Book reviews
For Words with Jam:
We Are All Made of Glue by Marina Lewycka
‘The first time I met Wonder Boy, he pissed on me.’ A promising opening line of a book which tackles some mighty big issues: growing pains, midlife crisis, care for the elderly, religion, Middle Eastern conflict and... the deviousness of estate agents. Heavy and depressing stuff treated with humour and wit – the method so expertly deployed in Lewycka’s first two novels, A Short History of Tractors in Ukrainian and Two Caravans.
Georgie Sinclair is in the middle of a divorce. She freelances for Adhesives in the Modern World, works on her first novel and tries to convince her teenage son that Armageddon is still some time off. One day she gets “adopted” by Naomi Shapiro, an elderly Jewish lady, and her troupe of smelly felines, including the Wonder Boy of the opening line (thankfully, this time Lewycka does not commit the cardinal sin of giving the reader an animal narrator - remember the dog in Two Caravans?). The centre stage is Canaan House: Naomi’s old, crumbling residence and the object of desire of the local estate agents and corrupt council workers.
When Naomi ends up in hospital, Georgie becomes the reluctant custodian of the house and its four-legged inhabitants. She clears up the poo; hires a Palestinian handyman to save the house from falling down; deflects unwanted attentions of an estate agent; and tries her hand at international mediation when an unwelcome visitor arrives from Israel. And she snoops around, slowly unveiling Naomi’s secrets.
Whereas Naomi’s story is the backbone of this book, the big issues give it body. And no matter what the conflict is (the old lady and the council, the husband and the wife, the mother and the teenage son, the Arabs and the Jews), there is a solution. People are like adherents, two components you glue together: they will bond, stick, and sometimes get unstuck. With the right adhesive, two opposites will be brought together, stress fractures will be mended, and broken marriages will be repaired. Middle Eastern conflict could be brought to an end with mercy and forgiveness. In fact, the message is spelled out so often on the pages (in case the reader misses it), it’s almost patronising. But, at least, Lewycka acknowledges that ‘human bonding is messy stuff’ and that the solution doesn’t come in tubes.
In fact, there are so many conflicts in this book, and of such profound nature, the reader could be tempted to reach for Prozac, if it wasn’t for Lewycka’s signature application of comedy. The cats’ toilet habits, the extracts from Georgie’s pathetic novel or the search for the best adhesive to glue your husband’s bum to the toilet seat make this book a page turner. Some readers may even find themselves glued to it until they’ve finished reading every single one of them.
Georgie Sinclair is in the middle of a divorce. She freelances for Adhesives in the Modern World, works on her first novel and tries to convince her teenage son that Armageddon is still some time off. One day she gets “adopted” by Naomi Shapiro, an elderly Jewish lady, and her troupe of smelly felines, including the Wonder Boy of the opening line (thankfully, this time Lewycka does not commit the cardinal sin of giving the reader an animal narrator - remember the dog in Two Caravans?). The centre stage is Canaan House: Naomi’s old, crumbling residence and the object of desire of the local estate agents and corrupt council workers.
When Naomi ends up in hospital, Georgie becomes the reluctant custodian of the house and its four-legged inhabitants. She clears up the poo; hires a Palestinian handyman to save the house from falling down; deflects unwanted attentions of an estate agent; and tries her hand at international mediation when an unwelcome visitor arrives from Israel. And she snoops around, slowly unveiling Naomi’s secrets.
Whereas Naomi’s story is the backbone of this book, the big issues give it body. And no matter what the conflict is (the old lady and the council, the husband and the wife, the mother and the teenage son, the Arabs and the Jews), there is a solution. People are like adherents, two components you glue together: they will bond, stick, and sometimes get unstuck. With the right adhesive, two opposites will be brought together, stress fractures will be mended, and broken marriages will be repaired. Middle Eastern conflict could be brought to an end with mercy and forgiveness. In fact, the message is spelled out so often on the pages (in case the reader misses it), it’s almost patronising. But, at least, Lewycka acknowledges that ‘human bonding is messy stuff’ and that the solution doesn’t come in tubes.
In fact, there are so many conflicts in this book, and of such profound nature, the reader could be tempted to reach for Prozac, if it wasn’t for Lewycka’s signature application of comedy. The cats’ toilet habits, the extracts from Georgie’s pathetic novel or the search for the best adhesive to glue your husband’s bum to the toilet seat make this book a page turner. Some readers may even find themselves glued to it until they’ve finished reading every single one of them.
Family Album by Penelope Lively
I’m allergic to Penelope Lively. Nasty, itchy rash covers my fingers when, in a bookshop, I accidentally brush against one of her creations. It’s been like this ever since, fifteen years ago, I spent nigh on six months with her Booker-winning Moon Tiger, pulling it to pieces and putting it back together, writing my MA thesis. You know, how when you get so close to something, it loses its magic? Or, worse, you end up with a rash.
So why did I pick up Family Album? The blurb at the back of the book wasn’t even that enticing: “Allersmead is a big shabby Victorian suburban house. The perfect place to grow up for elegant Sandra, difficult Gina, destructive Paul, considerate Katie, clever Roger and flighty Clare. But was it? As adults, the children return to Allersmead one by one. To their home-making mother and aloof writer father, and a house that for years has played silent witness to a family’s secrets. And one particular devastating secret of which no one speaks.”
