I have given Tuesday’s Child only two stars because there is a lot that frustrates me about the book. But it does have many strengths, and if you’re a different sort of person from me, the strengths will quite likely not be overridden by all the things I didn’t like. So I’ll tell you now – Louise Bagshawe’s novel has many genuinely funny moments, and some really lovely characters. The central character, Lucy, is very sweet in her naivety, and her best friend Ollie is absolutely gorgeous. Some of the other characters are a bit one-dimensional, but that doesn’t matter in this sort of comedy because part of the point is that they’re so fake, they really would seem one-dimensional if you met them in person. Lucy’s snobby, bitchy workmates are called Jade, Buffy and Melissa – somehow, I can’t imagine a better trio of names. And there’s a wanker called James as well – see Lucy in the Sky, Holly’s Inbox and Watermelon.
Tuesday’s Child is Cinderella. Rags to riches. The ugly duckling who becomes a swan. But, for me, it’s a story that’s unrewarding. It’s all very well for Cinderella to meet her Prince if that’s what she wants. But if all Lucy (yes, she’s another of those stupid Lucys, but not too stupid to know what she wants from life) wants is to write about computer games and play football with the lads, she ought to be able to do that.
Maybe most chick lit readers want to read about typical girls, and require the weird girls to acquire at least an element of typicality in order to be considered a likeable character. If this is true, it’s a shame because there are too many books, magazines and people around already telling you that unless girls look good and dress well and give a shit about what perfume they’re wearing (I don’t think I even own any perfume), they are never going to get anywhere in life. I don’t agree with that attitude at all. I would so much rather read about someone with a bit of originality about them ending up happy.
When Lucy gets a job as a secretary with a group of girls who happen to wear expensive clothes all the time, it’s fair enough for her to wear those clothes at work. She doesn’t have a choice about that. But why should she suddenly start wearing those clothes outside work as well? It’s not even as though her workmates are nice, kind, friendly, interesting people. Lucy has no desire to be like them. She had no desire to dress like them before, so why start now?
Of course, Lucy does eventually realise that her job doesn’t suit her, and she leaves. (I might as well give that part of the plot away as that’s usually what does happen in novels like this.) But we never see her playing football again. And that’s a shame because she is astonishingly good. She can play in a team of guys, and score goals against an all-male opposition. Even if she wasn’t good at it, the point is she loves it. She shouldn’t have to stop playing because it’s not very girly. She should be allowed to be the person she is, and to enjoy being that person.
One of Bagshawe’s reasons for changing Lucy’s personality is because she is, apparently, ‘not very mature’. The proof of this is her decision to review computer games for a living. Well, what’s wrong with that? Someone’s got to do it, and why not her? Computer games are not aimed at people of a particular age. Lucy’s only twenty-four, anyway – not that age matters. I don’t think people should be made to feel that there’s any kind of age limit on the things they enjoy. There will be some exceptions to that: for both practical and legal reasons, a mature male can’t start playing rugby with a group of small boys in the park. But there’s no reason he shouldn’t play with people his own age and own size.
Lucy is eventually permitted to return to her computer games – but she does so in a way that’s mature and worthwhile and helps others. There’s nothing wrong with helping others. On the contrary, I think it’s something everyone should do when they can. But Lucy doesn’t need something like this in order to make playing computer games at her age acceptable. There’s no need at all for Lucy to do anything spectacular or revolutionary.
It alienates us because most of us will never get to do anything like that. Even if we wanted to, the chances are we would never have the opportunity. Also (although maybe I’m wrong about this), I don’t think Lucy’s innovation actually exists in our world – certainly not to the extent the book suggests it does. And if it does, Lucy is more or less being credited with it, which is completely unfair and wrong.
Even if Bagshawe felt very strongly that Lucy did need to use her computer skills in an unselfish and helpful way, it was a mistake to have it happen out of nowhere. The theme needs to be strongly in place from the start. It’s fine for it to be subtle – but, when it happens, we need to be looking back and thinking: Yes, of course. This is exactly the sort of thing Lucy has been looking for all along, and this is exactly what she needs to make her happy, and even though it was a surprise, I can look back on the story and see Bagshawe was leading up to it the whole time.
Instead, I was kind of left thinking… what????
Friday 20 June 2008
Saturday 14 June 2008
If You Could See Me Now (Cecelia Ahern)*****
Invisible friends are real! I always knew it and Cecelia Ahern proves it in this amazing book. It’s about Elizabeth, who is unsociable and works far too hard (just like Elisabeth in Seeing Me Naked and Elizabeth in An Absolute Scandal), her six year old nephew Luke, who is sweet if scarily self-contained (a bit like Luke in the Shopaholic books), and their invisible friend, Ivan.
