Parallel lives

Have just made a start on this year's Sci-fi / fantasy challenge by reading China Mieville's very brilliant The city & the city. Part sci-fi, part crime fiction, The city is set in the divided city of Beszel / Ul Qoma. More divided than Berlin ever was, these two cities share the same physical space, but are separated from each other. Each "world" is either completely invisible to citizens of the sister city, or is partially visible,  in which case the inhabitants are trained as children to ignore their dopple-city and its impact on their lives. The whole is a sort of amazing riff on string theory.

Set partially in a Barbara Nadal Istanbulish-type world with a hint of Kafka's Prague, Inspector Tyador Borlu gets caught up in an investigation into a murder case that crosses the boundaries of both cities and perhaps strays over the borders into yet another hidden city, Orcinny. As the investigation becomes ever more complicated and the murderer looks as though he's going to get away with multiple homicides, Borlu is forced to risk all to bring the villain to justice.

The whole concept of Mieville's strange world takes a bit of getting your head around, but once you do this it's a great read. Fans of Bladerunner will love it (in fact the whole book is crying out to be made into a film), as will crime fiction fans who fancy something a little unusual. This is the sort of book that, odd as it is, sweeps aside the boundaries of genre, and should be read just for the sheer enjoyment of it.

Brave new world?

In virtually any comparison of book v film I come down on the side of the book. There are just a few instances where I definitely prefer the film : Wizard of Oz: good book but great film, Judy Garland's performance is heartbreaking, Technicolor was rarely more glorious, and it was the first live action feature film (on a double bill with Tom Thumb) I ever saw in a cinema, so it's close to my heart ; Third man: great short story, iconic film - brilliant ensemble cast, a quirky atmospheric score, and wonderful photography from the great Robert Krasker; and The Da Vinci code: controversial this, but I hated the book so anything was an improvement, even a wooden performance from Tom Hanks!

And so, we come to Kazuo Ishiguro's Never let me go. I had read this around the time it was nominated for the Booker in 1994. What is astonishing however is that I had virtually no recollection of it except for a very vague idea that it was about clones; and then recently I saw the film, and was blown away. It haunted me for days, scenes from the film would return to me, and I couldn't stop thinking about it. There was a great cast: Keira Knightley didn't quite work as the teenage Ruth, but her performance as the dying 20-something Ruth was excellent. The doomed lovers, Kathy and Tommy, were beautifully played in understated performances from Carey Mulligan and Andrew Garfield; while there were amazing performances from the young cast playing the childhood trio of friends. Wonderful acting was complimented by some of the most beautiful shots of the English countryside and coastline you could hope to see, while Rachel Portman's lyrical Vaughan Williams inspired score was hauntingly lovely. So I decided to read the book again.

...And it is amazing. The story is told (as in the film) from Kathy's point of view. The story opens with her memories of her boarding school days, in what appears to be an idyllic childhood. It is only as the story continues that this Enid Blyton world of chats in dormitories and feuds among friends starts to feel slightly skewed, not quite right; and then gradually the truth is revealed. For these are not ordinary children at all, these children are clones, and have been bred to become donors when they grow up. They will have a short reasonably happy adulthood, they will be well cared for, and then they will complete (the euphemism for die) giving their lives during donations to preserve the humans who have bred them.

It is a chillingly bleak tale with humans able to forget about or choose to believe it to be impossible that these clones may actually be sentient beings, with thoughts and feelings, with souls. And even, as the story draws to a close, even if humans knew that they were sentient, they would still be able to do what they do and in effect, torture and kill them, as long as the clones are not "visible", as long as they can be out of sight / out of mind. What, I think, makes the novel so compelling is the clever use of the narrative voice. Kathy is very normal, chatty, friendly, and this contrasts both with the story that she's telling, and with the way that she's treated in the book - Kathy's voice is all too human, but she is, in fact, a clone with a bleak future ahead of her.

Having seen the film and read the book, I felt rather guilty. I think one of the reasons that the film touched me in a way that the book had not, was the book's contention that humans are capable of a great deal of, what can only be called, evil as long as they don't have to see the consequences of it. The book was a book - but the film made you aware of the characters, you quite literally saw them, you rooted for them in a way that you didn't in the book, partly because the book was being told retrospectively. And I think it was this - truly seeing the characters as human that haunted me so when I saw the film.

Of course this all sounds incredibly silly - I have clearly been dragged screaming and kicking way beyond the prosecium arch: I can't honestly imagine that a world quite like Ishiguro's would ever exist even though it was an astonishingly prescient novel, being published just 2 years before Dolly the cloned sheep was created. But he does have a point, it certainly made me think more deeply than I had for some time, about the advances in genetic engineering, and the possibilities, good and bad, of what might lie ahead. It also makes you think about morality, not just in science, but generally. The day after Holocaust Memorial Day is a good time to be thinking about the evil that men do, not the least of which is a very human propensity for ignoring that which makes them feel uncomfortable.

