Re-reading books by some of my favourite authors is sometimes surprising, as I discover that I no longer like - or like better - a novel I have not read for nine or ten years or more. One author whom I find myself appreciating more and more as I get older is Elizabeth Goudge, who wrote character-based gentle fiction set, usually in the early or middle part of the 20th century.
I have just finished re-reading ‘The Rosemary Tree’. It’s a book which I found rather too long-winded and descriptive when I first read it. But in the past few days I have found myself absorbed, drawn into the family life and situations of the people concerned, slowing down to read and savour some of the descriptive passages.
The story is primarily about John, a somewhat absent-minded and somewhat clumsy (but very good-hearted) vicar in a small village in Devon. John is married to the hard-working Daphne, and they have three daughters: responsible Pat, who is about ten, sensitive Margary who is eight, and the delightful, dreamy Winkle (whose real name is Henrietta) who is five. The three girls are driven each day to a small private school which none of them like, and it’s clear early on that Margary is particularly unhappy there.
The book begins and ends with the viewpoint of Harriet, John’s old nanny, who lives in the vicarage but is mostly bedridden by serious rheumatism (which we now call arthritis). She observes the family from her window, and welcomes their visits. Sometimes she’s outspoken as she offers her opinion, but as she loves them all they rarely take offence.
Then there’s John’s Aunt Maria, who lives on her own in the big house not far away; she’s grown old and Daphne thinks she should sell her house, and move somewhere smaller. Into this family scenario a man in his late thirties called Michael arrives. It’s clear from his first appearance that he’s running away from something; he’s managed to leave even his wallet behind, so although he’s fairly well off (we learn quickly that he is a successful writer) he has no available funds, and thus is very hungry…
The story winds gently around these different people and their interactions. John is always nervous about initiating conversations, afraid he’ll get something wrong. Sometimes he can’t even pray; he regularly feels that he’s superfluous in his home, and forgets things Daphne asks him to do. Daphne is loyal and looks after the vicarage well, but she’s sometimes resentful that she has so much to do, and so little money.
Gradually each of the main characters, including two of the teachers at the girls’ school, discover new things about themselves, and are able to make changes. Some let go of past hurts and current troubles; others decide on new ways forward. Michael is the unwitting catalyst in some of this, but John, determined to follow his calling, makes far more positive differences than he realises.
There’s a lot of description, much of it beautifully written, and I took the time to read these passages slowly. I’m not a visual person, but even I managed to build up an idea of the places concerned. There’s quite a bit of poetry too; poetry really isn’t my thing and I sometimes skipped those, but I liked the literary references - in particularly to the story of Alice in Wonderland.
There’s a fair amount of talk about God; Elizabeth Goudge often included Christian themes and discussions, but she never preached. With John being a vicar, it’s hardly surprising that questions about life, death, heaven and prayer are covered, but they’re mostly either in conversation or personal reflection, and I doubt if anyone would find them offensive. Themes of redemption and forgiveness are strong, all surrounded with the need for self-giving love.
This is a gentle book from a different era, which cannot be appreciated fully if read quickly. I’m glad I decided to read it again, and look forward to enjoying it even more in another ten years or so.
Review copyright 2018 Sue's Book Reviews
I’m a little surprised to find how much I am enjoying reading Madeleine L’Engle’s books for teenagers. When we gradually acquired them for our sons, I had read the first two or three in the ‘Wrinkle’ series. But I had neither the time nor inclination to try the others. However in the past few years I have been reading through the various series, interspersed with other books, and so far have liked them all.
‘Dragons in the Waters’, first published in 1976, is the one I have just finished. This is is the second book to feature Poly (or Polly) O’Keefe, daughter of the former Meg Murry who was the main character in ‘A Wrinkle in Time’. In this book, Poly is fourteen, and is travelling on a ship with her brother Charles (12) and their father, on their way to Venezuela where he is to do some scientific investigations.
However the main protagonist is Simon, a thirteen-year-old boy travelling with his cousin Forsyth Phair. Simon is an orphan who has been living with his great aunt Leonis; they have been struggling financially and she finally decided to sell a family heirloom: a large portrait of a famous explorer, which belonged to one of her ancestors. Forsyth bought it and is taking it on the same ship as the O’Keefe family, with the expressed intention of donating it to a museum.
