Top Ten Tuesday: Books to make you laugh (or at least smile)

April 19, 2016September 26, 201633 Comments

I wasn’t going to take part in this week’s Top Ten Tuesday (hosted by The Broke and the Bookish) because I didn’t think I read enough funny books to be able to make a list…but when I stopped to give it some thought, I actually didn’t have a problem coming up with ten titles.

I have concentrated here on books which were specifically written to be funny or which contain lots of amusing scenes, rather than just one or two funny moments (the list would have been far too long in that case). Let me know if you’ve read any of these or if you can think of any more.

1. Three Men in a Boat by Jerome K. Jerome – This tale of three friends (and dog) who take a disastrous boat trip along the River Thames had to be top of my list!

2. Three Men on the Bummel by Jerome K. Jerome – Our old friends, J, Harris and George get together again for a tour of Germany in this sequel to Three Men in a Boat.

3. Jeeves and the Feudal Spirit by P.G. Wodehouse – I could have included other Wodehouse books here too, but this Jeeves and Wooster novel is the only one I have reviewed on my blog.

4. Cold Comfort Farm by Stella Gibbons – I didn’t find this parody of the British rural novel quite as funny as other people have but it still deserves to be included here.

5. The Convenient Marriage by Georgette Heyer – Many of Heyer’s novels feature a bit of comedy and some witty dialogue, but this is one I remember being particularly funny.

6. The Canterville Ghost by Oscar Wilde – This light and entertaining satire is possibly the least ghostly ghost story I’ve ever read!

7. The Adventures of Alianore Audley by Brian Wainwright – Some knowledge of the Wars of the Roses might be needed to fully appreciate this tale of a 15th century Yorkist spy.

8. Don Quixote by Miguel de Cervantes – Who would have thought such an old book could be so funny? The humour doesn’t always work but when it does it’s hilarious.

9. The Uncommon Reader by Alan Bennett – A lovely, witty novel about the Queen’s love of reading.

10. The Idle Thoughts of an Idle Fellow by Jerome K. Jerome – Yes, it’s another book by Jerome. This collection of essays is not as funny as the Three Men books, but will still make you smile.

Have you read any funny books recently? What would be on your list?

Mauprat by George Sand

April 18, 201622 Comments

When I was looking for suggestions for books to read for the Women’s Classic Literature Event, Camille de Fleurville suggested the French author George Sand (a pseudonym of Amantine Lucile Aurore Dupin) and pointed me in the direction of her 1837 novel, Mauprat. Having never read George Sand before, I had no idea what her books would be like, but whatever I was expecting, it wasn’t this!

The novel begins with a description of Roche-Mauprat, an abandoned château in the French countryside, once home to Bernard Mauprat, an orphan raised by his wicked grandfather and violent, brutal uncles:

On the borders of La Marche and Berry, in the district known as Varenne, which is naught but a vast moor studded with forests of oak and chestnut, and in the most thickly wooded and wildest part of the country, may be found, crouching within a ravine, a little ruined château. The dilapidated turrets would not catch your eye until you were about a hundred yards from the principal portcullis. The venerable trees around and the scattered rocks above bury it in everlasting obscurity; and you would experience the greatest difficulty, even in broad daylight, in crossing the deserted path leading to it, without stumbling against the gnarled trunks and rubbish that bar every step. The name given to this dark ravine and gloomy castle is Roche-Mauprat.

Mauprat is set in the eighteenth century, in the years leading up to the French Revolution, and in Varenne an ancient feudal system is still in place with the peasants living in fear of the powerful Mauprat family, who rule over them with tyranny and corruption. One night Bernard’s uncles take a young girl captive in the woods and bring her back to Roche-Mauprat. Her name is Edmée and she is a cousin of Bernard’s belonging to another, more civilised branch of the family. Instantly attracted to his beautiful cousin, Bernard helps her to escape, but not before making her promise to marry him in return.

Unfortunately for Bernard, he didn’t specify exactly when Edmée will have to marry him. Once she is free of Roche-Mauprat, she insists that she cannot possibly become Bernard’s wife until he proves himself worthy. And so Bernard begins a seven-year struggle to gain an education and transform himself into the sort of respectable, well-mannered man Edmée is happy to love. How much of a man’s character is due to heredity and how much to the way he has been brought up? In Mauprat, we see that even a man who has had the roughest of upbringings has the opportunity to change through love, guidance and his own desire to improve.

