The Art of Linguistic Expression

I was watching a video online the other day, of Jeanette Winterson interviewing A M Homes, in which both authors agreed that people no longer cared about the quality of writing in a book. One of them, I don't remember which, suggested that use of language was never mentioned anymore when a new book was reviewed, and the other nodded vigorously in agreement. Both authors felt that the new generation of readers didn't seek out high-level linguistic expression in books, and they attributed this modern lack of interest in the quality of writing to the internet era - to text-speak and emoticons, to acronyms and abbreviations.

I found the whole thing peculiar, because whilst I acknowledge that there is a generation currently developing into adulthood who communicate largely through informal means, where the rules of grammar are less important than the speed of getting a point across, I haven't seen evidence yet that this has been translated into the world of literature. I read a lot of reviews, and the focus of these seems much the same these days as it always has been. Similarly it seems to me that the use of language is as important as ever in deciding who should win a literary prize.

Of course the existence of new technologies has changed modern literature in some interesting ways - for example, the chapter in Jennifer Egan's Pulitzer Prize winning novel A Visit From the Goon Squad which is written entirely in Powerpoint could not have existed fifteen years ago, and there have been a number of other books (like 'e' by Matt Beaumont, an epistolary novel written entirely as a string of emails between workers in an advertising agency, and Hold the Fries by Nina Schindler, which is told exclusively through letters and text messages) that make a strong feature of new technologies. But in my view a really good book (including the ones mentioned above) is still one which combines beautiful writing with remarkable story. And I truly don't believe that the text-generation will do away with lyricism, or clever use of vocabulary, or spare but stunning prose.

Maybe I am being optimistic. But I think it is far more likely that Homes and Winterson are being unduly pessimistic. Every generation feels the next spells the end of what matters. And inevitably, that next generation simply introduces change to the existing order - not on a grand scale, but
on the same incremental level as the change wrought by the generation before. Change is not a bad thing. Organic beings are defined by constant change. That's what it is to be organic. Change is growth.

And language, like human beings, is in a state of constant flux; it's like a living organism. Those of us living in the English-speaking world are perhaps less aware of this fact than people in some other cultures, because English is the official language in several countries. In some non-English speaking nations formal linguistic change is more obvious. For example, Germany has formalised the process of updating the national language in a way that has a very real influence on spoken German. An official committee meets regularly to discuss whether a new word should be adopted into German from slang, or from another language, due to regular usage, or whether an existing word should be dropped, or even whether a spelling or a grammatical rule or a Germanic oddity has reached its use-by date. When I grew up in Munich the 'Eszett' or 'scharfes S' still existed - a letter that looked like a capital B on a stick, which denoted a sharp 's' sound. Several years ago it was decided that this should be dropped, and now two S's in a row are used instead to create the same sound. The change was announced, and almost immediately it took effect across the nation.

The English language, too, has official committees devoted to guiding the way our language evolves. In the UK, for example, the Queen's English Society fills that position. But generally those of us who reside in the 'colonies' are unaware of the decisions reached by that Society. Certainly I can't remember ever being aware of an 'official' change occurring in the English language from one day to the next. For conversational English, evolution is largely informal - although the introduction into Urban Dictionary and even the eventual adoption by the Oxford English Dictionary of new English words does indicate that such change is eventually accommodated and embedded in a more formal way. As loathe as I am to acknowledge it, even grammatical errors that become common usage due to ignorance can, through persistent use, eventually become accepted parts of the English language. My personal reluctance to accept the use of 'but' at the end of a sentence rather than as it was intended, a conjunction between two parts of a sentence, does not mean that this abomination will not be regarded as a permitted use of the word in due course. And our objection to abbreviated text-speak does not mean that some of it won't ultimately find its way into the English lexicon.

Nevertheless, I truly believe that in literature, beauty and wit are still widely regarded as virtues. The concept or definition of beauty might change from generation to generation, but I think it is unlikely that the next generation will do away with it altogether. Even in hip-hop and rap music, pithy expression and a clever turn of phrase are admired. The fact that language, and the way language is used, has changed with the advent of the internet and the smartphone, with email and Facebook and Twitter, does not mean that readers have suddenly let go of what has always been one of the joys of reading - experiencing the exceptional use of language by one who wields it with unusual skill.

