each author.
Without further ado, my list is as follows:
I am sure that there are more authors to be added to this list, but I wanted to keep it as manageable as possible, in the hope of being motivated enough to make my way through it.
Have you read any books by these authors? Which would you recommend? Do you have any particular authors in mind to focus on this year?
Today, I have put together two reviews of short story collections which I was expecting to love, but which both somewhat disappointed me.
Tenth of December by George Saunders **
I had yet to read any of George Saunders’ work before picking up his much-lauded short story collection, Tenth of December. The author won the 2017 Man Booker Prize for his novel Lincoln in the Bardo, which, on reflection, perhaps would have been a better place to start with his work.
I must admit that I wasn’t really a fan of Saunders’ prose in this collection. The stories often go off at tangents, and I did not feel as though the different disjointed threads always came together in the end. The stories here are certainly varied – there are forays into science-fiction, and some writing which verges on the experimental, for instance – but I did not find that a single tale stood out for me as a reader. Some of the storylines themselves intrigued me, but others ended too abruptly. The story ‘Sticks’ only covers two pages, and was the tale which I could see the most potential in.
I felt pulled in by very few of the stories in Tenth of December. I ended up reading the first four pages or so of the tales, and if they had not captured my attention, I moved on. I was expecting to find moments of brilliance in this collection, but was unable to. So many people have loved these short stories, so perhaps I’m missing something, but throughout I found so little to connect with. I’m now unsure whether to read Lincoln in the Bardo based on my experience of this collection.
Don’t Cry by Mary Gaitskill **
Mary Gaitskill’s short story collection, Don’t Cry, was first published in the USA in 2009, and in the United Kingdom in 2017. Gaitskill was not an author whom I had read before, but I’d heard such great things about her writing, and consequently picked up Don’t Cry when browsing in my local library.
Described as ‘full of jagged, lived emotion and powerful, incisive writing’, I was certainly intrigued by this collection, which is made up of ten stories. Gaitskill’s opening sentences are often quite startling and unusual, and sometimes packed a real punch. ‘College Town, 1980’, for instance, begins: ‘Dolores did not look good in a scarf’; and ‘Mirror Bowl’ opens ‘He took her soul – though, being a secular-minded person, he didn’t think about it that way’. They also provide a sense of intrigue. ‘Don’t Cry’, the title story, has ‘Our first day in Addis Ababa, we woke up to wedding music playing outside our hotel’ as its first sentence.
I admired Gaitskill’s skill at creating striking sentences and images, but found that there was perhaps a little too much sexual content, darkness, and grit in Don’t Cry for my personal taste. I found a few of the stories grotesque, and quite difficult to read in consequence. Whilst Gaitskill’s stories are largely about everyday occurrences, she twists them around until they seem nasty and unsettling. Only some of her characters interested me, and I wasn’t that taken by her quite matter-of-fact writing. The title story in the collection was by far my favourite, but it has not led me to want to pick up any more of Gaitskill’s work in future.
Have you read either of these collections? Are there any authors whose short stories you would particularly recommend to me?
First published in 2016.
It is said,’ states the blurb of this book, ‘that Charles Dickens invented Christmas, and within these pages you’ll certainly find all the elements of a traditional Christmas brought to vivid life: snowy rooftops, gleaming shop windows, steaming bowls of punch, plum puddings like speckled cannon balls, sage and onion stuffing, magic, charity and goodwill’. Sounds marvellous, doesn’t it? Thankfully, ‘marvellous’ is an adjective which can be applied in good measure to this lovely book.
Dickens at Christmas contains many extracts from his seasonal writings, some of which are short novellas (‘A Christmas Carol’, which takes pride of place as the second story in the collection, and ‘The Cricket on the Hearth’, for example), and others which number just a few pages. All of Dickens’ Christmas books are included, along with a standalone story from The Pickwick Papers and those from various short story collections.
Dickens’ wit and love of Christmas shine through on each and every page. All of the many elements of this time of year have been presented by the master himself, and encompass both the rich and the poor, the merry and the miserly, the ghostly and the real. The religious aspects are mentioned in some detail, along with the importance of the family dynamic over the Christmas period. Each scene is wonderfully written and beautifully evoked. Only Dickens could write so meticulously and creatively about a rainy day: ‘the cold, damp, clammy wet, that wrapped him up like a moist great-coat… when the rain came slowly, thickly, obstinately down; when the street’s throat, like his own, was choked with mist; when smoking umbrellas passed and repassed, spinning round and round like so many teetotums…’
I cannot write a review of Dickens at Christmas without mentioning how beautiful this edition is. The cover sparkles, and Emily Sutton’s illustrations, both on the cover and before each story, have been wonderfully drawn. It is truly an object of beauty, and is sure to delight many people this Christmas – a perfect gift to show you care, or simply one with which to adorn your own bookshelves.
