It’s fifteen years since I first read the late Mary Stewart’s novel ‘Airs Above the Ground’. My only memory of the story was that it was related to horses, and involved some European travel. I also remembered that it was a light thriller, set in the 1960s. It was more than time for a re-read.
Vanessa is the viewpoint character of this book, which is written in the first person. She’s in her early twenties, happily married to Lewis March; but we meet her when she’s rather upset, as they have had an unpleasant argument. Worse, he went away on business without their resolving it. She’s feeling quite low, so agrees to have tea with Carmel, a friend of her mother’s whom she finds rather silly, just to have something to do.
Carmel asks Vanessa if she would be willing to escort her teenage son Timothy to Vienna. Timothy wants to spend time with his estranged father, and Carmel has seen film evidence that Vanessa’s husband is in Vienna, after seeing news of a fire at a circus there. This makes Vanessa even more upset, and rather angry too, as Lewis had said he was going to Sweden, and has sent her a couple of cables from Stockholm. So she agrees…
Timothy turns out to be a resourceful young man, once he gets over his resentment at having Vanessa playing nursemaid. His passion is horses, and he hopes to find a job working with the famous Spanish riding school. And since his father does not in fact know his son was arriving, and the timing is rather inconvenient, Timothy, who is aching for adventure, agrees to travel with Vanessa as she goes to find the circus where her husband has been spotted.
The story that follows is full of tension and excitement, and very well written. Modern books tend to have several different viewpoints, and sometimes that can be effective, but a first person single viewpoint allows for more depth of characterisation, and Mary Stewart was skilled in this. Vanessa’s integrity and courage shine through without her ever mentioning them. She struggles a little with society’s expectations of women - she qualified as a vet and had started working, but even in the 1960s was expected to give up her career when she married.
Amidst the tension there are some lighter moments too. There’s a lot of love and strong rapport between Vanessa and Lewis when they get together, and we also see, and develop alongside Vanessa, a growing affection for Timothy. We see him maturing and developing quite rapidly having escaped his mother’s rather tight apron-strings, and he proves, time and again, an excellent companion and support for Vanessa.
I don’t usually like thrillers, but the first person viewpoint meant that I knew Vanessa, at least, would remain alive even though at times this seemed to be unlikely. And while there’s some violence, it’s not gratuitous or gory. There’s a classic car chase, and several other somewhat cliched scenarios, but they’re so well done that it doesn’t matter.
There’s rather more information about the dancing horses than I wanted to know; the author did her research well, and it all feels authentic. It’s essential for the plot to understand some of the principles, but I admit to skimming a few passages that sought to educate me rather than advancing the storyline.
However, other than that, I enjoyed this novel very much. Reading for only the second time, after a space of fifteen years, meant that I really didn’t remember how it ended. I found the ending a bit too abrupt; there’s a short epilogue which clears up one important storyline, but I did wish the author had let us know what happened in Timothy’s life.
Recommended if you like light mid-20th century thrillers with a hint of romance, a good storyline, and some good characterisation.
Review copyright 2019 Sue's Book Reviews
In slowly re-reading books by my favourite authors, I reached the one with the unlikely title ‘Never Mind the Reversing Ducks’ by Adrian Plass. He is, in my view, one of the best current Christian writers. He uses gentle satire and humour, sometimes self-deprecating, underlying some thought-provoking and helpful ideas. His books of fiction can still make me laugh aloud; his non-fiction works, such as this one, give me much to ponder. I last read this in 2011.
The title is explained in the introduction. It’s taken from a spoof sermon the author wrote, poking gentle fun at a style of preaching that was popular some years ago. It’s not really relevant to the book itself, other than making it memorable. The bulk of the book consists of 92 short extracts from Mark’s Gospel, followed by Adrian Plass’s comments. The subtitle is ‘A non-theologian encounters Jesus in the Gospel according to Mark’.
It’s not the kind of book to read at one sitting (though no doubt one could). It is intended more as a study guide or devotional, and that’s how I used it. I read one or two sections each day for just over two months. I was intending to finish around the date of Western Easter; instead I finished on the date of Eastern Easter, a week later, which is more celebrated where I live anyway. This was appropriate, as I read the sections related to the Crucifixion on Eastern Good Friday, and those pertaining to the Resurrection on the Sunday. Mark’s Gospel does not continue beyond these key events.
