Speak To Me Of Home

At this late hour, all across the Puerto Rican archipelago, all that was left was to close the hurricane shutters if you were lucky enough to have them, to hunker down against the growing breeze and greening sky.  With a great suction of wind, the storm was coming.

Absolutely no sign of my Yellow Queen hyacinths yet, but I did enjoy my new spring read Speak to Me of Home by Jeanine Cummins purchased from Lucky Hare a new independent book shop near my home town.

I loved some of the descriptive writing particularly in the early chapters of this book.  For example when 22 year old Daisy is flying through the streets of San Juan on her scooter:

She loved balancing on the scooter with both accelerator and brakes in the grip of her hand.  She began to crave the rough stickiness of the board beneath the soles of her shoes, the warm wind whipping her T-shirt against her body, drying the sweat from her neck even when the sun shone on her outstretched arms. She enjoyed the reasonable speed, the ease of the velocity, how quickly the city blocks went by beneath her wheels.  She listened to flashes of laughter and the boom bass of reggaeton while she flew modestly through the streets.

I suppose the problem with a three generation saga is that as a reader you are more invested in some parts of the story than others.  I really liked Daisy and her mother Ruth and their kind of role reversal in that Daisy rejects technology, rarely using her cell phone and social media whereas her mother has a constant online presence. In Ruth's kitchen all the ingredients to make a cake are transferred to visually pleasing containers and jars:

Even the cardboard egg carton was long gone, its inhabitants re-nestled into a pale-blue porcelain tray that photographed beautifully against the white countertops.  And while grown- up Daisy found this rehoming of products to be slightly ridiculous, even she could admit that the aesthetic result was strangely soothing ...

A deeper rift has developed between mother and daughter, too.  While Ruth has seemingly jettisoned her Puerto Rican ancestry showing little interest in the Spanish language and living and working in New York, Daisy has moved to San Juan and feels a deep affinity with the city.

I was less invested in Rafaela, the grandmother's story but I liked the fictional account of a true episode from her childood.  In the 1950's popular Mayor Felisa Rincon de Gautier wanted Puerto Rican children to experience the magic of snow at Christmas  and imported it by plane from New Hampshire a 'mantle of freezing slush beneath a hot blue sky.'

A sweeping story with a surprise at the end.  For me the best part was the opening chapters wiith a gathering storm and the vivid sensory descriptions of a the scooters and street life in San Juan.

Daisy remembered one woman in a red evening gown and glittering high heels gliding down avenida Ashford behind her date, who was wearing a tux.  The woman's black hair was pulled into a sleek side-part pony, and the gauzy trail of her gown fanned out behind her scooter like a crimson wing.

Has anyone read American Dirt? 

The God of the Woods

 "Sixty-five percent of people, said Calvin, "are less than twenty feet from a trail when they first begin to feel disoriented."

Somehow it is seven months since I last posted a book review and that one was also about being lost in the woods!  I've not read Liz Moore before but The God of the Woods is a real page- turner which is probably why it is top of the New York Times fiction bestseller list.  I do love novels about woodcraft and forestry.  Set at a camp for youngsters in the Adirondacks the narrative moves backwards and forwards chronologically, with many characters and quite a few red herrings.  It reminded me a little of Meg Wolitzer's The Interestings which was also set in the 1970s at a camp for gifted teenagers called Spirit in the Woods.

The God in the Woods features a spectacularly crass and wealthy Adirondack family who own the camp and their teenage daughter Barbara who goes missing in the woods fifteen years after their eight year old son Bear disappeared.  For me the most enjoyable chapters centred around the camp itself and the engaging street-smart camp counsellor Louise.  I also liked misfit teenager Tracy who is experiencing the agonising pangs of unreciprocated first love.  With an escaped serial killer believed to be making his way north never has the camp's mantra WHEN LOST SIT DOWN AND YELL been more pertinent. 

if I have a minor quibble it seemed to me that one or two of the red herrings were not explained but Liz Moore has created a beautifully written literary thriller.  I loved this quote:

For a bonus, she asked them: Who knew the origins of the word?

"Which word?" someone said.

"Panic," said TJ. But no one raised a hand.

She explained. It came from the Greek god Pan: the god of the woods. He liked to trick people, to confuse and disorient them until they lost their bearings, and their minds.

Great cover and pink endpapers, too!  If you've read it you will know that the drip of fawn pink paint symbolises a certain scene in the book.  I would love to know your thoughts.

Outback Noir

"You wouldn't want to be lost out there for too long.  It's the panic that gets you.  Everything starts to look the same After a few days, makes it hard to trust what you are seeing."  He glanced outside.  "Drives 'em wild."