The novel is narrated by a much older Bernard, who is entertaining some visitors with the story of his life, but apart from the first chapter, the book is structured as a straightforward first person narrative. We are with Bernard through every step of his journey, from his flawed younger self – rough, impulsive, passionate and uneducated – to the more refined, cultured man he becomes after being shaped by Edmée’s influence. Along the way Bernard encounters several other men – from the reclusive philosopher Patience and the mole-catcher Marcasse to the Abbé Aubert and the American soldier, Arthur – all of whom provide help and advice and teach him some important lessons.

We see Edmée only through Bernard’s eyes and this makes it difficult to understand her motives. I had a lot of questions about Edmée as I read. Why was she determined to keep Bernard waiting for so many years? Did she truly love him – and if so, at what point did she begin to love him? And if you love someone, shouldn’t you be prepared to accept them for what they are? Some of these questions are answered, to some extent, by the end of the book but Edmée still intrigued and frustrated me.

Mauprat is also interesting from an historical perspective. Bernard spends some time in America fighting in the Revolution (this is where he meets Arthur, the soldier and natural scientist who becomes his friend and helps to continue his education), while France is also on the brink of revolution and society is already beginning to change:

The poor have suffered enough; they will turn upon the rich, and their castles will fail and their lands be carved up. I shall not see it; but you will. There will be ten cottages in the place of this park, and ten families will live on its revenue. There will no longer be servants or masters, or villein or lord.

As I’ve mentioned, Mauprat wasn’t quite what I’d expected (the Gothic atmosphere and the amount of melodrama surprised me) and I don’t know whether it’s typical of George Sand’s novels, but I did enjoy it. Sand herself sounds like a fascinating woman too. I would like to read more of her books, so any recommendations are welcome.

Finally, I should point out that I didn’t read the edition pictured above, but it was the only decent cover image I could find. I read the free version available through Project Gutenberg, translated by Stanley Young.

Shadow on the Highway by Deborah Swift

April 15, 20166 Comments

Since reading Katherine Clements’ The Silvered Heart last year, I have been interested in reading more about Lady Katherine Fanshawe (or Ferrers), the seventeenth century highwaywoman known in legend as ‘the Wicked Lady’. On discovering that Deborah Swift had written a trilogy of novels about Lady Katherine, I had made a note to look out for the first one, Shadow on the Highway, so I was delighted to be offered a copy by Endeavour Press after signing up for their Virtual Historical Festival (taking place next week, 18-22 April).

Shadow on the Highway is aimed at young adults but can be enjoyed by readers of all ages; I certainly enjoyed it and thought it had a lot to offer an adult reader, as well as being a good choice for teenagers who are just starting to get into historical fiction. The story is set during the English Civil War and Deborah Swift does a good job of describing the history and politics of the period in a way that is easy to understand.

The novel is narrated by Abigail Chaplin, a young deaf girl who lost her hearing as a result of childhood measles. The Chaplin family has fallen on hard times and Abigail finds herself sent to work as a maid at Markyate Manor, home to Lady Katherine Fanshawe, a young woman not much older than Abigail herself. Katherine sees little of her husband, Thomas, and lives in fear of her hated stepfather, Sir Simon, who can be brutal, violent and controlling, so she quickly comes to value Abigail as a friend as well as a maid.

Desperate to escape from the manor for a while, Katherine persuades Abigail to help her dress as a servant and walk into the village with her so she can see how other people live. By chance she meets Ralph Chaplin, Abigail’s brother, while still in disguise and the two are instantly drawn to one another. This puts Abigail in a difficult position: should she tell Ralph that ‘Kate’ the servant is not what she appears to be? To make things worse, the Fanshawes are a Royalist household whereas the Chaplins are Parliamentarians. And then there’s the matter of the pistols Abigail has found inside Katherine’s writing desk and the worrying tales of a ‘Silent Highwayman’ holding up coaches on the London Road.

I found Shadow on the Highway a quick and entertaining read, although I was slightly disappointed that there wasn’t more actual action on the highway. Instead, the focus is on the family at Markyate Manor, the romance between Ralph and Katherine, and Abigail’s own personal story. It took me a while to warm to Katherine, but I liked Abigail from the beginning. Her deafness adds another intriguing angle to the story; as Deborah Swift explains in her Historical Note, the seventeenth century was a time of great advances in methods of communication for deaf people, including the beginnings of sign language.

