The one about murder and the lavatory attendant

If you can cope with the setting being a book pulping facility - alternating with a public lavatory - then you will love this book, The Reader on the 6.27 by Jean-Paul Didierlaurent (*****). Translated from French this novella left me smiling - and wanting to read more. That's the only problem - well, apart from the book pulping - it ends just when you want it to go on and on.

About the power of words.

Thus Was Adonis Murdered, by Sarah Caudwell, (***) was first published in 1981 but it doesn't feel dated. Maybe that's due to the unusual style in which it's written where the action is relayed via letters and solved at a distance by logic.

It took me a while to get into the style but I did enjoy it and came nowhere near resolving it so it's a good job the woman accused wasn't relying on me to come to her rescue.

And it's not at all nasty as some murders are I believe. (I should perhaps say some murder stories.)


I also read Almost English by Charlotte Mendelson (***) and the very seasonal The Christmas Train by David Baldacci (****). The latter Husband had borrowed from the library and when he finished it suggested I might enjoy it. I've not read any of Baldacci's novels before and, apparently, this is not a typical, but it was very enjoyable and quick to read.

The Extraordinary Journey of the Fakir who got Trapped in an Ikea Wardrobe

Two quick book recommendations.

After a couple of duff ones from the library I hit lucky again.

The Extraordinary Journey of the Fakir who got Trapped in an Ikea Wardrobe by Romain Puertolas. 4*
"The first word spoken by the Indian man Ajatashatru Oghash Rathod upon his arrival in France was, oddly enough, a Swedish word. Ikea."
The fakir has travelled to Paris to buy a new bed of nails. All he has with him is a fake 100 euro note. From there his journey takes him inadvertently to England, Spain, Libya, Paris, Rome. 

It's an unusual tale, told with an eccentricity of its own, and is simply delightful. A tale of redemption, true love and a bed of nails.

Another well-written but far more earthy and distressing tale is Out of the Easy. By Ruh Sepetys, it's the story of Josie Moraine. Named after a famous Madam in New Orleans, Josie grows up in the 50s  without a father but with her prostitute mother. She is smart and streetwise and dreams of escaping her situation by going to a prestigious college.

This young adult title gets 5* from an old adult. 

I'm going to have to look for more by this author.

Why did no-one warn me about Jemima Puddleduck?

I have a confession. The only Beatrix Potter story I read as a child was The Tale of Mrs Tiggy Winkle, a delightful story about a hedgehog who takes in washing. I still have my original book albeit slightly worn, falling apart and scribbled on - and as I discovered last night missing two pages - and last Friday when the grandchildren stayed I read it to GrandDaughter1.

She was charmed by it and wanted so much to believe that it was true. (I still suspect it is true and that there is a hedgehog who does the ironing for all the other little woodland creatures, for, as Beatrix Potter herself asks, how else did Lucie find her pocket-handkerchiefs?)

Last night, when they slept over, she wanted it read again and when I'd finished, as GrandSon2 hadn't quite fallen asleep, I picked up The Tale of Jemima Puddleduck, a book I think I must have found in a charity shop. GrandDaughter1 quickly identified the foxy gentleman reading a newspaper and I was relieved when Kep, the collie, appeared and saved the day. Relieved that is until the two fox-hounds he'd brought in to help him ate Jemima's eggs!

Even the slightly happier ending was spoiled because only four of her next lot of eggs hatched because she wasn't very good at sitting on them! 

Really, why didn't someone warn me? 

* * * * * * * * *

This afternoon I finished reading The Camel Bookmobile by Masha Hamilton.Based on the camel library that was set up to take books - and literacy - to outlying African villages, it's a fictional tale of what happens when two of the books go missing. With wonderful descriptions of the customs and traditions retained by nomadic tribes as well as beautifully drawn characters it is a delight.

I do recommend it even though I am not happy with the ending. Then again I have still not come to terms with the fact that Jo didn't marry Laurie in Little Women.

The best-selling author

In the library last week I noticed a display of the top 40 authors - I assume it meant most borrowed probably in the Swansea area. I recognised most of the names but I had not only not read any by the number one author, I hadn't even heard of her.

Her name is Stephanie Laurens and apparently, according to my later research on Amazon, she is one of the world's most popular authors of historical romances. I quickly glanced at the books on display in the library and concluded they were of the Mills and Boon ilk, which might be and probably is an unfair, sweeping and uninformed comment. Judging by the covers I don't think they'd be to my taste though. (I know, I know, you shouldn't judge a book by its cover but don't we all?)

