I didn’t like Rachel’s Holiday at all until I was quite a way into it, but I loved it by the end. A lot of people talk about Marian Keyes’ humour and warmth and great characters, and all those things are demonstrated in this book. But one of the things I really like about books like Rachel’s Holiday, Watermelon and Anybody Out There is that Keyes is not afraid to create heroines that some people might find difficult to empathise with. And maybe the fact that Angels, Lucy Sullivan is Getting Married and particularly No Dress Rehearsal left me cold could be more of a sign of my failure to appreciate such an imperfect heroine than Keyes’ inability to work a miracle every time.
With Rachel’s Holiday, Keyes takes risks. Rachel is a horrible person. I have no real problems with the fact that she’s a drug addict. That in itself doesn’t make her a bad person, although most of her undesirable personality traits are probably related to her dependence on drugs. But I’ve met some drug addicts who are very nice, and there are also plenty of nice drug addicts in this book.
But Rachel is a bit of a bitch. She’s also a total slag. And most of the worst things about her, you don’t even know about until the book’s half-over. She’s smug and superior and shallow. It does seem a bit harsh in the beginning when her family packs her off to rehab. After all, the book is told from Rachel’s point of view, so it’s quite easy to believe her when she says she’s not an addict. In retrospect, I admire her for emptying her valium tablets down the toilet. That can’t have been easy.
I didn’t like Rachel at all, but drugs can affect your personality, so I was prepared to give her a chance - and not stop reading in disgust. And I ended up enjoying the book a lot. I don’t know how realistic it is, and I’m sure that rehabilitation, like counselling, is a very individual thing, and different people will respond differently to the many different approaches. But it was easy to believe that the approach used on Rachel was one that would have an effect on her.
The other characters are great. One good thing about landing your heroine in rehab is that you can put just about any character you like in your story, and it doesn’t matter that Rachel wouldn’t normally hang around with them. Trapping a group of strong and mismatched characters together can be really funny. And also really touching, when you see them learning to get along despite everything. Look at all those comedies set on a desert island. Look at Big Brother. Keyes has filled her desert island with some wonderful characters, and they all have believable stories. She’s also not afraid to make fun of psychiatrists a bit. And quite right too. Most psychiatrists are madder than their patients.
So it’s worth a read – but you need a bit of patience. Rachel has good qualities if you can find them, and the book is full of humour and great characters. And while the ending might be predictable, the twists and turns are not.
Saturday 24 January 2009
Sunday 18 January 2009
Sophie's World (Jorsten Gardner)****
If you’re interested in philosophy, this book is great. Even if you’re not interested in philosophy, you could end up loving it. I used to think philosophy was a bit of a stupid and pointless subject (although this isn’t something I’ve said in front of my six-foot tall philosophy graduate sister) but I ended up really enjoying the philosophic aspect of the book.
However, if you’re just after a good story, you probably shouldn’t waste your time. The basic story is quite weak. It’s all about how Sophie gets messages from a mysterious philosopher called Alberto, and a lot of the book is just her reading about philosophy. Later on, the book turns into conversations about philosophy, but it’s still a bit disappointing as a story. Not a lot happens. The most dramatic thing that happens is probably the fact that Sophie is stupid enough to creep out in the middle of the night to meet a middle-aged man she’s never seen before.
The characters, it has to be said, aren’t that strong. Only the philosophers come over well, and apart from Alberto, they’re not original personalities. Alberto is an intriguing character, and someone I wouldn’t mind meeting (although he’d better not start inviting me out to churches in the middle of the night) but he seems rather emotionless. He is fascinated by the world, but apparently emotionally unaffected by it, and it’s quite difficult to identify with characters like that.
Sophie is okay until she comes under Alberto’s influence. She starts the book as a slightly odd but harmless and very nice teenage girl. But then she develops an inflated sense of her own superiority that is very unattractive. It’s probably not her fault. She’s at an impressionable age, and Alberto’s philosophical writings do say it is better to be curious about the world than to accept it, so it’s understandable really that Sophie has come to the conclusion that being curious makes her a better person than those who aren’t curious.
But one of the main aims of philosophy is to see the wonder in the world, and I think, rather than looking down at her fellow human beings, she should look for the wonder in them instead. It’s true that most people don’t appreciate philosophy, but that doesn’t mean they have no good qualities at all, and that you can’t admire them and be inspired by them. Sophie’s friend Joanna has little character, but she does seem to be genuinely kind and forgiving, and I find that more wonderful than intellectual curiosity.
But the natural world is pretty amazing too. Alberto got that part right.
Sophie’s World is a very challenging book. The story doesn’t make much sense unless you’ve taken in the philosophy lectures, and that can be quite time-consuming. It took me weeks to read this book, and that’s something that only usually happens if I a) hate the book so much, I can hardly bear to pick it up (like Jane Green’s Second Chances) or b) love the book so much, I want to savour every chapter (like Gareth Southgate and Andy Woodman’s Woody and Nord: A Football Friendship). Sophie’s World was c) a bit like reading a text book, so I needed to take in only a couple of ideas at a time.
