Truth and Beauty

'Lucy was writing, but it came in short bursts and the bursts weren't coming often enough to bring her up to the number of pages she needed.  In February she threw a congratulations, You've Wasted Half Your Fellowship party and everyone came and danced in her apartment and had a wonderful time.'
 

I've been absorbed in this poignant memoir about the friendship between Ann Patchett and the poet and writer Lucy Grealy which lasted from their meeting as aspiring young writers at the Iowa Writers' Workshop in 1985, throughout the publication of their respective books to Lucy's death in 2002.

Lucy suffered from cancer as a child which damaged her mouth and jaw and continually undergoes surgery to reshape her face.  Constantly in pain she suffers from depression and finds it difficult to sustain relationships with men.  She blames all of her problems on her face and although she is adored by her many friends who provide her with constant moral and financial support she is needy and demanding.

Lucy finds writing success before Ann, her book Autobiography of a Face becomes a bestseller and Lucy appears on Oprah and begins a round of book tours and interviews.  Adoring the high life she spends her next advance before the book is written and slowly descends into a spiral of missed deadlines, pain killers and continual operations to re-shape her face and teeth.

Ann's slow and steady approach to her writing career leads eventually to the huge success of Bel Canto in 2001.  Lucy dies of an overdose in 2002.

It must be said  that Lucy's sister opposed the portrayal of Lucy in Truth and Beauty.  Nevertheless I found this a haunting memoir about friendship, loss, art and literature. One of my favourite reads this year.

Alys, Always

You know I'm always looking for well-written contemporary fiction and most of the writers I like are American woman.  Anne Tyler, Elizabeth Strout, Curtis Sittenfeld, Ann Patchett, Barbara Kingsolver and Louise Erdrich to name but a few.  So I was delighted to discover this little gem of a novel set firmly in and around London by the English writer Harriet Lane.

With more than a nod to Daphne Du Maurier's Rebecca, this is the story of literary journalist Frances who happens upon a road accident where a dying woman exchanges a few words with her.  Frances can tell from the woman's 'cultured, expensive' voice that she is privileged and later discovers that she is the wife of a famous writer.

Frances then takes it upon herself to replace the dead wife and insert herself into the writer's life  although - as with all unreliable narrators - you can never be quite sure of her motives and whether she is really as cold-hearted as her actions convey.

There are wonderful descriptions of London and the gossipy, insular world of a literary magazine.  If you are looking for an autumnal read with a bit of a sting in the tale you may want to pick up a copy of Alys Always.

Maine

Courtney Sullivan's fabulous novel evokes the pine-scented, sea-salted air of Maine as four generations of the Irish-American Kelleher family spend every summer in the beach house originally won in a fifty-dollar bet.

The story has a female focus and shifts in perspective from Alice the matriarch, her bitter daughter Kathleen, 'perfect' daughter-in-law Anne Marie and adorable grand-daughter, 32-year old Maggie who is pregnant by her bad boy boyfriend, Gabe and determined to keep the baby and maintain her writing career.  There are wonderful descriptions of Brooklyn where Maggie lives with its 'streets of perfect brownstones' and 'the Sunday Farmer's market where she and Gabe had so often gone in early autumn to buy fresh vegetables and apple crisp and dahlias for the fire escape.'

As with all families there are tensions and bitterness and old scores to settle but Sullivan skillfully brings all the stories together at the beach house in Maine.  This book was heavily marketed as a beach read during the summer but I think it somehow suits the autumn season better.

Now that I'm back in this century I'm reading and very much enjoying Anne Tyler's first novel If Morning Ever Comes, I've got Ann Patchett's Truth and Beauty on order and according to Barbara Kingsolver's website there is a new novel out in November.  Spoilt for choice! 

Agnes Grey

Nipped down to London last week to catch the last few days of the Writing Britain exhibition at the British Library which I first read about on Book Snob's blog (Thanks Rachel!)

I particularly wanted to see the Charlotte Bronte manuscript of Jane Eyre.  Her handwriting was exquisite and there was also a notebook with one of Emily's poems.  As usual poor old Anne didn't get a look in.  I don't understand why Anne Bronte is so often overlooked.  Agnes Grey is a little gem of a novel and Agnes has something of the wit of Austen and the spirit of Jane Eyre. 

The British Library has a very nice little bookshop.  Did the fact that I already own two editions of Agnes Grey in paperback stop me buying it again in hardback?  Nah.  When I retire I probably won't be able to afford hardbacks so I want a small collection of Austen and Bronte in the Everyman's Library editions on my bookshelf.