What do you reckon? Does language matter to you when you read? Do you prefer books where the writer has a particularly aesthetic approach to language? Or do you not care how an author expresses herself as long as the plot keeps you reading?

Judging a Book by its Lover

A friend of mine recently recommended a book to me written by Lauren Leto, the creator of the internet humour site Texts from Last Night (very funny, should you happen to stumble across it). This is not a review of that book, which is entitled Judging a Book by its Lover - I am still reading it. But I came across a passage early on which I immediately wanted to share, because it so perfectly summarises the way I feel about reading, something that I have expressed here before, though perhaps not as eloquently:

"Considering yourself a serious reader doesn't mean you can't read light books. Loving to read means you sometimes like to turn your head off. Reading is not about being able to recite passages from Camus by memory. Loving young adult novels well past adolescence isn't a sign of stunted maturity or intelligence. The most important thing about reading is not the level of sophistication of the books on your shelf. There is no prerequisite reading regimen for being a bookworm."

Precisely.

Leto does go on, however, to caution that "silly books shouldn't be all we read", or we will all become lazy readers, with narrow perspective.

All of this makes so much sense it causes me to sigh with satisfaction. The rest of Leto's book is a collection of random bookish wisdom along these lines, as well as satirical imaginings, such as what it would be like to have dinner or brunch with any number of famous writer couples (the kind of fantasy I indulge in a little too regularly on rainy Sydney days) and humorous anecdotes, such as Leto's tragic middle school spelling bee experience. All of which makes me think she is the kind of woman with whom I would like to share a bottle of good red wine. Or two.

Tom Rachman - The Imperfectionists

I loved this book. I bought it in Portland, at Powell's Bookstore, which is now amongst my favourite bookstores in the world, where this was displayed prominently in the fiction section and classified as an 'Old Favourite'. It was published in 2011, so really it's not so old; but I'm surprised I hadn't heard of it before. Presumably if I lived in the United States I would have. It was a New York Times Book Review Notable Book of the Year, and a New York Times Bestseller.

Rachman is a journalist who has been both a foreign correspondent and an editor of The International Herald Tribune. This book is loosely based on the heritage of that paper. It is set largely in Rome, and describes the lives of ex-pat journos working on the paper whilst leading ordinary human existences in Europe.

For me, the astonishing success of this book is the fact that Rachman pulls off a novel about the newspaper industry which tells simultaneously the story of the historical rise and fall of a particular paper, and the story of the journalists and staffers employed by that paper at a given point in time (the present, as it were). Each chapter title consists of a headline, and each chapter focuses in on the life of one of the staffers. But at the end of each chapter is another mini-chapter which follows the historical life of the paper from the 1950s to its demise in the present day, as it changes hands, as its publishers grow old and hand the paper over to the next generation, as the print media environment undergoes major shifts and changes. By the end, we have in effect read two books in one. As Christopher Buckley of the New York Times Book Review says, "I had to read it twice simply to figure out how he pulled it off." For such a young man, Rachman is extraordinarily accomplished.

My grandfather worked in print media (magazines), and newspapers and magazines (as well as books) were ever-present in my European childhood home. The newspaper we read as a family was The International Herald Tribune. So I suppose I was always going to be a sucker for this book, also because the best job I have ever had was working in newspapers. I am a lawyer, not a journalist, but working as an editorial lawyer alongside editors and writers seemed to fulfil several of my career ambitions at once and I absolutely loved it. I loved the buzz of the newsroom floor and the frantic rush as the print deadline approached each day, and I loved the fact that history hung tangibly in the air. It was easily possible, looking around the newsroom, to envisage the olden days of typewriters and the haze of cigarette smoke. After being taken on a tour of the offsite printing presses (a memory I will always treasure), it was possible, also, to imagine what it used to be like in the building I worked in, when the printing presses sat in the basement (which now houses a library), and staff throughout the building could hear and feel them running, and when it was in fact possible to run downstairs and yell "Stop the presses!" and have that mean something.

Losing that job to the same fate that Rachman describes in his book (financial struggles of the paper at the hands of a rapidly changing media environment, and a re-structure that had editorial legals outsourced to an external law firm) was heart-breaking, and I found reaching the end of this book similarly emotional.