Ivan is the perfect friend. He makes friends with children who are unhappy, and helps them to overcome their problems. I’m quite surprised it was published in a way. If any non-invisible men started hanging round children like that, they’d probably be arrested, but the last thing you’d call Ivan is a paedophile. He’s a bit like a child himself. He loves swivelly chairs. He loves sliding on the grass and playing with toy fire engines. And he doesn’t like playing with girls. In many ways, he’s more like a six year old than Luke is.
Elizabeth and Ivan don’t think much of each other at first. To Ivan, Elizabeth is no more than an uptight, bossy adult who refuses to believe he exists. To Elizabeth, Ivan is just her nephew’s invisible friend - something to be very concerned about, but not someone who actually exists. Even when she meets Ivan for herself, Elizabeth (not unsurprisingly) assumes that he’s the inspiration for Luke’s friend, rather than the man himself.
Both of them are emotionally stunted in their way. Elizabeth is closed off from caring about others – her parents and younger sister Saoirse have continually made her unhappy, and she has trouble expressing love towards Luke. Ivan lives in a platonic world where there appear to be no such things as romance and sex. While his experience and intelligence have taught him a lot about people, his outlook on life is childish in many ways. Slowly Elizabeth and Ivan begin to appreciate one another’s different qualities. Elizabeth needs to learn to relax and have fun, and there are times when even Ivan needs to take life seriously.
Few couples in fiction are more deserving of happiness. Elizabeth has been denied it for too long, and Ivan has never really thought about it before. Watching them fall in love is great because you can see exactly what’s happening, but they don’t do it in the normal, boring, conventional way. They’re not boring, normal, conventional people, and one of the strengths of this book is that they never lose their individuality. But, as with any storybook romance, there are problems to be overcome.
One reason I love the book is because a lot of the characters all seem to be a bit autistic, like me. Elizabeth is isolated and unsociable, and has trouble with the concept of games, particularly imaginary ones (I love imaginary games, but that’s supposed to be unusual). She doesn’t feel comfortable with the idea of friendships because of the time and effort it’s going to take. (It can be a serious mental effort to remember all the conversational conventions that don’t come naturally. Friendship can still be very rewarding, but an acquaintance based on nothing but proximity is mentally exhausting.) The people whose friendship Elizabeth appreciates are those who might sometimes endeavour to change her views, but nevertheless show respect for her as an individual.
Ivan is immature for an adult (like me), although at times he can look at things in a logical and detached way (also an autistic trait). He’s pretty much asexual (me too, probably: I love flirting, but genitals are pretty disgusting, aren’t they?), and his interest in Elizabeth all the more moving because he obviously isn’t after a shag. Even though Ivan is in the business of making friends and supporting people, the friendships only last for as long as the support is needed, and after that there’s no further contact. In some ways, Ivan’s relationships are more like doctor/patient relationships than genuine friendships. Once the person he is helping is feeling better, they no longer see Ivan – literally as well as figuratively, so the task is clearly completed, and it’s time to move on. If I was like Ivan, I could play lots of games to get to know people instead of faffing about with all this adult ‘how are you, I’m fine’ business which seems a bit pointless when you’re supposed to say you’re fine whether you are or not. The people with whom Ivan forms friendships are children like Luke and similarly struggling adults like Elizabeth and Saoirse, neither of whom socialise on a typical adult level (Luke comes closest), and also the people in his own world, where his motives and feelings are always understood. It is likely they wouldn’t be understood by most adults, who would naturally be very concerned about this strange man hanging around the kids, and they would probably find his playful language inappropriate because it doesn’t follow normal conversational rules.
Saoirse has acquaintances that come and go, but no obvious friendships, Elizabeth appearing to be the only constant in her life. Some might see Saoirse as mistrustful and aggressive, but maybe she’s just very desperate and needy, yet without the social confidence to be able to express that she needs help. To me, she seems more like someone who doesn’t understand people than someone who hates them. It’s never explained why Saoirse can see Ivan – until meeting Elizabeth, the only people to have seen him were the children he was helping – but I suspect it’s because Saoirse is quite seriously emotionally stunted as well, as well as being undeniably in need of help. Saoirse has given birth to Luke, but has failed to bond with him. It seems to me as though it’s her constant inability to understand the world that leads her to behave so badly – and to be able to see Ivan. The one weakness of the book is that Saoirse’s storyline is never resolved, but a number of flashbacks help you to see how life has gone so wrong for Saoirse (and Elizabeth), despite all Elizabeth’s attempts to look after her. Saoirse could have been the villain character, but she seems more unhappy, confused and lost than horrible. Not that I’d want her turning up drunk at my house, but, as a character, I love her.