Most Christian books I read, including this one, do not offer anything that I had not previously known or understood, at least subconsciously. Since I had read this one eight years earlier, there clearly wasn’t going to be anything new in it. But in most good books I find ideas or concepts that I need to think about again, or parts I had forgotten or perhaps skimmed over in the past. That was certainly true of this book. The Bible itself is an endless store of wisdom, insight and knowledge, and Plass’s commentaries and anecdotes tied in well, shedding different light on familiar passages.
There’s also a sense of rapport with a lot of good writers which I appreciate very much when it happens. Reading ‘Never Mind the Reversing Ducks’, there is almost a feeling that I am chatting with the author about the content, sharing a few thoughts, sometimes a tad frivolous, and finding Jesus in our midst as we do.
Having finished this book, I can’t say I recall anything specific to mention or to take into the future. There is more a sense of having gained a few insights, of appreciating afresh the crisp, factual writing that Mark used in his Gospel, conveying what happened without too much explanation or commentary. I also liked starting the day with Adrian Plass’s excellent writing. He might not have a degree or other qualifications in theology, but he has certainly studied God and his works, so in the broadest sense he is very much a theologian.
Definitely recommended.
Review copyright 2019 Sue's Book Reviews
I’ve read a few books by Jenny Colgan since first coming across her contemporary novels about six years ago. Many of them involve chocolate or cakes, and they’re quite light-hearted on the whole. I’ve picked up a few at charity shops, and have also put one or two on my wishlist after recommendations. One of the latter group is ‘The Endless Beach’. I was given this for my birthday a year ago but have only just read it.
The main character is Flora, a young woman who lives and works on a small Scottish island. She works in a popular tea shop, providing high quality home-made cakes and other goodies, but these are not such a large part of the story as I had expected. Flora is in a relationship with Joel, a high-powered American lawyer who regularly flies around the world on business. She’s feeling a bit neglected, as if she’s only there for him when he wants a bit of a rest. She is not at all sure how their relationship will develop.
I learned in the introduction that this book is a sequel to one called ‘The Summer Seaside Kitchen’, and also has characters introduced in the short ‘quick read’ entitled, ‘A Very Distant Shore’. I wondered briefly whether I should put ‘The Endless Beach’ aside for a while and try to acquire those first, but decided to continue reading it. The brief summary at the start was more than sufficient to give a background to some of the characters, and it wasn’t really necessary as the book is complete in itself.
I found the early chapters a tad ‘fluffy’; the writing is quite informal, and there’s a fair amount of innocuous chatter which doesn’t seem to advance the story much. Viewpoint characters switch regularly, which allows for quite a number of storylines, but makes it hard to see the characters are three-dimensional. There’s one relationship which I felt was a tad unreal, almost as if it were there for the sake of political correctness. However it becomes an important part of the plot, with some unexpected and poignant twists towards the end.
More significant, in my view, is a subplot involving the island’s doctor, a Syrian refugee called Saif. He has lost contact with his beloved wife and young sons, growing increasingly sure he will never hear of them again. Then he gets news from the mainland. What follows feels entirely authentic, demonstrating the plight of many refugees, and the traumas that can beset families in this situation. Saif must also fight a temptation on the island, something that causes sadness to someone else but demonstrates his integrity and moral standards. He is an excellent character.
As for Flora, I found her a bit flat on the whole. She’s a kind-hearted person, unwilling to charge locals more than they can afford, and baking more than she needs so that she can give food away. When a local woman takes advantage of her generosity, it looks as though Flora’s business may become bankrupt. But it was hard to feel much sympathy for her. She works hard, but seems naive and unrealistic. I didn’t find any of her brothers particularly likeable either, and her young niece who yells in broken English is sometimes amusing but more often rather annoying.
Joel’s story is mostly tied up with that of his boss, but again I didn’t find either of them particularly realistic. Joel is persuaded to do things against his better judgement, which left me rather confused until an unexpected revelation later in the book. He and Flora seem entirely unsuited, living in different worlds with different standards and expectations, and very little in common. Perhaps their relationship would feel more believable if I had read the earlier book.
