Books, Walking

The Salt Path – Raynor Winn

For one of my pieces of coursework I was trying to find examples of travel writing when Anne handed me this book. And then I started underlining passages within it before she told me she’d borrowed it from a friend. Oops, sorry!

Front Cover of The Salt Path - Raynor Winn
A slightly bent cover – sorry about that too

I was going to just read the first chapter or two to get a feel for the style, but it was difficult to put down. There is a vivacity and gentle humour about it that keeps you interested, despite the slightly traumatic beginnings. I realised why when I found out that the book had originally been written by Raynor for just her husband, Moth, as a way of helping him to remember their journey. Sometimes it feels like a love letter, and is warm, intimate and poetic.

I went on a walk, with some friends, back in 2015, that took two weeks and was well planned with solid walls, hot food and showers to meet us each night. I thought that was a difficult trek. Ray and Moth spent months wild camping, walking nearly all of the 630 mile South West Coast Path because they had suddenly become homeless and Moth had been diagnosed with an incurable, degenerative disease that would affect his body and mind. If I’d had this book on my travels, it would have put my own privations into context.

Before their life on the road, Ray and Moth Winn had owned a house and farm in Wales and had lived there for thirty odd years, renovating the land and buildings while raising two children. But an investment in a friend’s business had turned sour, leading to a very costly court battle that saw them lose everything. The children, luckily, had accommodation as university students, but while the bailiffs were knocking on the door to take possession and the two adults was hiding underneath the stairs, Ray’s idea to walk began to form.

A very strange idea when her husband had just been told he had corticobasal degeneration (CBD), and was already starting to be unsteady on his feet. But as Ray says, she 

desperately needed a map, something to show me the way.’

Her descriptions of this deceptively long stretch of land are lyrical and she packs a lot of really interesting information in, about various spots along the route. If anybody is considering doing any part of that walk, then this book would be a great accompaniment. As is the book they used, Paddy Dillon’s ‘The South West Coast Path’. Even for me, who has no plans for any more long-distance hikes, it was alluring and made me want to take a teeny tiny trip down there.

There are also some very interesting reactions, when they divulge to people they meet along the way that they are literally homeless. Sadly a lot of it is negative so they don’t do so often. Raynor occasionally weaves in stories of other homeless people they encounter, as well as certain ‘statistics’, that bear no semblance to the very hard reality on the ground.

It’s a story about a journey, but as all stories about journeys end up being, it is so much more. Was their trek just delaying the inevitable social housing wait? Did Moth’s condition get worse with the arduous task of walking with his life on his back? Could they deal with the grief of the loss of their home and their livelihood? Did they always find a private place to squat?

I’ll give a little spoiler, there is hope at the end, and in the end, it’s a love story. For her husband, and for the incredible beauty of the natural world around them.

Books, Running

What I Talk About When I Talk About Running – Haruki Murakami

The book, scribbled notes and all

I’ve just finished reading, or should I say re-reading, this book.

Because my writing course will focus on creative non-fiction, I’m trying to pick up a few more of that kind of book to learn how the professionals do it. Normally Murakami writes novels and I’ve enjoyed many of them, but this book title naturally drew me in.

Even though I’ve read it before, I was still thrown by the start of chapter eight. I had completely forgotten what he does, but then that is often what I do with books. Read them, sometimes enjoy them and then promptly forget most of them. I’ve been known to get well over halfway through a book before I realise that I’ve read it before! Nothing major happens here, and normal people might wonder what am I even going on about with this particular chapter, but the start of it got to me.

My course is making me look more closely at the craft of construction, so this time around I’ve made scribbled notes on scraps of paper and slotted them in at the pertaining pages. Not sure how useful they might be when I read them back again, but I feel as if I’m paying a bit more attention by doing this.

The book is set out in the form of mini essays, with a date and location at the top of each section. That makes it sound like a diary but it has so much more fluidity of time and space than a regular diary does. It is a memoir of sorts and there really is a large amount of talking about running (just in case you thought the title was just a metaphor). And even though his running is at a seriously more advanced level than mine, I could relate to it a lot.

In amongst the descriptions of his running methods and progress, he weaves in key moments of his life in a way that feels very natural, and still relating to the point. You get to learn about him as a person, and how he is shaped, metaphorically, and physically, but you don’t get the usual yawn about where he was born or what school he went to etc.