The story is mostly told from Elizabeth’s point of view and Ivan’s, but occasionally we see Elizabeth as others see her. Unusually, some of the sections from Ivan’s point of view are told in the third person, and some in the first person. It’s not clear why, but it does work quite well. Most of the time, the first person sections are when Ivan addresses the reader directly – it’s almost as though the whole book is in the third person, and the first person sections are effectively in speech marks. If the sections had had actual speech marks, the book might well have seemed clumsier – speech marks can become quite confusing where the speaker starts recounting conversations – and in a way speech marks could have had a distancing effect because writers don’t use speech marks as a rule when addressing their readers.
This book shows you that there is more to love than sex. That you can learn from other people, including those who are different from you. That it’s okay to be a bit different, but it is possible learn the things you want to learn, however impossible they seem. And, above all, that there is nothing wrong with having invisible friends. Because most of them are real anyway.
Ivan is the perfect friend. He makes friends with children who are unhappy, and helps them to overcome their problems. I’m quite surprised it was published in a way. If any non-invisible men started hanging round children like that, they’d probably be arrested, but the last thing you’d call Ivan is a paedophile. He’s a bit like a child himself. He loves swivelly chairs. He loves sliding on the grass and playing with toy fire engines. And he doesn’t like playing with girls. In many ways, he’s more like a six year old than Luke is.
Elizabeth and Ivan don’t think much of each other at first. To Ivan, Elizabeth is no more than an uptight, bossy adult who refuses to believe he exists. To Elizabeth, Ivan is just her nephew’s invisible friend - something to be very concerned about, but not someone who actually exists. Even when she meets Ivan for herself, Elizabeth (not unsurprisingly) assumes that he’s the inspiration for Luke’s friend, rather than the man himself.
Both of them are emotionally stunted in their way. Elizabeth is closed off from caring about others – her parents and younger sister Saoirse have continually made her unhappy, and she has trouble expressing love towards Luke. Ivan lives in a platonic world where there appear to be no such things as romance and sex. While his experience and intelligence have taught him a lot about people, his outlook on life is childish in many ways. Slowly Elizabeth and Ivan begin to appreciate one another’s different qualities. Elizabeth needs to learn to relax and have fun, and there are times when even Ivan needs to take life seriously.
Few couples in fiction are more deserving of happiness. Elizabeth has been denied it for too long, and Ivan has never really thought about it before. Watching them fall in love is great because you can see exactly what’s happening, but they don’t do it in the normal, boring, conventional way. They’re not boring, normal, conventional people, and one of the strengths of this book is that they never lose their individuality. But, as with any storybook romance, there are problems to be overcome.
One reason I love the book is because a lot of the characters all seem to be a bit autistic, like me. Elizabeth is isolated and unsociable, and has trouble with the concept of games, particularly imaginary ones (I love imaginary games, but that’s supposed to be unusual). She doesn’t feel comfortable with the idea of friendships because of the time and effort it’s going to take. (It can be a serious mental effort to remember all the conversational conventions that don’t come naturally. Friendship can still be very rewarding, but an acquaintance based on nothing but proximity is mentally exhausting.) The people whose friendship Elizabeth appreciates are those who might sometimes endeavour to change her views, but nevertheless show respect for her as an individual.
Ivan is immature for an adult (like me), although at times he can look at things in a logical and detached way (also an autistic trait). He’s pretty much asexual (me too, probably: I love flirting, but genitals are pretty disgusting, aren’t they?), and his interest in Elizabeth all the more moving because he obviously isn’t after a shag. Even though Ivan is in the business of making friends and supporting people, the friendships only last for as long as the support is needed, and after that there’s no further contact. In some ways, Ivan’s relationships are more like doctor/patient relationships than genuine friendships. Once the person he is helping is feeling better, they no longer see Ivan – literally as well as figuratively, so the task is clearly completed, and it’s time to move on. If I was like Ivan, I could play lots of games to get to know people instead of faffing about with all this adult ‘how are you, I’m fine’ business which seems a bit pointless when you’re supposed to say you’re fine whether you are or not. The people with whom Ivan forms friendships are children like Luke and similarly struggling adults like Elizabeth and Saoirse, neither of whom socialise on a typical adult level (Luke comes closest), and also the people in his own world, where his motives and feelings are always understood. It is likely they wouldn’t be understood by most adults, who would naturally be very concerned about this strange man hanging around the kids, and they would probably find his playful language inappropriate because it doesn’t follow normal conversational rules.