Also on the ship are two academic women, an elderly married couple, and a musician called Mr Theo who appeared in one of the earlier books. Much of the early part of the book focuses on the various interactions between these passengers and some of the ship crew, and in particular the friendship which develops quickly between Simon, Poly and Charles. There’s an element of suspense, too; Simon nearly suffers a fatal accident just before boarding, and overhears some worrying conversations…
Although the book is about teenagers, much of the story is quite complex. There is a primitive but loving tribe connected with Simon’s ancestors. There’s also a series of old letters which his aunt reads, written by his ancestor Quentin Phair, which rather debunk the theory that he was a great hero. There’s suggestions of smuggling, and moral questions about whether some forms of smuggling are less immoral than others. And there’s a shocking incident part-way through the book which raises the tension significantly.
I thought it a good story, which was quite hard to put down in the later chapters. As with most of Madeleine L’Engle’s books it involves low-key Christian themes, but without any preaching. Simon has some excellent questions about God, and is still angry at the loss of his parents. He has been rather put off any kind of faith by a singularly unhelpful minister.
All L’Engle’s books stand alone, but it’s probably best to read this after ‘The Arm of the Starfish’, where some of the characters were introduced. Note that, unlike some of L'Engle's other books, this is not fantasy but a thriller; there are no actual dragons in the story.
Recommended to teenagers who like an exciting read, and adults who enjoy this kind of teenage fiction.
Reviewcopyright 2018 Sue's Book Reviews
Every so often I like to try reading an author I haven’t previously come across. Browsing in a UK charity shop a few months ago, I spotted a book with the clever title, ‘It started with a tweet’. I had not heard of the author, Anna Bell, but the blurb on the back sounded interesting, so I bought it.
The story is firmly in the chick-lit category, as was evident from the white cover with bright lettering and swirls. It’s told in the present tense, in the first person by a thirty-one year old single woman called Daisy. I was never entirely clear what her job involved, despite her explaining it to more than one person; suffice it to say that she spends a great deal of time online. This isn’t just for work: she has a very active Twitter account too, and compulsively checks her other social media accounts almost continually.
We meet her first at a friend’s hen party, where everyone has to dress in poor taste, and there are embarrassing games, and plenty to post about on Instagram and Twitter, for the sake of a friend who was unable to be there. I wasn’t very impressed with the first chapter, which was full of innuendos, and I almost gave up, but I’m glad I decided to persevere.
We next meet Daisy towards the end of a day at work, about to go on a date with someone she found through a dating app. When she sees him, she’s pleased to find that he looks every bit as good as his profile picture, and sends out a somewhat salacious tweet before meeting him. Alas, he turns out to be a tedious bore, and by the time she gets home she’s exhausted. Her phone is out of battery and she forgets to charge it… then she oversleeps and when she finally arrives at work, discovers she has made a horrendous mistake, bad enough that she loses her job.
Coincidentally, she’s arranged to meet her sister Rosie for lunch that day. They don’t get along particularly well and see very little of each other. But Daisy is distraught by what has happened, and her flatmate Erica is quite concerned. Rosie insists that Daisy needs a few days away, and then persuades her on a ‘digital detox’ in a remote and crumbling cottage in Cumbria…
By the time I’d reached this stage in the book (and it’s not very far in) I was enjoying it very much. The light, casual style took a little getting used to, but it works. I was reminded more than once of Sophie Kinsella’s writing; there’s not quite so much humour, and I didn't laugh aloud despite the front cover telling me I would. But several times a turn of phrase made me smile. And there’s a serious overall theme: not so much the danger of making a mistake on social media, but the way phones and other gadgets can take over people’s lives.
It’s also a book about relationships - family relationships, and friendship, and also romantic ones, although these stay quite low-key. There’s much talk about intimacy and bed-leaping, but the author does not make the mistake of describing any of these incidents; instead they are implied or referred to in passing. Promiscuity is worryingly rife, even accepted as normal; but Daisy does gradually realise that she wants something more out of a relationship.