Rachman is a brilliant writer. I became deeply absorbed in every chapter of the book. He writes extraordinarily well in a cacophony of voices - young girl, older woman, old men, younger men. All perspectives were convincing. Not an easy feat for any writer. I started caring about each character almost as soon as a new chapter started. Leo Ott, the wealthy entrepeneur who started the paper as a labour of love for a woman who would never know, even after his death, just how much she was adored. Arthur Gopal, the obituary writer whose job is unimportant to him whilst he is in the company of his young daughter Pickle, who reminds him of the more visceral joys in life, but whose life changes irrevocably in the most heart-wrenching way. Winston Cheung, the rookie journo trying to make a go of it reporting from Cairo, only to be bulldozed by veteran hack Snyder. Ornella de Montericchi, a woman whose lonely life gains meaning from her methodical reading of every word in every edition of the paper, and whose world collapses when the paper does, too. And finally Oliver Ott, the grandson of the paper's founder, whose only friend is a dog by the name of Schopenhauer.

It was interesting to read this novel so soon after reading Egan's a visit from the goon squad, which I enjoyed immensely but failed to wholeheartedly connect with on account of the unusual and disjointed way the story was told. Rachman too uses a method that might have readers proclaiming the book to be a series of short stories rather than a novel, but because the protagonists of all of his stories occupy the same space (the newspaper) and the same narrative present, they are united in a way that Egan's characters were not. And in any case, the protagonist of this novel is actually the newspaper itself, a device that works wonderfully well.

Overall assessment: 4.5 out of 5. I loved it. Of course, it may have resonated with me more than with most people, so perhaps take that into account if you are considering picking it up.

Cons: The last chapter ends with an event that is brutal and shocking and unexpected. I think the brutality here is intended by Rachman to provide a mirror image of some sort between life itself and the life of the paper - so that the impact of the death of the paper - on the characters who populate it, but also as a deeply significant cultural development - is felt keenly even by readers without a newspaper background or a particular interest in print media. It works, but it is deeply unsettling and I think some readers might be put off by it.

Note: The edition I read has an interview at the end between Rachman and Malcolm Gladwell, a hero of mine. What a fabulous bonus! This is a terrific interview and such a worthwhile read. So many great observations were made by these erudite men in conversation, on the topic of writing, in particular.

For example: "Writing (and reading) is a sort of exercise in empathy, I think. In life, when you encounter people, you and they have separate trajectories, each person pushing in a different direction. What's remarkable about fiction is that it places you in the uncommon position of having no trajectory. You stand aside, motives abandoned for the duration. The characters have the trajectories now, while you just observe. And this stirs compassion that, in real life, is so often obscured by our own motives." Beautiful! And the two men then proceed to discuss whether or not this sympathy for fictional characters translates into greater sympathy for people in life. A great defence of fiction. 

Ian McEwan - Sweet Tooth

I have read nine of his 12 novels and several of his short stories, so it is fair to say that I am a McEwan fan. One of the things I love about his writing is the fact that, like my favourite writer Paul Auster, he is concerned in his novels both with telling a compelling story and with the intellectual exploration of ideas. Certainly Sweet Tooth delivers on both fronts, although for me this is not his best book.

Kurt Anderson of the NY Times Sunday Book Review writes that McEwan's work falls into two distinct periods: "His early stories and novels were all cool post-1960s perversity, a high-end parade of deadpan macabre and kink and sideshow eccentricity: ghastly death, corpses and butchery, bestiality, incest and pedophilia, insanity, dwarves. But since he turned 50, around the turn of the century, he’s published lovely historical fiction about the disastrous sexual misunderstandings of youth (“Atonement,” “On Chesil Beach”), and contemporary fiction about an ­alternative-energy researcher (“Solar”) and a deeply sane, happily married surgeon (“Saturday”). It’s as if Johnny Rotten had changed into Bono." (emphasis mine, I love that last line)

I agree with Anderson and must say that from a personal perspective, I have tended to enjoy his earlier novels better - save for Atonement, which is one of his masterpieces.