Saoirse has acquaintances that come and go, but no obvious friendships, Elizabeth appearing to be the only constant in her life. Some might see Saoirse as mistrustful and aggressive, but maybe she’s just very desperate and needy, yet without the social confidence to be able to express that she needs help. To me, she seems more like someone who doesn’t understand people than someone who hates them. It’s never explained why Saoirse can see Ivan – until meeting Elizabeth, the only people to have seen him were the children he was helping – but I suspect it’s because Saoirse is quite seriously emotionally stunted as well, as well as being undeniably in need of help. Saoirse has given birth to Luke, but has failed to bond with him. It seems to me as though it’s her constant inability to understand the world that leads her to behave so badly – and to be able to see Ivan. The one weakness of the book is that Saoirse’s storyline is never resolved, but a number of flashbacks help you to see how life has gone so wrong for Saoirse (and Elizabeth), despite all Elizabeth’s attempts to look after her. Saoirse could have been the villain character, but she seems more unhappy, confused and lost than horrible. Not that I’d want her turning up drunk at my house, but, as a character, I love her.
The story is mostly told from Elizabeth’s point of view and Ivan’s, but occasionally we see Elizabeth as others see her. Unusually, some of the sections from Ivan’s point of view are told in the third person, and some in the first person. It’s not clear why, but it does work quite well. Most of the time, the first person sections are when Ivan addresses the reader directly – it’s almost as though the whole book is in the third person, and the first person sections are effectively in speech marks. If the sections had had actual speech marks, the book might well have seemed clumsier – speech marks can become quite confusing where the speaker starts recounting conversations – and in a way speech marks could have had a distancing effect because writers don’t use speech marks as a rule when addressing their readers.
This book shows you that there is more to love than sex. That you can learn from other people, including those who are different from you. That it’s okay to be a bit different, but it is possible learn the things you want to learn, however impossible they seem. And, above all, that there is nothing wrong with having invisible friends. Because most of them are real anyway.
Sunday 8 June 2008
Shopaholic and Baby (Sophie Kinsella)*****
I don’t have a shopping problem. My interest in clothes is limited to how warm they are and how pink they are – apart from that, I’m not interested.
So I should hate Becky. She and I have nothing in common. The nearest I get to shopaholism is when I go to Waterstones and the 3for2 offer is just too good to resist. I even get 3for2 at WHSmiths sometimes, which is really exciting because officially they only do Buy1Get1Half-Price. But that’s not the same as being a shopaholic. That’s just about budgeting and being sneaky and comparing which are the best deals.
Okay, you’re right, that’s exactly the sort of thing Becky says. The only difference between us is that Becky is better-dressed than me. But I’m probably better-read. I’ve read Penny Vincenzi’s An Absolute Scandal all the way through. And Ulysses twice. So obviously I never have time to go clothes shopping.
You don’t need to have a clue about clothes or fashion to enjoy this book. It doesn’t matter if a clothes shop is practically an alien world. It’s all about loving something so much, the desire to possess it sends your brain into overdrive and physically prevents you from making connections between the prices of your desired item and the state of your bank account. Most people can relate to that. Probably a lot of us have also had the experience of when something happens that makes you look horribly stupid in front of people you don’t want to look stupid in front of. So you tell a little lie to get yourself out of looking stupid, and the lie gets bigger and bigger and bigger…
Okay, maybe that doesn’t happen to everyone, but it seems to happen to Becky almost every day. Maybe she doesn’t always use her considerable imaginative powers in the best or most convincing way possible, but watching Becky talking herself out of one embarrassment, and, more often than not, into one ten times worse, is an eye-opening experience. And a hysterically funny one as well.
Shopaholic & Baby (not that the baby appears until nearly the end) was the first Shopaholic book I read. You can read the books in any order, but Shopaholic & Baby isn’t a bad one to read first. As Becky is pregnant and married to rich, sexy Luke (phwoar!!!!!), it doesn’t seem to matter that she can’t stop spending. She’s hormonal, and he’s loaded, so it doesn’t seem that serious. And that’s actually good because it’s funnier when it’s not serious.