On the whole, though, I enjoyed this book, increasingly so as the story developed. I’m impressed that Jenny Colgan has introduced some quite serious contemporary issues into the plot, and has covered them sympathetically and authentically. My only real gripe is the repetition of the unnecessary adverb ‘incredibly’, which appears on almost every page. This is something the editor or proof-readers should have spotted - it detracted rather from the storyline when I was looking out for the next instance of this annoying word.
While I’m in no hurry to buy the first couple of books in the series, I am pleased to learn that there is a sequel to this, which I hope to acquire at some point. Not that I care particularly what happens to Flora or Joel, but I would love to discover how Saif’s journey continues.
Recommended if you like light women's fiction with a bit of depth; this would make excellent holiday reading.
Review copyright 2019 Sue's Book Reviews
There are a handful of children’s authors whose works I re-read regularly. Most of them are writers I first discovered as a child, or in my early teens. But there are a couple whom I did not discover until my sons were in their early teens; one of them is JK Rowling. We bought her first two ‘Harry Potter’ books shortly after moving to Cyprus, and when I finally decided to read them - before there was any controversy surrounding them - I was very impressed.
We collected all the other books in the series soon after they were published, and enjoyed them all. But the first, ‘Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone’ remains one of my absolute favourite books. It contains a blend of everything I love in children’s books: it’s a school story, primarily, very much relationship-orientated. It’s a triumph of good over evil. It contains challenges, and puzzles, and a great deal of low-key humour.
There is also a Cinderella thread to this book. Harry has been brought up by the unpleasant Dursley family, with no idea that he is a wizard until his eleventh birthday. Hagrid the gamekeeper giant makes an unlikely fairy godmother character, but it’s very well done. He bombards Harry with letters, following him to a remote island so that he can take him to Hogwarts School for the first time.
Harry is rather surprised to learn that he’s well-known in the wizarding world. His parents died when he was very young, killed by the evil Lord Voldemort. Harry, though very young, survived the attack and is known as ‘the boy who lived’, marked by a strange scar on his forehead. Harry has not been told anything about his background or his past, which is useful as the reader learns about him at the same time as Harry does.
Like all the best school story heroes and heroines, Harry is far from perfect. He’s quite nervous when he starts the school, and loses his temper easily. But despite his ghastly aunt and uncle’s upbringing, he’s a likeable boy, intensely loyal to his friends and also to those who are weaker than he is. Integrity and the power of love are themes not just in this book, but in the entire series.
I last read ‘Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone’ four years ago, and have just finished reading it for the fifth time. I enjoyed it very much, once again, and look forward to re-reading the rest of the series over the next few months.
Very highly recommended.
Review copyright 2019 Sue's Book Reviews
When I enjoy a book, I like to re-read it every ten years or so; this seems to be a good gap, giving me sufficient time to forget most of the details, even if I recall the overall theme and the basic plot. It’s been twelve years since I last read Libby Purves’ debut novel, ‘Casting Off’, so it was more than time for a re-read.
The story opens in dramatic fashion, as Ray Brewster, who works at a small marina on the South coast of England, watches a woman start her yacht, and is startled that she throws a bunch of car keys at him. It quickly transpires that she intended to throw them to her husband, Keith, who is wearing a similar pullover. Keith and Joanna have just spent a weekend out sailing with their teenage daughter Susan, and were about to return home when Joanna apparently had a hissy fit and decided to go out to sea by herself for a few hours.
The story is told from alternating viewpoints, and the style works very well. Joanna is a competent sailor although she has never taken the yacht out on her own. Nor was she aware that a storm was brewing. So instead of going out for a short sail and then returning home, she has to anchor for the night.
Keith, meanwhile, is rather bewildered. He’s a gentle, likeable guy who works as a solicitor. His life is well-ordered, and although he and Joanna have been arguing, he had not realise it was such a big deal to her. And when he hears the weather report, he becomes worried; then, unable to think straight, he reports Joanna’s defection to the police rather than to the marine authorities.
Unfortunately, one of the police officers gossips and the story is taken up, and exaggerated, by the media. So when Joanna turns on her radio in the morning, intending to phone home and let Keith know her plans, she hears a dramatic news story about herself. She loses her temper, and decides to sail further away…
Although it sounds quite serious, it’s a light-hearted book, with some caricatured people whom Joanna meets along the way. Her two children are rather stereotyped too: Lance, the hippy, laid-back brilliant scholar, and Susan, the angst-driven angry sixteen-year-old who is determined to defy her parents. Her best friend Mandy is even more caricatured; I didn’t like her at all, and never understood why Joanna was so fond of her.