As this is the second novel I’ve read featuring Lady Katherine, it was noticeable that Shadow on the Highway differs from The Silvered Heart in many ways. Although both books are based on the same legend, there are several different versions of that legend, leaving plenty of scope for an author to use her imagination. In particular, almost nothing is known of Katherine’s lover, except that the name Ralph or Rafe Chaplin is usually associated with the legends. In this novel, Deborah Swift creates an interesting story surrounding Ralph, making him a Digger – a member of a Protestant movement who believed in equality for all and who took their name from the fact that they attempted to settle and farm on common land:

“They’ll not stop us,” Ralph said. “Right is on our side. How far down do they own this land?” He grabbed up a handful of wet earth, showed it round in front of us. “To here? Or further down to where our spades reach? Does a mole recognise these boundaries? No, he can go where he wishes on God’s land. Are we less than a mole? We who are made in God’s likeness? No. We will persevere.”

The second book in the trilogy, Spirit of the Highway, is written from the perspective of Ralph rather than Abigail, which should be interesting. I’m looking forward to reading it – as well as the third book, when it becomes available.

God and the Wedding Dress by Marjorie Bowen

April 13, 201624 Comments

After the success of last year’s 1924 Club, Karen (of Kaggsy’s Bookish Ramblings) and Simon (of Stuck in a Book) are back with The 1938 Club, the idea being that bloggers read and review books published in 1938, building up a picture of the literary scene in that year. I found lots of possibilities – 1938 seems to have been a particularly great year for literature – but I knew I was only going to have time to read one of them. Luckily the book that I decided on turned out to be a good choice for me.

The intriguingly titled God and the Wedding Dress is set in the seventeenth century in the village of Eyam in England’s Peak District. William Mompesson, the new Rector of Eyam, has recently arrived in the village with his wife, Kate, their two young children and Kate’s sister, Bessie, but the family are finding it difficult to adjust to their new life. They have all been used to luxury and comfort, but Mompesson’s new position requires them to live within their means, avoiding unnecessary extravagance. With Bessie’s marriage to the wealthy John Corbyn quickly approaching, however, the women are determined to make it a day to remember and so they send to London for a beautiful – and very expensive – dress.

Unfortunately, both women are unaware that with plague sweeping across London, Mompesson has been advised not to have any contact with people or items coming from the capital. By the time the Rector hears about the wedding dress, it’s too late: it has already been delivered to the tailor, the box has been opened, and the tailor’s apprentice is about to die a rapid and unpleasant death. It seems that the plague has arrived in Eyam.

What follows is a story which is both depressing and inspiring; the story of a small community working together in the face of unimaginable horrors, making sacrifices for the good of others which will have deadly consequences for themselves. It’s also a true story, based on the real events of 1665/66 (it’s not the only novel to have tackled this subject – Geraldine Brooks’ Year of Wonders is also set in Eyam, although I haven’t read that one yet). Eyam itself really exists and is known today as ‘the Plague Village’, while many of the characters, including William Mompesson, were real people too.

Although we do change perspective from time to time, most of the story is told from Mompesson’s point of view, which I thought was the right decision. Mompesson, like his wife and sister-in-law, likes the finer things in life, but also has a desire to live the way his parishioners expect the Rector of Eyam to live. He is in conflict with himself, but also with the people around him. At first he views the villagers as little more than pagans, trusting to spells and charms to protect them from the plague. He finds it difficult to gain their respect and it is only when he joins forces with Thomas Stanley, the former Puritan minister of Eyam who was appointed during the time of Oliver Cromwell and who lost his position following the restoration of the monarchy, that Mompesson really begins to feel part of the community.

In her foreword, Marjorie Bowen states that there are many different types of historical novel and ‘this author has tried most of them’ which may sound conceited until you look at the very long and impressive list of books she wrote! I have read three of them in recent months (the other two being Dickon, a fictional biography of Richard III, and The Viper of Milan, a wonderful story set in Renaissance Italy) and I can say that the three I’ve read are all quite different in subject, style and tone. This is a quieter, more reflective novel, as much about a man’s inner struggles as it is about the history surrounding him.

