Six Degrees of Separation: From Knife to Island Song

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It’s the first Saturday of the month which means it’s time for another Six Degrees of Separation, hosted by Kate of Books are my Favourite and Best. The idea is that Kate chooses a book to use as a starting point and then we have to link it to six other books of our choice to form a chain. A book doesn’t have to be connected to all of the others on the list – only to the one next to it in the chain.

This month we’re starting with Knife by Salman Rushdie. Here’s what it’s about:

On the morning of 12 August 2022, Salman Rushdie was standing onstage at the Chautauqua Institution in upstate New York, preparing to give a lecture on the importance of keeping writers safe from harm, when a man in black – black clothes, black mask – rushed down the aisle towards him, wielding a knife. His first thought: So it’s you. Here you are.

What followed was a horrific act of violence that shook the literary world and beyond. Now, for the first time, Rushdie relives the traumatic events of that day and its aftermath, as well as his journey towards physical recovery and the healing that was made possible by the love and support of his wife, Eliza, his family, his army of doctors and physical therapists, and his community of readers worldwide.

I haven’t read Knife, but I’m going to begin my chain by linking to the one book I have read by Salman Rushdie: The Enchantress of Florence (1). This unusual novel takes us to a 16th century India populated with giants and witches, where emperors have imaginary wives and artists hide inside paintings.

I read The Enchantress of Florence for a reading event called A More Diverse Universe hosted by a fellow blogger in 2013. The following year, for the same event, I read another book by an Indian author – The Twentieth Wife by Indu Sundaresan (2). It’s set in 17th century Mughal India and is the first in a trilogy of novels describing the history behind the construction of the Taj Mahal.

From twentieth to tenth now! The Tenth Gift by Jane Johnson (3) is a fictional account of the 1625 raid on Cornwall by Barbary pirates who took sixty men, women and children into captivity to be sold at the slave markets of Morocco. The novel is divided between the past and the modern day, focusing on the story of one of the young women abducted during the raid.

Another author known for her books set in her native Cornwall is Daphne du Maurier. I could have chosen several of her novels for my chain, but I’ve decided on Jamaica Inn (4). This 1936 classic features stormy weather, smugglers, locked rooms, shipwrecks, desolate moors, and a remote, lonely inn – everything you could ask for in a Gothic novel! It isn’t one of my absolute favourites by du Maurier, but I enjoyed it much more on a re-read several years ago.

Using Jamaica as my next link, Small Island by Andrea Levy (5) is about a Jamaican couple who leave their island in the 1940s to come to another island, Britain. The book is narrated by the two Jamaican characters and the British couple whose house they lodge in, giving a range of voices and perspectives.

My final book is linked by a word in the title (island) and also a theme of immigration. Island Song by Pepsi Demacque-Crockett (6) follows the stories of two people from St Lucia who start new lives in London in the 1950s. The book is inspired by the author’s own family history and I enjoyed reading about the experiences of the characters, both good and bad.

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And that’s my chain for April! The links have included Salman Rushdie books, blogging events, positional numbers, Cornwall, Jamaica and immigration. My chain has taken me from India to St Lucia via Italy, Morocco, England and Jamaica!

Next month we’ll be starting with Rapture by Emily Maguire.

The Eights by Joanna Miller

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Although women had been able to study at Oxford University since the 19th century, October 1920 marked the first time they were able to matriculate (or be formally admitted). In her new novel, The Eights, Joanna Miller imagines the stories of four fictional women who were part of this historic moment.

Beatrice Sparks, Theodora Greenwood, Marianne Grey and Ottoline Wallace-Kerr refer to themselves as the Eights because they occupy the four rooms on corridor eight of St Hugh’s, one of the Oxford colleges that is admitting female students. They also each have a name with eight letters, something which pleases Otto, who is a mathematician and loves the number eight. Otto’s family and friends, who are wealthy socialites, are surprised by her decision to study for a degree rather than concentrate on making a good marriage, but Otto is desperate to prove herself after feeling that she failed as a VAD nurse during the war.

Beatrice is the daughter of a suffragette and has grown up in the shadow of her formidable, overbearing mother. For her, university means independence, freedom and a chance to lead her own life at last. Theodora – known as Dora – is also grateful for the opportunity she has been given, but at the same time she feels a sense of guilt knowing that her brother, who was killed in the war, was supposed to be the one to go to Oxford. Dora also lost her fiancé in the war and she’s still struggling to come to terms with both tragedies. The final member of the Eights is Marianne, the quiet, clever daughter of a widowed vicar. Marianne seems to have led a sheltered life compared to some of the other girls at St Hugh’s, but she has a secret that she’s determined to keep hidden.

