Fuck you very much the FCC
For kindly ending net neutrality
The Country’s in the toilet
Now that Putin took a dump
All over your democracy
And left you all with Trump
So a bunch of greedy bastards
Can steal everything they see
Fuck you very much the FCC.
I read about half of this precursor to The Age of Elegance, the sequel of which is Years of Victory, both of which I was able to download, Iliad having for once come up empty. It’s wonderful up to the sad Death of Nelson, which saves Britain at the same time as Napoleon’s military genius at Austerlitz against the hapless Austrians condemns the Continent to ten more years of his dictatorship. But of course the coarse Corsican can’t resist hurling himself on those Russians and their endless Empire, which causes the eventual death of his. Excellent history if like me that is your bag.
Larry McMurtry is some kind of genius. I always enjoyed reading him. You look at his list of titles and he has an incredible run from Evening Star, through Texasville, through Lonesome Dove, The Desert Rose, Cadillac Jack on to Terms of Endearment and The Last Picture Show. An amazing writer of effortless stories, his people spring to life from the page, his characters fighting in and out of bed… This one is almost mythical in the way he handles Wyatt Earp and Doc Holliday, so that the O.K.Corrall comes up at you almost unexpectedly so used to their company have you become. Yes, definitely some kind of genius.
An exquisite early detective tale, without Maigret but in the same milieu. An innocent man is hounded to his death by police and public. The amazing part of the story is the relationship between Mr Hire and the killer’s girlfriend. The ambivalence, the use of sex to entrap him, Simenon is brilliant, honest and original.
Tina Brown is wonderful and I was sorry I missed her talk with Bruce Wagner in LA. This is not as great a book as The Diana Chronicles because while it fascinatingly charts the amazing rise and rise of Vanity Fair under her editorship, once that has been achieved we are left with a series of social events with New Yorkers, some fascinating, some brilliant, some merely rich. I found I began to skim the latter category. She is fascinated with the man who will provide the end game on Reagan Presidencies, but to be fair, in the mid-eighties, who could have foreseen that Donald Trump would be in the White House, even for dinner? As the Reagans passed from the scene the pursuit of money seemed to replace the pursuit of happiness. Perhaps that all went up the nose in Studio 54 in the Seventies. Her achievement in resuscitating an almost dead magazine title and making it hip and smart and funny and readable is clearly and determinedly and modestly described in her extraordinary well-written diary. So I enjoyed the book but it is what it is, and unless you are fascinated by just how the wealthy designed their next party you should be prepared to skip. Certainly worth it.
The glimpses go from early intrigue, through contempt for her, through to eventual pity. A sad life in many ways and surely her greatest accolade was that she ended up as The Pantomime Princess Margaret appearing at all our live Monty Python shows in the Royal Box. We actually once stayed at her house on Mustique with David Bowie and Iggy Pop when the chartered Yacht didn’t show up for a week. She wasn’t there of course. Very beautiful Oliver Messel bungalow in the most exquisite setting.
I was enjoying re-reading this about two innocents recruited on holiday in Antigua to deal with a proposed Russian Mafiosi defector. I felt the same this time, that it sags after the Paris tennis scenes, indeed once the two leave the centre of the action. Nevertheless some great stuff.
Possibly the most peculiar experience I have ever had reading. I was quietly enjoying Salman’s latest when I entered the novel! Most disconcerting and slightly scary. I was so shocked it took me a while to go back to the book. The anonymity that you are guaranteed as a reader was ripped away and I realise how much we are dependent on that. We sit in the dark and respond but don’t interfere and that is the implicit contract between writer and reader. When that is gone it is rather like being discovered on the toilet. A most unique and interesting lesson. When I wrote to him Salman hoped it was a happy surprise. I think I’m still a bit shocked…
My lawyer wanted to charge him for appearing in his book, which I thought was pretty funny.
More fascinating articles from the most fascinating writer. Dip at will and you will find gold.