One of the things that usually characterises a McEwan novel is the major event or disturbance which upsets or ends each book. This is so much a part of what I have come to expect from him that I was surprised, when I got more than halfway through Sweet Tooth, to find that nothing alarming had yet happened. When I read Atonement I had to put the book down at one stage in order to process the disturbing series of events he had outlined. When I finished The Comfort of Strangers I had to physically put the book out of sight so that I could turn my mind to something else instead of allowing it to come back, again and again, to the horrific scenes McEwan is so very good at describing. As my mother says, one generally needs to bolster oneself before picking up one of his novels.

Sweet Tooth is different. Anderson calls it McEwan's "most cheerful book by far", which says something about the rest of his work given that this is a book about espionage during the Cold War.

Selena Frome is a voracious reader and lover of books. Because she is also, by fluke, rather good at mathematics, her mother encourages her to read maths at Cambridge rather than English at a lesser university. Surprisingly, after earning a rather poor degree, Serena is then recruited by MI5, where she is soon assigned a case. Operation Sweet Tooth involves the confidential funding by MI5 of writers who, the Government hopes, will one day become known for works that espouse anti-communist values, and Tom Haley is the writer assigned to Selena. They fall in love and have an affair that destroys any hope she has of career success - not that this was a real possibility anyway in the intensely chauvinistic environment of MI5 during the 1970s. The love affair is central to the book and we are kept wondering until the very end whether it is a relationship with any hope of survival.

Like many of McEwan's novels, it is difficult to review Sweet Tooth properly without giving too much away. Only at the end is one rewarded with the signature McEwan playfulness, and the twist in this novel changes the reader's outlook on the whole book. It is a testament to his skill as a writer that the giveaway in the first paragraph does not in fact tell us much about the ending:

"My name is Serena Frome (rhymes with plume) and almost 40 years ago I was sent on a secret mission for the British security service. I didn't return safely. Within eighteen months of joining I was sacked, having disgraced myself and ruined my lover, though he certainly had a hand in his own undoing."

In some ways this is actually a very quiet book. Nothing much happens, except that Selena drifts, with an unsatisfying lack of agency, in and out of a number of flawed and sexually questionable relationships, including the one at the start of the book which gives her the entry intro MI5. A few times I thought we were being set up for a twist that would take us in the direction of a more traditional spy novel - for example when Serena, on a 'mission' involving the thorough cleaning of a safe house, finds a small piece of paper upon which are written the initials of her ex-lover (now dead) and the obscure island where he died. But none of this leads to any excitement or intrigue; in fact, the opposite is true. The explanation ends up being so banal that I suspect McEwan was setting us up deliberately in order to thwart our expectations. Indeed, espionage in the '70s is portrayed overall as a rather dull endeavour. I think providing a realistic description of what is essentially a bureaucratic department might have been one of McEwan's objectives in writing the book. He has previously written another spy novel, The Innocent, and whilst that also does not unfold as one would expect - it's McEwan, of course it doesn't - it does contain the anticipated hit of violence. Whereas this book, really, is not a spy novel at all; it is a novel about the power of writing and the motivations for reading, and the intersections between truth and fiction. For example, Tom Haley's short stories are summarised in some detail throughout the book and both we and Serena get to know Tom largely through his fiction. This idea of a writer whose life and character are inextricably intertwined with his writing in a way that makes it impossible to distinguish between the writing and the writer, is central to the novel.

Of course, the interest of any voracious reader will be immediately piqued by a protagonist whose love of books defines her, and a plot in which one of the consistent ideas explored is that of an ideological war fought on the cultural front. I was fascinated by the descriptions of cultural warfare, as well as by the many passages on reading and writing, and what it means to be a writer. My interest in these subjects is what kept me reading.

However, without wanting to reveal the ending, I was left with mixed feelings after finishing the book. I felt that McEwan had been playing with us all along, and moreover, that he had been playing with us in a way that he had explicitly promised not to. I think he had a lot of fun with this one, which is perhaps why Anderson can accurately describe it as 'cheerful'. But I don't know whether to feel betrayed or inspired by his cleverness at the expense of us, his dear readers.

Overall assessment: 3.5 out of 5. He is a brilliant writer, but this didn't quite achieve the heights of earlier books such as Atonement or Enduring Love.

