My Commonplace Book: November 2024

12 Comments

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

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

~

‘I don’t study paintings from a technical viewpoint, because I don’t know how. I believe that a painting should be a work of beauty, something that you never cease wanting to look at. With too much knowledge you can find fault with each one and it takes away the sheer joy.’

The Hidden Girl by Lucinda Riley (2024)

~

‘Maybe his conscience got to him,’ suggests Aaron.

‘Maybe,’ I agree. ‘It would be so much easier to go through life if you didn’t have one, don’t you think?’

Fire by John Boyne (2024)

~

There are no words. I cannot describe what happened to my brain. I can only tell my feelings, which never stop. Feelings are beyond words; beyond action; beyond reason. They are the only true and constant indicators we ever have in this cruel life.

What Time the Sexton’s Spade Doth Rust by Alan Bradley (2024)

~

Piazza Maggiore, Bologna

What I do know is that all happiness had been torn from within me, leaving an open wound. But an open wound needs to be cauterised and I have become an adept surgeon, worthy of the medical school at the city’s university. Recollections serve no purpose and I shook my head to chase them away.

City of Silk by Glennis Virgo (2024)

~

But lies are so intriguing, aren’t they? Why people tell them, how little they think through the consequences, how desperate they become when in danger of being found out. To my mind, lies are second only to secrets, and those I find deeply exciting.

The Neighbour’s Secret by Sharon Bolton (2024)

~

‘I’ve heard it all before, officer,’ she says sadly to you. ‘When you get to my age, you lose faith in the authorities. Justice is for the rich and powerful.’

Murder in Tinseltown by Max Nightingale (2024)

~

‘The heart of a woman is a strange thing,’ wrote Fryn. ‘Human beings, especially women, are bound not only by money, by loneliness, but by the hope that they are needed.’

The Peepshow: The Murders at 10 Rillington Place by Kate Summerscale (2024)

~

Portrait of Cassandra by Evelyn de Morgan, 1898

Ordinary people. She’d forgotten how often he uses that phrase, always with the same…well, what is it, exactly? Curiosity? Fascination? As if ‘ordinary people’ were some kind of exotic species you’d be lucky to spot twice in a lifetime.

The Voyage Home by Pat Barker (2024)

~

But few human heads are capable of remaining cool under excitement. Those who are not present think how stupid must have been those who were; those who are reflect afterwards how simple it would have been to do this, that, or the other.

The Dancing Partner by Jerome K. Jerome, from Deadly Dolls: Midnight Tales of Uncanny Playthings (2024)

~

I’ve seen photographs of her, naturally, but when you’re young you’re not storing away memories or impressions. Life just washes over you – it happens, uncommented on.

Gabriel’s Moon by William Boyd (2024)

~

“We are strangers,” Peter said darkly. “Whom do we know? One – if you’re lucky. Not many more. Looks like we’ve got to learn how we can trust each other. How we can tell…How can we dare…Everything rests on trust between strangers. Everything else is a house of cards.”

Mischief by Charlotte Armstrong (1950)

~

Joan of Kent

Jeanette looked round, seeing their environment with new eyes. ‘You have a veritable store of tales and legends,’ she said.

‘Everyone should. Stories stir men’s minds, hearts and souls until they become part of it. And then they live in the tale and the tale lives in them – and both become immortal.’

The Royal Rebel by Elizabeth Chadwick (2024)

~

Eleanor learned another lesson – and that is that the vast majority of people can’t see what’s in front of them. They say they never forget a face, but the same face without makeup, a different setting? John – or Mr Rogers or whoever he really was – was right. It’s easy to become an entirely new person. One only needs audacity…

Poor Girls by Clare Whitfield (2024)

~

‘But drawing is one of the best things in the world! I can’t think how you can live in London and not want to draw! Everything is so beautiful and so interesting I could be drawing for ever. And it is so useful; it helps you to remember what you have seen.’

