All Quiet on the Orient Express

Fellow bloggers, I'm sure you know this feeling - you read a book, enjoyed it, put it on one side to write about... and by the time you get to writing about it, almost all the details have left your head. Right? That's not a very inspiring opening to a blog review, but it will set your expectations at the right level as I start to talk about All Quiet on the Orient Express (1999) by Magnus Mills, which I read, ahem, last November.

About a year ago I wrote a review of Magnus Mills' The Maintenance of Headway, and my general opinion was that, although that novel didn't work for me, I felt that there was something about Mills. And that I definitely would like something else by him. In stepped Annabel, who lent me All Quiet on the Orient Express... which I had so long that she said I could pass it on to a charity shop... oops, sorry Annabel...

The unnamed narrator is coming to the end of a camping holiday at Mr. Parker's camp site in the Lake District, preparing to head off on the Orient Express (which I think might have been thrown in just for that wonderful title) when the novel opens. That seems a good place to start.

"I thought I'd better catch you before you go," he said. "Expect you'll be leaving today, will you?"

"Hadn't planned to," I replied.

"A lot of people choose to leave on Monday mornings."

"Well, I thought I'd give it another week, actually. The weather seems quite nice."

"So you're staying on then?"

"If that's alright with you."

"Of course it is," he said. "You're welcome to stay as long as you like."

It seems a good deal, to our narrator, when Mr. Parker offers to knock a bit off the rent in return for Narrator (as I shall call him, for want of an alternative. Unless he is named and I somehow missed it) doing the odd handyman job here and there.

The 'here and there' becomes more frequent, and the tasks more laborious. Most of them seem to involve Mr. Parker's endless supply of green paint - everything from fences to boats apparently require coating in the stuff. Everything is on account, as it were, and Narrator's involvement with the family and the community grows deeper and deeper... whether he'd like it to or not. He joins a forceful darts team, he becomes a regular at the pub (which doesn't always have his favourite drink; nor does the grocer have the biscuits he wants) and, all the time, the Parker family get him to perform more and more handyman jobs... All Quiet on the Orient Express is a bizarre cautionary tale for those (like myself) who find it impossible to say 'no'...

What makes Magnus Mills' writing so enjoyable is its eccentricity. The actual characters and events are surprisingly grounded, when you consider them in the abstract. There are no Dickensian grotesques (even the man who constantly wears a cracker paper-crown turns out to have a fairly reasonable excuse) nor are the motivations of characters unduly wacky - but the dialogue certainly is. It is spare, yet like the excerpt above, it is often repetitive and confusing, trailing round and round in circles without getting anywhere. Lots of unnecessary questions and characters repeating what the others say. It all adds to the claustrophobia of the place, and is done cleverly - so that it gives this effect without annoying the reader.

If I just-about liked The Maintenance of Headway, then I definitely much liked All Quiet on the Orient Express. I still feel that there is potential for me to love Mills, and I have The Restraint of Beasts on my shelf that will hopefully reach that standard. But even without being completely in love with this novel, I think it is incredibly good - and Mills' writing is so different from almost all other contemporary writers. The only modern comparison I can think of is Edward Carey (see below). It's the sort of quirky, strange-but-not-macabre-or-silly writing that I yearn to find, and so rarely do.

Thanks Annabel for lending it to me; sorry I've had it so long! If anyone who likes or loves Mills can recommend similar authors to me (less silly than Pratchett, and not macabre at all, please) then I'd be delighted.


Books to get Stuck into:

Observatory Mansions - Edward Carey: I've recommended Alva & Irva so often that I thought I should make a change. Francis works as a 'living statue' and is also horribly selfish, stealing/collecting objects that people love. Totally surreal, but brilliant.

The Skin Chairs - Barbara Comyns: not quite the same style, but enough odd, quirky elements - from those skin chairs on - to make worth suggesting in the same breath as Mills.