I really loved this. Wickedly entertaining, highly readable. Funny and tragic and excellent. I’ve bought all her books at Iliad…. Barnes and Noble had nothing.
Tom Wolfe’s take down of Noam Chomsky’s apparently utterly worthless theories about the beginnings of language in homo sapiens. Funny and elegantly done. For a while Chomsky’s politically correct thesis was untouchable, now it appears no one knows anything at all about the beginnings of language. I did just read a piece on line about Bonobos and Chimpanzees, which suggests that gesture is the beginning of language and this seems a very promising place to begin the search for this defining distinction between man and animals, though always remembering that the apes are animals, that birds talk and that trees communicate.
An almost satirical look at the fuck ups still fighting the previous war, and the constant war amongst bureaucrats. Three innocents caught up in this tale, only one survives. Smiley appears trying to help a hopeless cause. First published in 1965. Very fine.
The third novel from the Hogarth Press from major writers adapting Shakespeare. I’m not convinced it’s a good idea. This is successful until almost the end and the character of Dunbar is a finely drawn Lear businessman incarcerated in a mental home by his evil daughters. The trouble is there is no room for manoeuvre in the plots. You know what is to happen. And a novel is not a play. He is the finest of our young writers and he got me till almost the end. But then more questions were raised than answered and they were interesting questions because he had created interesting versions of the evil sisters, but the play was over so the novel had to be. I found this same limitation in the excellent Jeanette Winterson’s Winter’s Tale and now that I understand the premise I understand why Howard Jacobson’s Shylock also fell away. I’m not sure first rate writers should be assigned to second rate publishing ideas. I bet that a good TV writer might do a better job. Just saying. All three of these authors seem to have been constrained by the premise. Now I see John Banville is finishing Henry James’ books. Please authors write your own stuff, no matter what the advance….
This is his first novel? It is certainly his first Smiley novel. It is more of a detective story with a spy setting, which is how he finds his feet I think. I liked it very much. The mystery call is the plot on which everything turns. Finely worked out, elegantly told, it’s the beginning of the tale of Smiley, his failed marriage to Lady Ann and her early exploits before she returns to him. Shows Smiley’s struggle with the bureaucracy of the spying world and how he works well with characters like Mendel. Grand stuff.
Continuing to re-read this eloquent history of the Napoleonic period from the British perspective. I began half way through at Waterloo. He writes so thoughtfully and then of the period after the war where the Industrial miracle changed the face of England and English society. As always thought provoking and gripping. Will resume next time I’m in that place. Meanwhile will search Iliad for more of his work as he seems to have gone out of fashion and nothing is in print.
A wonderful book. A series of tales really as Smiley is invited back by Ned to talk to the graduating class at Sarrat. During his speech which forms the framework of the book he reminisces about some episodes and leads Ned into remembering or questioning certain good or dubious things that happened over his lifetime in the Service. It’s a valedictorum for both of them, since they are both shortly to retire. It’s about the sadness of leaving the Service and passing it on to a questionable world which has lost the black and white certainties of the Cold War, and which leaves behind the questions what have we become, who are the real victors, and what do we stand for now? Questions which have only become even harder to answer since this book was written during Glasnost and it seemed at the time like The Russia House were friends. It’s an exquisite read.
I found this sadly discarded on my shelves in France and picked it up again. I had done it a severe injustice. It’s not a perfect book but it is highly readable. I picked up again and found that what I thought was a book about L Ron Hubbard and Crowley and some slightly naive folks in Pasadena was a far more complex book about the puzzling flight of Rudolph Hess to Scotland. Was he lured or was he pushed? Since the deputy leader of Nazi Germany flew solo to Scotland to the Duke of Hamilton’s Estate only six weeks before Hitler’s invasion of Russia which would take place crazily on the same day as Napoleon invaded and inevitably with the same result, Stalin certainly believed the British knew about it and didn’t warn him. He had had several warnings and ignored them anyway and retired to bed for three weeks when Hitler turned on him. Hess wished to prevent Germany fighting a war on two fronts and wanted to reach out to Churchill for an armistice. Whether he did that on his own initiative or was in a situation of plausible deniability is uncertain, what is certain is he never reached Churchill or Hamilton and spent the rest of his life imprisoned and either faking memory loss or being mad. He was the last to die in Spandau and according to this by suicide. Interwoven with this are three or four stories and some real people including Ian Fleming. I very much enjoyed it and was so glad I picked it up again. Reminding me of the entirely new adage that there’s nothing wrong with the book it’s the bloody readers… (c) E.Idle 18th October 17 2017.)