In many ways, it is a text book. The philosophical writing is of a significantly higher standard than the story. You can’t really move on to the next section until you’ve understood the one before – well, you can, but the story isn’t very engaging when you’re just reading it blindly thinking, what the fuck is that Alberto going on about now? I like to try to guess what’s going to happen in books, and to work things out, and if that means I have to study philosophy, I will study it.
But I have to ask – how useful is the book for philosophy students, really? Jorsten Gardner wrote the book to help philosophy students, but my sister couldn’t read it. She’s not really a fiction person. So, to read Sophie’s Choice, an interest in philosophy is essential but it’s not enough. You probably also need to enjoy reading fiction and have the determination to get through a difficult book. Yet you also have to put up with some pretty crap writing, which a lot of people who love reading aren’t prepared to do.
Some of the problem could be in the translation – the fact that Sophie’s hair changes from fair to dark within the first few pages (no mention of hair-dye) shows something has gone wrong. It’s possible that the clunky and clumsily constructed fiction sections are a result of poor translation.
But there seems to have been only one translator, and the philosophy sections are beautifully written and constructed (which really was a great help when it came to making sense of everything). So what I think is (although the translator is undeniably a bit careless), Gardner is a really great non-fiction writer who knows philosophy very well, and is very good at explaining it to others – but he’s not a natural fiction writer and can’t cope with the complications of conversational syntax.
So, Sophie’s World probably would have been a more accessible book if he’d worked with a fiction writer who was more experienced in the delineation of plot and character. But it’s pretty successful as it is. Gardner does a more than reasonable job with a very difficult and challenging subject. What Gardner has achieved is more remarkable than his shortcomings, if you think about it.
However, if you’re just after a good story, you probably shouldn’t waste your time. The basic story is quite weak. It’s all about how Sophie gets messages from a mysterious philosopher called Alberto, and a lot of the book is just her reading about philosophy. Later on, the book turns into conversations about philosophy, but it’s still a bit disappointing as a story. Not a lot happens. The most dramatic thing that happens is probably the fact that Sophie is stupid enough to creep out in the middle of the night to meet a middle-aged man she’s never seen before.
The characters, it has to be said, aren’t that strong. Only the philosophers come over well, and apart from Alberto, they’re not original personalities. Alberto is an intriguing character, and someone I wouldn’t mind meeting (although he’d better not start inviting me out to churches in the middle of the night) but he seems rather emotionless. He is fascinated by the world, but apparently emotionally unaffected by it, and it’s quite difficult to identify with characters like that.
Sophie is okay until she comes under Alberto’s influence. She starts the book as a slightly odd but harmless and very nice teenage girl. But then she develops an inflated sense of her own superiority that is very unattractive. It’s probably not her fault. She’s at an impressionable age, and Alberto’s philosophical writings do say it is better to be curious about the world than to accept it, so it’s understandable really that Sophie has come to the conclusion that being curious makes her a better person than those who aren’t curious.
But one of the main aims of philosophy is to see the wonder in the world, and I think, rather than looking down at her fellow human beings, she should look for the wonder in them instead. It’s true that most people don’t appreciate philosophy, but that doesn’t mean they have no good qualities at all, and that you can’t admire them and be inspired by them. Sophie’s friend Joanna has little character, but she does seem to be genuinely kind and forgiving, and I find that more wonderful than intellectual curiosity.
But the natural world is pretty amazing too. Alberto got that part right.
Sophie’s World is a very challenging book. The story doesn’t make much sense unless you’ve taken in the philosophy lectures, and that can be quite time-consuming. It took me weeks to read this book, and that’s something that only usually happens if I a) hate the book so much, I can hardly bear to pick it up (like Jane Green’s Second Chances) or b) love the book so much, I want to savour every chapter (like Gareth Southgate and Andy Woodman’s Woody and Nord: A Football Friendship). Sophie’s World was c) a bit like reading a text book, so I needed to take in only a couple of ideas at a time.
In many ways, it is a text book. The philosophical writing is of a significantly higher standard than the story. You can’t really move on to the next section until you’ve understood the one before – well, you can, but the story isn’t very engaging when you’re just reading it blindly thinking, what the fuck is that Alberto going on about now? I like to try to guess what’s going to happen in books, and to work things out, and if that means I have to study philosophy, I will study it.
But I have to ask – how useful is the book for philosophy students, really? Jorsten Gardner wrote the book to help philosophy students, but my sister couldn’t read it. She’s not really a fiction person. So, to read Sophie’s Choice, an interest in philosophy is essential but it’s not enough. You probably also need to enjoy reading fiction and have the determination to get through a difficult book. Yet you also have to put up with some pretty crap writing, which a lot of people who love reading aren’t prepared to do.
Some of the problem could be in the translation – the fact that Sophie’s hair changes from fair to dark within the first few pages (no mention of hair-dye) shows something has gone wrong. It’s possible that the clunky and clumsily constructed fiction sections are a result of poor translation.