This kind of book wouldn’t suit everyone; but on the whole I liked it very much. Once I’d started it was quite difficult to put down, and I found myself caught up in the various interactions between the characters. Some of the minor ones are undoubtedly caricatured, as is the French visitor who joins Rosie and Daisy for a while, leading to some mildly amusing misunderstandings.
But I liked the sisters, and some of their friends. I also appreciated Daisy’s gradual awareness of the way social media can destroy real life friendships and communications.
This would make a good holiday read if you like this genre of light contemporary women’s fiction.
Review copyright 2018 Sue's Book Reviews
While most of my favourite novels are character-based family sagas, I like reading light crime fiction from time to time. Agatha Christie was one of the originators of this genre, and wrote an astonishing number of clever books. We have a large collection but I still haven’t read them all. A week ago I embarked on ‘The Secret Adversary’, which, I later learned, was Christie’s second published book.
Rather than being a standard crime story, this one is more of a thriller, although there is still something of a mystery to solve. But we first meet two young people: Tommy, who was a soldier in the first world war, and his old friend Prudence, usually called Tuppence. Both are struggling to make ends meet in post-war London, and decide to embark on a business together, solving problems or going on adventures.
Tuppence is approached on her way home by someone who wants to employ her, but when she meets him, she mentions a name which she has heard, almost at random, and clearly startles him. She is given some money and told to come back the following day…
This starts a train of events which leads both Tommy and Tuppence into very serious danger. They become entangled with a gang, mostly political, who want to undermine the country. Their leader, known as ‘Mr Brown’, is apparently ruthless. A young American woman called Jane Finn is known to have had some important documents prior to the loss of a big passenger ship; these documents, if found, would cause immense problems for the current government.
Much of the political intrigue went over my head; almost 100 years ago political leanings weren’t quite the same as they are now anyway. But the search for Jane, and the documents, and the mystery of Mr Brown’s identity made for a very exciting storyline. Various other characters are introduced gradually, some obviously unpleasant, others presumed to be on Tommy and Tuppence’s side.
I had guessed who Mr Brown was by the time I was about half-way through the book, although for a while I assumed I was probably wrong; Agatha Christie was, after all, brilliant at laying false trails. But my hunch didn’t spoil the story at all - indeed, it made it all the more tense.
Having finished, I have to acknowledge that the story is somewhat unrealistic; the young pair and their friends are remarkably lucky. Both are able to talk or bluff their way out of what would have been quite terrifying situations. The gang members and their leader show no mercy; yet at times they are easily fooled.
Unusually for Agatha Christie, there’s a low-key romance running through the book (indeed, there are two of them by the end). I’m not sure that all the relevant conversations are entirely believable, but perhaps the upper middle class people of a hundred or so years ago did speak like that. There’s some light repartee which is quite amusing, and some ironic asides here and there, which were welcome light touches in an otherwise quite heavy storyline.
A book like this doesn’t make the best bedtime reading, and by the time I was half way through, I could barely put it down.
Definitely recommended if you enjoy this genre of gore-free early 20th century crime fiction.
This book is still in print in the UK, widely available at second-hand or charity shops, and also free to download in various formats from Project Gutenberg.
Review copyright 2018 Sue's Book Reviews
In re-reading novels by some of my favourite authors, I picked up ‘Under the Lilacs’ by Louisa M Alcott. I last read this book in 2005 and had mostly forgotten it. This is partly because it’s not particularly memorable, and partly because I haven’t read it many times. It’s nowhere near as well-known as some of the author’s other books.
‘Under the Lilacs’ opens with a sweet scene portraying two small girls, Bab and Betty, about to have a dolls’ tea party. They are sisters, respectively nine and eight years old, and clearly of very different character. There’s much description of the dolls, a hotch-potch muddle of loved toys, written in a gently ironic style that might appeal to children, but is certainly enjoyable to me as an adult.