I enjoyed God and the Wedding Dress, although it is obviously not the most cheerful of novels and not one to read if you need all of your characters to have a happy ending. It’s a fascinating story, though, and an important one because I think the sacrifice made by the people of Eyam deserves to be remembered.

Other 1938 books previously reviewed on this blog:

Princes in the Land by Joanna Cannan
Miss Pettigrew Lives for a Day by Winifred Watson

Arctic Summer by Damon Galgut

April 12, 201614 Comments

As someone who has only read one novel by E.M. Forster – A Room with a View – I wasn’t sure whether reading Arctic Summer would be a good idea. It’s a fictional biography of Forster, concentrating on the period during which he was working on his novel A Passage to India, so I thought it might be more sensible to wait until I had read that book first. Arctic Summer is on the list of books I need to read for my Walter Scott Prize Project, though, so when I saw it in the library I couldn’t resist picking it up and taking it home.

I should start by saying that as well as not having read much of Forster’s work, I also – before reading this novel – knew almost nothing about the man himself. The first thing I discovered was that Galgut refers to his main character not as Forster or Edward but as Morgan, which was his middle name. Forster went by this name to distinguish himself from his father, another Edward (and apparently he was originally supposed to be called Henry anyway – there was some confusion over names at the baptism).

We first meet Forster in 1912 as he sets sail on his first trip to India at the age of thirty-three. He is planning to visit his friend Syed Ross Masood, whom he had tutored in Latin several years earlier while Masood was a student in England. Forster is becoming increasingly aware that what he feels for Masood is not just friendship but also love. However, he is not entirely comfortable with his feelings yet and is plagued by doubts and frustrations; this was a time when homosexuality was neither legal nor seen as socially acceptable and we are reminded that fewer than twenty years have passed since Oscar Wilde’s imprisonment for ‘gross indecency’.

Later, during World War I, Forster travels to Egypt to work for the Red Cross, and here he falls in love again, this time with Mohammed el-Adl. His love for Masood and Mohammed forms the main focus of Arctic Summer – and this, to me, was slightly disappointing. Obviously his relationships with these two men (and others) were very important to Forster and had an influence on his writing, but I would have preferred to read a more balanced novel that also explored other aspects of his life, rather than just page after page describing his sexual experiences and desires.

I did enjoy reading about Egypt and India (the visit to the Barabar Caves was particularly memorable) and I was also pleased to see brief appearances from other writers of the period such as D.H. Lawrence and Virginia and Leonard Woolf. The writing was of a high quality too and Galgut tells Forster’s story with sensitivity and understanding. Too much of the book bored me, though, and it failed to move me as much as I would have liked and expected. I had difficulty relating the story of Morgan’s love affairs to what little I know of Forster’s writing and I think I should definitely have waited to read this until I’d at least read A Passage to India and possibly Maurice as well.

This was one of the few disappointments I’ve had during my reading from the Walter Scott Prize shortlists, but don’t let me put you off. Looking at other reviews it seems that a lot of people have read it and loved it. As I’ve mentioned, my own lack of familiarity with Forster’s life and work could have been part of my problem. If nothing else, reading Arctic Summer has made me want to read more of E.M. Forster’s novels sooner rather than later.

Historical Musings #13: The author’s note

April 10, 201617 Comments

If you read historical fiction, you have probably noticed that many books in this genre include an ‘Author’s Note’ or ‘Historical Note’ at either the back or the front. You probably also have an opinion on these, whether good or bad.

In most cases, the author’s note is found at the end of the book and I think this is usually the most sensible place to put it. It means that if we don’t already know the history, we can enjoy the story without having any surprises spoiled for us and without disrupting our immersion in the lives of the characters. When the note appears at the back, the author tends to use it as an opportunity to explain where he or she has deviated away from the known historical facts and where they have had to use their imagination to fill in the gaps. I always appreciate it when an author does this, especially if it’s clear that they’ve researched the topic thoroughly and if they give good, logical reasons for the choices they’ve made in telling the story (rather than using their note as an excuse to explain away something completely implausible).

There can be other uses of the Author’s Note too: to share the author’s personal connection to the events of the story; to tell us what happened to any real historical figures after the novel ended; to make suggestions for further reading and even to provide photographs and illustrations – at the end of her novel The Silvered Heart, for example, Katherine Clements shares a picture of her heroine, Lady Katherine Ferrers.