But there seems to have been only one translator, and the philosophy sections are beautifully written and constructed (which really was a great help when it came to making sense of everything). So what I think is (although the translator is undeniably a bit careless), Gardner is a really great non-fiction writer who knows philosophy very well, and is very good at explaining it to others – but he’s not a natural fiction writer and can’t cope with the complications of conversational syntax.
So, Sophie’s World probably would have been a more accessible book if he’d worked with a fiction writer who was more experienced in the delineation of plot and character. But it’s pretty successful as it is. Gardner does a more than reasonable job with a very difficult and challenging subject. What Gardner has achieved is more remarkable than his shortcomings, if you think about it.
Tuesday 13 January 2009
Watermelon (Marian Keyes)*****
This is the first book about the delightful Walsh family. While it isn’t quite as original as Anybody Out There, it is still an amazing book, and a lot of fun. Claire, the oldest of the five sisters, is witty and sparky with a wonderfully macabre sense of humour. It’s not easy to create a character who is humorous yet miserable. But Marian Keyes has done it.
Claire is very immature for twenty-nine. I don’t think I know anyone who is less mature than me, and one of my friends is eleven. But Claire is definitely more immature than me. She is also quite vulnerable and unsure of herself, but at the same time, she is very socially confident. Extremely friendly, but extremely miserable. Yet you never feel, Oh for God’s sake, woman, it’s not that bad.
It’s not as though Claire has no reason to feel unsure of herself. Just hours after the birth of her daughter, her husband James tells her he’s leaving her for their neighbour, Denise. Of course, Claire was very stupid to marry someone called James in the first place. We all know what fictional Jameses are like. But, as Claire seems to be completely unaware that she is no more than a product of Keyes’ imagination, and has no real life outside the pages of Watermelon and its sequels, it’s an understandable mistake.
Her family are all here apart from Maggie, the most disappointing of the sisters and the heroine of Angels. The mysterious Rachel is also absent (the more I hear about her, the more I look forward to reading Rachel’s Holiday, considered by many to be Keyes’ best book). Anna (who stars in Anybody Out There) drifts around sweetly and vaguely in search of voices from the beyond. The youngest, Helen, is enchantingly ignorant of such things as the need for studying when at university; the fact that her sisters’ clothes do not also belong to her, and other people’s feelings. (OMG, apart from the clothes thing, she could be me.)
It’s a long book, almost five hundred pages, but well worth it. All Claire is doing is recovering from James’ defection and trying to come to terms with being a mother. But it’s gripping stuff. Apart from one small slow bit, there’s a real sense of pace. The fact that sexy, caring Adam seems to like her so much only improves things. Claire’s baby, Kate, is a surprisingly strong character. Claire interacts with her and learns to understand her feelings and needs. She isn’t the best mother in the world, but she’s undoubtedly trying, and her difficulties probably aren’t that unusual - even among mothers whose husbands haven’t run off with bitches called Denise.
Claire does appear to be suffering from schizophrenia, but it’s so hilariously written, it’s difficult to feel seriously worried about it. She not only has conversations with parts of her brain, she has security guards running around trying to throw out unwelcome thoughts. But that doesn’t matter. Why should it? It should only be a problem if the voices are telling you something bad. And the voices (and security guards) in Claire’s head often make a lot more sense than she does. We should all get some of those.
Claire is very immature for twenty-nine. I don’t think I know anyone who is less mature than me, and one of my friends is eleven. But Claire is definitely more immature than me. She is also quite vulnerable and unsure of herself, but at the same time, she is very socially confident. Extremely friendly, but extremely miserable. Yet you never feel, Oh for God’s sake, woman, it’s not that bad.
It’s not as though Claire has no reason to feel unsure of herself. Just hours after the birth of her daughter, her husband James tells her he’s leaving her for their neighbour, Denise. Of course, Claire was very stupid to marry someone called James in the first place. We all know what fictional Jameses are like. But, as Claire seems to be completely unaware that she is no more than a product of Keyes’ imagination, and has no real life outside the pages of Watermelon and its sequels, it’s an understandable mistake.
Her family are all here apart from Maggie, the most disappointing of the sisters and the heroine of Angels. The mysterious Rachel is also absent (the more I hear about her, the more I look forward to reading Rachel’s Holiday, considered by many to be Keyes’ best book). Anna (who stars in Anybody Out There) drifts around sweetly and vaguely in search of voices from the beyond. The youngest, Helen, is enchantingly ignorant of such things as the need for studying when at university; the fact that her sisters’ clothes do not also belong to her, and other people’s feelings. (OMG, apart from the clothes thing, she could be me.)