Into this idyllic scene comes a thief… accusations abound until the dog Sancho is revealed, along with his master Ben. Ben is twelve, and has run away from the circus where he was ill-treated. He’s very hungry and tired, and can’t quite believe it when the girls’ mother offers him food and a bed. She even persuades a neighbour to offer him some work.
It’s a character-based children’s book, but there are some grown ups too; in particular Miss Celia, owner of the big house in whose gardens the girls have been playing. She is a gentle young woman who cares for her fourteen-year-old invalid brother Thornton.
There’s not a great deal of plot; instead, each chapter recounts another incident in the lives of the girls or Ben, as he gradually adjusts to everyday family life. He’s nicely drawn and quite three-dimensional, full of doubts and suspicions, worried about his father, whom he hasn’t seen for months, and passionately devoted to his dog.
Inevitably there are authorial asides, and insights into the education system, much of which seems very dated by today’s standards. But this book was written in 1878; for a book that’s 140 years old, some of the themes are surprisingly modern. Betty is compliant and loving, Bab mischievous, determined to do everything that boys can do. The sexist attitudes portrayed by Ben and some of his contemporaries were probably normal; Alcott was unusual in her insistence, in this book as well as others, that women were as good as men, and could do many of the same things.
I don’t know many children nowadays who would enjoy this book, but a fluent reader around nine or ten who doesn’t mind old-fashioned language might like it. It could also make a pleasant read-aloud for younger children. With each chapter complete in itself, it would be a good bedtime book, or could be the springboard for discussions about the differences between children nowadays and at the end of the 19th century.
All in all, I enjoyed 'Under the Lilacs' more than I expected to. I would recommend it to Louisa May Alcott fans, or anyone who likes children’s fiction of this era. Since it is long out of copyright, there are many editions available - if you buy it online, check that it's a full edition. It can also be found as a free download in various formats on Project Gutenberg.
Review copyright 2018 Sue's Book Reviews
I’ve been enjoying re-reading Alexandra Raife’s novels, interspersed with others. I just wish I hadn’t left such a long gap in the middle. I re-read the first of her books, ‘Drumveyn’, in 2007. But it’s taken me until now to reach the tenth of her books - seventh in the ‘Perthshire Cycle’ - ‘Return to Drumveyn’. It includes most of the people who were introduced in the first book, albeit rather older, but my memory of them was a little hazy.
Not that it particularly mattered. This book is about Cristi, who is 23 when this novel opens. She lives with Archie and his rather younger wife Pauly in Scotland. But she has a Brazilian mother who abandoned her when she was nine. There has been no contact at all with her biological family until, out of the blue, she receives a shocking letter from a lawyer.
Cristi, who has just finished a degree in fine arts, flies to Brazil to find out more about her family and a ranch which she has inherited. She leaves behind not just her foster parents, but her adopted brother and sisters, and - most importantly - Dougal, one of the workers on the Drumveyn estate. He has begun to feel that there’s too big a gulf between himself and Cristi to continue their childhood friendship, and she doesn’t understand his pride and the envy of her circumstances and education.
Much of the book happens in Brazil, where Cristi is at first overwhelmed with colour and sunshine, and the apparent welcome from her cousins and other relatives. She feels as if she belongs - no longer does she look ‘different’, and she fits effortlessly into their luxurious, materialistic lifestyle. At first, anyway. But she becomes uncomfortable with the delay in sorting out her affairs, and starts to push for resolution. Her handsome cousin Luis is very attentive and she finds herself drawn to him in a way she doesn’t fully understand.
We also see cameos of her loved ones back in Scotland, receiving news via letters, and worrying, increasingly, that she might never return. Or, if she does, only as a visitor. And, indeed, it seems for a time as if Cristi may be drawn into her new environment; she is delighted with the ranch, rather to her cousin’s surprise, and even starts to learn some important skills, such as roping cattle.
The pace is gentle, the story character-based primarily, contrasting the openness of the Scottish family, and the prevarication of the Brazilian one. Cristi sees a great deal of her country - poverty as well as wealth, and matures in many ways before making a decision about where her future is to be.