Pros / Favourite passages: There are so many noteworthy passages here, about reading and writing. A few for your enjoyment:

Serena describing herself as a reader: "My needs were simple. I didn't bother much with themes or felicitous phrases and skipped fine descriptions of weather, landscapes and interiors. I wanted characters I could believe in, and I wanted to be made curious about what was to happen to them. Generally, I preferred people to be falling in and out of love, but I didn't mind so much if they tried their hand at something else. It was vulgar to want it, but I liked someone to say 'Marry me' by the end. Novels without female characters were a lifeless desert. Conrad was beyond my consideration, as were most stories by Kipling and Hemingway. Nor was I impressed by reputations. I read anytihng I saw lying around. Pulp fiction, great literature and everything in between - I gave them all the same rough treatment." And then later: "I caused amusement among my Newnham friends studying English when I told them that Valley of the Dolls was as good as anything Jane Austen ever wrote."

Serena on what it is to be a writer: "As I lay in the dak, waiting for sleep, I thought I was beginning to grasp something about invention. As a reader, a speed-reader, I took it for granted, it was a process I never troubled myself with. You pulled a book from the shelf and there was an invented, peopled world, as obvious as the one you lived in. But now... I thought I had the measure of the artifice, or I almost had it. Almost like cooking, I thought sleepily. Instead of heat trasforming the ingredients, there's pure invention, the spark, the hidden element. What resulted was more than the sum of the parts." She then goes through the various elements of Tom's real life that make their way into his writing, followed by: "At one level it was obvious enough how these separate parts were tipped in and deployed. The mystery was in how they were blended into something cohesive and plausible, how the ingredients were cooked into something so delicious."

An excerpt from one of Tom's stories: "There was, in my view, an unwritten contract with the reader that the writer must honour. No single element of an imagined world or any of its characters should be allowed to dissolve on authorial whim. The invented had to be as solid and as self-consistent as the actual. This was a contract founded on mutual trust."

Cons: I have read some reviews of this book in which McEwan is praised for writing so effectively from the perspective of a female protagonist. I was surprised to read these reviews because there are places in this book where the female voice really failed. For example, early on, when Serena is wondering whether a man in whom she has a romantic interest might be gay, as one of her ex-boyfriends turned out to be, she is described as being so interested in nevertheless pursuing a physical relationship with him that she believes she could be happy if he simply took care of her needs, even if it was impossible for her to do the same for him. I believe this is a very masculine point of view. I don't know of many women who seek out their own pleasure so selfishly that it would not trouble them if they were unable to satisfy the man they loved. Surely her pride would be hurt! More than that, surely her self-esteem would be severely shaken by the knowledge that the man she loved could not love her back in the same way. McEwan's very straight, rational writing does not consistently or adequately convey the emotional inner-world of a woman who engages in several romantic relationships throughout the course of the book, and yet these romances are central to the plot. However, without giving too much away, I can say that these criticisms are essentially met and answered in the last chapter of the novel. I'm not sure whether this excuses him entirely, but it does give McEwan a way out of having to worry too profoundly about his weaknesses in characterising a complex woman.

Book club pick: This was the first book picked for my new book club. It was a fun way to start my literary relationship with these woman. I was the most positive of all of us about the book - possibly because I write as well as read, which means that McEwan's musings on the subject probably interested me on a deeper level. The others did not like it, but it provoked much interesting conversation, and for that reason I would recommend it as a book club read.

Chris Cleave - Gold

This book was written in 2011 and published in the UK in July 2012, right on time for the London Olympics. It feels as though Chris Cleave decided, in the lead-up to the Olympics, to write a book about elite athletes that would tug at the heartstrings of anyone who watched or raced or otherwise participated in any of the Olympic events (that is to say, virtually everyone in the world).

Admittedly the highs and lows of professional athletes training for the highest order of competition make for fascinating subject matter, and I can see how this would have seemed like a very good idea at the time, both commercially and as a writer.

But - the book simply doesn't work.

I am so disappointed. I absolutely loved Cleave's earlier books - Little Bee (also published as The Other Hand) in particular still gives me shivers when I think about it, but Incendiary was also extraordinary.

Could it be that Cleave is simply out of ideas? Or that there was commercial pressure on him to release another book before he was truly ready? Or has he just succumbed to the drive which characterises the writing of more typical genre authors, prioritising commercial subject matter over quality?