It’s a long book, almost five hundred pages, but well worth it. All Claire is doing is recovering from James’ defection and trying to come to terms with being a mother. But it’s gripping stuff. Apart from one small slow bit, there’s a real sense of pace. The fact that sexy, caring Adam seems to like her so much only improves things. Claire’s baby, Kate, is a surprisingly strong character. Claire interacts with her and learns to understand her feelings and needs. She isn’t the best mother in the world, but she’s undoubtedly trying, and her difficulties probably aren’t that unusual - even among mothers whose husbands haven’t run off with bitches called Denise.
Claire does appear to be suffering from schizophrenia, but it’s so hilariously written, it’s difficult to feel seriously worried about it. She not only has conversations with parts of her brain, she has security guards running around trying to throw out unwelcome thoughts. But that doesn’t matter. Why should it? It should only be a problem if the voices are telling you something bad. And the voices (and security guards) in Claire’s head often make a lot more sense than she does. We should all get some of those.
Sunday 11 January 2009
Let's Meet on Platform 8 (Carole Matthews)***
I don’t always like stories with stations in. They so seldom seem anything like the real thing. When I read about a station I know well, I often think: this isn’t the Euston/Leicester Square/Barbican I know.
But Carole Matthews gets it right. Her Euston is my Euston. I didn’t know about the pub above the concourse, but it was right where she said it was when I actually looked up. The stations are wonderfully described. Euston, Watford Junction, Leighton Buzzard… I’ve been to those places. It’s so nice to read a book and recognise the stations I know and love and even talk to sometimes... (although maybe I shouldn’t admit to that part).
However, I was a bit surprised to hear that Jamie takes the Northern Line from Euston to Leicester Square, then changes onto the Piccadilly Line to Covent Garden. Doesn’t he know they are ‘officially’ the two closest stations on the Underground network (although Charing Cross and Embankment on the Northern Line are the closest really)? Unless there’s a train actually sitting in the Piccadilly Line platform at Leicester Square when you get there, it’s quicker to walk. And if he does walk, he might be able to avoid the Covent Garden crowds he was moaning about.
But Jamie is a bit of an idiot. If he wasn’t, there wouldn’t be a story at all.
It’s a shame about the characters, really. It starts wonderfully, with Jamie running into Teri (literally) and knocking her over. He looks after her, and they end up chatting, and they really seem to get on well. But then, in a twist of Fate that never happens in Mills and Boon, it turns out Jamie is married. Well, he would be, wouldn’t he? Jamie is short for James! We know what they’re like. In fiction, anyway. See Lucy in the Sky, Holly’s Inbox, Watermelon and Got You Back if you don’t believe me. They’re worse than Matthews (characters called Matthew I mean, not the author of this book). Matthews might be okay if they weren’t so immature. Jamie is one of the nicest Jameses I’ve ever read about, but that doesn’t change the fact they can’t stay faithful to save their lives. (The fact that I’m not very good at being faithful either is irrelevant.)
Teri is nice to start off with, but then she gets a bit caught up in the affair, and she becomes a bit possessive. And seriously, I have no respect for anyone who answers the phone when they’re about to be sick. Obviously, I can see why speaking on the phone is infinitely more attractive as an option, but as far as I can see it, it’s not an option. Just go to the toilet, do what you have to do, then dial 1471 and call the person back. And don’t go into details of why you couldn’t answer the phone 5 minutes ago. Even a non-emetophobe probably won’t enjoy that sort of detail.
Okay? Now onto more pleasant subjects. Like adultery.
Let’s Meet on Platform 8 is a very brave story. There is a lot of adultery in fiction, but there are few novels where everyone involved – the adulterer, the spouse and the bit on the side – are all basically nice people. Usually, at least one of them is a clearly defined villain, and they are horrible in all sorts of other ways too (see A Crowded Marriage, Watermelon etc). So the adultery is a positive thing in that it frees up the heroine to find someone nice instead. Or in something like Getting Rid of Matthew, the guy might not strictly be a villain, but you don’t really want him to end up with either of his women because they both deserve better.
There’s no villain here. Jamie is probably correct when he tells Teri that his wife Pamela doesn’t understand him, but Pamela is still a nice and generally very understanding person – it just so happens her marriage needs a bit of work. Teri and Jamie are also lovely until they make the decision to turn friendly cups of coffee into a shagathon. There’s nothing wrong with a bit of flirtation: in this case, it’s very sweet. But there’s no need to bonk everyone you fancy. If I did that, I’d have no time to write book reviews and I’d probably be dead by now.
It’s easier to stay sympathetic to all parties here than in most books, but the book is still not completely successful. You really want to be torn between what Pamela wants; what Jamie wants; what Teri wants. Supporting one person one minute, then changing your mind; hoping it can somehow work out for everyone in a realistic and non-contrived sort of way. But it’s probably really difficult to write a book like this: Matthews does come pretty close. But if you want to read a Matthews book, read the Chocolate Lovers series. It’s not always realistic but it is nearly always funny.
But Carole Matthews gets it right. Her Euston is my Euston. I didn’t know about the pub above the concourse, but it was right where she said it was when I actually looked up. The stations are wonderfully described. Euston, Watford Junction, Leighton Buzzard… I’ve been to those places. It’s so nice to read a book and recognise the stations I know and love and even talk to sometimes... (although maybe I shouldn’t admit to that part).