But there are deeper issues going on too. Joanna has been working in a local cafe which she and Mandy own, but has had enough. She wants to sell up; Keith feels it’s a useful security for them. Keith is worried about his work, as his partner is moving on and they’ve worked together well for a long time. And Joanna has a painful secret in her past, one she has only hinted at even to Keith. Clearly something awful happened to a close friend of hers, but we don’t learn exactly what it is until much later in the book.
Libby Purves manages to keep the story moving at a good pace. Although I did remember the outcome as far as Joanna was concerned, I had entirely forgotten the various other people whom she came across in her voyage. Some of the situations are rather sleazy, but there are no gratuitous details, and the tone is light enough that it didn’t feel unpleasant.
My only slight problem with the book is the immense amount of sailing jargon. The author was writing from her own experience; she is known as an expert sailor. But although I’m married to someone who sails, much of the sailing language went over my head. I don’t suppose it mattered. Perhaps I missed out on the sense of urgency when Joanna has difficulties with the weather, and with one of the sails; but I don’t suppose it matters.
Rather different from general women’s fiction; likely to be of particular interest to those who enjoy being out on boats, but it’s a good story with an entirely satisfactory conclusion.
Recommended.
'Casting Off' is not currently in print, but can often be found second-hand. It is also available in Kindle form.
Review by Sue F copyright 2019 Sue's Book Reviews
Amongst the large number of novels by Georgette Heyer, there are some I remember with great enthusiasm, others which I barely recall. One of the latter is ‘Powder and Patch’, which I had not read since 2007. It’s not a long book, one of the author’s earlier ones (originally published in 1923).
Slightly to my surprise I have thoroughly enjoyed re-reading this book. It doesn’t have the complex and often brilliant plot devices of some of the author’s later novels. Nor does it have one of her strong heroines; indeed, Cleone seems rather lacking in humour, a tendency to cry rather too much, and a slightly worrying desire to be ‘mastered’ by her hero, Philip Jetton.
Philip, on the other hand, is a wonderful hero, and Heyer’s ability to write gently satirical humour shines through this book in a way I had not remembered at all. Philip is the sole member of his generation in the Jetton family, destined to inherit the family home, built by one of his ancestors. And he’s perfectly happy about this. He is kind, and courteous, and likes to be out, managing his estate, working in his extensive grounds.
Philip’s father, Sir Maurice, however feels his son to be rather dull. He is extremely fond of him, but would like him to have more ‘polish’, and to spend some time sowing some wild oats in London. It’s a delightful irony - all the more so, given the era in which is was written - that a father disapproves of his son’s virtue, and would like him to acquire a few vices.
Into the town minces a dandy, who pays court to Philip’s beloved Cleone. She is flattered by his attentions, and the elegant compliments he pays her, and contrasts him favourably with the ‘clod-hopping’ Philip. So Philip decides he must learn to be the kind of gentleman he despises, with a powdered wig, and tight-fitting clothes, and patches on his face. And off he goes to London to stay with his uncle…
Most of the book is about Philip’s gradual transformation, having decided to throw himself thoroughly into his project. He enjoys himself rather more than he expected…
But the basic plot is that of a traditional romance where there’s little doubt about the conclusion. Misunderstandings arise, each of the main protagonists refuses to admit their feelings, and tries to ‘test’ the other… I found myself in sympathy with Philip throughout, but rather irritated by Cleone. However, given the customs of the era, her role would have been to look beautiful at social events and provide him with children, so she would probably have fulfilled these satisfactorily.
Heyer’s writing was excellent even at the start of her career, and there were several places where I smiled, loving the caricatures of Philip’s father and many other people he came across. As social history it’s a fascinating insight into the 18th century upper classes, and the way that men in particular were expected to dress and behave.
Recommended.
Review by Sue F copyright 2019 Sue's Book Reviews<
Although Elinor M Brent-Dyer is best known for her lengthy Chalet School series, she wrote quite a few other books too. A series I particularly liked in my teens was those set in ‘La Rochelle’. My grandmother had a couple of them, and I managed to borrow one of the others. It was only relatively recently that I realised that there were seven books in this series, and just this past year I managed to acquire those I did not already have.