As far as Never let me go is concerned, I think the film version still remains my favourite, but see the film and read the book. They are both unreservedly wonderful, and prepare to be haunted.

A bird in the hand

Elizabeth Goudge's Bird in the Tree couldn't be more different from my last neo-realist read Christ Stopped at Eboli. Christ stopped at Eboli is gritty and realistic, bone-crunchingly real, this is life and it ain't pretty. Elizabeth Goudge's romances with Christian undertones (sometimes more overt than others) are definitely not life as it is lived, but rather how you would rather like life to be lived in the best of all possible worlds. She doesn't shy away from the realities of life; there is grief and illness and old age, and even adultery, but the evils of the world are smoothed away as just a small part of a much bigger Christian inspired picture. This all sounds very twee and rather saccharine, but in fact she's a lovely writer.

Her Christianity is no more in your face than, for large swathes of the Narnia chronicles, is C.S. Lewis's faith. And there's a wonderful homely, comforting, wrap you around in a big shawl with a cup of honey and lemon quality about her books, that makes them eminently readable. The bird in the tree is the first of the trio of Damerosehay books - a series set in an old house near Buckler's Hard in Hampshire. The house has become a refuge for the extended Eliot family presided over by the aged and indomitable Grandmother Lucilla, a veritable Victorian Grande-dame.

Although the first in the series, this was actually the last of the series that I read, and I don't think it's quite as good as the others - some of the problems of the principal characters quite literally vanish in the night, and it's not altogether convincing. Nevertheless, as is always the case with Elizabeth Goudge, it's a heartwarming, spellbinding tale. Goudge has a wonderful sense of place, and Damerosehay, its history and surroundings are beautifully brought to life. The young children of the family are also gloriously uproariously real, as are the dogs - with some of the best dog portrayals I have ever read. Where she is less successful is with the twenty-something characters, who feel a little unreal. Mere players to be prodded around the set. My favourite parts of the book besides the child/dog interactions were the background to the house's history which was magically written.

Goudge isn't the kind of author I could read everyday, but to read occasionally is like diving into a hot bath after a muddy windy dogwalk; and as nice a soft centre as you could hope to bite into.

Bookworm blogs about a fascinating tour of Damerosehay country - well worth a read.

Italian neo-realism

Following the Second World War Italian cinema took off with the neo-realist movement, most notably with Roberto Rossellini's Rome, open city, and Vittorio De Sica's Bicycle thieves. What I hadn't realised until reading Carlo Levi's Christ stopped at Eboli was that the neo-realist movement arose from the literary world. Eboli is a stark, beautifully written account of Levi's time spent as an exile, in the 1930s, in Lucania (Basilicata), the impoverished instep of Italy. In spite of its title this is not a religious book. The title refers to a belief among the peasantry of Basilicata that there was no religion or pity south of Eboli, they were abandoned both by man, by the Italian government and by God. Fortitude, magic, and an imperturbable patience took the place of Church, State, and humanity.

Levi , an artist, writer, and qualified (although not practising) doctor was exiled to Basilicata as a result of his anti-Fascist views on the eve of the war in Abyssinia. In Basilicata he found great kindness from many of the peasantry, but also brutal grinding poverty in a stark, unforgiving landscape. Forced to practice medicine in a land with no doctors or health service, Levi re-evaluates the Italy that he thought he knew. This is a stunning read, and a worthy companion to many of the other great left-wing books of the 1930s - most notably George Orwell's The road to Wigan Pier and Homage to Catalonia.

This is a book to soak into, to absorb the sights and sounds and smells. It is an Italy that can seem as remote as Roman times, and yet is only 75 years ago. A must-read.

A modern Buchan

Racing round the library late one Thursday evening just before closing time, I was rushing to pick up my full quota of volumes and grabbed Paul Torday's More than you can say. It was only a few nights ago when I picked up the book to have a read that I realised that Paul Torday was the author of Salmon fishing in the Yemen; his debut novel, which was heavily hyped and remained in the best-seller lists in the UK for some time.

I had read Salmon fishing, and to be honest wasn't that impressed. It was a fun book, pretty enjoyable, but I thought it was nowhere near up to the hype surrounding it, and found it fairly forgettable. I certainly wouldn't have wanted to read another book by the author off the back of reading Salmon fishing. So I guess it was lucky that I was in a rush and had forgotten the author's name, because More than you can say is unreservedly brilliant. One of the best thrillers I've read in a long time, and certainly the best global-terrorism thriller I've ever read.