However, I was a bit surprised to hear that Jamie takes the Northern Line from Euston to Leicester Square, then changes onto the Piccadilly Line to Covent Garden. Doesn’t he know they are ‘officially’ the two closest stations on the Underground network (although Charing Cross and Embankment on the Northern Line are the closest really)? Unless there’s a train actually sitting in the Piccadilly Line platform at Leicester Square when you get there, it’s quicker to walk. And if he does walk, he might be able to avoid the Covent Garden crowds he was moaning about.
But Jamie is a bit of an idiot. If he wasn’t, there wouldn’t be a story at all.
It’s a shame about the characters, really. It starts wonderfully, with Jamie running into Teri (literally) and knocking her over. He looks after her, and they end up chatting, and they really seem to get on well. But then, in a twist of Fate that never happens in Mills and Boon, it turns out Jamie is married. Well, he would be, wouldn’t he? Jamie is short for James! We know what they’re like. In fiction, anyway. See Lucy in the Sky, Holly’s Inbox, Watermelon and Got You Back if you don’t believe me. They’re worse than Matthews (characters called Matthew I mean, not the author of this book). Matthews might be okay if they weren’t so immature. Jamie is one of the nicest Jameses I’ve ever read about, but that doesn’t change the fact they can’t stay faithful to save their lives. (The fact that I’m not very good at being faithful either is irrelevant.)
Teri is nice to start off with, but then she gets a bit caught up in the affair, and she becomes a bit possessive. And seriously, I have no respect for anyone who answers the phone when they’re about to be sick. Obviously, I can see why speaking on the phone is infinitely more attractive as an option, but as far as I can see it, it’s not an option. Just go to the toilet, do what you have to do, then dial 1471 and call the person back. And don’t go into details of why you couldn’t answer the phone 5 minutes ago. Even a non-emetophobe probably won’t enjoy that sort of detail.
Okay? Now onto more pleasant subjects. Like adultery.
Let’s Meet on Platform 8 is a very brave story. There is a lot of adultery in fiction, but there are few novels where everyone involved – the adulterer, the spouse and the bit on the side – are all basically nice people. Usually, at least one of them is a clearly defined villain, and they are horrible in all sorts of other ways too (see A Crowded Marriage, Watermelon etc). So the adultery is a positive thing in that it frees up the heroine to find someone nice instead. Or in something like Getting Rid of Matthew, the guy might not strictly be a villain, but you don’t really want him to end up with either of his women because they both deserve better.
There’s no villain here. Jamie is probably correct when he tells Teri that his wife Pamela doesn’t understand him, but Pamela is still a nice and generally very understanding person – it just so happens her marriage needs a bit of work. Teri and Jamie are also lovely until they make the decision to turn friendly cups of coffee into a shagathon. There’s nothing wrong with a bit of flirtation: in this case, it’s very sweet. But there’s no need to bonk everyone you fancy. If I did that, I’d have no time to write book reviews and I’d probably be dead by now.
It’s easier to stay sympathetic to all parties here than in most books, but the book is still not completely successful. You really want to be torn between what Pamela wants; what Jamie wants; what Teri wants. Supporting one person one minute, then changing your mind; hoping it can somehow work out for everyone in a realistic and non-contrived sort of way. But it’s probably really difficult to write a book like this: Matthews does come pretty close. But if you want to read a Matthews book, read the Chocolate Lovers series. It’s not always realistic but it is nearly always funny.
Wednesday 7 January 2009
Shopaholic Ties the Knot (Sophie Kinsella)*****
I’m not jealous. I’m not jealous that Luke wants to marry Becky instead of me. After all, things could obviously be very different if he’d actually met me. But Becky is one of the sweetest, funniest, most likeable characters in fiction, so I can’t blame him for loving her at all.
This time, Becky isn’t fighting bankruptcy and has no concerns about Luke’s fidelity. Things are actually going very well for her: Luke has proposed. But there is one teeny tiny problem in that their mothers have completely different ideas about the wedding, and they’re not actually speaking to one another. And Becky somehow hasn’t quite got around to telling either of them she’s having another wedding planned on the other side of the Atlantic.
Luke is lovelier than ever. He has finally been reunited with his mother, who abandoned him when he was a baby. Now he’s rich, she’s actually paying him some attention. But he’s so caught up in the illusion of mother love, even dippy Becky has a better idea of what’s going on than he has. He spends a lot of the book feeling miserable and depressed, and generally being adorable. This gives Becky the opportunity to look after him for a change. And this doesn’t involve dragging him round the shops to cheer him up. Poor Luke: Sophie Kinsella really is a bit mean to him in this book. I just wanted to climb into the pages and give him a big hug.