A couple of months ago I read the first in the series, ‘Gerry Goes to School’, possibly for the first time; certainly the first time in many decades. In the past few days I have read its sequel, ‘A Head Girl’s Difficulties’, which is set three years later. I’m a tad surprised to discover that I read this in 2011, as I had no memory of the storyline at all!
The head girl featured in this book is Rosamund Atherton, who was mentioned in the first book, but was not one of the main characters. Gerry Challoner, main protagonist of the first one, is now a responsible prefect at St Peter’s School, well settled into living with the Trevennor family. Rosamund does not particularly want to be head girl. However when she learns that their beloved headmistress, Miss Catcheside, is in hospital and will not be at the school all term, she determines to do her best to pull up the standards of the school, in exam results, sports matches, and also general attitude and discipline.
Naturally there are juniors who decide to play up, and Rosamund’s first term as head girl is fraught with difficulties. She manages most of them well, although she is almost in despair at times. I was a little shocked at the almost casual way some younger characters were killed off in a nasty epidemic, but this book was published in 1923, before widespread vaccinations, and when childhood illnesses were fairly often fatal.
One unexpected problem that arises is that of over-sentimentality, in a form that reminded me more of Dorita Fairlie Bruce’s ‘Dimsie’ series than Elinor M Brent-Dyer’s. I don’t recall this kind of thing in any of the Chalet School books. Two new girls are held responsible in different ways, and it’s all stamped upon in ways that seem appropriate, but this, almost more than anything else in the book, makes it feel extremely dated.
Still, it’s a pleasant enough light read, with insights into people that, despite the era, are not so different from people nearly 100 years later. I doubt if most of today's teens would be interested in it, but these books are collected and regularly re-read by adults like me who remember them nostalgically from our youth. Online copies of the original hardback are very expensive, and although Girls Gone By re-published this in 2008, with an interesting introduction covering some of the issues in the book, it is no longer in print.
Review by Sue F copyright 2019 Sue's Book Reviews
I have read quite a few books by Louise Candlish over the past ten years, and on the whole have liked them very much. Even when the characters are not particularly likeable, her plotting is excellent, and her writing style often gripping. I was in two minds about putting ‘Our House’ on my wishlist as it was listed as a thriller rather than general women’s fiction, and I’m not really a fan of thrillers. But the reviews were good, so I added it to my list, and was given it for Christmas.
‘Our House’ has over 400 pages but I have finished it in just a few days. It opens with a scenario that feels at first like a bad dream… Fiona (Fi) is walking down her road, on her way back from a short holiday, when she sees removal men delivering furniture to her house. She then discovers another woman in her kitchen, and is told that the house has been sold, with completion that morning.
Fi is convinced there must have been a serious misunderstanding, but she can’t reach her estranged husband Bram on the phone - the number says it has been disconnected. She becomes more and more worried: Where are her two young sons? Who are these people who have moved into her home? How could it possibly happen? And where is all the furniture and other possessions which were in the house when she last saw it, only a few days earlier?
The last page of the first chapter takes us to Geneva, where Bram is lying on a hotel bed, wondering if Fi has yet discovered what has happened. He is very nervous, and worried that someone might recognise him…
The majority of the book is told in alternating viewpoints. Fi is talking on a popular show about victims, a couple of months later, telling her story. Bram is typing his story - we don’t know who for until the end - in a Word document on his laptop. Most chapters have a section where Fi explains her perspective, and the same time period is covered by Bram shortly afterwards, with his differing view of events. That sounds rather awkward, but it works extremely well and gradually builds up a picture of what has happened since the event that triggered their separation.
Every so often the action returns to the present day, just half an hour or so forward each time. Fi and Bram’s parents are contacted, and the new alleged owners of the house manage to get in touch with their solicitors. But it’s not until the last few chapters that the two accounts of past events catch up to the present.
Both stories start with the event which caused the marriage to break up; Bram is not entirely sure how or why he was so stupid, but he’s hidden some things from his wife, and gradually has to hide more, or tell more lies, in order to cover up his initial deception. The entire theme of the book is about the depths to which someone can fall when they get involved in a web of lies.