Richard Gaunt is an ex-Captain in the British Army. After two long tours in Iraq and Afghanistan Gaunt returns home. He is suffering from undiagnosed Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, and is haunted by what he has witnessed and done in the fight against terrorism. He's unable to cope on his return, hits the bottle, gambles heavily, and alienates his friends and family culminating in a separation from his fiancee. Obsessed by gambling, Gaunt agrees to walk to Oxford for a bet, but his plans are interrupted when he is kidnapped en route, and persuaded to marry a perfect stranger for a substantial sum of money. Gaunt's plans to forget about the marriage are thwarted when his Afghan "wife" follows him begging his help in escaping from the people who forced her into the marriage. Moved by pity, and an admiration for Adeena's gutsy behaviour Gaunt and "Mrs." Gaunt go on the run, but it soon becomes clear that there is more to this than Gaunt had originally believed, and it's not long before the British Security Services are involved.

Torday mentions in an afterword to the book that he had wanted to write a good old-fashioned adventure story in the style of John Buchan, and he has done this admirably. There are all the classic elements : a damsel in distress (who is perhaps rather more than meets the eye), nasty villains, an ordinary slightly naive man made good pulled into the heart of the adventure, a cracking pace, and a gripping climax. That it also happens to be about foreign (and what some might call Imperialist) wars also ties in nicely with the classic adventure story.

But this is more than just a Boys' Own story. Torday also manages to examine the morality of the war against terrorism looking at the actions of the West, and how that has impacted on the recruitment of new terrorists. "More than you can say" is Adeena's gentle taunt to Gaunt. She has something to believe in, which is more than he can say; and throughout the book belief systems, and the lack of belief in anything (politics, religion....) in the West are constant themes. This makes it sound as though the book is heavy going, but it's anything but, Torday looks at very serious and challenging themes but deals with them so lightly, that it's only after you've finished the novel that you start to think seriously about the points he has raised. The book is also in places very funny.

Okay it's not perfect - the politics of global terrorism is perhaps rather simplistically portrayed, but Torday manages to get you thinking about the situation, and deals with both sides of the conflict surprisingly even-handedly. I would heartily recommend this - if you're a fan of Buchan or Childers, you'll love this. For a gripping edge-of-the-seat read this takes a bit of beating.

Not quite Lord Peter

I'm not generally a big fan of sequels to well-known novels written by authors other than their original creators. However I've always been a big fan of Dorothy L. Sayers and so was interested to see what Jill Paton Walsh would do with continuing the Lord Peter Wimsey sequence. And I really enjoyed the first sequel Thrones, Dominations. Paton Walsh had plenty of Dorothy L. Sayers to draw on for this one, so she was really completing the author's narrative, and I thought it worked surprisingly well. In fact it was the first book of this kind, that I have really enjoyed and thought was a fitting extension to the canon. So.. on to book two A presumption of death.

There was less to draw on this time from Sayers. Paton Walsh incorporated some "Wimsey papers" that Sayers had written for the Spectator magazine. These consisted of a sequence of mock letters between members of the Wimsey family intended to keep wartime spirits high. There's none of the intellectual crime-fighting sleuth in these papers. So that even those papers that are included in this novel feel very unlike how Wimsey appears in the main canon of text. The body of the novel is pure Paton Walsh, and it's extremely patchy. The tone didn't really work for me, some of the slang is strange, and feels forced. Interactions between characters, and the way they are portrayed also doesn't quite work, and the period feel is just not quite right. It's all off just by a whisker. For much of the first half of the novel, it felt like a pastiche, like someone trying to be someone else, and not quite getting the tone right. So a bad pastiche at that. Peter and Bunter are absent for the first half of the novel too, and I think this adds to the feeling of oddness.

And then suddenly, most unexpectedly, the novel takes off. The execution of the second crime (or rather thae way in which it appears to be executed)  is pure Sayers - I could easily imagine this in an earlier novel of the series, then Peter returns, and he and Harriet go off on a sort of roadtrip to try to get to the heart of the crime. And this section runs wonderfully. I thoroughly enjoyed it: well described, reasonable characterisation, interactions between Peter and Harriet really work, crime starts to be unravelled - everything's wonderful, I was planning a positive review, and then, it just suddenly plummets again.

Back to pastiche, weak ending, weak crime - what a shame. I just found this novel plain irritating. There are odd moments when you can see how good it could have been, but the writing is generally weak, and there is some sloppy editing including one character who changes his name partway through.

If you're a Sayers fan, you'll want to read this just to read all the Wimsey mysteries, but it's not a good one. Although, perhaps not surprisingly for such a successful childrens' author, the Wimsey children are portrayed delightfully.

A surprisingly modern tale

Framley Parsonage is the fourth installment in Anthony Trollope's tales of clerical and rural life in Victorian England, the Barsetshire Chronicles. The previously reviewed Dr. Thorne moved us away from the clergy wars of the cathedral close to rural Barsetshire, and the family of the eponymous hero. Framley Parsonage is closer in spirit to earlier volumes with the reappearance of the frightful Mrs. Proudie, the Dean and Mrs. Arabin, and the Grantlys, along with all your favourite characters from Dr. Thorne, including Thorne, Mary, Frank, and the jovial quack-medicine heiress, Miss Dunstable.