The biggest take I got, is that Murakami is a singularly focused man, to the point, sometimes, of obsession. But this focus propels him in his running/triathlon efforts in the same way that it does his writing. He can sit, every morning, for three or four hours and carve away at his writing, without any deviation. I came away in awe of that focus, a little afraid of not being able to gain it myself. And then again, if I did, wondering what kind of a person I would then become.

I have used a quote from this book which I love, on my home page, as although I’m never going to be that good a runner, I love getting out there. And if I do get more serious about this writing lark, it looks like I’m going to need that running even more.

Books

The Halloween Tree – Ray Bradbury

The front cover of The Halloween Tree

I have just finished a book that was recommended to me by a friend and fellow blogger, Kat. It’s a small book and could be finished off in just a half day if you have that to spare, but it took me three smaller sessions.

To me, Ray Bradbury is a sci-fi writer for adults, creating dystopian nightmares. I’ve read Fahrenheit 451 and The Illustrated Man and loved them both for that aspect. This, on the other hand, is a children’s story.

A children’s story that demands to be read aloud, with a very poetic musicality. There is alliteration and rhymes in lines, and a sing-song galloping rhythm. The whole style reflects the energy and zeal of the group of boys dressed in makeshift Halloween costumes ready for trick or treating high japes.

In one vast swerve, one doglike trot and ramble, they circled round and down the middle of the cobble-brick street, blown like leaves before a storm.

It was published in 1972 but feels older. The boys have an innocence similar to Kay Harker in The Box of Delights, or the children in Swallows and Amazons, even though they’re at the beginning of their teens. That doesn’t detract from it but I wonder if today’s readers need to be a couple of years younger in order to get into the spirit of the book.

This is the story of Halloween and some of its origin stories. The boys swoop across time and space with the help of a strange creature called ‘Mr Moundshroud’. In my head, he is a cross between Gene Wilder’s Willy Wonka and ‘The Gentlemen’ from an episode of Buffy the Vampire Slayer (you might need to look them up!).

They are ostensibly going in search of Pipkin, their dear friend and the best of them. But the idea of an incredible adventure is a big pull too. Their search takes them from Illinois to Egypt and countries farther still. It takes them to the depths of history, when the Sphinx was brand new and Romans hadn’t yet marched in England. The ceremonies to mark the dead and the beginnings of Winter are witnessed up close and fleetingly as this rollercoaster must end before midnight.

And before Halloween ends they must also make a Faustian deal to finally save their friend…

I really enjoyed the book, and without a suitably aged child to read it aloud to, I had to be content with the child in me. And that will have to do.

Books

The Mirror And The Light – Hilary Mantel

Book front cover of hardback.

Last night I finally finished the great tome that is The Mirror And The Light. It’s taken me ages. Not because it’s rubbish, far from it, but because of life getting in the way. But now, with relief and a little sadness, the trilogy is done.

Hilary Mantel herself says that ‘It was the hardest to write and it’s probably the most demanding for the reader’. That is definitely true. This last book has been more poetic and the viewpoint often leaves Cromwell’s head and swoops up to survey the wider geo-political landscape

It also dives back into his past more often, introspectively recollecting his earlier lives, in Putney, in Italy, in Antwerp, etc., drawing together a more solid shape of a man who previously seemed to have come out of nowhere. A blacksmith’s son from the backwaters of the Thames now the second most powerful man in the country.

The narrative commences where Bring Up The Bodies left off: the moment after Queen Anne’s execution, in the same way that one flowed from Wolf Hall. The books seem like nominal dividers at first, but all three end with an important beheading. Firstly Thomas More, then Anne Boleyn and finally in this one, the man himself.

That is not a spoiler, or maybe it is if you’re not up on your Tudor history? I’m a terrible one for looking up the main protagonists on t’internet, just to see how much their histories match up to the book. As with her previous two, Mantel makes sure the facts are all in the right places. They’re the skeleton around which she has built her hypotheses.

There is no record of the boy scholar Thomas More being harangued by the boy servant Thomas Cromwell, but it’s a sweet idea. And one that encapsulates the two men’s stark differences. Not only in their birth and paths through life, but it shows up More’s intransigence and Cromwell’s adaptiveness.