Black Hearts in Battersea by Joan Aiken (1964)

~

Favourite book read in November:

Deadly Dolls: Midnight Tales of Uncanny Playthings

Places visited in my November reading:

England, USA, Italy, Germany, Spain, Greece, France

Authors read for the first time in November:

Glennis Virgo, Charlotte Armstrong, Clare Whitfield, Max Nightingale, Adèle Geras, Brian Aldiss, Camilla Grudova, Frederick E. Smith, Robert Aickman, Vernon Lee, Ysabelle Cheung

~

Reading notes: November was an excellent month of reading for me. I was able to participate in Novellas in November, Witch Week and Nonfiction November, although I didn’t manage to join in with the other events taking place this month (but I’m halfway through a Margaret Atwood book I picked up for Margaret Atwood Reading Month). Instead, I concentrated on catching up with the books on my NetGalley shelf and am now all up to date for 2024, although I do have some January 2025 releases to read soon.

I have some books lined up for Liz’s Dean Street December, which begins tomorrow, and I’ve already started reading one of them. Also in December, I’ll be posting my annual list of historical fiction to look out for in 2025 as well as choosing my books of the year for 2024!

What did you read in November? Do you have any plans for your December reading?

Nonfiction November: Week 5 – New to my TBR

17 Comments

Here’s the final weekly topic for this year’s Nonfiction November:

Week 5 (11/25-11/29) New To My TBR: It’s been a month full of amazing nonfiction books! Which ones have made it onto your TBR? Be sure to link back to the original blogger who posted about that book! (Deb)

~

The Great Silence by Juliet Nicolson
(Lisa at Hopewell’s Public Library of Life)

The story of the period from 1918-1920, as people adjust to a world at peace following the end of the Great War.

Divine Might by Natalie Haynes
(Stephanie at Bookfever)

I’ve read some of Natalie Haynes’ fiction, but this non-fiction book tells the stories of several Greek goddesses including Hera, Demeter and the Furies.

Maiden Voyages by Siân Evans
(Margaret at BooksPlease)

A book exploring the lives of women at sea during the Golden Age of transatlantic travel.

Singled Out by Virginia Nicholson
(Lisa at Hopewell’s Public Library of Life)

A book about the experiences of the two million ‘surplus’ women faced with remaining spinsters due to the loss of so many men during the First World War.

Hunting the Falcon by John Guy
(Kay at What? Me Read?)

The subtitle Henry VIII, Anne Boleyn and the Marriage That Shook Europe tells you what it’s about!

Victorian Britain Day by Day by Nicholas Travers
(Mallika at Literary Potpourri)

A collection of important events in Victorian history, arranged by the day of the year on which they occurred.

~

Have you read any of these? Did you take part in Nonfiction November and if so, what did you add to your TBR this month?

The Peepshow: The Murders at 10 Rillington Place by Kate Summerscale

5 Comments

When I first saw the title of Kate Summerscale’s new true crime book, I wondered if it dealt with the Thompson/Bywaters murder case, the subject of A Pin to See the Peepshow by F. Tennyson Jesse. Then I saw the subtitle and knew this was a book about a different crime – the John Reginald Christie murders at 10 Rillington Place in London. However, I was partly right, because Tennyson Jesse herself was actually involved in this case as well and appears in this book in her role as author and journalist.

In March 1953, John Reginald Christie was arrested following a seven-day manhunt after the bodies of three women were found in his kitchen alcove. The body of his wife, Ethel, was then discovered under the floorboards, as well as the remains of two more women in the garden. Christie admitted to being responsible for all of these deaths and was hanged in July 1953. However, just three years earlier, Timothy Evans, another tenant at the same address, was believed to have killed his wife and baby daughter and was also hanged. Evans had changed his story several times and after withdrawing a confession he had made to the police, he accused Christie of committing both murders. Did the jury get it wrong and hang an innocent man, allowing Christie to go on killing more people?