At the centre of the novel are a new set of characters, Mark Robarts, the rector of Framley Parsonage, and his family, and the Luftons, the landed gentry who are responsible for Mark's position in life. Mark has a happy life, a secure job, a loving family, but through his generosity to a friend lands himself deeply in debt with what sounds rather like a Victorian version of a payday loan scheme. Faced with horrendous interest payments Mark can see no way out of the trap that he is ensnared in. Meanwhile the friend, Mr. Sowerby, faced with even greater debts, loses all.

Trollope writes movingly and incredibly honestly about debt; and captures all too accurately the way in which financial problems can take over and dominate a life. For the current financial climate this is salutary reading. I found it interesting to read this, compared with, say, the way in which Dickens deals with debt. Dickens' personal experience of debt was horrendous - his father sent to a debtors' prison, and young Dickens forced to work at a very young age to sustain the family. Debt as portrayed in Framley Parsonage is, in some ways, not as big a deal as it is in Dickens - no one is going to go to jail. But that almost seems to make it more modern, this doesn't seem like the Victorian way of dealing with financial collapse, but is a very modern (including visits from the bailiff and threats from those who have bought up the debt), and equally scary interpretation. I found the debt sections genuinely claustrophobic.

Another 21st century element is the dreadful vacuous, Grizelda Grantly, the original Bridezilla. Grizelda cares very little who she marries, as long as he has a title and she can have a wonderful trousseau. I had great fun imagining Grizelda and her new husband selling the rights to the wedding pics to Hello! magazine, and sorting out a reality-TV deal to follow them after their nuptials.

For all this Framley Parsonage is a Victorian novel. It is a product of its age, and remains firmly set within its period (although Trollope's attitudes towards women mark him out as a most un-Victorian gentleman). This is not the best of the Barsetshire novels, the central romance is less well worked out than in the other novels, and some of the characters remain firmly made of cardboard. But there are moments of extraordinary writing, and is one of the best fictional depictions of the evils of debt that I have ever read.

And you're worried about leaves on the line??

The wolves of Willoughby Chase by Joan Aiken is a delightfully subversive fairy story. Aiken re-writes British history - no more Queen Victoria, the end of the Hanoverian dynasty sees a return to the throne of the Stuart monarchy with Good King James III. The recently opened Channel Tunnel has caused a return of wolves to Britain, who frequently waylay trains, harrass passengers, and even, when very hungry, eat the engine driver (for non-UK Bookhounders "leaves on the line" is the all-purpose excuse for train delays in the UK in the autumn/winter).

An orphan, Sylvia Green, braves the perils of train travel to go and stay with her wealthy cousin, Bonnie, in the northern wolds, at Willoughby Chase. But unpleasant changes are at hand, Bonnie's parents leave to go on a long voyage, while the governess they have appointed turns out to be a crook intent on orphaning Bonnie and robbing her of her entire estate. Imprisoned in an orphanage that Oliver Twist would have felt quite at home in, the girls escape, and with the help of Simon the goose-boy walk to London, determined to get justice.

This is a great fantasy tale. Funny, witty, wistful, beautifully portrayed, and a fabulous re-invention of England. Aiken just distorts the mirror slightly, so everything is as you know it, and yet, not quite....This is the first of a whole series of books, all well worth reading. If you enjoy fantasy, you may like this. If you're a fan of Angela Carter or Jonathan Norrell and Mr. Strange,  you'll love it.

Zero hour

It's a long time since I last read Agatha Christie's Zero hour, other than the basic premise of the plot, and the murderer, I could remember very little about it, and it was an interesting re-read. It's another atypical Christie, in that it's presented in a very different way to most of her plots, and yet in some ways it's the epitome of the country house murder mystery with a clearly defined crime, and a finite cast of suspects. What makes this novel rather different is that the narrative starts nearly a year prior to the crime as it focuses on the characters who will be integral to the later plot - we even get a quick glimpse of the murderer planning the crime.

What appears to be the central crime is fairly typical stuff, but Christie lays red herrings profusely across the reader's path. Indeed they're essential in this novel as the murder turns out to be a whole lot more complicated than it initially appears. One of the cleverest elements in this novel is a crime that is barely incidental to the plot - one of the cleverest fictional murders I've ever come across (although I'm not entirely sure whether it is actually possible), and she just throws it away in such a casual style. A truly assured Queen of crime.