However, his remarkable abilities, to adapt and always to be one step ahead of his rivals, fail him in the end and he doesn’t foresee that his enemy’s enemies have become comrades for the purpose of his downfall.

He begins his incarceration in the Tower, initially in the same rooms as Anne Boleyn when she was about to be coronated and when she was about to be beheaded. It was Cromwell who, seven years before had had them rebuilt in time for Anne. It was Cromwell, who had had the eyes of the goddesses changed from brown to blue when Jane stayed here before her wedding to the King. A quote comes back to haunt us from the second book, where Anne warns Cromwell that ‘Those who are made can be unmade’.

The ghosts, that have occasionally accompanied him, have multiplied, especially when he is then moved to the Bell Tower, still a grand room, but more spartan, and used for high-ranking prisoners. George Boleyn, Cardinal Wolsey, Thomas More and others, all flit around for his last few days on Earth.

I’ve always been fascinated by history, much more so than current affairs, as for me, with history, the chaos has passed and can be explored less emotionally. But this trilogy has brought alive a period of time to such a degree where my emotions were engaged and I was rapt by the characters and the chaos and the machinations and the politics even though I knew how it would all play out.

The ending, though macabre, is poetry, and resurrects the words spoken by Walter, his father at the beginning of Wolf Hall. There is some evidence that Cromwell’s beheading was botched and took several blows, and Mantel uses this possibility to extend his voice for a few painful seconds more until he breathes his last and I closed the book for a final time.

Books

The Thursday Murder Club – Richard Osman

I have to say straight off that I’m not normally one for reading Crime Thrillers as a genre. But this was a well-publicised book by Richard Osman, who is quite famous in the UK for other things and, well, it was in the house.

The front cover of the book
Was it really that ‘Gripping’?

Anne read this before me, as always, and she is a bit of a Crime novel afficionado. She found it sweet and quite funny in parts. However, she reckoned that, if it had not been Richard Osman, it may not have been published. It’s all about who you know, and, I guess, how much you’re known.

Apparently the manuscript was the subject of a 10-way publishing war, so you’d think he could have chosen one with a better layout editor. The huge number of end-of-line word-breaks in the hardback was incredibly annoying for me because I’m pedantic like that. Perhaps if it had been a wonderfully written book I wouldn’t have noticed them much, but I did, so.

That said, I did start warming to the main characters as the book progressed. The titular ‘Club’ consists of four members of a very posh (as in you can’t quite imagine all of them keeling over with Covid) retirement village: Elizabeth, the main honcho, who used to be, well it’s never quite specified what she used to be, but by the favours she can very handily call on, it was high level and hush hush; Ibrahim, the psychiatrist, with a penchant for healthy living and technology; Ron, the old trade union boss who was asked to be patient by Arthur Scargill; and finally Joyce, the innocuous looking new recruit, who, like a modern day Miss Marple, could observe without being noticed.

It is Joyce’s diary entries, interspersed within the main narrative whose direct thoughts we are privy to. Why these are included, I’m not quite sure. It’s not as if they are showing us a perspective that the main narrative can’t reach. But it’s fine. Maybe in the next book in the series, and I suspect there will be one, he’ll draw on the diary of one of the others.

Alongside the sleuthing, the character interactions and developments are sometimes interesting. Elizabeth’s continuing with her dear friend Penny, now in the care home next door and unable to show any sign of engagement with the world, is poignant and drawn well.

The ending did feel a bit more convoluted than the rest, and it felt like the author was rapidly running out of space and needed to tie up loose ends very quickly. But at least he does tie them up as I’m not a fan of leaving things hanging. 

I think I’ve been quite negative so far about this book but it was a very quick, enjoyable read all in all. I would recommend it if you find yourself seeing it on the bookshelf, but I wouldn’t recommend paying loads of money for it.

Books

The Mermaid and Mrs Hancock – Imogen Hermes Gowar

The front cover of the book
A hefty hardback but a light and enjoyable read.

This book had been sitting on a book shelf in our house for quite a while. Anne had read it, of course, many moons ago. She is a much more prolific reader than me.  However she couldn’t remember much about it other than she had enjoyed it, and so I had to go through it myself.