I didn’t much like Bram as a person. He’s an exuberant, wild, fast-living person who likes to drink a bit too much, and enjoys driving fast. He’s a risk-taker and also trusts rather too much in luck. But he’s a good father; his sons mean a lot to him, and he genuinely doesn’t intend to do the increasing number of things he has to hide. He acts on the spur of the moment, not thinking about consequences, and not appreciating what he has until much later.
I could believe more easily in Fi, who comes across as a likeable, friendly person who manages to balance her work and family life pretty well. Even when she and Bram split up, she proposes an arrangement that seems to suit them all. Her friends think she is too forgiving; but she generally comes across as a competent and warm-hearted.
This book is not a family saga, nor a character-based book as such; indeed, Bram’s character becomes progressively worse, over the course of the book, as he falls further and further into deception. Instead, it is a thriller. It could be termed a domestic thriller, since it focuses on a household rather than international espionage or politics, but still this is a tense, page-turning story. There are so many twists and turns that I had to put the book down every so often, to breathe more easily and distract myself with something else. It was not a good book to read at bedtime because it was difficult to put down, and my mind would keep churning. The initial problem - the new owners of Fi’s house - runs throughout the book, but is relatively minor compared with everything else that transpires.
I hope that the general plot is not possible, although apparently the author based the initial premise on an article she read about. But the downhill spiralling that leads to the initial shock, albeit both rapid and extreme, feels all too believable.
The last few chapters provide yet more shocks, more evidence that even the best of people can do terrible things under stress. The ending is not entirely conclusive; I could see the final twist in the outcome from a chapter or two earlier, and hoped I was wrong. The future is not spelled out; instead the book finishes quite abruptly. Yet it was the right place to finish. I need to read something much calmer next, and stop thinking about ways in which things could have turned out differently, in particular related to the last chapters.
Highly recommended if you enjoy tense drama, or if you appreciate extremely clever plotting. I expect I will read this again in another eight or nine years though I can’t imagine I will forget this most unusual story.
Review by Sue F copyright 2019 Sue's Book Reviews
I very much appreciate John Ortberg’s books. I have gradually acquired them over the years, mostly fairly soon after each one was issued in paperback form. His most recent book, ‘I’d like you more if you were more like me’ was on my wishlist last year, and I was given it for Christmas.
John Ortberg is a pastor who lives and works in the US, but regularly makes the point that he is Swedish. He uses this fact as a humorous aside fairly often, to explain some of his traits and foibles. He is honest in his writing, peppering his teaching with anecdotes, many of them against himself in ways that make points clearly.
The main themes of the book are of community and connection - with each other, and with God. The subtitle is ‘Getting real about getting close’. I don’t think there was anything dramatically new in the book, but there were lots of things to ponder, many insights that struck me as relevant.
Ortberg talks about love - lasting love, and how we know we are loved, by our spouses, children, parents and friends. He writes about meaningful connections: how important it is to respond positively to those we care about, rather than with irritation or negativity. Not that any one incident in itself will do any harm, but we can all too easily spiral into increasing rejection and refusal to connect without realising we have done so.
Each chapter looks at a different aspect of togetherness and intimacy; Ortberg makes it clear that when he uses the word ‘intimacy’, he is referring to something emotional and spiritual that draws us together. Intimacy grows out of the ways we learn to trust and rely on each other, sharing our lives and worlds.
He also explodes a few myths: that intimacy and love are the same thing, for instance, or that intimacy means we lose control, or that everyone responds in the same way. He gives examples of differing love languages, of ways in which he and his wife understand love and intimacy differently. He explains how vulnerability is important, and how even the best of us can deceive ourselves if we’re not willing to be open and potentially hurt. He talks about the difference between groaning and grumbling, something that had not previously occurred to me, and the difference between belonging and fitting in.
I read a chapter every day for a fortnight, finding much to think about in each one. I don’t know if the book will make much difference to me, but it’s certainly made me more aware of the importance of positive communication and moving ‘towards’ people rather than away.
While this book could be of interest to anyone, there’s a strong Christian element, with plenty of examples of how Jesus illustrated true intimacy in his interactions with those around him, both his followers and people he met for the first time.
Highly recommended. (If you are buying this, make sure you get the actual book and not the member's guide which is intended as a study guide alongside it.)
Review by Sue F copyright 2019 Sue's Book Reviews