I actually prefer Jane Harper's second novel Force of Nature to her highly acclaimed debut The Dry.  I just love the concept of five ill-matched female colleagues forced to spend a long weekend on a team-building hike in the remote Giralang Ranges in East Australia.  Brilliant opening chapter with the corresponding male team completing the hike and making it back to camp in plenty of time, drinking coffee, checking their phones and making jokes about the tardiness of the women's team.  As time moves on they become concerned.  The search team come in, confident of swiftly locating the women and bringing them out.  They return stone-faced as the light begins to fade.

Jane Harper's low-key, likeable detective Aaron Falk receives a disturbing voice mail from one of the women on the hike and also heads out to the Giralang Ranges recalling that the area was the scene of a notorious serial killer in his youth.  The five women are ill-equipped for hiking in the outback with hiking boots that don't fit and rucksacks with straps that chafe the skin. Not enough water, not enough food.  Courtesy and camaraderie breaks down under adversity and the five colleagues - all at different levels of seniority within their organisation - are reduced to scuffling over their only phone with a faint signal.

Jane Harper is good at the slow-burn plot and setting up red herrings among her characters.  What does the guy at the petrol station know? Who exactly is the man running the corporate events?  Is the woman known to have a drink and drugs problem too obvious a suspect?  As in The Dry the landscape itself adds a sense of foreboding -  a 'green sprawling mass of bushland' where you only have to walk a little way in any direction and it all starts to look the same.

While we're on the subject of outback noir let's not forget that other great novel by Colleen McCullough who was writing a love story set on a remote sheep shearing station in Drogheda, New South Wales back in 1977.   I've just reread The Thorn Birds and for me the most interesting part of the story is not the affair between Meggie and the priest but the gradual unfolding of the character of Fee, Meggie's strange silent mother.

Amidst the ghost gums, wilga trees, cockatoos and the silver grass of Drogheda, McCullogh brilliantly portrays how the climate controls life and work.

Any recommendations for further reading would be welcome!

Let's Get Physical

 All right ladies. Are you ready? Let's go!

I enjoyed Danielle Friedman's account of the rise of women's exercise classes Let's Get Physical. It's organised into chapters with titles like Stretch, Bounce and Burn, etc each denoting a different exercise. The book covers women's ballet barre, Jazzercise, yoga, aerobics, running and weightlifting and I found some chapters more interesting than others.

My favourite was Burn which of course was Jane Fonda's 'go for the burn' phrase during the 1980s dance aerobics craze.  Incidentally this phrase was gradually dropped from the workout as doctors questioned the safety of it.  I used to think that the Jane Fonda workout was very glamorous but now it is available on YouTube it seems utterly insane!

Of course it's easy to laugh now at the leg warmers and hyper extended leg stretches but Friedman raises deeper questions. What was it that women found - and still do find - when they can get away from home, work and family for a couple of hours to exercise together?  The form of exercise may change but the joy, peace, well- being and strength to be found in communal exercise remains.

I didn't know that the Jane Fonda Workout Video was the first of its kind and sold 17 million copies.  Or that all the money went to fund her then husband's political campaign.  But she comes across as likeable and self-aware in this book.

As Friedman explains, the rise of women's exercise classes in the 1950s pioneered by Bonnie Prudden and Lottie Berk were routed in ballet.  Jane Fonda, too, was ballet trained but the popularity of the dance- based exercise class began to decline in the late 1980s.  Women were nursing injuries from overdoing it and were looking for a gentler and more spiritual form of exercise.

'Like a lotus flower rising from the mud' yoga began to peak in popularity in the 1990s.  Of course this ancient practice had always been around but was popularised in America by Indra Devi and the charismatic Lilias Folan who had a yoga television show Yoga and You in the 1970s beginning each episode with a reassuring voice.  Friedman describes feeling stressed with deadlines, work and family when interviewing Lilias Folan who is now 87 for the book and becomes tearful when Lilian reminds her to exhale. Suddenly I got it. So this is why women like yoga.  

 If I have any criticism of this book I would say that it is very US based.  As someone who has spent many years taking classes - aerobics, zumba, yoga - in chilly village halls and overcrowded dance studios a corresponding UK history of the women's exercise class would be interesting.

Breakfast at Tiffany's

I enjoyed Jenny Jackson's PIneapple Street and its 'old money' Brooklyn setting.  I was also intrigued by its epitaph - a quote from Truman Capote.  'I live in Brooklyn. By choice.'

I'd never actually read his famous novella Breakfast at Tiffany's and it's difficult to read without an image of Audrey Hepburn shimmering before you.  The Holly Golightly of the book is a rather less progressive young lady and at times is almost unlikeable.  I suppose when you consider her background, orphaned as a child and married at 14 before running away to become, let's say, an escort, her choices were limited.  The unnamed narrator is a much kinder character who brings out Holly's better self.

Of course, it's the quality of Truman Capote's beautifully descriptive prose that makes this book so good.  From the opening lines reminiscent of Scott Fitzgerald's The Great Gatsby you know that you are in the hands of a great writer.