So the basic elements are all there - it could be fantastic. And yet....it doesn't quite gel. The characterisation is pretty weak here - not that you would expect fabulous characterisation in Christie, but it is unusually paper thin. There's a dreadfully weak romance thrown in at the end, which doesn't feel convincing, or add anything particular to the novel. And there's an odd feel overall to the book - it feels like a stage play : the setting, the dialogue, the movement of the characters, it just all feels to me as though this was intended to be a play, and for some reason was changed mid-course to a novel, which could account for a lot re the missing elements within the book. It's not the best of Christie, but it is a clever tale. Would be a good postscript to viewing a Christie classic such as Witness for the prosecution.

Traitor's roots

A perfect spy is my favourite John Le Carre. I've loved it since I first read it shortly after it was published in the mid-1980s. It's got a real depth to it that transcends your average spy thriller (not that Le Carre's thrillers are ever average) and takes it into the heart of literary fiction. It was the last great Cold War thriller from Le Carre. The world was rapidly changing, and as the world changed Le Carre's stories had to change too to stay current. But the Cold War was where he made his reputation, it was the area he was most familiar with from his own days with the British Secret Service, and A perfect spy is both Le Carre's most personal and complex book.

Other Cold War thrillers - Tinker, Tailor, Soldier Spy, The spy who came in from the cold - examined the life of the spy, and the work they had to do. In some ways Tinker Tailor is related to Perfect spy. In Tinker Tailor the "good" spy George Smiley is tasked with uncovering the Russian agent within the Secret Service. And the whole book follows his quest, there's only a fairly brief section at the end where the mole is caught and interrogated. So the mole's particular reasons for betrayal are dealt with fairly cursorily - a vague idealogical affiliation with Moscow.

Re-reading Perfect Spy and thinking of Tinker Tailor it struck me that this was actually very typical of the way that traitors were portrayed throughout the Cold War. If a reason was given for their betrayal it was usually presented as being fairly straightforward : they were venal, or held radical political views. Yet many spies managed to hold their place within the establishment for many years - so they must have appeared to be in sympathy with the Intelligence Services they were serving. How did they manage to do this? This suggests that something rather more complicated was going on.

A perfect spy examines the roots of treachery, and suggests that it's all a lot more complicated than it may appear. Magnus Pym is the Head of Vienna Station, and is running the Czech spy networks for MI6. He's popular, clever, happily married, and about to be promoted. Then his father dies, and Magnus goes AWOL. Around the same time the CIA drop a bombshell, they've been running some routine checks, and suspect that Magnus is rather more closely involved with the Czech Secret Service than anyone has realised; in short he has been spying for the Czechs and by extension the Soviet Union for his whole career. As both his British and Czech controllers try to hunt him down, and his wife struggles to come to terms with what was real and what was just "cover" throughout their marriage, Pym starts to write his memoirs. He was trained to be a spy from childhood in a complicated life with a larger-than-life conman father. He certainly is a traitor, but what or who exactly has he betrayed?

It's a very dense read, but incredibly powerful. I've read it loads of times and still have to take a deep breath after finishing it and come up for air. It's one of the few Le Carre's where he actually writes really good female roles - Mary Pym is lovely, and also does a great job of outsmarting those who are supposed to be superior to her. The central characters are pure brilliance : Rick Pym, the conman father and his court of crooks and jesters, Jack Brotherhood, the MI6 controller, who's desperate to believe in Pym's innocence, and Axel, the witty Czech spy. I think it's probably no coincidence that Axel is one of the most attractive characters in the book. There are shades of the Devil in Paradise Lost here. Above them all stands Pym, the happy-go-lucky character who is tortured by his demons.

The earlier Cold War thrillers are brilliant if you love a great adventure story, but for real psychological depth this is the novel to read. Stunning stuff.

Things that go bump in the night

In the late '70s / early '80s British supermarkets suddenly developed an interest in publishing their own range of books. There was usually just a few shelves of them and they were a cheap and cheerful collection of cookery books along with anthologies of popular authors. Most of them are now long out of print, but some great books could be found alongside the truly dreadful. Marks & Spencer seemed to have a special talent for publishing the sorts of books I liked. My favourite cookery book The St. Michael Book of International Cookery came from this period as did a John Le Carre anthology The quest for Karla, and two great books of spooky short stories 65 Great tales of the supernatural and its companion 65 Great tales of horror.

The latter two are long out of print, but they're well worth getting (try Amazon or Ebay) if you want a great introduction to the best of spooky short story writing. 65 great tales of the supernatural is edited by Mary Danby, a noted ghost story writer herself, she also edited a series of ghost story books for children. Her skill as an editor can be seen here as the selection is admirable. They span everything from the out-and-out comic tale (with 3 brilliant tales by Mark Twain, Saki, and Pamela Hansford-Johnson (one of the best tales in the book from an author who I've never come across elsewhere)), the downright eerie, right through to supernatural horror.