Dickens at Christmas is wonderful for already established fans of Dickens’ work, but it also provides a lovely introduction to his stories and style of writing. The volume can be easily dipped in and out of, and the stories themselves are so rich in detail that they can be read again and again. Their sheer timelessness makes them suitable Christmas fare for many years to come.
2021 is just around the corner (how the time flies…) and I’ve decided to start my reading for the new year by participating in two challenges: the European Reading Challenge and the Japanese Literature Challenge 14.
European Reading Challenge 2021
Hosted by Gilion Dumas at rosecityreader.com, the European Reading Challenge runs for its 9th year and is a wonderful way to travel around Europe through our books, until we’re able to physically enjoy the wonders of travel again. The challenge runs from January 1st to January 31st, and there are different levels in which you can sign up and participate. I have 3 books on my TBR for this challenge and 2 backups in case I feel too restrained (admittedly, being a mood reader is not so great during reading challenges):
And my 2 backups:
I’m still in a mood for wintery reads, mysteries and historical fiction, so I chose my books mostly based on that – plus, they are all books I’ve been meaning to read, so a challenge like this one seems only fitting for me to finally do so 🙂
Japanese Literature Challenge 14
Hosted by Meredith over at DolceBellezza.net, Japanese Literature Challenge runs for its 14th year and it lasts for 3 months, from January to March. For this challenge, I’ve also 3 main books lined up, but since I always have a lot of Japanese literature on the wait and also some reviews to catch up on, I will probably post about more books, and add more books to my TBR as the challenge progresses.
One of my goals for 2021 is to read more in Japanese, so I will probably read a book or two in Japanese as well, but I don’t think I will post about them here, so I’m not including them in my TBR for the challenge.
Do you have any reading plans for the new year? Are you participating in these or any other reading challenges? Let me know in the comments below! 🙂
First published in 2012.
Virago have recently reprinted several of Barbara Pym’s novels, all with new introductions by a selection of different authors, all avid fans of her work. The introduction of An Academic Question, first published posthumously in 1986, has been written by novelist Kate Saunders, who believes the book to be ‘witty, sharp, light as a syllabub… and with a cast of typically Pym-like eccentrics’. She goes on to say that ‘no other novelist has celebrated our national silliness with such exuberance’.
An Academic Question is essentially an amalgamation of two different manuscripts which Pym wrote and was dissatisfied with. The novel tells the story of Caroline Grimstone, a ‘dissatisfied faculty wife’. Caro and Alan live in a neo-Georgian house in the ‘provincial’ university sprawled across a nameless town in which Alan lectures. They have a four-year-old daughter named Kate and a rather flippant Swedish au pair named Inge, both of whom Caro believes ‘in name and appearance, seemed very suitable, I thought, for a modern couple like Alan and me’.
The novel opens with the characters of Kitty Jeffreys and her middle-aged son Coco, both of whom left their home in the Caribbean ‘after the death of [Kitty’s] husband and, more importantly, the election of an all-black government’. Coco, having been awarded a fellowship at the university, works alongside Caro’s husband Alan.
Many secondary characters feature throughout the novel, the majority of them academics and lecturers at the university. Certainly the two most interesting and eccentric characters are hedgehog fanatic and local bookshop owner Dolly Arborfield who spends large chunks of her pension money on brandy, and Crispin Maynard, an ardent collector of Africana.
Caroline’s first person perspective is used throughout. The narrative voice works relatively well with the story but Caroline herself is not always a likeable character. She is a rather self-pitying woman who feels ‘abandoned and neglected’. She sees her young daughter as a burden and tries to palm her off onto the au pair as much as possible. She is rather disgruntled with what life has afforded her but she essentially lacks drive to change the elements which she is displeased with. The only thing which Caro does in order to give herself a sense of ‘self-worth’ is to begin to read to an elderly man named Reverend Stillingfleet, a resident at a local nursing home. This arrangement seems rather too convenient, as Alan and his colleague Crispin Maynard have been wanting to read Reverend Stillingfleet’s manuscripts for some time but have thus far been unable to get hold of them.
The novel does tend to be rather dark in places. The majority of the characters have secrets and shames which they try to keep from others, but it feels as though we, as readers, do not know the characters as well as we should. Even Caroline as a first person narrator seems aloof and elusive.
Pym’s writing shines above the storyline and characters which she has created. Throughout the novel, her descriptions are sometimes charming and always original. For example, the wife of the university’s assistant librarian ‘seemed never to have recovered from the worries of card indexes and bibliographies in the days when she too had worked in a library’, and Coco and Kitty ‘always made a point of arriving last at everything, like royalty’. Despite this, the prose does sometimes feel a little repetitive, which is a shame.
The writing style of the novel works well but there is little wit and amusement involved. Whilst the two manuscripts have been merged together relatively well, it feels as though An Academic Question is lacking in something – whether a more likeable narrator, a slightly more in-depth storyline or an ending that does not feel so rushed, it is unclear.