The book is mostly set in New York, but Becky’s parents and neighbours still make a pretty big appearance, and we hear the latest in the long-running saga of Tom and Lucy, two characters who get an extraordinarily big storyline throughout the Shopaholic series despite barely appearing in person. (If Tom’s mother, Janice, is infuriating you to the extent that you want to rip out every page with her name on, don’t worry. It will pass.)
Kinsella’s Shopaholic books are wonderful, but they do have certain similarities in their plots. This time, while Becky is in no less of a mess than usual, Kinsella has done something a bit different. There’s a lot more to Becky than shops and a lot more to Luke than having a successful company, but this is the book that really makes you aware of it. I love all the Shopaholic books (even the first one, I suppose), but this one is my favourite.
This time, Becky isn’t fighting bankruptcy and has no concerns about Luke’s fidelity. Things are actually going very well for her: Luke has proposed. But there is one teeny tiny problem in that their mothers have completely different ideas about the wedding, and they’re not actually speaking to one another. And Becky somehow hasn’t quite got around to telling either of them she’s having another wedding planned on the other side of the Atlantic.
Luke is lovelier than ever. He has finally been reunited with his mother, who abandoned him when he was a baby. Now he’s rich, she’s actually paying him some attention. But he’s so caught up in the illusion of mother love, even dippy Becky has a better idea of what’s going on than he has. He spends a lot of the book feeling miserable and depressed, and generally being adorable. This gives Becky the opportunity to look after him for a change. And this doesn’t involve dragging him round the shops to cheer him up. Poor Luke: Sophie Kinsella really is a bit mean to him in this book. I just wanted to climb into the pages and give him a big hug.
The book is mostly set in New York, but Becky’s parents and neighbours still make a pretty big appearance, and we hear the latest in the long-running saga of Tom and Lucy, two characters who get an extraordinarily big storyline throughout the Shopaholic series despite barely appearing in person. (If Tom’s mother, Janice, is infuriating you to the extent that you want to rip out every page with her name on, don’t worry. It will pass.)
Kinsella’s Shopaholic books are wonderful, but they do have certain similarities in their plots. This time, while Becky is in no less of a mess than usual, Kinsella has done something a bit different. There’s a lot more to Becky than shops and a lot more to Luke than having a successful company, but this is the book that really makes you aware of it. I love all the Shopaholic books (even the first one, I suppose), but this one is my favourite.
Saturday 3 January 2009
The Devil Wears Prada (Lauren Weisberger)**
I do like films, but I would usually they’re no substitute to reading the book. The book is usually better. But in this case, I would say, give the book a miss and watch the film.
Lauren Weisberger is very funny at times, and this is a more successful book than her rubbish second offering, Everyone Worth Knowing. Miranda Priestly is a brilliant character. But like all the characters, she is so much better in the film. In the book, Miranda is funny and scary, but the film takes this to new levels. As for the other characters, they don’t quite work in the book.
The film Andrea is a lovely character. Very kind to everyone, and she obviously feels terrible having to put her job before her friends, but she’s quite understandably much too scared of Miranda. Andrew also has a wonderful ignorance of fashion to begin with. She knows it’s not that important, but she respects the view of the people she works with, and manages to learn a lot during her time in the job.
The book Andrea doesn’t seem to care about anything apart from herself. She’s doing the job so she can have a future in the writing world, and nothing can get in her way. She rivals Miranda in rudeness stakes. She never loses an opportunity to bitch about Miranda, or to look down on her colleague, Emily. And she’s a dreadful assistant. Miranda is wrong to fire Andrea when she goes to hospital to see her friend who’s in a coma. But she should have fired her before for being lazy, insolent and disrespectful. It’s not clever to add ten minutes to your lunchbreak.
The film Emily is, in some ways, the person Andrea thinks she is in the book. Film-Emily can be a bit sneering and snobby. She does despair of Andrea’s ignorance. But you do kind of end up liking her because she’s not all bad, and she’s very entertaining. Book-Emily is amazingly nice and accommodating to Andrea, who is probably very difficult for Emily to work with – which is the last thing she needs when she already has Miranda to deal with. She covers for Andrea. She does all she can to help make her good at her job. I like her, but she’s a lot less interesting than the film Emily. (Emily in the film is played by a wonderful actress called Emily Blunt. I’ve never met her, but I’ve been in a play with her brother and sister.)
Weisberger has various subplots that I don’t think made it into the film, like Andrea’s alcoholic friend, Lily – she has a horrifying storyline but Andrea won’t help her even when she knows something is wrong. This storyline has no place in a comedy, and should have taken a much bigger place in a psychological drama.
The main story doesn’t have a plot at all. It just shows event after event in Andrea’s year in the job. Nothing really happens. She doesn’t really become any more efficient, unless devising more ways of breaking the rules counts. She doesn’t develop any great respect for her job. As in the film, her relationship falls apart, but the part you don’t understand in the book is why Alex (inexplicably renamed Nate in the film) puts up with the bitch for as long as he does.