For me, I think the problem with Gold is this: Cleave chose to tell the story in the wrong way.

Gold falls prey to one of the common pitfalls of writing - too much exposition throughout slows the story, to the point where at times I was so bored I was reluctant to keep reading. More than reluctant - I had to force myself to keep reading. Instead of telling the story of three athletes chronologically, starting from the moment they all met as teenagers and following them from race to race and drama to drama so that we as readers are given a chance to become attached to them and absorbed in the story and eager to find out what happens next, Cleave chooses to tell almost all of this as back-story and flashbacks. The actual plot of the current story takes place over a very short period of time: it is a snapshot, really, of the qualifying race for the cycling sprint event at the London Olympics, and of the lives of the two female cyclists vying for that one qualifying spot.

Zoe and Kate are competitors and best friends. Jack, Kate's husband, is an Olympic gold medalist himself, and Sophie, the daughter of Kate and Jack, is suffering from a relapse of childhood leukaemia, complicating Kate's preparation for the biggest race of her life. The only other character in the novel is Tom, the girls' cycling coach, who has a slightly creepy affection for Zoe. Over time we gradually learn that the connections between the characters are less-straightforward than first portrayed - Zoe and Jack have themselves had various romantic dalliances, for example.

I think the story, taken as a whole, has the potential to be gripping, particularly because Cleave's descriptions of the world of cycling and the intense anxiety and adrenalin of each race are excellent. But because crucial plot points are leaked out of order in dribs and drabs throughout the book, we don't have a chance early enough in the story to develop attachments to any of the characters. And that renders the reading dull. It forces us to view the life events of the characters objectively, instead of allowing us to get swept up in them. Even the moment of Sophie's leukaemia diagnosis lacks emotional impact - both because we have known about it since the beginning of the book, and because Cleave returns immediately to describing the present lives of the characters, which removes any opportunity for us as readers to dwell on the diagnosis, or to feel anything about it. This technique is used so consistently throughout the book that I can't help but think the objective reading that is thrust upon us was deliberate - that maybe he wants us to view these athletes impartially, and as fixed in the current moment, so that when we actually watch the Olympics, having read the book, we will see each athlete as a whole person who may well have this kind of backstory. In other words, the point is not that we develop an attachment to these characters in particular, but rather that we become more emotionally connected to the Olympics as a whole.

Whether or not this was his desired outcome, for me the tactic failed - at least in terms of my enjoyment of the book itself. Because there was insufficient forward movement I groaned inwardly each time we were subjected to yet another flashback of childhood experience or teenage drama. I wanted something to happen, already! Let them race, for heaven's sakes!

By the end, when the backstory had finally caught up with the here and now, and the characters were finally put in positions of current conflict with one another, I warmed to the story.

However, I was still removed enough to be unusually aware of and frustrated by the flaws of some of the characters. The love triangle between Kate, Jack and Zoe is reminiscent of the one in Gone with the Wind between Scarlett O'Hara, Ashley Wilkes and Melanie Hamilton-Wilkes (if we pretend Rhett doesn't exist - Tom is no Rhett Butler). Kate is as unrealistically saintly as Melanie in the face of repeated betrayals by her husband and friend. I rolled my eyes when she forgave them again and again - Jack appearing to get off without so much as a scolding. To me, her actions came across as weak and vaguely pathetic and I consequently found it hard to believe that she was an athlete capable of challenging for an Olympic gold medal. In contrast, Zoe came across as so extraordinarily selfish (especially in certain scenes at the end) that I didn't understand why Kate would have continued to consider her a friend at all, let alone a best friend. And Jack... dimwitted, fickle, indecisive Jack. What is it that makes him so irresistible to both of these women, save for the fact that he is the only man under 60 they spend any regular time with? I don't get the appeal.

Also - and I know I am on a bit of a rant - Cleave's references to sex come across like the awkward jokes made by a feeble, faintly creepy uncle. Comments about Zoe's breasts, or about Tom's peculiar feelings for her, made me cringe. This does not feel like natural territory for Cleave. For example, an early comparison of the promiscuous 'men of today' to Dyson vacuum cleaners was particularly odd:

"He didn't see how Zoe could ever find love with this new breed of men with cyclonic souls that sucked like Dysons and never needed their bag changed in order to keep on and on sucking."