The Peepshow is a detailed and thorough account of the Rillington Place murders – sometimes a bit too detailed, for example where we are given the personal histories of the most minor of characters or a list of every single reported sighting of Christie in a seven day period. In general, though, it’s all interesting information that adds up to a full picture of not just the crime itself but also the state of British society in the early 1950s. Some of Christie’s victims were prostitutes or from deprived backgrounds and Summerscale spends a lot of time discussing their stories and the sequence of events that brought them into contact with their killer. She also explores the racist attitudes of the period – it seemed that many of the white residents of Rillington Place were so busy complaining about living amongst black people, they failed to notice that they were also sharing the building with at least one murderer. Other topics Summerscale touches upon include illegal abortions (Christie carried these out in his rooms at Rillington Place) and the poor living conditions in multiple-occupancy housing.

To give the book a more personal touch, Summerscale focuses on two people who were investigating the murders from different perspectives. One was Harry Procter, star reporter with the Sunday Pictorial, who arrived at Rillington Place to report on the discovery of the bodies in the kitchen – and remembered that three years earlier he had visited the same house to interview Christie about the Timothy Evans case. Now, with more information available, Procter became convinced that he – and the police – made a terrible mistake and that it was in fact Christie who was responsible for the murders of Beryl and baby Geraldine.

Procter’s theory was shared by the author Fryn Tennyson Jesse, who was researching the case for a new book in the Notable British Trials series. Fryn was dealing with morphine addiction and poor eyesight, but was determined to attend Christie’s trial, where she came to the same conclusion as Procter. However, there was very little appetite from the authorities to look again at the Evans case – the police didn’t want to admit that they failed to identify the correct culprit and it’s believed that the Tory government of the time didn’t want to cast doubt on the justice system as it would strengthen opposition to the death penalty. Although Timothy Evans has now been posthumously pardoned, it seems that we still don’t know for certain what happened to Beryl and Geraldine Evans and if you’re hoping for answers or lots of new evidence, you’re not going to find anything conclusive in The Peepshow. I was left feeling confused about the whole thing, which isn’t really Summerscale’s fault – the confusion was caused by both Evans and Christie confessing to various murders, then changing their stories – but it’s not very satisfying if you prefer everything to be neatly wrapped up at the end of a book.

I did find this an interesting read, although I think it needed more structure; it seemed to jump around a lot, from one topic to another and backwards and forwards in time, which stopped it from flowing as well as it could have done. Still, it was good to learn more about this complex true crime and the social conditions that may have contributed to it.

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

City of Silk by Glennis Virgo

13 Comments

I love reading about Renaissance Italy, but most novels focus on Rome, Florence or Venice, so this one, set in Bologna – famous for its silk industry in the 16th century – was something slightly different.

It’s 1575 and our narrator, Elena Morandi, is working as a seamstress in Signora Ruffo’s workshop. Although she was raised in an orphanage from the age of ten after the death of both parents, Elena remembers the skills she was taught by her father, a tailor, and has proved to have a real talent for needlework. However, she’s bored with sewing women’s gowns and capes and longs to work on men’s clothing and gain the title of tailor rather than seamstress. Sadly, this is not an option for a woman and Elena seems destined to stay with Signora Ruffo – until she flees to escape an arranged marriage.

In need of a new job, Elena decides to pursue her dreams and manages to obtain a lowly position in a tailor’s workshop, sweeping the floor and fetching fabrics and threads for the Maestro, Francesco Rondinelli, and his three tailors. Then, just as she’s settling into her new life, a figure from her past walks into Rondinelli’s workshop to ask for a fitting. This is Antonio della Fontana, benefactor of the orphanage Elena attended and one of the most powerful men in Bologna. He had abused his position of power at the orphanage and it seems that nothing has changed; when even Rondinelli and his friends begin to suffer at the hands of Fontana, Elena decides it’s time to take revenge.