The title certainly grabbed me as I was intrigued by the juxtaposition of the fantastical and the prosaic. It sounded like there could be a little magic realism which I often like if it’s done well.

It is set in late eighteenth century London, just after the United States has been born and just before the French revolution. The timing feels important because there is so much about identities in this book: ancient and newly created, and this is a time when the upward mobility of the mercantile class is really starting to happen. With British ships sailing the world over, and trade and slavery bringing new wealth into the pockets of businessmen as well as the nobility.

Mr Hancock is one of these such men but he begins, in the book, as a bit sad and lonely, haunted by the death of his wife in childbirth and his still born son several years back. Fretfully waiting for his ship to literally come in, and living in Deptford, an honest working town in the unfashionable south of the river.

The Mrs Hancock in question is anything but prosaic and for two thirds of the book she is also not Mrs Hancock but a high class, if somewhat frivolous, prostitute called Angelica Neal. She has just returned to society after her previous benefactor died and left her with nothing. Her old pimp Bet Chappell wants her to return to the ‘nunnery’.

How these two unlikely companions come together is the core of this book but there is so much more. Mermaids for a start, and possibly more than one, or possibly none, such is the slippery nature of the beast. In an age when these ships are bringing so many new things from abroad for the delight of the chattering classes and the coffee drinking men of means, mermaids remain a very high possibility.

It is written in the present tense and takes on the viewpoint of various characters allowing the reader to see an interesting cross-section of life. The language is delightfully vivacious and earthy. I have a bad habit of skipping past descriptive sections but I found myself enjoying the writer’s turn of phrase so much that I lapped these parts up as much as the action.

Jane Austen, writing in the same period that this is set may have kept away from some of the more ribald aspects. But she would have recognised the proscriptive place of women. From Mr Hancock’s older sister who inherits nothing of their father’s business to Polly, a child of a slave, picked up and polished to be a sexual curio for wealthy men. From Sukie, Mr Hancock’s niece, pulled out of school for being too clever, to Angelica, supposedly free of society’s repressive constraints but completely at the mercy of a man’s credit.

The book dips into the fantastic, occasionally a little clumsily, but where it stays with reality it paints a very engaging picture of eighteenth century life. I thoroughly enjoyed it and was very pleased to have found it on our bookshelves.

Books

The Midnight Library – Matt Haig

Front cover of The Midnight Library

In a nutshell, this is a cross between Quantum Leap and Sliding Doors, with an added sprinkling of It’s a Wonderful Life. And as I enjoyed watching all of these, I really enjoyed reading this book.

It’s not a plot spoiler to reveal that Nora Seed attempts to die. That is explained in the very first sentence. But this book is not a depressing read. It moves along at a decent clip with down to earth, matter of fact language, so when the occasional moments of poetic introspection come along, they stand out more vividly.

The Midnight Library is the place in between. Between life and death; between time; between one’s ‘root’ existence and an infinite amount of others. And when Nora Seed tries to kill herself, she is, instead, blessed with trying on a few of these other existences. She gets to work out whether all her regrets in life are merited. The two catches: she can only pick a path once, and she can only join the action from this moment on instead of when she diverged. And if it’s not the life for her, she will return to the Library.

This second catch causes a number of logistical problems, à la ‘Quantum Leap’. But it also, conveniently for the art of story-telling, speeds up the process of multi-life living, when a book of regrets as heavily weighed down as Nora’s is, needs to be explored. Less sardonically, it makes the point that even though she is stepping into her own life, it is a life that has been lived by a subtly or completely different Nora up to this point , and does she really want to skip those parts?

For example, she walks into her marriage with Dan (who, in her root life, was the fiancé she left just a couple of days before the wedding) many years after making a different decision. Where his dream of owning a pub in a bucolic setting has been realised. Sounds like a nice ready-made life to pick up doesn’t it?

The book lays out the difference between dreams and perceptions and reality. The lives that Nora explores slowly reveal what the most important things are to her, through example and a good dosing of philosophy (it’s made me want to read a bit more about Henry David Thoreau, that’s for sure).

Matt Haig gets the core idea from physics, the many worlds theory. But although he doesn’t bog you down with the science he does throw a few puns in along the way for fun. There is also the amusement of making the connections between disparate parts flung far and wide amongst the pages. Californian fires and blond boys are peripheral but give a demonstration of the interconnectedness in Nora’s many lives.