But Luke’s riches do have their downside. It means Becky can afford to see the great Venetia Carter (there seem to be a lot of bitches called Venetia in Sophie Kinsella’s books), obstetrician to the stars, and this backfires rather when Becky discovers Venetia is Luke’s ex-girlfriend – beautiful, sexy, intelligent, and apparently still interested in Luke. Becky, on the other hand, doesn’t realise that she’s very intelligent herself (when she uses her brain), and no-one with her lovely personality could fail to look beautiful. And her very strong interest in clothes can only help her to look good. But, of course, she’s pregnant, which means she’s not as thin as Venetia. And her hormones aren’t doing anything for her self-esteem. But Becky’s fears are more than reasonable enough to keep the book going, providing not only some hysterically funny moments, but some really serious and gripping moments. Especially as Luke really does seem to be lying to her.
Shopaholic & Baby isn’t the most realistic book in the world, but it’s fun and funny and you seriously don’t know what Becky’s going to come out with next. She’s a liar and she’s shallow, but she’s very warm-hearted and absolutely adorable. Luke is adorable too. Even though I quite wanted him for myself (like a lot of fictional Lukes, he is a bit underemotional, but there’s something really sexy about guys with their own company – like Blue in An Absolute Scandal), they do have a lovely relationship, so you really, really want them to work their problems out. Becky’s suspicions might seem reasonable, but Luke is so lovely, you can’t help hoping he’s not the type to be unfaithful - even though this would dramatically reduces your own minuscule (why does he have to be fictional???) chances of stealing him.
So I should hate Becky. She and I have nothing in common. The nearest I get to shopaholism is when I go to Waterstones and the 3for2 offer is just too good to resist. I even get 3for2 at WHSmiths sometimes, which is really exciting because officially they only do Buy1Get1Half-Price. But that’s not the same as being a shopaholic. That’s just about budgeting and being sneaky and comparing which are the best deals.
Okay, you’re right, that’s exactly the sort of thing Becky says. The only difference between us is that Becky is better-dressed than me. But I’m probably better-read. I’ve read Penny Vincenzi’s An Absolute Scandal all the way through. And Ulysses twice. So obviously I never have time to go clothes shopping.
You don’t need to have a clue about clothes or fashion to enjoy this book. It doesn’t matter if a clothes shop is practically an alien world. It’s all about loving something so much, the desire to possess it sends your brain into overdrive and physically prevents you from making connections between the prices of your desired item and the state of your bank account. Most people can relate to that. Probably a lot of us have also had the experience of when something happens that makes you look horribly stupid in front of people you don’t want to look stupid in front of. So you tell a little lie to get yourself out of looking stupid, and the lie gets bigger and bigger and bigger…
Okay, maybe that doesn’t happen to everyone, but it seems to happen to Becky almost every day. Maybe she doesn’t always use her considerable imaginative powers in the best or most convincing way possible, but watching Becky talking herself out of one embarrassment, and, more often than not, into one ten times worse, is an eye-opening experience. And a hysterically funny one as well.
Shopaholic & Baby (not that the baby appears until nearly the end) was the first Shopaholic book I read. You can read the books in any order, but Shopaholic & Baby isn’t a bad one to read first. As Becky is pregnant and married to rich, sexy Luke (phwoar!!!!!), it doesn’t seem to matter that she can’t stop spending. She’s hormonal, and he’s loaded, so it doesn’t seem that serious. And that’s actually good because it’s funnier when it’s not serious.
But Luke’s riches do have their downside. It means Becky can afford to see the great Venetia Carter (there seem to be a lot of bitches called Venetia in Sophie Kinsella’s books), obstetrician to the stars, and this backfires rather when Becky discovers Venetia is Luke’s ex-girlfriend – beautiful, sexy, intelligent, and apparently still interested in Luke. Becky, on the other hand, doesn’t realise that she’s very intelligent herself (when she uses her brain), and no-one with her lovely personality could fail to look beautiful. And her very strong interest in clothes can only help her to look good. But, of course, she’s pregnant, which means she’s not as thin as Venetia. And her hormones aren’t doing anything for her self-esteem. But Becky’s fears are more than reasonable enough to keep the book going, providing not only some hysterically funny moments, but some really serious and gripping moments. Especially as Luke really does seem to be lying to her.
Shopaholic & Baby isn’t the most realistic book in the world, but it’s fun and funny and you seriously don’t know what Becky’s going to come out with next. She’s a liar and she’s shallow, but she’s very warm-hearted and absolutely adorable. Luke is adorable too. Even though I quite wanted him for myself (like a lot of fictional Lukes, he is a bit underemotional, but there’s something really sexy about guys with their own company – like Blue in An Absolute Scandal), they do have a lovely relationship, so you really, really want them to work their problems out. Becky’s suspicions might seem reasonable, but Luke is so lovely, you can’t help hoping he’s not the type to be unfaithful - even though this would dramatically reduces your own minuscule (why does he have to be fictional???) chances of stealing him.
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