More wonderful tales from the world of Carver. Can’t go wrong if it’s a short story last thing at night you’re needing.
Even though I’m pretty sure I read this before I was just as gripped by the story of Maigret, in the absence of Madame, taking a room in a boarding house with an over confident Proprietor to try and figure out who shot, but fortunately didn’t kill Janvier in a quiet street where they were watching for someone else.
Again re-reading John McPhee’s entirely wonderful tale of the unlikely geological assemblage of California.
Praise from Philip Roth is about as good as it gets, I couldn’t wait to read it and it was excellent as promised. I followed up on Kindle with
But didn’t find it so compelling. An earlier work of course. Get the first. She’s good.
I bought this his latest in NY and loved it of course. This time Peter Guillam is hauled out of retirement and confronted with some issues over Alec Leamas, the anti-hero of The Spy Who Came in From the Cold. That was perfect timing for me as I had just watched the movie again, set against the bleak wall of Checkpoint Charlie with Richard Burton’s dead-on performance of a burned out spy, unfortunately let down by his love for the idealistic communist Claire Bloom. This long ago episode involving who was really betraying whom has left some questions. Smiley helps him solve who was on who’s side after the ambivalence of almost fifty years. I could read it again now.
I saved up for my travels and sneakily took away with me this latest thriller from Thomas Perry and I found myself a little concerned about reading it at night, it is that gripping. I don’t think it’s published until January and the only problem with the author slipping you an early copy is you have to wait even longer for the next one. This is about a frightening bomb maker who takes on, and murders, the LA bomb squad. It’s hard to think where we are going these days, but every street and every incident seems for real.
As if it wasn’t bad enough his wife has also written another perfect book
This is the third in her hopefully continuing series of a dead man and a dead dog. I enjoyed this one even more. Hard to solve or prevent crime when you are dead and that’s the brilliant originality of these books. Charles Stone, helped by the dog Rose tries to prevent someone murdering his late wife in LA. Starts with a bang and goes on surprising. Highly enjoyable and unique and there must be something in the water in the Perry household. Oh and I was surprised to see myself quoted in one of the epithets that begin the chapters.
A woman he arrested years before, who teased him then by appearing naked returns to his life to help him solve a crime.
Simple, elegant and eloquent. Steve tells the tale of how he became a comedian. And then stopped. Fun to re-read this classic.
I’m still dipping into this and finding new and surprising delights. It’s not a book you can read straight through. It has such mind boggling facts that it is worth keeping by the bedside to dip into.
Another goodie. From 1969, though the translation in this Book Club edition was 1971. He is quite easy to find in second hand book shops, since he sold so well. Worth it.
I had such a nice time re-reading A Delicate Truth that I plucked this one off the shelf to re-read. Interestingly, and thanks to my book diary, I found I stopped reading at exactly the same point, about half way through, when I realised that the missing person he is describing, and whom he seeks, is actually an asshole. Fortunately for me his new novel arrived from Amazon, and I bought a nice edition of Call for the Dead. I have a feeling that it is the interim novels, after the Smiley world and before he gets into his later stride about the world of arms dealing, that the books aren’t quite so forceful, but I have to read further to pursue this theory.