The Eights describes the experiences of these four young women during their first year at Oxford. There’s not really an overarching plot – more a series of episodes – but I didn’t have a problem with that as I was so absorbed in the lives of the four main characters. My favourite was probably Marianne, but I liked and admired all of them and enjoyed watching their friendships develop over the course of the year. The women all face a different set of challenges and struggle with self-doubt – about fitting in, coping with the work or living up to expectations – and it was good to see them grow in confidence and overcome some of the obstacles in their way. I liked the use of flashbacks to provide background information about each woman and the very different paths they followed that led them to Oxford.

Obviously I wasn’t at Oxford in 1920, so I have no idea how accurate the book is – all I can say is that the setting feels very authentic and it’s clear that Joanna Miller has done her research. She weaves historical detail throughout the novel, often beginning chapters with a real newspaper excerpt or a set of university rules and regulations (which illustrate the double standards in the way male and female students were treated). There’s a glossary at the end, as some readers may be unfamiliar with the academic terms used in the book, many of which are unique to Oxford. There are also some cameo appearances from real-life authors Vera Brittain and Winifred Holtby, who are attending Somerville College, one of Oxford’s other women’s colleges.

My only real criticism is that I found Marianne’s secret far too easy to guess and would have preferred to have been surprised by it, like the other students were. Otherwise, I really enjoyed this book and loved getting to know the Eights. It would be good to meet them again when they return for their second year at Oxford!

Thanks to Fig Tree for providing a copy of this book for review via NetGalley.

Ice by Anna Kavan

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This is a strange book and I’m not sure I’ll be able to describe it adequately! It’s probably not something I would normally have chosen to read, but this new edition from Pushkin Press caught my eye and as I’ve enjoyed other books from their Classics range, I decided to try it.

Ice was first published in 1967, the last of Anna Kavan’s books to be published before her death a year later. It follows an unnamed narrator who has developed an obsession with a pale young woman with silver-white hair. The girl is also unnamed and described as delicate, glass-like and under the control of her sinister husband, who later becomes known as ‘the Warden’. Our narrator pursues her from place to place, hoping to rescue her from the Warden, occasionally catching up with her and then losing her again. There’s not much more to the plot than that – Christopher Priest in his foreword to this edition calls the novel ‘virtually plotless’ – but the book still has multiple layers that make it an interesting and worthwhile read.

First, there’s the setting. The narrator’s pursuit of the white-haired girl takes place against a backdrop of apocalyptic scenes as the planet rapidly becomes engulfed by ice. I’ve seen this referred to as an allegory of Anna Kavan’s own addiction to heroin, although I don’t know enough about her to comment on that. It could also be seen as a warning of climate change, more relevant than ever today, of course. Either way, there are some beautiful descriptive passages as Kavan writes about the coldness, the glittering snow and the giant walls of ice closing in on the girl, the narrator and the world.

Another notable thing about the novel is the way the reader (and the narrator himself) can never be quite sure of the boundaries between reality and a dreamlike or hallucinatory state. Sometimes the girl will appear seemingly from nowhere, just out of reach or about to be enclosed by the ice – only to disappear again just as suddenly, leaving us wondering whether she was ever really there at all. These shifts in reality occur repeatedly throughout the book, which is very unsettling! The Warden also never feels entirely real, but is always there as a threatening, oppressive presence; the narrator sees himself as trying to free the girl from the other man’s control, but his own infatuation with her gradually begins to feel just as disturbing.

In the foreword, Priest describes the book as ‘slipstream’, which Wikipedia defines as ‘speculative fiction that blends together science fiction, fantasy, and literary fiction, or otherwise does not remain within conventional boundaries of genre and narrative’. It’s certainly not a conventional novel and I have to be honest and say that I didn’t enjoy it as much as I’d hoped to – after the first few appearances and disappearances of the girl, I began to find it repetitive – but it’s also a unique and powerful one. The cold, icy imagery will stay with me for a long time.

Thanks to Pushkin Press Classics for providing a copy of this book for review via NetGalley.