A Celibate Season

One of the wonderful things about getting older is that I no longer feel I have to finish books if I'm not enjoying them. I don't have the time left to waste! And libraries make it even easier as books are free!! Isn't that incredible? When I think about libraries I am so grateful.

But anyway, back to my recent choices. As you may have guessed the first one I didn't finish reading.
Sweet Desserts by Lucy Ellmann. 
Winner of the Guardian Fiction Prize, it's written in a style I didn't enjoy so gave up fairly quickly.

The Rise and Fall of the Queen of Suburbia by Sarah May.
I got to the end of this but after every few pages I considered giving up. I'm not sure why I didn't really. It's also called a black-hearted soap opera, and looks in details at the lives of the residents of one close in the 80s. Not one happy character, not even one who wants to be happy. A miserable ending to a miserable story. 

A Celibate Season by Carol Shields and Blanche Howard.

"An original collaboration between two award-winning writers," and as one is a poet I was a little unsure whether this might be too literary for me to read last thing at night. It wasn't; it was an absolute delight.
It's written in the form of letters between a husband, Chas, and wife, confusingly Jock for Joycelyn, when Jock, a lawyer, takes on a 9-month contract to work in Ottawa on a Royal commission on women and poverty while Chas, an unemployed architect, is left in Vancouver to play house-husband.
If I'd written this yesterday afternoon before I finished the book I'd have had nothing but praise for it; as it is I felt there was one bit at the end that didn't ring true, but, on the whole, I would have been happy for it to go on and on. (It's quite a short book.)
I was so involved that I found myself saying, 'Oh no, do you think you should say that?' at various times to one or both of the writers. 'That's going to be misinterpreted,' or 'that sounds a little demeaning.'
Highly recommended.

Also recommended is This is Life by Dan Rhodes. 

A young French art student in Paris finds herself in charge of a stranger's baby for a week while across the city a run-down cinema used for erotic films is being prepared to host an art exhibition that involves the naked artist living in public view for a period during which he collects every bit of, well, anything that comes out of his body. 
It sounds peculiar but again this book is a delight. Gay in the old sense and Parisian and light. If I think of Sweet Desserts it would be as a big grey cloud; This is Life is blue sky with occasional wisps of cotton wool clouds.

Shady Business

... was more like a shadow of a better play.

We used to be regular theatre-goers. Then the authorities realised that tribute bands and rude comedians brought in bigger crowds than plays did leaving us with a four-week summer rep season. We went along faithfully for many years until it all became a bit sameish. A lot of the plays were dated and the cast tended to be has-been soap actors.

And then we went to Stratford and saw Macbeth done proper like and that just about ruined the rep season for me!

The last couple of years we've only been on occasion but it seemed only fair to give a new play a go so off we trotted last night to see Shady Business by Robin Hawden. Disappointing is the best description. A lacklustre script relying on old jokes and acting of limited quality meant we came away feeling we hadn't got our moneysworth (£32). But I did enjoy the Maltesers and the interval ice cream. So not all bad.

A few months ago I said I'd let you know what I thought of a couple of library books I'd borrowed. Sidney Chambers and the Perils of the Night by James Runcie turned out to a series of short stories about a vicar cum private investigator. I read the first one and didn't bother with the rest. the joy of library books - and getting older - is that I now know I don't have to feel obliged to read a book to the end if I'm not enjoying it.

The other was one of a series (actually they were both books in series) of books about private investigator Maisie Dobbs by Jacqueline Winspear.

{There is an enormous fly buzzing around the room and I am sitting, fly swatter at hand, just waiting for it to settle.}

Set in London in the first half of the twentieth century the series revolves around Maisie Dobbs who is able to escape from a life of service thanks to her brain, a benevolent employer and a wise mentor. An interesting collection of characters and history make this an enjoyable read: I've read another in the series since. Maisie is a little too perfect for me - I prefer slightly flawed heroines - but likeable nevertheless. The author obviously did a lot of research into the period and is intent on including every detail, which is slightly irritating. It's not really necessary to know the name of every street or location of every tube station unless relevant to the plot. But I would definitely recommend this series. Try to start with the first one in the series as it explains Maisie's history.

Another recommendation would be for Provincial Daughter by RM Dashwood, a Virago Modern Classic. It's written by the real-life daughter of the author of Diary of  Provincial Lady in the same self-deprecating and amusing way so if you enjoyed EM Delafield's book you're sure to like this too.

Swansea's answer to ...

For my #100happydays photo challenge today I've used a photo of my two current library books. Libraries make me very happy!