I’m sorry I think this is fraudulent. I became uncomfortable reading Rules of Civility and after a while this book gave me the same discomfort. It’s not that he can’t write, he can, and well, it’s that this is pastiche. The characters come from another place, and, indeed, book. It’s parody without comedy. Or context. So I’m sorry, and I know there are many people who read and enjoy him without noticing that this character is from War and Peace and this one is from Eloise at The Plaza, but it makes me feel practised on.
His books are like a steel trap. People seem to be wandering around, many disconnected characters, and then suddenly the pace increases, connections are made, often violence explodes, and there it all is. Everything is connected. This one, a first edition from March 1965, is a perfect example of this method.
These Idle hands love it. I love everything he writes. I once came face to face with him in St. Paul de Vence. That unforgettable face. Those eyes. What a genius.
Another impeccable book from this master, what? essayist I guess. His particular genius is not only to write about what fascinates him, and he is clearly a fascinating man, but connecting disparate subjects and considering what they might have in common. In this collection of essays from the New Yorker he writes about legendary Pitchmen, ketchup, sportspeople who choke, early and late bloomers, Cesar Millan, the paradoxes of plagiarism, homelessness, criminal profiling, etc etc The range of his interests are seemingly endless and he is always fascinating, and illuminating about everything that catches his attention.
Le Carré is perfect for jet lag, and I don’t mean that in a rude way that it helps you sleep, but the exact opposite: that you are happy to be awake all night because reading is such a pleasure. I enjoyed this one more on this my second read, and even more than The Night Manager. It is cleverly constructed and tight and told from two different viewpoints. You can see his new target becoming not the old Cold War warriors but the modern cynical arms dealers, without any side but their own. Greed is the great modern sin, and combined with business efficiency he again targets the merchants of death. Excellent. I have downloaded a ton onto my Kindle for future travels.
There’s a reason this novel has sold continuously since it was first published in 1941: it’s very good. He also has identified a then new type of American, Sammy Glick, the boy from the Ghetto who has learned to survive on his own wits and his own hutzpah. Unfortunately that which lifts you up may also bring you down, which is what makes this book such a satisfactorily moral tale, told through the eyes of Al Mannheim, who is, like everyone else in the book, used by Sammy Glick, but somehow retains an interest in him, through an interest in the question that makes the title of the book a recurring theme, what makes Sammy run? In the end, by returning to his roots he has the best view of the true answer.
A collection of nine stories from the forties and fifties, only one of which Maigret in Retirement I had read before, and then was just as confounded by the outcome. All are great. Seven Little Crosses in a Notebook, Maigret and the Surly Inspector, The Evidence of the Altar Boy, The Most Obstinate Customer in the World, Death of a Nobody, Sale by Auction, The Man in the Street, as well as the title track.
Highly recommended from some magazine, I found this to be not so important as suggested and not so unputdownable, so I put it down.
August
Pounding away on my laptop I fell disgracefully behind, not on my reading dear reader, but on my writing about reading, so these are recreated memories of the pleasures I endured this summer. One of the reasons for keeping this writing diary is so I remember not to forget what I enjoyed, and yet here I am, packing to leave, with a stack of books on my shelf I can only dimly remember. Apologies to self. I can only hope my writing was worth it.
The Dog’s Last Walk. Howard Jacobson
This kept me company throughout the summer, selections of his fine writing from what I now I only just learn has become the defunct Independent. I really must try and keep up, but if the Brits won’t let me vote despite paying taxes and force me to Brexit despite allowing me a choice in the matter, then I shall continue to ignore their often sick and insane newspapers. Many a fine day was ended with a keenly turned polemic, many an afternoon siesta preceded by a finely tuned satire, from the Mancunian master and I am grateful for the company of his wonderful mind, sharing as I do a Cambridge education, a love of ping pong and some early years in Manchester. I promise never again to use the words “a good read.” Though this is!