My Commonplace Book: March 2025

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A selection of quotes and pictures to represent March’s reading:

commonplace book
noun
a book into which notable extracts from other works are copied for personal use.

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You never knew in advance if a decision was the right one. All you could do was try to imagine the future and use that to help you make up your mind in a difficult situation, and if you couldn’t imagine the future, well, you had to make up your mind anyway.

Clear by Carys Davies (2024)

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Fiction, if it is worth anything at all, is about life but it is not life.

The Game is Murder by Hazell Ward (2025)

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Miniature of Mary Shelley, Reginald Easton c. 1857

Grief marks a person as fire marks a house. You can paint over the soot and repair the boards, but the rooms will be haunted always by the scent of ashes.

Love, Sex & Frankenstein by Caroline Lea (2025)

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The last winter days went by like weary brokedown soldiers at the end of a war.

The Heart in Winter by Kevin Barry (2024)

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One does not have to leave the old world to find a new one. A new one can be built by changing the old one for the better, one act of love at a time, seeding new memories among the old, so that both can bloom together.

The Darkening Globe by Naomi Kelsey (2025)

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Women who adore chocolate to the same degree enjoy a friendship that can’t be shaken.

The Versailles Formula by Nancy Bilyeau (2025)

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A carved relief of Cleopatra and her son Caesarion at the Temple of Dendera, Egypt, 1st century BC

What survives our mortal death is our ideas, transcribed in art and words and stone, they are the piece of us that remains. But if that can disappear in a single night, consumed by flame? What then for immortality?

Cleopatra by Natasha Solomons (2025)

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As in life, so in a game of hazard, skill will make something of the worst of throws.

Moonfleet by John Meade Falkner (1898)

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The lesson, said he, be this – we tell tales of what lurks out in the dark so that we need not acknowledge the truth within.

What truth?

That, oftentymes, the fiend be our fault. Do you understand?

Mother Naked by Glen James Brown (2024)

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Judy Garland as Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz, 1939

Finally, Annie looked at Emily. ‘You’re right. We must all follow our hearts, even when it scares us, because the most frightening thing of all is to not do the thing we are meant to.’

Before Dorothy by Hazel Gaynor (2025)

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Trials, like life, always go on to some sort of ultimate conclusion, however shockingly they unfold along the way.

A Case of Life and Limb by Sally Smith (2025)

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As individuals, none of us matters much. Our joint effort matters, though, when we work together.

Secrets of the Bees by Jane Johnson (2025)

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Favourite books read in March:

A Case of Life and Limb, Love, Sex & Frankenstein, Mother Naked and The Versailles Formula

Authors read for the first time in March:

Carys Davies, Hazell Ward, Kevin Barry, Naomi Kelsey, John Meade Falkner, Glen James Brown

Countries visited in my March reading:

Scotland, England, USA, Egypt, Switzerland, France

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Reading notes: I was pleased to be able to take part in both the Reading Ireland and Reading Wales events this month (and read new-to-me authors for both – Kevin Barry and Carys Davies respectively). I also made some progress with my Classics Club list and the Walter Scott Prize longlist, as well as reading some of my upcoming releases from NetGalley. I’ve only posted reviews for a few of these books so far, but the rest will follow, I promise!

In April, I’m looking forward to 1952 Club, which will be hosted by Kaggsy’s Bookish Ramblings and Stuck in a Book. I’m already halfway through my first book for that and have some others I’m also hoping to get to. 21-27 April, if you want to join in.

What did you read in March? Do you have any plans for April?

The Queen and the Countess by Anne O’Brien

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I’ve been looking forward to reading Anne O’Brien’s new novel as it’s set in one of my favourite periods of history, the Wars of the Roses. O’Brien has written about this period before, from the perspectives of Anne Neville in Virgin Widow (which I haven’t read) and Cecily Neville in The Queen’s Rival, but this book is slightly different because it focuses on not just one woman but two: Margaret of Anjou, wife of Henry VI, and Anne Beauchamp, Countess of Warwick.

The two women take it in turns to narrate their story, alternating chapter by chapter throughout the book and beginning in 1458 with the Loveday Parade – a procession through London intended to promote peace between York and Lancaster, the two feuding branches of the royal House of Plantagenet. In the parade, Queen Margaret walks hand-in-hand with the powerful Duke of York, while Anne watches her husband, Richard, Earl of Warwick, walk with his rival nobleman, the Duke of Exeter. The peace is very short-lived, however, and the following year York and Lancaster are at war again.