Blog Birthday & Cult Books

First things first - today marks my fourth blog anniversary! Can't believe it's been going for four years - then again, sometimes I can't believe there was a time when I wasn't blogging. All these milestones seem like opportunities to say how much I appreciate you all, so... I'll do it again! Thanks for reading - I love getting your comments, emails, and book recommendations so much. Balloons!


Now onto the topic of the day... My book group (or, rather, one of my book groups) is incredibly democratic. We have a theme, and suggest titles for it - these go into hat, and six or seven are pulled out. These then go onto the website to get votes. All very slick, and does manage to come up with interesting and varied titles. I was a bit worried that it would result in endless 'issue'-driven book group books, which I find quite dull. You know the sort - The Kite Runner, We Have To Talk About Kevin, The Lovely Bones. The type of books that every book group reads. But our polls have resulted in much more interesting choices (and also two of the above titles - thankfully not Kevin). Examples include Travels With My Aunt, Wuthering Heights, Jude the Obscure, and, ahem, Miss Hargreaves.

ANYWAY (how often I do use that word...) this month's theme was 'cult books'. Which is a great theme, I think, but when I started thinking about it... what on earth *is* a cult book? We had a link to what the Telegraph think are the 50 Best Cult Books, to help us out, and a lot of them were titles I'd have expected to see there - The Catcher in the Rye, The Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy, On The Road... but then there were books like To Kill A Mockingbird and Testament of Youth that didn't seem to me to fit at all. (I'm only posting titles here, because I assume you'll know most of the authors... and because I'm lazy.)

So, what criteria made me think the former would be cult books, and the latter wouldn't? I suppose, in my head, a cult book is one that a lot of people don't like, and a small group of people love. There are a lot of books that a small group of people love (Miss Hargreaves, anyone?) but I think the wider-group-of-people-dislike-it is also an important factor. Cult books seem, in my mind, associated with geeks... Now, of course, I'm a geek too. But there are different types of geeks. I'm the type that also wears bright colours and laughs too much in company; not the type that stares at his feet and knows what all the computer acronyms stand for.

So - first things first - I'd like to know what definition you'd give to the term 'cult book'. And secondly, what do you think of the shortlist that was eventually drawn up?

• If on a Winter's Night a Traveller - Italo Calvino
• Generation X - Douglas Coupland
• Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy - Douglas Adams
• Catcher in the Rye - J.D. Salinger
• The Bell Jar - Sylvia Plath
• Catch 22 - Joseph Heller
• I Capture the Castle - Dodie Smith

I did want to read If on a Winter's Night a Traveller, as I was intrigued by reviews from Sakura, Simon, Polly, Stu, Kim, and doubtless others. But I thought it might be a book I'd want to read slowly, when I was definitely in the right mood for it - and I tend to end up speed reading book group choices on the night before the meeting. So I voted for a novel I love and want to re-read: I Capture the Castle. Although I can't see how it could possibly be considered a cult book...

Song for a Sunday

The only good thing to come from watching the awful film Wedding Daze was hearing a track in the background that I loved... I hunted it down, and thus began my love of folk-indie-rocky band Hem and the beautiful voice of Sally Ellyson. Here is that song, 'The Fire Thief' from the album Eveningland - one of my favourite albums. Enjoy!



For all previous Sunday Songs, click here.

Stuck-in-a-Book's Weekend Miscellany

We've not had a Weekend Miscellany for a while, have we? The sun is shining here, and today I'm heading off to an Oxfam book fair - doubtless I'll report back with some purchases before too long. And I've been buying a few other books of late, too... my local gifty shop for wrapping paper etc. also sells lots of old Penguin books fairly cheaply, and they seem to sneak into my hands every time I go there...

1.) The book - I've long been waiting for the fourth novel from Linda Gillard, whose previous books have included the brilliant A Lifetime Burning - but sadly I don't think I'll be able to read House of Silence because it's getting electronic release only. It still comes with the beautiful cover below, and those of you with Kindles and the like, do please go over here (or, I daresay, elsewhere - I'm not up on these things), get yourself a copy, and tell me all about it! It's only £1.90, for goodness' sake, and Gillard is a really engaging writer. Linda has offered to send me a print-out to read, and I'm debating whether or not I'd be able to read and enjoy it in that format... thinking on't. (Linda has posted a comment with a link to an article she's done about House of Silence - here.)