Pussy. Howard Jacobson
I was also reading and enjoying his new novel before I became sickened by reading or listening to anything at all about the fat, dystopian, lunatic in the White House, and forswore to pay him what he most desperately craves, any more attention, even at the expense of abandoning the satirists who mock him. Perhaps when he is gone and if the world survives his inevitable demise my sense of humour about the monster will return.
I enjoyed catching up with two very fine books by the master of the Bernie Gunther novels, Philip Kerr, who seems to be able to turn his hand to anything.
Dark Matter. Philip Kerr
A most unlikely thriller starring Isaac Newton as a kind of Sherlock Maigret ensconced in the Tower of London with a satisfactorily proficient swordsman sidekick called Christopher Ellis. Sir Isaac has become Warden of the Royal Mint responsible for hunting down counterfeiters during a national emergency. Faced with having to solve problems of codes and withstand physical attacks from assassins this is a highly suspenseful original tale. I have no idea how much of this is based on any historical truth but it makes a very satisfactory historical thriller.
A Philosophical Investigation. Philip Kerr
This is his version of a modern detective story, set in a slightly more dystopian version of London in 2013, where serial murderers are sought by DNA detection and put into a “punitive coma.” A case weary, female detective “Jake” Jacowitz, matches wits with an intellectual serial killer. This is a brilliant story, told from both perspectives, and I enjoyed it very much.
The Plot against America. Philip Roth
So culled from contemporary headlines does this seem that it is almost impossible to believe it was published in 2004. It is what might have happened to America had the Republicans chosen Lindberg instead of returning Roosevelt for a third term in 1940. A Nazi appeaser in collaboration with his country’s enemies in the White House, couldn’t happen I hear you say… Told from the perspective of a Jewish boy growing up in Newark this step by step story of how fascism came to America is both prescient and terrifying. It should have been a warning, and yet, here we are, with the country rising up to vote in a monster. A must read.
The Day I Died. Lori Rader-Day
A very fine thriller about a handwriting expert pulled in by a sceptical detective to try and locate a boy and his mother who have gone missing. Having only recently moved into the area she has her own story of running away and hiding. Finely done and gripping throughout this is great fun.
An Officer and a Spy. Robert Harris
Another fine book from this author, this one set at the time of the Dreyfus scandal where a French army officer witnesses Alfred Dreyfus being publicly humiliated and exiled for life on Devil’s Island. Georges Picquart, promoted to run the Intelligence Unit that tracked him down discovers that secrets are still being handed over to the Germans and is drawn into a struggle that threatens his life. Very brilliant and effortlessly written, I loved it.
The Slaves of Solitude. Patrick Hamilton
A fine novel, described by some as his finest, though I have read no others, set in a Henley boarding house during World War Two about the mind numbing dullness of the English when in society together. Underneath the polite nothings of conversation are seething hatreds and cruel tortures. Miss Roach, through whose eyes we see everything, is horribly tormented by the cruel and pathetic non entity Mr. Thwaites, a sadistic prat who is both pompous and useless and the major comic thrust of the novel, with his clichéd language and his rush to judge and destroy. He wastes no time tormenting Miss Roach whose essential niceness is sorely tested by his irritating attacks. Into this cold-bed of turmoil come two outsiders, an alcoholic American Lieutenant, and a blonde haired German refugee Vicki whom Miss Roach has been attempting to aid. The one flirts wildly with her, while the other wastes no time scoring off her, so she is puzzled and confused and unhappy.
There is a kind of genre of Boarding House novels which reflect a certain time in English society when people not related were forced to lodge and dine together. It seems to me that this has come to an end, although Kingsley Amis’ The Old Devils is a relic of it. This is a very fine example of the genre and the kind of patient suffering the British had to endure during the long length of World War Two.
So Long, See You Tomorrow. William Maxwell.
Slightly concerned not to notice at first I read this in January. This is what I wrote then. “The most magnificent short novel. Glorious. Beautiful written. Like the essence of a novel.” I suppose the good news of age is one can keep re-reading the same book!