As the mental health of the Lancastrian king, Henry VI, goes into decline and he gradually retreats from real life into a world of prayer, Margaret does her best to rule in his place, aiming to keep the throne safe for Prince Edward, their young son. When Margaret’s army is defeated in battle and Warwick helps to put the Yorkist heir, Edward IV, on the throne, it seems that her life is in ruins, but it’s not long before Warwick falls out of favour with the new king and comes to her ready to form a new alliance with Lancaster. Meanwhile, Anne stays loyal to her husband throughout all of this but, with no real influence over his decisions, she can only hope that he’s picked the right side this time…

I was intrigued by O’Brien’s decision to pair Margaret of Anjou’s story with the Countess of Warwick’s in this book. There are so many other interesting women from this period – Margaret Beaufort, the mother of Henry Tudor; Edward IV’s wife Elizabeth Woodville and her mother Jacquetta, to name a few – it seemed like a bit of an arbitrary choice to put these two together, but as I read on and saw the shape the novel was starting to take it did make sense. Margaret and Anne are at first on opposite sides of the conflict, then on the same side, but in the difficult position of never fully being able to trust each other, which is an interesting dynamic for O’Brien to explore. Although they are two very different women, there are some parallels between them which begin to emerge as the novel progresses.

This is an eventful and dramatic period of history, so there’s always something happening in the novel – a battle to be fought, a marriage to be negotiated, a plan for invasion to be put into place. Using two narrators rather than one gives O’Brien a wider scope instead of being limited to one character’s personal experiences. However, the two threads of the story come together now and then through a series of fictional letters sent between Margaret and Anne. I’ve no idea if they really corresponded or not (I don’t think there’s any evidence of it, and if they ever did, I doubt it would have been as often as depicted in the book) but it’s a nice touch and makes the lives of the two characters feel less separate and disconnected.

The narrative voices of the two women sound almost identical, so I had to pay attention to the section headings, otherwise it sometimes took me a few paragraphs to decide which of them was narrating. Margaret of Anjou never really seems to be portrayed in a very positive light and she’s not very likeable here either, but I could at least have some sympathy for her. She was in a very challenging situation, trying to hold onto the throne for Lancaster with a husband who didn’t understand what was going on and who was by now completely incapable of ruling. Anne is a much easier character to like, but then, she doesn’t have the difficult decisions to make that Margaret does. Things aren’t easy for Anne either, though, as her fate is determined by the actions of her husband, Warwick, and while she does involve herself in politics to a degree, she has very little say in the course her life will follow.

This is ultimately quite a sad story – anyone familiar with the Wars of the Roses will know what happens to Margaret, her husband and her son, and how Anne’s later life plays out (at one point she’s declared legally dead while still alive in order to settle an inheritance dispute) – but I enjoyed reading it. It was nice to see some links to O’Brien’s previous novel, A Court of Betrayal, whose heroine, Johane de Geneville, was an ancestor of Anne Beauchamp’s – something I wasn’t aware of until I started reading this book and Anne mentioned her great-great-grandmother! I’ll look forward to O’Brien’s next book, whatever it may be, but I should probably try to find time to go back and read the earlier ones that I’ve missed as well.

Thanks to Orion for providing a copy of this book for review via NetGalley.

The Heart in Winter by Kevin Barry – #ReadingIrelandMonth25

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When I first heard about The Heart in Winter last year, despite seeing some very positive reviews I decided I wasn’t interested in reading it as it didn’t sound like my sort of book. After it was longlisted for the Walter Scott Prize earlier this year, I wondered if I’d been too quick to dismiss it and as Kevin Barry is an Irish author, I decided to try reading it for Reading Ireland Month (hosted this month by Cathy of 746 Books).

When I started reading, it seemed that my fears about it were justified. It’s a western, set in 1890s Montana, with lots of drinking, lots of swearing and lots of sex. Worse, there are no quotation marks to indicate speech, something I always dislike and find distracting. Still, I was prepared to give it a chance and persevere…

Tom Rourke is an Irishman living in Butte, Montana, where he works as a photographer’s assistant and a writer of love letters for illiterate men hoping to find wives. He’s also a drunk and an opium addict, drifting through life with no real aim or direction. Everything changes for Tom when Polly Gillespie arrives in town. Polly is newly married to an older man, Anthony Harrington, the fanatically religious captain of a copper mine. She’s already having doubts about her marriage, so when she and Tom fall in love, they decide to run away together. Stealing a horse, they head out across Montana and Idaho, hoping to make it all the way to California, but Harrington won’t let his bride escape that easily and soon a posse of gunmen are in pursuit.