Notes located at the front of the book are less common (although a foreword or introduction sometimes serves the same purpose) and are presumably intended to give us information that the author thinks it would be helpful to know before we start to read. In my current historical fiction read, The White Witch, Elizabeth Goudge places her Authors’ Note at the front and apologises in advance “for the many mistakes I must have unwittingly made”. Several of Dorothy Dunnett’s novels also contain an Author’s Note at the beginning, but they are very brief ones (I don’t feel the lack of detailed notes in her books, though – I think some books benefit from having them and others are fine without). Anya Seton’s Katherine, however, has a very detailed note at the front, describing how the author’s interest in Katherine Swynford and John of Gaunt began, discussing the fates of some of the characters and listing her sources – information which I personally think would have been better placed at the end.

I have read novels where the notes are provided at the back but are also referenced directly in the text. Maurice Druon’s Accursed Kings series comes to mind here. This has the advantage of clarifying points as soon as we encounter them in the story, but it can also break the flow of our reading. Not many authors choose this format for their notes – it’s what you would usually expect to find in non-fiction – but I think it suits the style of Druon’s novels.

As well as enjoying good historical notes in my historical fiction, I also appreciate it when a book includes maps, family trees, character lists, glossaries and/or pronunciation guides. Although some of my favourite books don’t contain any of these things (and if a subject really interests me, I’m always happy to do my own research anyway), I do think their inclusion adds something to the overall reading experience. Recently I have been particularly impressed by the amount of additional information provided in Robyn Young’s Robert the Bruce trilogy.

Of course, just because an author has included notes in his or her book, it doesn’t mean that you have to read them! The best novels, in my opinion, should stand alone from supplementary material and should be able to be enjoyed for the story itself whether or not you want to read the notes.

How do you feel about Author’s Notes in historical fiction novels? Do you read them or not? Which authors do you think write the best notes?

The Ashes of London by Andrew Taylor

April 8, 20168 Comments

I always look forward to new books by Andrew Taylor, having enjoyed several of his others in the past. His last two novels, The Scent of Death and The Silent Boy, both featured the same characters (Edward Savill, an 18th century London clerk, and his family) and I had expected there to be more books in that series. However, The Ashes of London is something different: it’s set more than a century earlier – during the Great Fire of London of 1666 – and introduces us to a completely new set of characters.

Our narrator, James Marwood, is the son of a Fifth Monarchist who has recently been released from the Tower of London. All Marwood wants is a quiet life and the opportunity to escape the taint of his father’s disgrace – but as the flames begin to rage across London, it seems that fate has something else in store for him. While he watches St Paul’s Cathedral burn, a young woman runs past towards the fire, taking Marwood’s cloak with her. Later, a dead body is found in the ashes: a man with his thumbs tied behind his back. Marwood, who works for the government, is given the job of investigating the death.

Running parallel with his story is that of Catherine (Cat) Lovett, daughter of a regicide who was involved in the execution of King Charles I and who has been on the run since the restoration of the monarchy. As more dead bodies are discovered in the aftermath of the fire, it seems that Cat must be connected to the deaths in some way…and it’s up to Marwood to find out how.

I don’t think The Ashes of London is one of Andrew Taylor’s best books (my favourite is still The American Boy), but I did enjoy reading it. While I didn’t find it quite as atmospheric as some of his other novels, the setting was certainly a fascinating one. Not only do we witness the destruction of a city by fire and share the sense of loss felt by those who lived there, we are also given the chance to learn something about the political situation in London at that time. I previously knew almost nothing about the Fifth Monarchists, a religious sect who even during the Restoration were plotting to overthrow the monarchy and prepare for the coming of King Jesus, so I found that aspect of the story very interesting.

I enjoyed getting to know both of our main characters, James Marwood and Cat Lovett. Marwood is not a particularly memorable character in himself, but he interested me due to his background and ties with the Fifth Monarchists and regicides. Cat is a strong, independent person who knows how to look after herself, and while I couldn’t quite believe in her as a realistic 17th century woman, her actions do help to drive the plot forward. Apparently this book is the first in a new series, so I expect – and hope – that we will meet both James and Cat again.

Overall, I found The Ashes of London a good Andrew Taylor novel, if not a great one. I’m looking forward to reading the next book in this series, but while I’m waiting for it I would like to go back and read Bleeding Heart Square, the only one of his historical novels I still haven’t read yet.