City of Silk is one of several historical novels I’ve read recently that deal with women trying to forge a career for themselves in fields traditionally dominated by men. Tracy Chevalier’s The Glassmaker, Joanne Burn’s The Bone Hunters and Ambrose Parry’s The Spendthrift and the Swallow are three I’ve read just this year (featuring, respectively, a female glassmaker, a female would-be geologist and a woman desperate to become a doctor). This is obviously another and while I admired Elena’s determination and ambition, I would have liked more detail on why she felt it was so important to become a tailor instead of aspiring to be like Signora Ruffo, who was running her own successful business and was financially independent. I’m not sure I really understood why Elena seemed to look down on seamstresses so much or why she considered it so much more rewarding to make clothes for men rather than women.

As mentioned above, I did love the setting. I’ve never been to Bologna, but Virgo’s descriptions brought it to life for me. I also found it interesting to learn about the city’s role as a leading European centre of silk production and what it was like to work in a tailor’s or seamstress’s workshop during that period. Most of the characters are fictional, but Virgo explains in her author’s note at the end that a few of them really existed and another is inspired by a portrait in the National Gallery!

The scheme Elena and her friends come up with to take their revenge on Fontana seemed very unlikely to me – I couldn’t imagine anybody actually doing what they did, particularly not in the 16th century – but otherwise the plot was quite entertaining. This is Glennis Virgo’s first novel (for which she has won the Debut Writers Over 50 Award) and although I’m not sure if I’ll read her next one, I could be tempted depending on the subject.

Thanks to Allison & Busby for providing a copy of this book for review via NetGalley.

Book 50/50 for the Historical Fiction Reading Challenge 2024

The Neighbour’s Secret by Sharon Bolton

12 Comments

The narrator of Sharon Bolton’s new novel is the very definition of a nosy neighbour. Living in the middle of three adjoining cottages with very thin walls makes it easy to hear the people on either side: the narrator knows what music they listen to and what they watch on television, who they speak to on the telephone and what time they get out of bed in the morning. In the evening, as it gets dark and people turn on their lights, it’s time to take a walk through the streets of the small Cumbrian village specifically to pry through illuminated windows to see the residents going about their daily lives. This is why the narrator becomes frustrated when Anna Brown moves in next door and stubbornly remains a woman of mystery, giving away very few clues to her past.

Yet the narrator is also a mystery, reluctant to share personal information with either the reader or the other characters. For a long time we don’t even know their name, which is why I’m being equally secretive in this review! Let’s focus on the plot instead. There are two separate storylines that alternate throughout the book, starting to come together towards the end. In the first, the narrator and Anna, who have formed a tense friendship, investigate the disappearances of several teenage girls at the InGathering, a yearly event held by the local church. The details of this event are – like everything else in this book – shrouded in mystery, but the church seems to resemble a cult with rituals and traditions that they prefer to keep hidden.

The other narrative is set a year earlier and describes the meetings between a psychiatrist and her patient, seventeen-year-old Jago Moore. Jago stabbed one of his teachers at school and the authorities want an assessment of his mental condition before deciding what action to take. This storyline seems quite unrelated to the other, until we start to suspect who the psychiatrist is. Again, though, not everything is as it seems and there are multiple twists and turns as we head towards the conclusion of the book!

I was able to guess some of the plot twists before they happened, but not all of them and not always very far in advance. It’s easy to make certain assumptions about some of the characters and situations in the book, but these assumptions aren’t necessarily correct and Bolton very cleverly creates confusion and misdirection from beginning to end.

The central mystery surrounding the disappearing girls at the InGathering was actually the part of the novel that interested me the least and I found the revelations about what was really going on at the church quite far-fetched. The Jago Moore sections, however, were chilling – Jago is clever and manipulative and I found his behaviour terrifyingly believable. The whole book has a dark, creepy atmosphere; the village of St Abel’s Chapel in the Lake District should have been an idyllic setting, but with so much secrecy and with most of the action taking place in the middle of the night, it feels like a sinister place rather than a picturesque one.