Once Tom and Polly left Butte and set out on their journey, I started to feel much more engaged with the story. Although their romance was very sudden (literally love at first sight, with no time to show how their relationship developed), I still found it convincing and could easily believe that these two flawed, lonely people would form an instant connection. The narrative is split between Tom and Polly on the run and Harrington’s men who are hunting them down and although it seems that the odds are against the young lovers, I still hoped things would work out for them and they would find the happiness they deserved.

I wish I could say I loved this book the way everyone else has, but that wouldn’t be true. However, I did find a lot of things to admire in it, particularly the way Barry’s use of language brought the setting so vividly to life. There are also some very colourful supporting characters, both in Butte and among the people Tom and Polly meet on their travels. As I mentioned earlier, though, I really hate the current trend for not using punctuation correctly. If the idea is to make the prose feel more immersive, it does the exact opposite for me. Apart from that, I think I’m just not a fan of westerns in general. I did enjoy Patrick deWitt’s The Sisters Brothers, but the other westerns I’ve tried since then haven’t really worked for me, not even Days Without End by Sebastian Barry, whose work I usually love.

I won’t be at all surprised if this book is shortlisted for the Walter Scott Prize next month or even if it turns out to be the eventual winner. I just wasn’t the right reader for it, but I’m still glad I tried it and got to know Tom and Polly.

Moonfleet by John Meade Falkner

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I added Moonfleet to my Classics Club list after seeing some very positive reviews from other bloggers and thinking it sounded like something I might enjoy. It’s an adventure story and was apparently very popular when it was published in 1898, although it seems to have been overshadowed by similar books like Treasure Island and Kidnapped. Modern authors are still influenced by it, though, such as Alex Preston, who named it as the inspiration for his 2022 novel, Winchelsea.

Moonfleet is set in the 18th century and is narrated by John Trenchard, a fifteen-year-old orphan who lives with his aunt in the village of Moonfleet on the south coast of England. The village takes its name not from the moon but from a prominent local family, the Mohunes. Generations of Mohunes are buried in the family vault under the church, including the notorious Colonel John ‘Blackbeard’ Mohune who once stole a diamond from King Charles I and hid it in a secret location. According to legend, his ghost now walks the churchyard trying to find the hidden jewel.

One night, John Trenchard finds himself accidentally locked in the Mohune vault where he discovers a locket containing a scrap of paper with what appear to be clues to the location of the missing diamond. He also makes another discovery: a group of local smugglers are using the vault as a hiding place for their contraband. He is rescued by two of the smugglers – the innkeeper Elzevir Block and Master Ratsey, the church sexton – and now that he knows their secret, he becomes involved in their smuggling operations. When an encounter with the excisemen ends in violence, John and Elzevir are forced to flee and as they’re unable to return to Moonfleet, they decide to go off in search of Blackbeard’s diamond.

Although this is usually described as a children’s book, like most classics it can also be enjoyed by adults. As it was published in the 19th century, the writing style is naturally very dated now, but I think there should still be enough to keep both older and younger readers interested – as well as the smugglers, hidden treasure and haunted churchyards, there are sea voyages, shipwrecks, coded messages, curses and even a touch of romance (John is in love with Grace, daughter of the novel’s villain, the magistrate Maskew). Later in the book, there’s also a surprising amount of emotional depth as a relationship forms between John, who has grown up without a father, and Elzevir, who has lost a son.

Moonfleet itself is a fictional village, but is based on East Fleet near Chesil Beach in Dorset. The geography of the area plays a big part in the book, with descriptions of the high cliffs, secluded bays and hidden coves that make the coastline ideal for smuggling. It’s just as important to the story as the characters and the plot. I enjoyed the book, although I don’t think it would have been a favourite classic even if I’d read it as a child. Still, I found it entertaining and perfect escapism, which is something I think most of us need now and then! It seems Falkner only wrote two other novels, The Lost Stradivarius and The Nebuly Coat; if you’ve read them, I’d love to know what you thought.

This is book 46/50 from my second Classics Club list.