In spite of these faults, had the story unfolded in a different way, I might have loved this book and forgiven the character flaws. The story itself is one with the potential to evoke tears, both out of sadness and joy. What a pity that Cleave chose a story-telling strategy which prevents either reaction.

Overall assessment: two out of five.

Pros: Cleave's writing is still, for the most part, excellent. Some passages are quite beautiful, and in particular his descriptions of the cycling races themselves are thrilling. Also, as discussed above - there is a good story buried in here. I wanted to care more about the characters. Told in a different way, this might have been a heartbreaking tale.

Cons: It doesn't work. Too much exposition. Too slow in the unfolding. Readers are treated as objective spectators.

Madeleine Wickham aka Sophie Kinsella

Go on, how many of you will 'fess up to reading the Shopoholic series? C'mon... I'm not talking about the god-awful movie that was produced starring Isla Fisher (who can be so very funny, but like all actors requires a half-reasonable script to get her part of the way there). I'm talking about Sophie Kinsella's laugh-out-loud books about Rebecca Bloomwood, the financial journalist incapable of managing her own finances due to her out-of-control spending.

Sure, it's not high-brow, but as far as chick lit goes this is some of the best in the genre. Few books have made me actually laugh until I have tears running down my face, but Kinsella consistently get this reaction from me. I have read the entire Shopoholic series as well as her other books (her new one, I've Got Your Number, is a true return to form, I highly recommend it if you're looking for a light comic read).

So imagine my delight when, during an Amazon browse (I do so love an Amazon browse when I can't physically get to a bookstore) I stumbled across the unexpected information that she has written many more books than I realised, and under a different name. Sophie Kinsella is a pseudonym!

As Madeleine Wickham (her real name), and whilst working as a financial journalist, she published her first book aged 24. After it received both critical and public acclaim, she wrote 6 more novels under that name before writing the first Shopaholic book and submitting the manuscript unsolicited to her existing publisher as Sophie Kinsella, without informing them that she was the same person they had been publishing for years. The novel was immediately accepted for publication and there you have it. It wasn't until ten years later, in 2005, that she revealed her true identity.

This story impresses me because it shows what a naturally talented writer she is: she has been twice accepted as an unsolicited first-time author by a big publishing house. That is extremely unusual, these days - and I know the industry was probably different ten or fifteen years ago, but not so different as to make this an easy feat, even back then. There have been experiments done, as most have you have probably read, where the famous works of classic writers have been submitted to unsuspecting modern-day publishing houses and rejected across the board.

Anyway; as soon as I found out about Madeleine Wickham I went on an e-book binge. I downloaded her first novel, The Tennis Party (also published as 40-Love) and loved it, and then immediately downloaded and read all of the others in quick succession.

A scan of online reviews reveals that most Kinsella fans are disappointed by Wickham's writing, largely because it is not what they are used to. Wickham's books are darker. Unlike Kinsella's characters, Wickham's are real and, therefore, inherently flawed. As Madeleine Wickham, she writes contemporary women's fiction that is also a social critique of British society and its class striations. None of the characters are entirely likeable, but the storylines are sufficiently diverting that it doesn't matter.

In Swimming Pool Sunday, the separated parents of a girl who suffers a head injury in a neighbour's pool need to decide whether to carry through with a damaging lawsuit against their neighbours, even though their daughter seems to be recovering well. In The Tennis Party, a group of friends who, many years ago, used to live on the same London street, meet at one family's new country mansion for a leisurely weekend during which the current differences in their economic status and the individual greed of some members of the group threaten to ruin any prospects of ongoing friendship. In The Gatecrasher a funeral-crasher cum con-woman toys with the possibility of redemption when her latest target provides a domestic stability she has never before experienced.

I would give each of her books a solid 3 out of five. Don't pick them up if you are hoping for more Sophie Kinsella; but if you like British social commentary and contemporary women's fiction, you will enjoy Wickham's writing. And isn't it fun to find a hidden store of novels written by an author you like, even if they are somewhat different to what you've come to expect? A little hidden treasure trove.

Steve Hely - How I Became a Famous Novelist

I picked up this satiric novel whilst browsing last week in Berkelouw books.