There’s plenty of cultural ‘educational’ value to this book, both in Brazil and in Scotland. It’s presented through Cristi’s eyes, in such a way as to be interesting. It makes a nice background, a good contrast to the primarily character-based nature of the novel. Every so often the viewpoint changes, sometimes mid-scene, but somehow Alexandra Raife manages this without it feeling awkward or annoying.
It’s the kind of book that’s easy to put down at first; it’s not a book to hurry through. I wanted to savour the atmosphere, and take it slowly, reading the descriptive passages, seeing the people in my mind’s eye. But once I was over half-way through, I found myself rooting for various characters, hoping Cristi would follow a particular path, but really not remembering how the book ended.
Overall I thought it a lovely book, an excellent ending to the ‘Perthshire’ series, but one that stands alone: it certainly isn’t necessary to have read any of the earlier books in the series, although having read ‘Drumveyn’ before, albeit over ten years ago, gave me the feeling of returning to people I had known and liked in the past.
Definitely recommended. Not currently in print, and rather pricey second-hand; but it can be found in Kindle form at reasonable cost.
Review copyright 2018 Sue's Book Reviews
The American writer Philip Yancey is one of my favourite living Christian authors, so I try to acquire and read his books as soon as they are out in paperback. However it took a year or two for me to put ‘Vanishing Grace’ on my wishlist. I was given it for my birthday over six months ago, and have just finished reading it.
Overall, I thought it a helpful book. It’s realistic about the state of the church, and the way that evangelical Christians (at least in the United States) are often seen negatively. In surveys, respondents mention things that evangelicals are ‘against’, such as alcohol or abortion, rather than seeing them as offering or celebrating any kind of good news.
Yancey, with Scriptural backing, proposes reclaiming the word ‘evangelical’ to refer to the great news of God’s grace. He is quite frank in places about what Christians have done wrong, and the ways in which we have often stuck in our own cliques rather than going out into the world, as Jesus did, and meeting with those who need the Good News. He suggests that we need to show love and grace, not condemnation and rejection.
I have to admit, I didn’t find this book as compulsively readable as some of Yancey’s earlier books. In places it feels a bit heavy-going, and I found my mind wandering, sometimes, after just a few pages. But the points he makes are excellent. People are thirsty for recognition, for loving acceptance, for friends to be with them in all circumstances. We in the Body of Christ need to reach out in the ways Jesus did, meeting people where they are, showing them a positive way forward rather than condemning their current lifestyles.
The book is divided into four sections, which the author states are almost like four separate booklets in his mind. The first section, ‘A World Athirst’, looks at where we are, how we are perceived, and what the needs of the majority of people are. The second section, ‘Grace Dispensers’, takes as its premise that people who don’t follow Jesus are unlikely to listen to preachers or evangelists. However, they very often take notice of ordinary Christians, whom the author divides into three broad categories: pilgrims, travelling alongside others; activists, who work to make changes in the world; and artists, in the broadest sense (including writers), who offer metaphors and anecdotes that help people open up to spiritual issues.
The third section of the book is called, ‘Is it really good news?’, looking at why faith matters, and why we are here - looking at typical questions which post-modern people are starting to ask, and the ways we can address these issues with grace. And the final, shortest section, is called ‘Faith and Culture’. This looks partly at faith as related to politics - and is inevitably somewhat US-centric. However the author proposes that instead of trying to get ‘Christian’ laws passed, it is better for us to be subversive, a ‘voice in the wilderness’, perhaps, pointing people in the right direction when appropriate.
It’s a positive book, I thought, on the whole, and contains a lot to think about. Yancey expresses eloquently many things I had pondered, or which had vaguely occurred to me. However, we in European countries are far less inclined than those in the US to see issues in absolute terms, and thus are less likely to find the world quite so antagonistic. Instead, we’re more likely to be apathetic; accepting other viewpoints, certainly, but not taking any action at all.
I hope this book will act as a wake-up call to some who call themselves evangelical but are more critical than grace-filled. But also to some of us who, even if we avoid criticising, also avoid anything much that is positive.
Recommended. But note that it’s a book written for Christian believers, or at least those on the fringes of the church, and probably not relevant to those without faith.
Review by Sue F copyright 2018 Sue's Book Reviews