Although this isn’t one of my absolute favourite books by Sharon Bolton, I did enjoy it and liked it better than last year’s The Fake Wife. It seems that her next book, coming in 2025, will be another standalone; I’m looking forward to it but would also like a return to the Lacey Flint series, which I love!

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

Deadly Dolls: Midnight Tales of Uncanny Playthings edited by Elizabeth Dearnley

12 Comments

Earlier this year I read Doomed Romances, a short story collection from the British Library’s Tales of the Weird series. I found it very mixed in quality – some great stories and some much weaker ones – but I was still interested in trying another one and I’m pleased to say that Deadly Dolls is much more consistent. As November is German Literature Month, I had initially planned to read the first story in the collection for now, which happens to be a German translation – ETA Hoffmann’s The Sandman – and leave the rest for later, but I then got tempted by the second story and read the whole book last weekend. The stories are all quite short, which made it a quick book to read!

This selection of fourteen stories is edited by Elizabeth Dearnley and as the title suggests, there’s a shared theme of dolls and toys. The Sandman, published in 1817 – and the story on which the ballet Coppélia was based – is the oldest story in the book, with the others spread throughout the 19th, 20th and 21st centuries. It’s a dark story – the Sandman of the title is a mythical character who steals the eyes of human children and takes them back to his nest on the moon to feed to his own children, an image which terrifies our young protagonist Nathanael so much that it haunts him for the rest of his life. I enjoyed it (my only other experience of Hoffmann is the entirely different The Life and Opinions of the Tomcat Murr) but I felt that others in the collection were even better.

A particular favourite was The Dollmaker by Adèle Geras, an author completely new to me. A dollmaker, known to the village children as Auntie Avril, opens a dolls’ hospital, repairing and restoring broken dolls. When three of the children notice that their dolls have been returned to them with alterations that seem unnecessary, they begin to question Auntie Avril’s motives. It seems Geras has been very prolific, writing many books for both children and adults, and I’m surprised I’ve never come across her before. I also enjoyed The Dancing Partner by Jerome K. Jerome (this time an author I know and love), in which a maker of mechanical toys decides to find a solution to the lack of male dance partners reported by his daughter and her friends. Although this is an entertaining story, it does have a moral: that we shouldn’t interfere with nature and try to play God.

At least two of the other stories have a similar message, despite having completely different plots. Brian Aldiss’ fascinating 1969 science fiction story, Supertoys Last All Summer Long, is set in a dystopian future where the rate of childbirth is controlled by the Ministry of Population. Meanwhile, in Ysabelle Cheung’s The Patchwork Dolls, a group of women literally sell their faces to pay the bills. Published in 2022, this is the most recent story in the book and I did find it interesting, if not quite as strong as most of the others. It’s one of only two contributions from the 21st century in this collection – the other is Camilla Grudova’s The Mouse Queen, an odd little tale that I don’t think I really understood and that I don’t feel belonged in this book anyway as it has almost nothing to do with dolls.

Joan Aiken is an author I’ve only relatively recently begun to explore, and as I’ve so far only read her novels it was good to have the opportunity to read one of her short stories. Crespian and Clairan is excellent and another highlight of the collection. The young narrator who, by his own admission, is ‘a very unpleasant boy’, goes to stay with an aunt and uncle for Christmas and becomes jealous when his cousin receives a pair of battery-operated dancing dolls. He comes up with a plan to steal the dolls for himself, but things don’t go quite as he expected! If I’d never read Aiken before, this story would definitely have tempted me to read more! The same can be said for Agatha Christie, whose The Dressmaker’s Doll is another one I loved. This story of a doll that appears to come to life when nobody is watching is maybe not what you would expect from Christie, as it’s not a mystery and there are no detectives in it, but it’s very enjoyable – as well as being very unsettling!