Linda describes House of Silence as Cold Comfort Farm meets Atonement (intriguing, no?) and here is the blurb:

"My friends describe me as frighteningly sensible, not at all the sort of woman who would fall for an actor. And his home. And his family."

Orphaned by drink, drugs and rock n’ roll, Gwen Rowland is invited to spend Christmas at her boyfriend Alfie's family home, Creake Hall - a ramshackle Tudor manor in Norfolk. She's excited about the prospect of a proper holiday with a proper family, but soon after she arrives, Gwen senses something isn't quite right. Alfie acts strangely toward his family and is reluctant to talk about the past. His mother, a celebrated children's author, keeps to her room, living in a twilight world, unable to distinguish between past and present, fact and fiction. And then there's the enigma of an old family photograph...

When Gwen discovers fragments of forgotten family letters sewn into an old patchwork quilt, she starts to piece together the jigsaw of the past and realises there's more to the family history than she's been told. It seems there are things people don’t want her to know.

And one of those people is Alfie...

2.) The link - is one I've seen on a few blogs, but Polly's first of all. Jane Mount paints people's 'ideal bookshelf' - that is, you tell her which books to include, and she paints 'em.


I am so in love with this idea that it's become something of a disorder - but I still don't think I can afford to splash out on one. If you possibly can, visit her here - or, much cheaper, you can buy one of her prints, if they suit your literary tastes. Or if you want to send me an impromptu early (by seven months) birthday present...?

3.) The blog post - for E.H. Young fans, pop over to Harriet's blog for a review of one of Emily Hilda's earlier novels Moor Fires - I'm definitely intrigued. And since it was my copy Harriet borrowed, my curiosity can be satisfied!

Oh, and if you're thinking of going to Cornwall this year... Ruth has a secret to share...

Book Review: The Goddess Test by Aimee Carter

Title: The Goddess Test

Author: Aimee Carter

Series: The Goddess Test #1

Release Date: April 26th, 2011

Publisher: Harlequin Teen

Age: Young Adult

It's always been just Kate and her mom—and her mother is dying. Her last wish? To move back to her childhood home. So Kate's going to start at a new school with no friends, no other family and the fear her mother won't live past the fall.

Then she meets Henry. Dark. Tortured. And mesmerizing. He claims to be Hades, god of the Underworld—and if she accepts his bargain, he'll keep her mother alive while Kate tries to pass seven tests.

Kate is sure he's crazy—until she sees him bring a girl back from the dead. Now saving her mother seems crazily possible. If she succeeds, she'll become Henry's future bride, and a goddess.

I like Greek Mythology so when I heard about this book I knew I had to read it!

Kate is young and her mother is dying. She just want to be with her and can't even imagine what would happen when she's gone. But when she meets Henry and he gives her the opportunity to spend more time with her mother before she dies, how can she say no?

Maybe you are familiar with Persephone's story? She was Hades's wife, he kidnapped her. In this book, the author changes a little bit this story and Henry/Hades is alone, looking for a new Queen.

Many girls have tried to pass the seven tests and became a The Queen of the Underworld, but no one was able. Kate is the last girl with the opportunity to become Queen, but she doesn't care about that. She only wants more time with her mother and be able to say goodbye properly.

Kate is 18 years old, but seems to be younger. Maybe because must of her life she has been taking care of her mother. It was really sad, I felt bad for her but I liked her. She was intelligent and not the usual teenager. She was mature. It was interesting to see her accepting her new role and trying to do the best she could at the tests, and even when she fell in love easily with Henry, it wasn't instantly as usual.

Henry wasn't exactly what I had in mind for Hades. He had everything to be the bad-sexy-guy, but he was so...sad. I liked him, but he was always silent and never really a protagonist. I never was sure about his feelings and instead of being a Godl I saw him as a young man.