This edition has an introduction by Lucy Hughes-Hallett who is a perceptive Bronte critic and the cover is part of the portrait of the Bronte sisters painted by Branwell which can be seen in the National Portrait Gallery.  Doesn't Anne have soulful eyes?

'There was no possiblity of taking a walk that day'.

... for as to elves, having sought them in vain among foxglove leaves and bells, under the mushrooms and beneath the ground ivy mantling old wall nooks, I had at length made up my mind to the sad fact that they were all gone out of England ...

There is a nip of autumn in the air and my thoughts are turning toward classic Victorian novels. I'm re-reading Jane Eyre. I'd forgotten how powerfully Charlotte Bronte uses the colour red in the early chapters to symbolise the oppression of Jane's unhappy childhood.

There is of course the terrifying 'red room' with its deep-red damask curtains, red carpet, mahogany-red furniture and 'soft fawn walls with a blush of pink' to contrast with the dazzling white bed where ten-year-old Jane is locked as a punishment. Bronte uses the stark red and white contrast in the opening pages where Jane hides behind a red curtain as she sits on the window seat looking out over the winter landscape and tracing frost flowers on the glass and then again when Eliza and Georgiana wear white dresses with scarlet sashes to the winter festivities which Jane is excluded from.

It was good to pick up a powerfully written novel after enduring 50 Shades of Grey for book group. It wasn't the sex that shocked me - just the bad writing!

More summer reading

I sat up very late at the weekend to finish The Hunger Games which I couldn't put down. I've also finished three volumes of Helen Simpson's short stories and ordered another one.

From Hey Yeah Right Get a Life I particularly enjoyed Cheers where Lois goes into London to do some Christmas shopping and lunch with a friend, passing the afternoon in a flurry of 'packed shops and glitter and cash.' Despite her friend's near emotional breakdown over lunch and the abusive drunk on the train and the bus escapade on the way home which leaves her walking the frosty streets at midnight. Despite all that, she sees the Christmas trees lit up in the windows she passes and thinks of the rooms 'balmy with spice, evergreen and zest' and feels a surge of happiness.

Caput Apri is a magical story from the Dear George collection where an overbearing father relentlessly bullies his family one Christmas until his son slips a 'Discobiscuit' into his coffee. The hallucinogen seems to have the reverse effect and the father turns into a wild boar raging and hollering around the house until rescued by his long-suffering wife he is restored to humanity and becomes a loving father and husband. This is a clever tale within a tale told in the pub over mulled wine by three woman escaping a family Christmas.

There is a story in In-Flight Entertainment set in 2040 which is not so far from The Hunger Games. Diary of an Interesting Year is a nightmare vision of a dystopia where humans have to kill each other to survive. The story is relayed in diary form by a thirty year old female. In a post-capitalist world with the environment destroyed, sick of foraging and bartering for food, she dreams of soap and water, fresh air, condoms (there is a perpetual fear of pregnancy) and the days when she could order a pair of patent leather boots with a single click on the internet.

Anyone read the second volume of The Hunger Games trilogy? Do I need to steal borrow it from my daughter?

Summer reading

Very much enjoying the summer sunshine and London 2012. Did you see the tribute to children's literature lead by J K Rowling at the opening ceremony? I'm reading Helen Simpson's collection of her best short stories A Bunch of Fives. Something immensely satisfying about reading a perfect short story in one sitting. I've managed to squeeze in two or three stories every day amidst the coverage of the women's artistic gymnastics which I've avidly followed since Nadia Comeneci won gold at Montreal in 1976.

I've followed Helen Simpson's career since she published Hey Yeah Right Get a Life in 2001. This collection includes my favourite story Burns and the Bankers about a career woman at the top of her game who is seething with irritation at having to attend a banking federation dinner on Burns Night which drags on forever when she would rather be spending time with the four children she rarely sees. Initially bored with all the toasts to Rabbie Burns as her male colleagues get steadily drunk she becomes interested when an academic makes a speech about the life and loves of Burns.

Heavy Weather is a highly amusing yet wretched account of the toll of bringing up small children:

In life before the children, she had read books on the bus, in the bathroom, while eating, through television, under radio noise, in cafes. Now, if she picked one up, Lorna shouted 'Stop reading, Mummy,' and pulled her by the nose until she was looking into her small cross face.

I loved this account of a family holiday in Dorset with Frances trying to cope with a baby, a deeply jealous two-year old and a husband who cannot understand why she can no longer be spontaneous. I'm hoping that the elegant Russian gymnast Kseniia Afanaseva will win a gold medal in the floor exercise next week and that I'll be squeezing in a few more of Helen Simpson's wonderful stories.