But what is particularly interesting about these two books is the blurb on the cover.

Jacqueline Winspear's is described by Associated Press as 'The British counterpart to Alexander McCall Smith's The No. 1 Ladies' Detective Agency,' while the Spectator is more specific when they say James Runcie is 'Grantchester's answer to Alexander McCall Smith.'

I'll let you know what I think when I've read them but maybe that's where I'm going wrong in the marketing in of my books. I should get someone to describe me as Swansea's answer A McM S. It could change my life.

Quick reviews of other books I've read recently:
The White Princess by Philippa Gregory - continuing the Cousins' War series, quite good but drags on a bit for the last third of the book;
Lamb, the gospel according to Biff, Jesus' childhood friend by Christopher Moore - hilarious;
Love from both sides (can't remember author), - only read a few pages because just too crude;
The birds of the air by Alice Thomas Ellis - ditto but because too literary and descriptive for my late night reading;
A married man by Catherine Alliott - good yarn by one of my favourite romcom authors - you get what you expect.

One of my favourite bits in Lamb is where Biff is helping Jesus plan the sermon on the mount and, in particular, the beatitudes. Having decided to give the meek the kingdom of heaven the first suggestion for the persecuted is 'a basket of fruit?'

Christmas television and why I shouldn't be writing this

I really shouldn't be on the computer. Today my to-do list is longer than the time available, a situation not helped by the fact that I got up tired and grumpy because I lay awake for an hour in the night trying to work out how to fit everything in.

But I've just returned from work via Sainsburys and am having a cup of tea before I start. So that's my excuse.

I realise I never mentioned television over Christmas. I am reminded of this after some Facebook discussion today about last night's Sherlock. 

After the once-a-year excitement of buying the double issue Radio Times I watched very little over the festive season, but I did of course watch Doctor Who (disappointing) and Mrs Brown's Boys (disappointing). Christmas Eve's showing of The Good Life 'Christmas hasn't been delivered' episode was my particular highlight. It never fails to delight.

Then I had to wait until New Year's day for Sherlock to return. Ah, bliss. And now the new series has finished! Three episodes? Seriously? Again? 

Oh yes and I watched Just Henry, an adaptation of a Michelle Magorian ya book that I read last year. It was a pleasant way to spend a couple of hours but not half as good as the book or the wonderful adaptation of Goodnight, Mister Tom with John Thaw from a number of years ago.

And speaking of ya (young adult) books I have recently finished Boys Don't Cry by Malorie Blackman. About a 17-year-old boy, about to set off for university, who receives a visit from a one-night stand who then clears off and leaves their baby with him. His reaction, how he copes and his complex family life is all described wonderfully. Ms Blackman is currently Children's Laureate and well-deservedly.

The Persian Pickle Club

Last night I finished reading The Persian Pickle Club by Sandra Dallas. It's a book I picked up for 50p from the secondhand stall at the community cafe. I didn't have my glasses on when I was choosing books and could just make out that this was something to do with living with depression in Kansas.

It's actually about a group of quilting women in Depression-era Kansas. It's about friendship and what women will do for each other. And it's a lovely read, improving as it goes along, with a marvellous ending.

I'd never heard of the author before - the book itself is an American edition (and signed by the author) - but she appears to have written a number of best-sellers. I'll look out for more.

By the way, Persian Pickle is another name for the paisley pattern.

xx

Best seller - almost but not nearly

The postman was late today. There doesn't seem to be a regular time for him to come. Ah, for the old days when the post arrived before the children left for school.

Anyway, he brought me a letter. A royalty statement from Hodder. It tells me that my book, A Cop for Christ, has sold 10,738 copies since it was published a few years ago. (Actually quite a few years ago.) I am impressed and rather pleased with that. I shall have to remember it when I next receive a rejection.

I've come back from holiday as I always do, full of enthusiasm and plans for my writing. One of my plans is to re-write my novel. I still like the characters and the general idea of the story but have come up with a different way of telling it. I like the way it's done now but quite clearly the agents don't. Lots of other ideas as well. All that it needs now is for me to put them into action.

Oh, I've just discovered dried egg yolk on my chin! I am turning into an old dear.

P.S. Amazon lists the author as Mike Di Sanza, the name on the front. My only credit is in small writing on the back because the publishers felt it would sell better that way. But I did write every word - except the foreword.

The bookshop, the hairdresser and the plaque

Newly shorn and brightly coloured, I am a new woman.

