The Reader on the 6.27

It seems I am out of step with the world. All of France, every reviewer in the United Kingdom, and each and every member of my 9781447276494The Reader on the 6-27book-club thought that “The Reader on the 6.27” was delightful, except for me. This small novella, by Jean-Paul Didierlaurent has won plaudits worldwide and has been successful in many different countries. It is likely to be turned into a film and I can see that this, if done successfully, could be similar to the Gallic hit “Amelie”. A similar tale of quirky characters making their way in a world that fails to understand them.

It is not that I disliked this book. It is rather too slight to actively dislike. It is a short tale of a sad lonely man working in a book pulping factory with a number of rather fantastic acquaintances (For example the security guard who only speaks in alexandrines – verses of six iambic feet). Our protagonist reads out loud random pages he has kept, after cleaning the pulping machine, while on the train to work, to the apparent delight of his fellow commuters (Presumably those not wise enough to have headphones). Once, while on the train, he comes across a memory stick with the writings of another loner, a girl who works as a lavatory attendant, and falls in love with her. After searching, and a period of what some might call ‘stalking’, they make contact and in the tradition of all Fairy Tales ‘they all lived ….. …. …….“(I have blanked out some words so as not to give away the ending).

The writing is descriptive but the characters lack any depth. They are chimera created to tell us something about literature, books and reading rather than descriptions of possible people. Their quirkiness is too overdrawn and starts to grate after a while. It was rather like eating a “French Fancy“, or petit four;  fancya single bite it is sweet and pleasant enough, but any larger and it would become nauseating.Similarly the symbolism is rather heavily applied and we are never allowed to discover things for ourselves as the authors opinion is blatantly obvious with no room for doubt or discussion. But it is a short novel and these are minor gripes, it is all over quite quickly.

Where I seem to be discordant with the rest of the world is that I sense a seam of supercilious, misanthropy running through the text. All the characters who are not saved by a love of literature are guzzling or belching (co-workers), rutting or wanking (speed daters), or farting or shitting (toilet customers). Those who people the world outside the lives of the two autistic main characters would make anyone lock their doors and live alone.

I think this is perhaps part of the reason for its success. It is often touted as the “perfect book club book” and this is correct. It is a book which says : we are those who love books, we are often sad and alone as the barbarians outside do not recognise our sensitivities, we are not troubled by the bodily desires of the common herd, we are above all of that.

I can understand that it possibly is a case of casting pearls before swine, and hoi polloi like myself can’t suspend our disbelief adequately to engage with the novel. Perhaps I am just not sensitive enough to enjoy it. I can be considered as the large oaf sitting with a delicate little book, my big calloused hands having difficulty with the delicate pages. If there is an image of me with this book it would be the Abdominable Snow Rabbit petting Daffy Duck. So think of me as the Abdominal Snow Rabbit and take my advice on this book with this thought in mind. It is quite likely you will enjoy it, the rest of the world did, and you are almost certainly more cultured and sensitive than I am.

2-stars-out-of-5

 

 

 

‘Llyfr Glas Nebo’ gan Manon Steffan Ross

‘Llyfr Glas Nebo’ gan Manon Steffan Ross

I write this review with some trepidation and feel that I should issue a word of caution to anyone who decides to read this. It is unusual9781784616496_300x400 that I review a book which I have read that was not in my mother tongue. I have commented on books that were in a second language to me, but usually I was commenting as a learner of the language and discussing the book from this standpoint. This time things are a little different.

I became aware of this book because it won the prose medal at this year’s National Eisteddfod in Cardiff. Hearing this and because I have high regard for the author and her work I was eager to read it. I was also aware that there was a degree of hype around the book. Unusually there was quite a buzz on social media with recommendations coming from every corner.

The short story, or novella, is Manon Steffan Ros’s metier. There are few who are as able to condense so much emotion and thought into such well written small packages. Whether this is in her column, in Golwg, or through her novels, especially her contributions to the Stori Sydyn series, she is the master of the elegantly written but powerful piece. Therefore I was quite ready to go with the flow and believe the hype that I read.

This is the problem with the book. As I expected it is extremely well written; the descriptions of places are evocative and her portrayal of characters make them, and their relationships, come alive in the reader’s mind. No reader will forget the first description of Gwdig the unusual hare (I don’t want to give any spoilers so I will say no more) or the last description of Dwynwen. The writing is excellent, this is not the problem.

The writing style is simple and easy, very easy to read, and the story flows quickly. However, at times, it has the feel of a book from the Stori Sydyn series, as if it has been written for those reluctant to read or early in their lives as readers. It describes but doesn’t delve and this is disappointing. The hype, and the medal, lead one to expect more and this is a shame. This is not the author’s fault, but arises from inaccurate reviews and  from the medal process itself, as entries must be less than 40000 words. Also some of the literary references that pepper the story seem clunky and out of keeping. They have the feeling of being there to please the judges in a literary competition rather than as natural aspects of the story.

Read as science fiction, or a post-apocalyptic novella, it is enjoyable but rather lacking. There is very little science and this is not always correct, similarly with the self-sufficiency, this has not been developed accurately. In particular the scenes relation to animals, and their deaths, suggest that the author has little first hand experience of these events.

I therefore am uncertain on how to recommend this book. It is a good, if slight, read. Second language readers like myself will enjoy this and will find it useful. I am sure that many will enjoy it as a slim volume to while away an evening. But science fiction fans, or post-apocalyptic survivalists, are going to be disappointed, as I fear are many who are moved to purchase by the hype.

3-out-of-5-stars

 

 

 

The Testament Of Mary.

I can say, with some confidence, that had this book not been chosen by my Book Group I would have been very unlikely to have read it. However, I was glad it was chosen as I felt that there was a gap in my reading, in that I had not tried the work of Colm Toibin before.

imagesHe is clearly a writer of considerable skill. His output has been prodigious, in prose and in poetry, and generally highly regarded. Indeed, he was listed as on the the top 300 British intellectuals by The Observer newspaper.

While the novel did give me a glimpse of this ability it was overwhelmed by the negative feelings the book invokes. I read that Colm Toibin writes in quite austere conditions seated on a hard, uncomfortable chair. I can believe this as the discomfort and misery seems to have been channelled into this story. This is the story of Mary as an angry misanthrope. Discard any ideas you may have had of the saintly Mary, and ideas of Mary as the epitome of motherhood. This is Mary as a very earthly mother, a mother replete with faults and angry and exasperated by her son.

This mother doubts her son’s miracles, despises his followers (all ‘misfits, fools and stammerers’, men unable to look a woman in the eye) and hostile to those who she feels are glorifying his history. She has turned her back on him. In the past; by denying his divinity, in the present; by literally turning her back as she flees the hill and his crucifixion, and in the future; by attempting to confound the writers of the gospels. In the final pages she turns her back not only on the man but also becomes an apostate switching to  a new life and faith with Artemis.

This book clearly intended to be controversial and iconoclastic. However, it is brief and without substance; there is no revelation in its attack, nothing new is uncovered, no alternative vision is offered. The only thing made clear is that the writer has problems with his Catholic heritage.

This is iconoclastic in the same way that drawing spectacles or black teeth on a picture of the Madonna would damage the icon. Iconoclastic but also a waste of time, to borrow a phrase “It is not worth it”.