The mix of writers is very interesting too. All the usual classic suspects are here : M.R. James, H.P. Lovecraft, Sheridan Le Fanu, Poe, there's also an interesting selection of stories from writers who are principally known from writing in other genres. There is a particularly effective tale from Edith Wharton which is told with great panache, a grisly tale of grave-robbing from Robert Louis Stevenson, alongside a surprise appearance from E. Nesbit of Railway children fame. There are also a large number of tales from writers who I've never come across elsewhere. Some of them definitely deserve more notice. Among these are the very creepy tale of a serial killer with an unusual modus operandi by Bernard Taylor, Roger Malisson's Wicker Man inspired story, and Nigel Kneale's short story Minuke, which could give The Amytiville Horror a run for its money.

If you like ghost stories, these are well worth getting your hands on. If you're new to the genre they're a great introduction setting out some of the best stories around. If you're an old hand, there will be something new to discover here. All you need is a warm fire, and a dark and stormy night. Prepare to be pleasurably scared.

The Bookhound Awards, 2011

A very Happy New Year to all Bookhound readers. It's that time of year again, a time to look back on the year that's just gone and to look forward to all the fantastic reads that lie in wait in 2012. It's a time to praise the brilliant, and to mutter about the dreadful. So goodbye 2011 and hello 2012; and what a year 2011 has been for great reads. It's been the year of the very challenging 666 Challenge (see previous post), my first graphic novel - the kids' read the brilliant Tintin in The Calculus Affair, lots of re-reads - many of them I'd forgotten how completely wonderful they are, and loads of new books and authors (some of the authors have already become firm favourites). Through the course of 2012 I've read 166 books, of which 1 was a graphic novel, 7 were books of short stories, and 25 non-fiction. 57 books out of my total read were library books (so over a third of the total) - in these economically challenged times I suspect that more people will turn to libraries - Governments take note! Most books were originally written in English, but I read 23 in translation from a variety of languages including Norwegian, Swedish, Danish and Icelandic, French, Spanish, Italian and German, Russian, Ukranian and Japanese.

And so we come to the Second Annual Bookhound Awards, awarded to the great and not-so-good of this year. It's time for a reminder of what gave pleasure, and of what will never be read again. There are 10 categories this year : Book of the year, New Read, Re-read, Top crime, Best non-fiction, Surprise of the year, Disappointment of the year, A sense of place, Funniest read, and my usual Best performance by an animal (preferably fictional but you never know...)

So in no particular order :
Crime read of the year
And the nominees are : Endless Night / Agatha Christie - for still being scary and surprising in spite of numerous reads ; another Agatha, Death comes as the end for having one of the most unusual settings for a crime novel, and for having a good solid crime at the heart of it ; Robert Drewe's The shark net, ostensibly recollections of a teenager's coming of age in Western Australia, Drewe happened to be growing up at a time when there was a serial killer on the loose, his examination of how this affects an entire society is unforgettable ; My soul to take, Yrsa Sigurdardottir's follow-up to Last rituals. Different, but almost as good ; Last act in Palmyra. Crime doesn't get funnier than this as Falco and Helena battle to stay alive as they travel to Palmyra with a stage troop.

And the winner is : Death comes as the end. Very clever, with a surprisingly scary ending, and a wonderful setting.

Funniest read of the year
There have been some great comedy moments in 2011 (most of them intentional!). The books that made Bookhound laugh included :

Death and the penguin. Andrey Kurkov's surreal satire on post-Soviet Ukraine. You know it's going to be great fun from the time you read the section describing how the zoo couldn't afford to feed its animals so gave them to willing volunteers (one wonders who got the lion?) ; Monica Dickens' memoir of life as a high-class cook/housemaid in 1930's Britain One pair of hands. To a certain extent this has dated, but it still remains screamingly funny, and one of my favourite instant pick-me-up reads ; I'd always enjoyed the Tintin cartoons as classic kids' adventures, what I hadn't realised was how funny the books are, with lots of little jokes that will probably soar right over your kid's head but will be thoroughly enjoyed by the adult reading the bedtime tale, so I have to nominate Herge's The Calculus Affair ; MASH by Richard Hooker, an astonishing and very funny look at the life of an Army Surgical Unit in the Korean War. It's so funny, that it's sometimes hard to believe that much of it also happened to be true ; and finally Douglas Adams' The hitchikers guide to the galaxy. Surreal and weird, it's often been copied but never surpassed.

And the winner is Death and the penguin. The first in a series of comic reads. Andrey Kurkov was one of my new author finds of the year.