On my way to the hairdressers I noticed a new remainders bookshop. Well, I had to just peek inside, didn't I? It turned out to be much better than the other leftovers bookshop we have, with lot of recent hardbacks at £2 or £1.50, including The Interpretation of Murder (h/b £2 and I recently bought it in p/b for £3.99) and Fly Fishing in the Yemen (h/b £2). I bought that one. And four others. And they only cost me £9. What a bargain. Look how much money I saved!

I would have told you what other books I bought but I left them in the hairdressers.

Never mind. I have to go back into town in the next couple of days to get a plaque for Harvey's memorial stone, so I can pick them up then. I was supposed to be getting the plaque before I went to the hairdressers but I was in the bookshop then. There seems to be some sort of poetic irony in that. (And I have no idea what that means but it sounds good.)

Then on the way home I was behind a sleek sports car with the numberplate LE04SPY. That made me think about whether I could get a personalised numberplate that said something like LI24 .. a three-letter word? That's it! LI2 4 GOD! Then all those nice innocent Christians would think it was my version of a fish, while everyone who knew me would know it really meant I wanted to BE God.

Actually I'd hate to be God. Think of all those requests, and decisions, and all that 'with power comes responsibility' malarkey. No, thank you. I have enough trouble running my life; the world can be someone else's problem.
xx

Not at all soporific

I've just watched Miss Potter.

You know the sort of film where you know from the opening scene that you're going to love it? It was one of those. Gentle, beautiful, educational, just adorable.

We have a visit to the Lake District planned for later this month and one of the suggested trips is the Beatrix Potter trail so it seemed a good idea to watch the film first. (I knew it wouldn't be Husband's sort of film but he's away so I could snuggle up on my own and enjoy it.)

I still have the one and only Beatrix Potter book I ever owned. As a child, I was given The Tale of Mrs Tiggywinkle, the hedgehog who took in washing and dried gentlemen's kerchiefs on the washing-line.

A few years ago I attended a reading by Walter Wangerin, an American author. One of the books he'd written is called The Bedtime Rhyme. I bought a copy and asked him to sign it and address to 'the child as yet unborn'. It's for my first grandchild. Whoever and whenever that may be.

This is how the story ends.

xxx

Public Confessions of a Middle-aged Woman

I asked Santa for this book, and he very kindly brought it for me.

I finished reading it a few weeks ago. Not very impressed. It's a collection of short articles written originally for Sainsburys' magazine, and lots of the pieces don't seem to have a point. Or if they do, they fizzle out with no 'ending'. Very waffly (and I should know being the Queen of Waffle).

Anyway I was looking through my bookshelf (it mainly runs around the top of the study wall) for something or other when I spotted a familiar-looking book. I got a chair, clambered up and got the book down.

You know what I'm going to say next, don't you?

Yes, it was the same book. I can vaguely recall asking Santa for it for a previous Christmas. It obviously didn't make an impact on me then either. Hey ho.

Blogpower

I have, on the side of my blog, a Blogpower logo and list of blogs. I signed up for this just before Christmas but I have realised I am dreadfully out of place there.

Blogpower has lots and lots of very intelligent people commenting on politics, the media, the news and PR; I comment on cars breaking down, dogs poohing, chocolate over-indulgence and rugby-players's thighs.

Perhaps I should start my own blogroll for people with similar interests.

Browsing through them a little while ago, I did notice that I had been tagged on Shades of Grey with the '5 things about me' meme. He picked my blog at random, you understand, not because of my outstanding intellect, but I still got very excited.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

There was an article in last Friday's Independent about Andrea Camilleri and his creation, Salvo Montalbano. Now, you see, I wouldn't have read the article if it hadn't been titled 'Once upon a time in Sicily', and I hadn't been learning about Sicily through Welshcakes's blog. I will say it again: blogging is good for your education.

The books about the 'food-mad sleuth' sound good. Has anyone read or can anyone recommend them?

I was wrong

It wasn't over-indulgence; it was the dreaded bug.

Spent last night throwing up. Most unpleasant. But it gave me an excuse - if one were needed - to sit in bed reading. The book I chose from my pile was a birthday gift, Twelve Sharp by Janet Evanovich.

I think I've mentioned her books featuring bounty hunter, Stephanie Plum, before. They are peopled with the most outrageous characters to whom the most ridiculous things happen and they're wonderful. Make me laugh out loud. A new book about Stephanie is a delight to be treasured and devoured, while wanting it to not end.

Janet Evanovich has won loads of crime-writing and humour awards and they're well-deserved. It's the best sort of American writing, like West Wing or MASH (which I had on DVD for Christmas, goody!)

If you haven't read any of this series, I do recommend it.