She was still on the stairs, now she reached the landing and the ragbag colours of her boy's hair, tawny streaks, strands of albino blonde and yellow, caught the hall light.  It was a warm evening, nearly summer, and she wore a cool black dress, black sandals, a pearl choker.  For all her chic thinness, she had an almost breakfast-cereal air of health, a soap and lemon cleanness, a rough pink darkening in the cheeks.

A lot of the famous lines and images in the  1961 film come directly from the book; Holly sitting on the fire escape drying her hair in the sun and playing her guitar, her love of Tiffany's 'Nothing very bad could happen there'.  And of course her famous line about it being tacky to wear diamonds before you're 40!

Although written in 1958 it is actually set in 1943 during the war.  When Holly receives a telegram to say that her beloved brother has been killed the 'mean reds' (her words for depression) threaten to overwhelm her.

Certainly there are phrases and sentiments in the book which are unacceptable now but the story of a young writer's first Brooklyn apartment and his infatuation with a young women who lives in the apartment below and owns a ginger cat with a 'pirate's cut-throat face'  is utterly charming.

Outside, the rain had stopped, there was only a mist of it in the air, so I turned the corner and walked along the street where the brownstone stands.  It is a street with trees that in the summer make cool patterns on the pavement; but now the leaves were yellowed and mostly down.

Penguin Orange Classics - The Joy Luck Club

And I am sitting at my mother's place at the mah jong table, on the East where things begin.

Can't believe it is almost 35 years since The Joy Luck Club was published.  I was a young woman working in a library when this book came out (pre-internet and iphone) and I loved it then and have reread it many times over the years.  I had to treat myself to the Penguin Orange Classic paperback. Very classy cream and orange cover and I love the Chinese dragon entwined around the penguin!

All the motifs from the novel feauture on the front and back covers; Waverly's chess pieces, Jing-Mei's piano and the mah jong tiles where the 'aunties' play in each other's houses and invite Jing-Mei (June) to be the fourth corner after her own mother dies.

I think Best Quality is my favourite story in The Joy Luck Club where the rivalry between June and Waverly which began when they were children comes to a head. (Waverly was a child chess prodigy and June's mother forced her to play the piano).  At a crab dinner to celebrate Chinese New Year,  Waverly who was taught by her mother to always have the best selects the nicest crabs for herself, her husband and daughter while June picks the crab with a missing leg and her mother doesn't have one at all.  Waverly humiliates June during the dinner and June is close to tears. Her mother afterwards tells her not to worry about Waverly and gives her a jade necklace which is light green and tells her it will become darker with wear - proof of her self-worth and value.

June's distress at the crab dinner is of course tempered by the unintentional humour in the Chinese-English of the mothers:

"Suyuan! called Auntie Lindo to my mother. "Why you wear that colour?" Auntie Lindo gestured with a crab leg to my mother's red sweater.

"How can you wear this colour anymore? Too young!" She scolded.

My mother acted as though this were a compliment.  "Emporium Capwell." She said. "Nineteen dollar. Cheaper than knit it myself."

Auntie Lindo nodded her head, as if the color were worth the price.

The Joy Luck Club still reads as fresh as when it was first published. That is the liberating power of imaginative fiction.

Real Tigers (Slough House #3)

I raced through the Slough House series by Mick Herron after reading an interview with one of my favourite writers, Mary Lawson, who recommended them.  These well-written, fast-moving spy thrillers with a nice line in humour and a central London setting are just what I need right now.  

Slough House just went live. The four of you are up.

London is sweltering in a heatwave and tempers are fraying in Slough House the building for washed up spies on the wrong side of the river.  Leaving work Catherine Standish runs into an old acquaintance from her Regent's Park days.  Catherine knows that chance encounters don't happen to spooks and tries to go to ground on London's streets but can't shake off her tail.  Bundled into a van and asked by her kidnappers which one of her colleagues she trusts the most she names River Cartwright. Which could be a mistake.

Catherine's disappearance raises alarm bells back at Slough House led by the hard-drinking, smoking, flatulent Jackson Lamb, a former spook from the Berlin days.

'This is the Secret Service. Not frigging Woman's Hour.'  

Young River Cartwright is an interesting character.  Exiled to Slough House since he crashed King's Cross in a training exercise (even though he was set up) he is impulsive to say the least and can't stand the tedium of admin work. Swinging into action he embroils his colleagues (known as the slow horses - a pun on Slough House) into a violent situation where, as always, they are largely unarmed, ill-informed and unprepared.  But at least it gets them out of the office.

Real Tigers is one of my favourites in the series because the weather reflects the action.  As the heatwave finally breaks the violet hour gives way to darkness and a soft rain falls over London.  

This is the noise the rain always makes; the soft sighing of the pavements.