Unlike Doomed Romances, where the stories appeared in chronological order, adding to the unbalanced feel of the book, this one has the stories arranged by subject, which I thought worked much better. For example, two stories which deal with people in love with dolls are paired together – Vernon Lee’s The Doll and Daphne du Maurier’s The Doll. The latter is one I’ve read before (in du Maurier’s The Doll: Short Stories) but I was happy to read it again and be reminded of how good her work was, even so early in her career. There’s also a group of stories featuring dolls’ houses and of these I particularly enjoyed Robert Aickman’s The Inner Room, in which a girl is given a Gothic dolls’ house by her parents and develops an unhealthy fascination with it. In both this story and MR James’ The Haunted Dolls’ House, the houses and their inhabitants seem to take on a life of their own, but in different ways.

I think there are only two stories I haven’t talked about yet, so I’ll give them a quick mention here. They are The Loves of Lady Purple by Angela Carter and The Devil Doll by Frederick E. Smith. I’m not really a big Carter fan, but I’m sure those of you who are will enjoy this story about a puppeteer and his puppet, Lady Purple. I loved The Devil Doll, though. It’s a great story about a ventriloquist whose assistant suffers a terrible fate and is one of the creepier entries in the collection.

This is a wonderful anthology, with only one or two weaker stories, and if you’re interested in trying a book from the Tales of the Weird series I can definitely recommend starting with this one.

The Hidden Girl by Lucinda Riley

4 Comments

When Lucinda Riley died in 2021, it seemed that there would be no new books from her, but since then her son Harry Whittaker has completed her final, unfinished Seven Sisters novel, Atlas, and now has reworked one of her earliest novels which was originally published as Hidden Beauty in 1993 under the name of Lucinda Edmonds. Retitled The Hidden Girl, it’s not clear exactly how much input Harry has had, but he states in the foreword that he has ‘refreshed and updated the text’.

After a brief prologue, we meet our heroine Leah Thompson as a shy teenage girl living with her parents in 1970s Yorkshire. Leah has no big plans for the future – her time is filled with schoolwork and assisting her mother with her job as housekeeper at the big farmhouse owned by Rose Delancey – and she doesn’t consider herself to be anything special. She does have natural beauty, but is overshadowed by more confident girls, like Mrs Delancey’s adopted daughter, Miranda. Yet it’s Leah, not Miranda, who is spotted by a London modelling agency and within a few years has become one of the world’s top models.

In a second timeline, we join the young Rose – or Rosa as she was previously known – and her brother David, who are children in Poland during the Second World War. Rose and David are from a Jewish family and like many Polish Jews they experience some terrible things and are very lucky to survive the war. Some of the tension is lost because we already know that Rose and David are still alive in the late 1970s – we meet Rose in the very first chapter, a semi-retired artist living in Yorkshire with Miranda and her older son, Miles, and we learn that David is a wealthy businessman and a widower with a teenage son, Brett. However, it’s still harrowing to read about the things they had to go through before reaching a more settled status in life.

Although the wartime narrative does have relevance to the lives of the younger generation – in ways that they themselves don’t understand until much later – most of the novel is devoted to the ‘present day’ storyline (the 70s and 80s). At first I thought it was going to be a bit of a shallow story about celebrities leading glamorous lifestyles, but I soon discovered there was more depth to it than that. Riley explores the dark side of stardom and the fashion industry, including the temptations of drugs and alcohol, the pressure to succeed, the internal rivalries and competitiveness, and the men who just want to take advantage of beautiful young women. Some of the things that happen to Leah’s friend, Jenny, in particular, are horrible and I think anyone who picks up this book expecting a light read may be surprised by the topics it covers.

This is actually the third Lucinda Edmonds book to be reissued under a new title, after The Italian Girl and The Love Letter, but those two were rewritten by Lucinda herself and published during her lifetime. I wonder whether any of her other Edmonds novels will be reworked by Harry now as well – or whether he’ll decide to write a book of his own.

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