Top non-fiction read
There were some great non-fiction finds this year. My favourites included Robert Drewe's The shark net, the enchanting The sight of death by T.J. Clark. You might think that a book looking at an art scholar's perception of a single painting (and not even a particularly well-known painting) over the course of a year would be incredibly boring, but this book wasn't like that at all. It was completely fascinating, and I loved it ; Chris Stringer's Homo Britannicus, a wonderfully inspirational look at the history of the landscape of Britain, and how dramatic geological changes affected the lives of the people living within the landscape. I'll never look at Britain in quite the same way again ; another art related book Alice Beckett's Fakes : forgery and the art world a surprisingly honest look at the fake art market and how it affects the real one, although even this book is not quite what it seems....; Come tell me how you live by Agatha Christie. This was a charming read, the story of a series of archaeological digs undertaken by Christie's husband, Max Mallowan, in the years leading up to the Second World War. She writes evocatively of the time and place, and with an enthusiasm for her subject that shines through.

This was one of the hardest categories to judge. Virtually all the non-fiction reads this year were brilliant. But the winner is T.J. Clark's The sight of death. It completely blew me away, wonderful writing, incredible subject. Just fantastic. Honourable mentions go to Come tell me how you live and Homo Britannicus.

A sense of place
Some books can just do it, you turn the pages and like Sheherazade's husband you're fully immersed in a strange and wonderful land, perhaps even a time outside your own. Some books however do it better than others. These were my favourites this year :
Agatha Christie : Death comes as the end for bringing Ancient Egypt exuberantly to life ; J.K. Rowling for the Harry Potter sequence - it's not easy to create a fantasy world that works and continues to work over the course of several books, but she's done a superb job ; Fair stood the wind for France, so French you can smell the lavender, see the vineyards, and hear the cicadas - wonderful writing ; another novel set in time of war also receives mention David Downing's Potsdam Station set in the dying days of the Battle for Berlin. I've read plenty of non-fiction about this, but rarely has it been brought so stunningly to life as here, and finally In the company of the courtesan, Sarah Dunant brings Renaissance Venice dazzlingly to life, I believed in every bit of it.

And the winner is Potsdam Station. This wasn't the best Downing I've ever read, but the scenes set in Berlin as the characters struggle to survive are brilliantly written. Quite amazing.

Best performance by an animal
The human kangaroos in Eric Linklater's The wind on the moon. Although not strictly animals, they were very funny, and beautifully portrayed in this hilarious and touching childrens' classic ; Snowy, Tintin's white terrier sidekick - where would Tintin be without him? he even speaks! ; Jasper, cocker spaniel and loyal friend in Du Maurier's Rebecca, he's also an important element in the story as he's able to move the narrative to new locations. Du Maurier liked dogs, and that's very obvious in the way she portrayed Jasper ; Mischa, Andrey Kurkov's depressed penguin from Death and the penguin, certainly one of the funniest animals this year, and a bravura performance throughout ; and probably the wonderful of all (as they're not fictional) the courageous sled-dogs of the far north in Yukon Alone.
And the winner is : Mischa the penguin (well, he's got to have an award to cheer him up)

Surprise of the year
These were books from which I got a lot more than I was expecting.
Herge's The Calculus Affair, I was expecting a kids' adventure tale. I got comedy, brilliant cartoons - truly beautiful and intricate, and a compelling tale that kept me enthralled from frame to frame. Homo Britannicus, an interesting but dry tale of British geology? Wrong! Beautifully written, Chris Stringer takes you through British history into the current geological age. It's made me look at the landscape in a completely different way. Charles Dickens' A tale of two cities, quite simply I'd forgotten how good it was. I enjoyed every moment, my only disappointment was that my other revolutionary favourite Hilary Mantel's A place of greater safety palled when contrasted with Dickens. Robertson Davis' Tempest-Tost, very funny, although not one of the funniest reads of the year. What was great about it though was the joy of finding a previously undiscovered author to love. Marcus Zusak's The book thief. Stunningly powerful narrative, it's lightness of tone sometimes makes you forget what serious matters it's dealing with, and you'd have to be a stone not to be moved by the ending.

And the winner is : Homo Britannicus for making geology an eye-opening experience.

Disappointment of the year
Rather to my surprise there are some high-powered names in the list this year. I read very little that was truly dreadful, but there were several books that I had anticipated keenly and which failed to live up to expectations. These included : The hare with the amber eyes by Edmund de Waal. I just wish it had been more about the little Japanese figures themselves. Much of what de Waal wrote was interesting, but I often found it quite hard to feel much sympathy for people who seemed so alien, and self-regarding. I was truly disappointed in this.
Agatha Christie's The labours of Hercules. A short story collection that I had either never read before, or read so long ago I'd forgotten all about it. It was dreadful, pure tosh, stories were weak and/or repetitive. Definitely my worst Christie read ever.
Another disappointment was Monica Ali's In the kitchen. I had read and loved Brick Lane and was hoping for more of the same, not only was it nothing like Brick Lane but it was badly written, with a thin storyline, and nothing really to redeem it. Oh dear!
Another disappointment was the re-reading of Mary Stewart's Touch not the cat, I had loved it when I read it years ago, and was thoroughly looking forward to reading it again. But is was sooo disappointing, a very weak storyline, paperthin characters, poor writing. Mary Stewart is so much better than this. Avoid! ; Cormac McCarthy's The road : Just my sort of thing - apocalyptic fiction? Tick. Great reviews? Tick. This should be brilliant....um, no, it wasn't, it was all a bit pointless really - which may have been the point, but this sort of thing has been done before elsewhere in Canticle for Leibowitz, for instance, and done so much better. I thought the writing was good in the sense that he's great at shaping words and coming out with lovely metaphors, but the narrative was horrible. I just couldn't connect with it.