(On a side note, it is rare these days that I get time out to myself without a toddler in tow, so a big shout-out to Biblio-hubby for granting me that delicious hour, especially in circumstances where he was fully aware that any bookstore visit would involve a purchase or two. Or three.)

Perhaps it is because I am myself trying to get published that I was drawn to the title of this book, but I also remember hearing about it somewhere, sometime on the interweb. In any case, it looked diverting and so it was.

Steve Hely has written for 30 Rock, The Office and American Dad, three of my favourite shows, so I thought this book would have me laughing out loud. It didn't, not really. It's amusing,  but the heavy cynicism underpinning Hely's writing is quite dark, and that tempers the humour. In some ways it's a bit of a depressing read for anyone involved in the book industry or seriously interested in books.

Pete Tarslaw, the narrator of the novel, is a young apathetic college grad whose job involves writing fake college application essays for people who can't write or aren't smart enough or diligent enough to do it themselves. The only thing that gets Pete hot under the collar is his ex-girlfriend, so when she sends him an invitation to her wedding he decides he will attend, but only in order to show her up. In the meantime, with an astounding lack of knowledge or insight about the modern publishing industry, he decides he will write a book, become a bestseller, develop fame and fortune - all of which will, he presumes, allow him to land at her wedding in his own plane, splashing Krug liberally on all of the smitten guests. In order to achieve this spectacular success he analyses the New York Times bestseller list and determines what elements a book should contain in order to achieve optimum sales - for example, he soon concludes that any bestselling book must include a murder, secrets / mysterious missions, scenes on highways (to make driving seem poetic and magical), an ending evoking confusing sadness, and that the prose should be lyrical.

Armed with these 'rules', he sets off to a his aunt's house in a quiet rural location (figuring this will later go some way to proving his voice has authenticity) and, particularly improbably, writes his book within a week, albeit with the help of not-yet-FDA-approved pills provided by his researcher roommate. After a series of coincidences that play up the desperate state of modern print publishing, his book is sold. After another series of unusual coincidences, it climbs up the sales list until he is giving television interviews and rubbing shoulders with precisely the bestselling authors whose styles he aped in the first place.

Of course Pete is confronted by a number of cruel realities along the way - when his book sells, for example, he is astonished by the paltry sum of money he is offered as an advance (he had been imagining millions, book-writing being the biggest scam of the century). And ultimately, if somewhat unconvincingly, he comes to recognise that writing is more (means more) than he had thought. But overall, the impression that remains is of a spoilt, cynical young person whose sense of entitlement far outweighs any shred of integrity. If the future of books is indeed left in the hands of such a self-interested instant-gratification generation, it is no future at all.

Favourite / notable part(s):

"They're talking lawyers over here. Okay? Laywers! You might have to apologise to Oprah."

"What'd I do to her?"

"She's just - that's who you apologise to."

(love this thinly veiled reference to the James Frey scandal, which I wrote about here: http://nomadsbynecessity.blogspot.com.au/search?updated-max=2009-09-23T04:19:00-07:00&max-results=7&start=14&by-date=false)

Overall assessment (Note: I don't like having to reduce my feelings about a book to stars, but Goodreads makes me do it so I may as well carry it on here): 3 out of 5 stars.

It's well-written (the excerpts of other, fake novels contained within this one make me think Steve Hely is probably a genius writer and we should wait eagerly for any serious novels he writes in the future), and a good entertaining read, and it made me think about writing and publishing and what it all means. But I wouldn't read it again and it's not going on my 'special bookshelf'.

A new year, a new page

In the few minutes of spare time I can squeeze out of my busy days, I like to read. Always have, always will. As a new mum of one gorgeous little man, my time has been particularly limited of late - but in some ways this has only increased the pleasure I derive from reading when I am able to find the time to do it.

After populating Facebook with numerous book posts in 2012, I decided that in 2013 I would find a more appropriate space to write at greater length about the books I read, those I want to read, and those I start but never finish, for whatever reason.

With another little one on the way, due in April this year, I know it will be difficult to maintain consistency in my postings here, but I will try my very best.

I do hope you will join me, take a small moment out of your day to read about books and join in the conversation. Please feel free to comment liberally, with your own book recommendations, reading trials and tribulations, or just how you happen to be feeling today about all things literary.