It's an original story and it grabbed me, but I was expecting more. Maybe it's because I love mythology, but I wanted more about Henry, more about the other Gods...

Overall, I believe this series has great potential, so I'm going to give the next book, Goddess Interrupted, an opportunity and read more about Henry and Kate.

More about this book at www.aimeecarter.com, Goodreads, Amazon, The Book Depository.

You can bring your dog

Not often that I give posts Tori Amos song titles, but it was the first thing that popped into my head when I put Mr. Chartwell by Rebecca Hunt in front of me. I was lucky enough to meet Rebecca Hunt a couple of weeks ago at a Penguin bloggers/authors event. For a lovely write-up of the day, check out Sakura's post or Annabel's or David's or Hayley's. All of which makes me think perhaps I should have written something about it myself. Oops. I will say that, for someone who wrote a book about depression, Rebecca was hilarious. I hope the wine I'd drunk on an empty stomach didn't make me think *I* was too hilarious. Onto Mr. Chartwell...


The man in question is not, in fact, a man - but a dog. Winston Churchill famously referred to his depression as his 'black dog' - Hunt imagines what it would be like if Churchill had not been speaking metaphorically; what if there really was a black dog, visible only to those he afflicts? Mr. Chartwell (also known as Black Pat, although neither is his actual name - which is never revealed) is that dog.

It's 1964 and Churchill is 89 years old, and about to retire. Not far away, in Battersea, House of Commons librarian Esther Hammerhans has advertised for a lodger to live with her, and is awaiting his arrival. It won't surprise you to learn that the lodger in question turns out to be... Mr. Chartwell. He is incredibly tall (and stands upright), he speaks English perfectly, and more or less his only canine vice is a propensity to eat anything and everything, usually in a peculiarly disgusting, slobbery manner. Reluctantly, Esther lets him stay.

This might all sound a bit fey. The anthropomorphism of animals is usually rather whimsical, or at least diverting, but in Mr. Chartwell it's really something that we should come to terms with as quickly as possible, and then carry on. And there is certainly nothing fey about Mr. Chartwell. He is, if anything, menacing - but not aggressive or threatening, rather he is persistent. Whenever Churchill tells him to leave, it is acknowledged between them that Mr. Chartwell leaving is never really a possibility. He is an unwelcome companion, but a companion nevertheless.

Esther thought about Michael in here with this dog, trapped with him, already trapped when they first met. "And you're going to trap me too." She recalled the day he moved in, her gullibility. "This is an ambush."

"No, it's an affinity. I didn't initiate it." From behind the desk Black Pat said, "The magnet that keeps me here is the magnet which brought me here. We are twinned by the same orbit and I'm all yours, Esther, I'm all yours." He said hopefully, "Don't you like me even slightly?"

Michael, by the way, is Esther's late husband. His story slowly unwinds through the novel, as pieces are filled in, so I shan't spoil it for you here.

Such are the bare bones of the narrative, and it is a simple story really - with an innovative central idea which permits simplicity. Indeed, to overcomplicate the novel would have been a big mistake. As it was, I could have done with less of Esther's colleague Beth and Beth's husband Big Oliver. They were something of a distraction.

What Hunt has done brilliantly, and originally, is capture the claustrophobia of depression. The idea of a hot, heavy, relentless dog lying across one's body might not be medically accurate, but it certainly conjures up an idea of what living with depression might be like. And yet, Mr. Chartwell is not a distressing novel. There is a lot of humour flowing through it, especially from Mr. Chartwell himself - who is not a wholly repugnant character by any means. Relentless, yes, but also somehow seductive. Not in a romantic way, of course, but through his dogged (no pun intended) charisma.

I don't know anything about Churchill, really, beyond what everyone grows up knowing. I don't know whether or not his character and his dialogue are written convincingly - other people will be able to say, perhaps. I'm not sure it really matters. Churchill is useful as the originator of the 'black dog' expression, but his character could have been anyone who experienced both success and depression. Even without the 'hook' of Churchill, Hunt has written a strikingly original debut novel, and I'm looking forward to seeing what could possibly come next. And Rebecca, if you're reading, I still want the chandelier we were arguing over.