Did I really want to read about trials and tribulations of another middle-class English family from the 1970’s to the present, and the emotional baggage they’ve been bearing all their lives? No, thank you, I’ve got enough of my own. It was the “aloof writer father” that did it for me - I pounce at anything that promises a glimpse into the mind of a writer, fiction or non-fiction, bring it on.
Well, I haven’t learnt much from the writer-father, except perhaps that shagging the Swedish au pair is no cure for writer’s block. But the book drew me in, slowly at first as I tried to get to grips with the narrative lacking any obvious direction, looking for the sense of purpose. At last, I absorbed the climate of Allersmead, a character in its own right, and the idiosyncrasies of each family member as Lively skilfully steered me from one point of view to another.
There are but a handful remarkable events. Just like Moon Tiger (and, possibly, just like her other 14 books for adults I had brushed aside?), Family Album is a character driven novel. Economic yet sharp with words, Lively delivers the nine key players in a condensed yet perfectly rounded form. The six children; the writer-father; the enigmatic au pair who never left; and Alison, the mother, an annoying throwback to the 70’s, yet strangely moving with her persistent stoking of the ever weakening fire in the family’s hearth. Each of them shaped, and damaged, by the goings-on at Allersmead, each of them contributing to changing family values, until it’s time to let go. Ordinary, human life under a powerful microscope, and a lesson in what to accept and how to adapt in order to heal.
No, I haven’t learnt much from the writer-father. But I did learn something about my own emotional baggage. And one can do much worse than trying to learn characterisation from Lively.
Oh, yes, the devastating secret of the blurb. I didn’t find it that devastating after all, but then – each to their own. You can judge it for yourself, I guess.
So why did I pick up Family Album? The blurb at the back of the book wasn’t even that enticing: “Allersmead is a big shabby Victorian suburban house. The perfect place to grow up for elegant Sandra, difficult Gina, destructive Paul, considerate Katie, clever Roger and flighty Clare. But was it? As adults, the children return to Allersmead one by one. To their home-making mother and aloof writer father, and a house that for years has played silent witness to a family’s secrets. And one particular devastating secret of which no one speaks.”
Did I really want to read about trials and tribulations of another middle-class English family from the 1970’s to the present, and the emotional baggage they’ve been bearing all their lives? No, thank you, I’ve got enough of my own. It was the “aloof writer father” that did it for me - I pounce at anything that promises a glimpse into the mind of a writer, fiction or non-fiction, bring it on.
Well, I haven’t learnt much from the writer-father, except perhaps that shagging the Swedish au pair is no cure for writer’s block. But the book drew me in, slowly at first as I tried to get to grips with the narrative lacking any obvious direction, looking for the sense of purpose. At last, I absorbed the climate of Allersmead, a character in its own right, and the idiosyncrasies of each family member as Lively skilfully steered me from one point of view to another.
There are but a handful remarkable events. Just like Moon Tiger (and, possibly, just like her other 14 books for adults I had brushed aside?), Family Album is a character driven novel. Economic yet sharp with words, Lively delivers the nine key players in a condensed yet perfectly rounded form. The six children; the writer-father; the enigmatic au pair who never left; and Alison, the mother, an annoying throwback to the 70’s, yet strangely moving with her persistent stoking of the ever weakening fire in the family’s hearth. Each of them shaped, and damaged, by the goings-on at Allersmead, each of them contributing to changing family values, until it’s time to let go. Ordinary, human life under a powerful microscope, and a lesson in what to accept and how to adapt in order to heal.
No, I haven’t learnt much from the writer-father. But I did learn something about my own emotional baggage. And one can do much worse than trying to learn characterisation from Lively.
Oh, yes, the devastating secret of the blurb. I didn’t find it that devastating after all, but then – each to their own. You can judge it for yourself, I guess.
On Writing by Stephen King
In King’s own words, On Writing is ‘an attempt to put down, briefly and simply, how I
came to the craft, what I know about it now, and how it’s done.’ Part
autobiography and part collection of tips for the aspiring
writer, it
won’t teach you everything you think you need to know about writing. But it
will tell you how one writer was formed and what, according to King, is ‘good
writing’.
As it says on the tin, the first section of the book is King’s memoir, from childhood to his struggle with alcoholism and drug abuse later in life, from his first scribbling attempts to his eventual global success. Don’t skip these first 100 pages though, even if you’re impatient to get to the nitty-gritty of the craft. King’s account of his journey to stardom is fascinating, peppered with inspirational and uplifting anecdotes, albeit it also illustrates what we all know – it’s a long and winding road.
His bio out of the way, King talks about ‘good writing’ – writing that is above competent, readable and publishable rather than literary masterpieces or prize winners (there’s a surprise...). He believes it’s impossible to turn a bad writer into a competent one, or a good writer into a great one, but that ‘it is possible, with lots of hard work, dedication and timely help, to make a good writer out of a merely competent one.’ It’s a damn hard slog though: ‘Read and write four to six hours a day. If you cannot find the time for that, you can’t expect to become a good writer.’ Bad news for those of us who can only ‘do’ evenings and weekends, eh?