Initially I thought that Nora was an excessively high achiever: Olympic potential, offered a record contract, academically bright. And I assumed that maybe Haig created her to show that if a person like she can hit rock bottom, then anybody can. But then I realised that he was also suggesting that anybody has ‘potential’. And that was my favourite message in a book that has many really interesting things to reflect upon. Even if most of us don’t follow life’s extreme trajectories, we have the potential to matter, to be significant, to knock against the lives of others and maybe help them on a new direction.

In the words of the great Keanu Reeves, ‘It’s Quantum Baby’!

Books

Bring Up the Bodies – Hilary Mantel

Front cover of the paperback version of Bring Up the Bodies - Hilary Mantel

I thought I would start reviewing the books that I read. Partly so that I read them with a little more thought, and partly so that I read them. Because for some reason, although I love books, I don’t sit down with one very much at all.

So we kick off with the middle book in a trilogy, which is a little arse about tit I grant you, but it is the latest book I’ve read and not everything can be planned so neatly.

Bring up the Bodies begins in the middle of Anne Boleyn’s brief time as Queen. Thomas Cromwell has risen up from being a Michael Cohen style fixer and is now fully established as Henry VIII’s right hand man and so far Anne has produced just one more daughter for the Crown. It carries Cromwell’s story on from Mantel’s first book in the trilogy, Wolf Hall, which leaves us with Henry and Anne’s marriage and Thomas More’s execution.

We know how it ends of course, for Anne, but there is a genius in taking a piece of history well trod and documented, and bringing it to life in a whole new way. Mantel keeps the narrative in the present tense, so pushing that idea of ‘History’ back, and makes the language modern enough for our ears. On top of that, the narrator always sits just behind and occasionally inside, Cromwell’s head, so you have access to only one perspective. But that perspective happens to have an increasing reach and knowledge over the dominions of England, especially the lands and lives of the nobility. So, for the reader, this vantage point reveals a lot.

Now it is highly probable that Mantel has taken artistic licence to make this Cromwell more sympathetic than he really was. A reader will be more willingly pulled along if they’re invested in the main protagonist. There are moments, like when he looks at the first queen, Katherine, in her ‘prison’. They’re roughly the same age but he notes that ‘life is harsher for women’, especially if they ‘have been blessed with many children and seen them die’. This level of empathy may occasionally tip the suspension of disbelief a little for some but it didn’t bother me and reminded me that even Himmler loved his family.

Wolf Hall was lambasted by some historians for painting More in a detestable manner and Cromwell so positively1. But, these books from Cromwell’s point of view and they are novels after all and not a history.2 Even bona fide histories will create a ‘narrative’ and make suppositions where there are blank spaces in the facts.

Mantel’s Cromwell comes across as phlegmatic and Machiavellian – at one point it says he’s read The Prince, which in his estimation could be improved upon! He is (in his eyes necessarily) ruthless but not bloodthirsty, highly intelligent, generous and knows when to take his revenge. This book brings his character to the peak of his powers and the height of his wealth with the dissolution of the monasteries filling the coffers of the Crown.

Thomas Cromwell painted by Hans Holbein
Thomas Cromwell, by Hans Holbein the Younger, oil on panel, late 16th century (1533-1534) – ‘When he saw the portrait finished he had said, ‘Christ, I look like a murderer’; and his son Gregory said, didn’t you know?’

I do like history. My A-level English History covered the Tudors and I wish I’d had these books around then. I know this is a fiction but the level of research that Mantel has done to keep on top of who’s who and what their relationships are and who they’ve slept with etc. is excellent. It brings it alive in a way that would have made me want to explore the real stories more.

If history is not your bag, you may find it a little unwieldy. There are a lot of characters. Mantel does give a helpful list at the beginning but it can still get confusing sometimes. However, I wouldn’t let the details bog you down. Just sit back and let it carry you along.


1 In defence of Thomas More https://www.theguardian.com/artanddesign/jonathanjonesblog/2015/jan/29/wolf-hall-wrong-thomas-more-was-funny-feminist

2 https://www.theguardian.com/books/2017/may/31/students-take-hilary-mantels-tudor-novels-as-fact-hay-festival