The Devil Wears Prada is just a horrible book about a thoroughly nasty protagonist and the countless vomit scenes didn’t help. They’re always at it. Weisberger’s wit just about scrapes her into two-star territory, and, after all, if she hadn’t written the book, it wouldn’t have been made into a really great film.
And this Weisberger woman says I’m fat. I’m Size Zero (for health reasons, not by choice) and the stupid woman says I’m fat because I’m eight and a half stone... I'm Size Six, how is that fat? Weisberger is lucky I’m emetophobic because if I wasn’t I could be bulimic by now. Silly cow.
I did stay up late so I could finish this book, but only because I wanted to finish it and then start reading something else so I didn’t get nightmares. Instead, I had a dream where I had this boyfriend who was doing really well in a music competition, but then I found out his fluorescent pink saxophone was a fake with a tape recorder inside. It was weird, but a lot more fun than The Devil Wears Prada.
Lauren Weisberger is very funny at times, and this is a more successful book than her rubbish second offering, Everyone Worth Knowing. Miranda Priestly is a brilliant character. But like all the characters, she is so much better in the film. In the book, Miranda is funny and scary, but the film takes this to new levels. As for the other characters, they don’t quite work in the book.
The film Andrea is a lovely character. Very kind to everyone, and she obviously feels terrible having to put her job before her friends, but she’s quite understandably much too scared of Miranda. Andrew also has a wonderful ignorance of fashion to begin with. She knows it’s not that important, but she respects the view of the people she works with, and manages to learn a lot during her time in the job.
The book Andrea doesn’t seem to care about anything apart from herself. She’s doing the job so she can have a future in the writing world, and nothing can get in her way. She rivals Miranda in rudeness stakes. She never loses an opportunity to bitch about Miranda, or to look down on her colleague, Emily. And she’s a dreadful assistant. Miranda is wrong to fire Andrea when she goes to hospital to see her friend who’s in a coma. But she should have fired her before for being lazy, insolent and disrespectful. It’s not clever to add ten minutes to your lunchbreak.
The film Emily is, in some ways, the person Andrea thinks she is in the book. Film-Emily can be a bit sneering and snobby. She does despair of Andrea’s ignorance. But you do kind of end up liking her because she’s not all bad, and she’s very entertaining. Book-Emily is amazingly nice and accommodating to Andrea, who is probably very difficult for Emily to work with – which is the last thing she needs when she already has Miranda to deal with. She covers for Andrea. She does all she can to help make her good at her job. I like her, but she’s a lot less interesting than the film Emily. (Emily in the film is played by a wonderful actress called Emily Blunt. I’ve never met her, but I’ve been in a play with her brother and sister.)
Weisberger has various subplots that I don’t think made it into the film, like Andrea’s alcoholic friend, Lily – she has a horrifying storyline but Andrea won’t help her even when she knows something is wrong. This storyline has no place in a comedy, and should have taken a much bigger place in a psychological drama.
The main story doesn’t have a plot at all. It just shows event after event in Andrea’s year in the job. Nothing really happens. She doesn’t really become any more efficient, unless devising more ways of breaking the rules counts. She doesn’t develop any great respect for her job. As in the film, her relationship falls apart, but the part you don’t understand in the book is why Alex (inexplicably renamed Nate in the film) puts up with the bitch for as long as he does.
The Devil Wears Prada is just a horrible book about a thoroughly nasty protagonist and the countless vomit scenes didn’t help. They’re always at it. Weisberger’s wit just about scrapes her into two-star territory, and, after all, if she hadn’t written the book, it wouldn’t have been made into a really great film.
And this Weisberger woman says I’m fat. I’m Size Zero (for health reasons, not by choice) and the stupid woman says I’m fat because I’m eight and a half stone... I'm Size Six, how is that fat? Weisberger is lucky I’m emetophobic because if I wasn’t I could be bulimic by now. Silly cow.
I did stay up late so I could finish this book, but only because I wanted to finish it and then start reading something else so I didn’t get nightmares. Instead, I had a dream where I had this boyfriend who was doing really well in a music competition, but then I found out his fluorescent pink saxophone was a fake with a tape recorder inside. It was weird, but a lot more fun than The Devil Wears Prada.
Thursday 1 January 2009
Lucy Sullivan is Getting Married (Marian Keyes)***
Lucy Sullivan is nothing like a Lucy should be. I’ve got no problem with Marian Keyes breaking the traditions of naming – her Daniel isn’t much like a Daniel either – and besides, this book might have been written before the traditions were established. But if she had been more like a Lucy should be, the book might have worked a lot better.
This is a very funny book with some great characters and some really good twists. So I can completely understand why people love it. But for me the problem with the book is that Lucy isn’t a very nice person. She can be really nasty. Her mother obviously isn’t the nicest person in the world either, but it doesn’t mean Lucy should speak to her with such loathing and disrespect. Yes, Mrs Sullivan might deserve it, but Keyes really doesn’t go deeply enough into their relationship to make Lucy’s behaviour seem understandable, never mind acceptable.