Never let it be said, gentle readers, that I do not think of you. There was a free-for-all at Penguin's table of free books, but (a) I had already asked lovely Lija for a copy of Mr. Chartwell, and (b) there seemed to be lots of spare copies - so I grabbed one to offer up as a giveaway copy. So, as a reward for reading this far, simply pop your name in the comments for a chance to win a copy (open worldwide) - actually, let's make it a little bit more exciting. I want to know the name (and species) of your first pet - if you've never had one, then what would you call one. Get commenting...

People on a Bridge

Regular SiaB-readers will know that I rarely read poetry. Indeed, few of the bloggers I peruse seem to mention poetry much - or perhaps, if they do, I skim over those posts owing to lack of interest. I'm aware that the failing is with me, rather than the form - but I very rarely manage to engage with poetry. Perhaps because I naturally read quite fast, and poetry has to be read slowly (or preferably, I find, aloud) to be appreciated? I don't know. But at the bloggers' meet-up book-swap we held months and months ago, Peter (aka Dark Puss aka Morgana's Cat) gave me People on a Bridge by Polish poet Wislawa Szymborska, translated by Adam Czerniawski. I entertained myself for ages saying 'Szymborska' over and over to myself - it is a very satisfying word - and then put it to one side, intending to read it later. Later eventually came, and I was rather surprised to find that I loved the collection.


Before I say why, I thought I'd type out the title poem of the collection. It think it is about the cover image, 'Squall at Ohashi' by Hiroshige, but I can't find any definite confirmation of this - he is mentioned in the poem:

People on a Bridge

A strange planet with its strange people.
The yield to time but don't recognise it.
They have ways of expressing their protest.
They make pictures, like this one for instance:

At first glance, nothing special.
You see water.
You see a shore.
You see a boat sailing laboriously upstream.
You see a bridge over the water and people on the bridge.
The people are visibly quickening their step,
because a downpour has just started
lashing sharply from a dark cloud.

The point is that nothing happens next.
The cloud doesn't change its colour or shape.
The rain neither intensifies nor stops.
The boat sails on motionless.
The people on the bridge
run just where they were a moment ago.
It's difficult to avoid remarking here:
this isn't by any means an innocent picture.
Here time has been stopped.
Its laws have been ignored.
It's been denied influence on developing events.
It's been insulted and spurned.

Thanks to a rebel,
a certain Hiroshige Utagawa
(a being which as it happens
has long since and quite properly passed away)
time stumbled and fell.

Maybe this was just a whim of no significance,
a freak covering just a pair of galaxies,
but we should perhaps add the following:

Here it's considered proper
to regard this little picture highly,
admire it and thrill to it from age to age.

For some this isn't enough.
They even hear the pouring rain,
they feel the cool drops on necks and shoulders,
they look at the bridge and the people
as if they saw themselves there
in the self-same never-finished run
along an endless road eternally to be travelled
and believe in their impudence
that things are really thus.

I am so used to writing about novels that I don't quite know how to discuss poetry. But what I loved about this collection is what I love about my favourite novels. Szymborska doesn't use overly-fancy or 'poetic' words (or, at least, her translator does not). There is a sense of the familiar and domestic running through the collection, with quiet, subtle emotions held up for close (but not voyeuristic) examination. Although the poem I've typed out is about a painting, it is still about people. Many of the poems are about little incidents - someone dialing the wrong number; waiting at a train station. One of my favourites, 'The terroist, he watches' tells the more extraordinary tale of a terroist watching a bar in which he has planted a bomb. Some poems touch upon philosophy and even ontology, but always with a personal touch that makes the writing absolutely accessible and engaging.

Of course, I am reading in English. Quite a different translation of 'People on a Bridge' can be found here, if you scroll down - reminding me how much of a translated work is in the hands of the translator. Well, I thank Adam Czerniawski (and Peter, of course) for enabling Szymborska's work to get into my hands - and reminding me to widen occasionally my reading horizons.