To write well, in King’s view, we must have good grasp of three essential writing tools. Vocabulary sits at the top of his writing Toolbox (but ‘don’t make any conscious effort to improve it’ - this happens on the subconscious level, when you read a lot), the second layer is grammar, and, finally, style. Much of this is rehashing of Strunk and White’s The Elements of Style, which King openly admits is the best book on the fundamentals of writing. So much so that, when first reading On Writing, I felt compelled to put it down and picked up The Elements instead. When you can read and learn from the original, why would you make do with second best?
On with the story, though. To weave a good one - and authors do not create stories, but unearth them - King emphasizes the need to learn the basic elements – narration, description and dialogue (Hmm...? Where have I read this before?). The writer should also consider symbolism and theme but only in the second draft, once the basic storytelling is done. And how long should the first draft take? A piece of string comes to mind but King advocates about three months. Then leave it for six weeks. Then revise. Make sure you cut it short by 10% and, hey, presto!
All in, it’s like baking a cake – it’ll work out just fine, with the right ingredients, some heat, and provided that you turn the telly off for the duration and close the door on your family and other distractions. Also provided that you treat it like any other full time job and don’t forget to sprinkle in a few drops of talent. No, you can’t do without, says King.
You can’t do without the support of your family either, assuming they aren’t too pissed off with you for closing that door. In the final chapters, King recalls the near-fatal accident in 1999, when he was hit by a van while walking along a country road near his home in Maine. The initial outlook was pretty grim, yet King’s wife urged him to start writing again only five weeks later, understanding this was exactly what King needed. He wrote a little at first but, soon, it was business as usual. By far, these final pages are the most compelling, proving that writing is, at least for some, a life support mechanism and that we cannot – and shouldn’t - do without it. Because it’s not like he had to get back to writing to earn even more money, right?
So, what makes this book different from other books on writing? First and foremost, it’s an absorbing story, expertly told. Look at it this way: the writing tips are thrown in as a bonus.
As it says on the tin, the first section of the book is King’s memoir, from childhood to his struggle with alcoholism and drug abuse later in life, from his first scribbling attempts to his eventual global success. Don’t skip these first 100 pages though, even if you’re impatient to get to the nitty-gritty of the craft. King’s account of his journey to stardom is fascinating, peppered with inspirational and uplifting anecdotes, albeit it also illustrates what we all know – it’s a long and winding road.
His bio out of the way, King talks about ‘good writing’ – writing that is above competent, readable and publishable rather than literary masterpieces or prize winners (there’s a surprise...). He believes it’s impossible to turn a bad writer into a competent one, or a good writer into a great one, but that ‘it is possible, with lots of hard work, dedication and timely help, to make a good writer out of a merely competent one.’ It’s a damn hard slog though: ‘Read and write four to six hours a day. If you cannot find the time for that, you can’t expect to become a good writer.’ Bad news for those of us who can only ‘do’ evenings and weekends, eh?
To write well, in King’s view, we must have good grasp of three essential writing tools. Vocabulary sits at the top of his writing Toolbox (but ‘don’t make any conscious effort to improve it’ - this happens on the subconscious level, when you read a lot), the second layer is grammar, and, finally, style. Much of this is rehashing of Strunk and White’s The Elements of Style, which King openly admits is the best book on the fundamentals of writing. So much so that, when first reading On Writing, I felt compelled to put it down and picked up The Elements instead. When you can read and learn from the original, why would you make do with second best?
On with the story, though. To weave a good one - and authors do not create stories, but unearth them - King emphasizes the need to learn the basic elements – narration, description and dialogue (Hmm...? Where have I read this before?). The writer should also consider symbolism and theme but only in the second draft, once the basic storytelling is done. And how long should the first draft take? A piece of string comes to mind but King advocates about three months. Then leave it for six weeks. Then revise. Make sure you cut it short by 10% and, hey, presto!
All in, it’s like baking a cake – it’ll work out just fine, with the right ingredients, some heat, and provided that you turn the telly off for the duration and close the door on your family and other distractions. Also provided that you treat it like any other full time job and don’t forget to sprinkle in a few drops of talent. No, you can’t do without, says King.
You can’t do without the support of your family either, assuming they aren’t too pissed off with you for closing that door. In the final chapters, King recalls the near-fatal accident in 1999, when he was hit by a van while walking along a country road near his home in Maine. The initial outlook was pretty grim, yet King’s wife urged him to start writing again only five weeks later, understanding this was exactly what King needed. He wrote a little at first but, soon, it was business as usual. By far, these final pages are the most compelling, proving that writing is, at least for some, a life support mechanism and that we cannot – and shouldn’t - do without it. Because it’s not like he had to get back to writing to earn even more money, right?
So, what makes this book different from other books on writing? First and foremost, it’s an absorbing story, expertly told. Look at it this way: the writing tips are thrown in as a bonus.
© Iwona Tokc-Wilde