To begin with, Lucy Sullivan is Getting Married seems to be telling the story of three flatmates in search of love. We follow Lucy, stupid Charlotte, and the bossy, bitchy and wonderfully characterised Karen, a Scot who lives up to the stereotype of her nation beautifully. Lucy is supposed to be the nice one they can’t live without. She does deal with them both very tactfully for the most part, but that’s not enough to make me like her. Karen, not Lucy, is the one you like despite everything. Charlotte is the one you can’t help loving because she’s so sweet. Charlotte’s many imperfections slip your mind to the extent that you think she doesn’t have any.
Lucy is supposed to play a similar mediatory role with her three workmates. Keyes keeps on reminding us that Meredia is the obese one, and as the book is told from Lucy’s point of view, it’s one more reason to see Lucy as a bit of a bitch. There’s so much more to Meredia - a lovely, warm girl with an endearing enthusiasm for life – than her weight. Megan is an Australian bitch who is constantly at loggerheads with Meredia, but she doesn’t seem too much of a bully as Meredia can stand up for herself pretty well. It’s interesting that the two 'bitches', Megan and Karen, aren’t-English - although Keyes is Irish, and the Irish characters are even worse.
The book starts off as a perfectly acceptable comedy about finding – and keeping – a boyfriend. But then the story take a serious turn. There’s nothing wrong with that, but it would have been more effective if some darker overtones had been there from the start. It’s difficult when the genre suddenly changes halfway through. There’s a section where Lucy goes home to take care of her mentally unwell father. There’s definitely no comedy here, and nor should there be with a subject like this, and it’s probably the part of the book where Keyes’ writing is at its most vivid. But it doesn’t really have any place in what started off as a comedy. Keyes’ Anybody Out There combines comedy and tragedy really well, but it is a sad book with funny parts, and it stays that way throughout. Lucy Sullivan is Getting Married is a comedy that suddenly becomes a tragedy.
There are some great moments in this book. Like when Lucy does a runner in the middle of a date (the guy deserves it), and we get to see the guy’s reaction, in delicious detail. There’s the time Charlotte develops an interest in psychology. It’s also lovely when Meredia finds a guy. And it’s certainly a relief when Lucy finally meets her man – he’s not the greatest, but she gets no more than she deserves.
This is a very funny book with some great characters and some really good twists. So I can completely understand why people love it. But for me the problem with the book is that Lucy isn’t a very nice person. She can be really nasty. Her mother obviously isn’t the nicest person in the world either, but it doesn’t mean Lucy should speak to her with such loathing and disrespect. Yes, Mrs Sullivan might deserve it, but Keyes really doesn’t go deeply enough into their relationship to make Lucy’s behaviour seem understandable, never mind acceptable.
To begin with, Lucy Sullivan is Getting Married seems to be telling the story of three flatmates in search of love. We follow Lucy, stupid Charlotte, and the bossy, bitchy and wonderfully characterised Karen, a Scot who lives up to the stereotype of her nation beautifully. Lucy is supposed to be the nice one they can’t live without. She does deal with them both very tactfully for the most part, but that’s not enough to make me like her. Karen, not Lucy, is the one you like despite everything. Charlotte is the one you can’t help loving because she’s so sweet. Charlotte’s many imperfections slip your mind to the extent that you think she doesn’t have any.
Lucy is supposed to play a similar mediatory role with her three workmates. Keyes keeps on reminding us that Meredia is the obese one, and as the book is told from Lucy’s point of view, it’s one more reason to see Lucy as a bit of a bitch. There’s so much more to Meredia - a lovely, warm girl with an endearing enthusiasm for life – than her weight. Megan is an Australian bitch who is constantly at loggerheads with Meredia, but she doesn’t seem too much of a bully as Meredia can stand up for herself pretty well. It’s interesting that the two 'bitches', Megan and Karen, aren’t-English - although Keyes is Irish, and the Irish characters are even worse.
The book starts off as a perfectly acceptable comedy about finding – and keeping – a boyfriend. But then the story take a serious turn. There’s nothing wrong with that, but it would have been more effective if some darker overtones had been there from the start. It’s difficult when the genre suddenly changes halfway through. There’s a section where Lucy goes home to take care of her mentally unwell father. There’s definitely no comedy here, and nor should there be with a subject like this, and it’s probably the part of the book where Keyes’ writing is at its most vivid. But it doesn’t really have any place in what started off as a comedy. Keyes’ Anybody Out There combines comedy and tragedy really well, but it is a sad book with funny parts, and it stays that way throughout. Lucy Sullivan is Getting Married is a comedy that suddenly becomes a tragedy.
There are some great moments in this book. Like when Lucy does a runner in the middle of a date (the guy deserves it), and we get to see the guy’s reaction, in delicious detail. There’s the time Charlotte develops an interest in psychology. It’s also lovely when Meredia finds a guy. And it’s certainly a relief when Lucy finally meets her man – he’s not the greatest, but she gets no more than she deserves.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