And the loser is : without a doubt The road. Everyone else seems to love it, I can't see what the fuss is about.

And now for the top 3 awards:
Re-read of the year
All of the nominees made a huge impact on me when re-reading them. They are A tale of two cities / Charles Dickens ; Fair stood the wind for France / H.E. Bates ; Robert Neill's Mist over Pendle, Agatha Christie Endless Night and the Harry Potter sequence / J.K. Rowling.

And the winner is : A tale of two cities. Blew me away with its narrative, some of the best black humour anywhere, and some great characterisation. Just a fantastic read that sweeps you along with it.

Best new read of the year
Life and fate / Vasily Grossman ; Death and the penguin / Andrey Kurkov ; In the company of the courtesan / Sarah Dunant ; The sight of death / T.J. Clark ; The book thief / Marcus Zusak.

Unusually for me non-fiction's been particularly strong this year, but the winner in spite of that is The book thief, a stunning and moving literary debut.

Book of the year
The book thief / Marcus Zusak ; A tale of two cities / Charles Dickens ; The sight of death / T.J. Clark ; In the company of the courtesan / Sarah Dunant ; Homo Britannicus / Chris Stringer.

Another difficult decision, but my book of the year by a dog's whisker is : A tale of two cities. I loved both The book thief and The sight of death which were very close runners-up, but I discovered on re-reading the Dickens, that this would definitely be my desert island book, so it's got to be Book of the Year. A big round of applause to all the nominees who have given me so much pleasure in 2011. Here's to more reading and blogging in 2012. Cheers!

The 666 Challenge - not quite the end

Having a liking for annual reading challenges (they can often take you down unexpected pathways and persuade you to read books that you might otherwise have discounted), I took part this year in the 666 Challenge - the challenge? to read 36 books over the course of the year set in 6 countries on 6 continents. Continents being Europe, Asia, Africa, N. America, S. America and Oceania.

I opted for the easier option of judging the book's country by its setting (or in some cases partial setting), other 666ers on the Bookcrossing website went for the more difficult option of going by author's nationality.

The bad news is that I'm not going to complete the challenge by the end of the year, although I am going to carry it through into 2012. Good news is that I did manage to complete 3 continents (Europe, Africa, and Asia), came very close to finishing N. America (just 1 country short), am halfway through Oceania, and am having real problems with S. America.

So what did I find out this year through doing the Challenge? Well firstly, I find it impossible to keep to lists - I don't think any of my putative 666 reads that I put forward at the start of the year ended up being read as part of the challenge. Unsurprisingly (to me) I read a lot of books set in Europe, but I was astonished at how much I read is set in Asia. Africa proved to be easier than I expected, and Oceania not quite as bad as I'd feared.

What I did find very surprising when looking at my overall reading (not just that confined to 666) was how little I read set in the Americas, I was surprised to discover that I don't even read that much set in the States, and S. America has proved to be incredibly challenging.

Despite judging a book by its setting rather than by its author's nationalities a fair number of author nationalities were included in the tally so far with authors coming from the UK and the USA, as well as Iran, Libya, Iceland, Russia, India, and Botswana.

Some books I read because they happened to fit in with the challenge - Boris Akunin's The Winter Queen, and the wonderful travel/history book Nathaniel's nutmeg were both included for this reason having sat on my shelves unread for far too long. And thank goodness I did read them as they were both completely fabulous. None of the books I read for the challenge were dreadful (although I know that some 666ers had less than happy experiences), some I probably wouldn't have read if it wasn't for the challenge, and probably wouldn't read again although they weren't unpleasant reads at the time (Rose Tremain's The colour and Aravind Adiga's The white tiger would both come under this heading).

So I head into 2012 ready to tackle S. America, and finish off N. America and Oceania. The new challenge that I'm taking on for 2012 alongside finishing off 666 is very different. I've realised over the last year re-reading science fiction that I really enjoy the genre, indeed I'd forgotten how much I like it, so my aim for 2012 is to read more. In order to do this, and to cover some authors that I would otherwise have neglected, I'm going to be following Best Science Fiction Books list of multiple award winners choosing 4 books from each year group so making 24 books in all. Have a look at BestSFBooks website to get the idea. I'll be discounting any books I've already read, and am looking forward to tackling the 24 throughout the year. Watch this space....