Book review, on location

Here it is, the second of my Persephone buys; in fact, this is the one book I had gone to the store to buy, before I realized I'd be saving money by buying three (saving money!). Read the website description and you might get a sense for why I was eager to read this one; as I've mentioned before I have a special fondness for books about happy people. Greenery Street is, to sum it up in a nutshell, the story of a lovesick young couple, Ian and Felicity Foster, and the early days of their married life. Unlike, I suppose, most Persephone books this one was written by a man -- a point I shall return to shortly.

Greenery Street is based directly on the author's own experience of married life -- to such an extent that apparently Mrs Mackail was fairly embarrassed by it. (I should note that I am taking all my information on this side of the book from the Persephone preface by Rebecca Cohen.) Thus, it is not hard at all to identify the real-life 23 Greenery Street as 23 Walpole Street in Chelsea. Would you like to see pictures? Of course you would.

COTLB exclusive!

There she is, 23 Walpole/Greenery Street. You know who else lived in this house besides the newlywed Mackails? P.G. Wodehouse. Also the lady who wrote Mrs Miniver, but I don't care about her. Wodehouse. One of the attractions of the book is a chance to marvel at how standards have changed since the 1920s -- I won't reiterate the whole preface (go buy the book yerself!), but it is worth noting that the house is now split into flats. And they're almost certainly way too expensive for penniless newlyweds.

But some things haven't changed.

A picture began to form itself in Felicity's mind of two rows of symmetrical doorsteps, of first floor French windows which opened on to diminutive balconies, of a sunny little street with scarlet omnibuses roaring past one end and a vista of trees seen facing the other.

Chelsea Hospital toward one end

I didn't realize I actually got a bus in this photo until I got home - go me!

Mackail describes the young wives standing out on the balconies looking for their husbands to come home, which I could picture perfectly as I scurried around taking photos, hoping I didn't look suspicious.

As a single person (a Single-American?), I thought the novel was cute but I could sense how it might have deeper resonance for married people. It might make a nice anniversary gift for a close friend, but I don't want to commit to that. I don't know anything about picking wedding/anniversary gifts, except for the words of wisdom from my father which I will treasure forever: "Think carefully before you give people knives because you don't want to be complicit in any stabbings."

I suppose what makes it special is that it's a fairly emotional novel about how great marriage is, by a man. If Greenery Street had been written by a woman, it would be entertaining but not much more than that. I don't feel like I'm giving it much of a pass on this count though. Where I am giving it a pass is in that it's so directly autobiographical. The preface makes a pretty irresistible case for the novel being an almost 1:1 account of its author's feelings, if not experiences. Usually I'm a little disappointed to discover that an author has based the events and/or characters of a novel on their own life. I won't lie; when I read that Barbara Pym had worked among anthropologists it took some of the shine off her choice of anthropologist characters in Excellent Women. I freely admit that this is irrational, and I do my best to discount it when weighing up my final analysis of a book, but it's my first reaction. Except with Mackail. Somehow reading about how deeply important his marriage was for him made me all the more interested in "Ian Foster".

Overall: well worth it, and not just because it was wanting this book that led me to find the Persephone store in the first place.

Meet my new favorite author, same as my old favorite author

Alternative post title: Judging Books by their Covers: Sometimes it Works Out

Here is a lovely book I bought at Daunt because it had an Orla Kiely print on the cover. Orla Kiely + arty reissue = catnip.

And lo, I was completely delighted by Excellent Women. Mildred Lathbury (what a name!) is an unmarried woman living in London in the late 1940s and standing on the verge of spinsterhood; the daughter of a vicar and a decided member of the churchgoing crowd, she's both satisfied and unsatisfied with life. Satisfied in that she rather likes the elements of her life and doesn't have any precise ideas about what she'd like better -- dissatisfied in that she hates to think that romance and excitement have definitely passed her by. The action of the novel comes when some very worldly people arrive in Miss Lathbury's little world and threaten to shake it all up.

Ok, that sounds like I've copied it out of Bland Book Descriptions Monthly but (a) it's accurate and (b) the real joy here is in the characters. Pym is marvelous. Her characters are so distinct, and their opinions and personalities are immediately recognizable. I found myself giggling at conversations that I could just hear. There's a scene where Mildred, discombobulated and upset, finds herself buying a lipstick called "Hawaiian Fire" to reassert her femininity in the face of spinsterhood. As she's choosing it and dealing with the saleswoman, she knows it's ridiculous and the wrong color and an embarrassing name and she just can't stop. I'm not describing this well, but it's such a great scene; and something I could totally relate to. Once I decided to treat myself to a nice dinner out to celebrate [something or other]. When I got to the restaurant, the specialty dish I had especially gone there to have wasn't on the menu anymore, so I ordered something else. Which turned out to be out of stock so I had to order something else. Whereas usually waiters are quick to suggest dessert, I had to flag down mine to take a dessert order, which she practically tried to talk me out of ("the portion is very small"). And then the whole thing cost waaaay more than I had anticipated.

Or how about the time(s) I decided to celebrate [something or other] with a mani-pedi and ended up having a utilitarian manicure in a color I wasn't crazy about? Yes indeed, nothing but the best. Poor harassed Mildred buying Hawaiian Fire lipstick is an image that is now close to my heart.

The ending threw me a little bit. It was such a charming, funny book; and one does not expect the unexpected when dealing with charming, funny books any more than with the Spanish Inquisition. I just assumed that things would sort of come together in a standard sort of chick lit way. You know what they say about the difference between Shakespeare's comedies and tragedies (or at least I think they say it: that the difference is that one ends in marriage and the other in death). And yet the book ends with Mildred poised to carry on as an Excellent Woman for the foreseeable future. I guess taken together with The Making of a Marchioness that makes two books in a row where I expected some kind of major change for the heroine that simply didn't come. Maybe my expectations have led me to overlook things -- that's happened before. But between the two I liked Excellent Women much much much much better. And certainly I won't use this as an opportunity to learn my lesson about expecting novels about women written by women to follow predictable plotlines. Pah!

I posted about this book on Facebook (back before Lent started and I was on Facebook all the time), and through the conversation discovered the international Barbara Pym Society. Oh yes! They have a website and lovely-sounding events on both sides of the Atlantic. I enjoyed reading about Pym's life and career there; she has a fascinating story. AND -- here's where the post title comes in -- they note that she's often compared to Trollope. Well then!

A woman, a book, a shop - Persephone

Is it just me or are there more beautiful editions of books in the UK than in the states? It's probably just me, but still, every time I walk into a book store I see at least four or five lust-inducing examples of the craft. And so, even though I really, truly, cannot fit any additional things into my suitcase, I am building up quite the little stacks of books I've bought.

I remembered/discovered that Persephone Books has their headquarters-shop here in London, and in quite a familiar part of town, too, so I wandered over one Saturday and wandered out £30 poorer but three books richer. I will post about the books themselves in due course, but this is a shallow post about surface appearances.

Visually, Persephone Books are "all carefully designed with a clear typeface, a dove-grey jacket, a 'fabric' endpaper and bookmark," to quote from the website. I'll admit that the first time I saw one, I was not impressed. Why can't the pretty fabric be on the outside?! It seems that the publishers decided against this because it would be "messy"; as any bookshelf containing books from many different publishers and editions will be "messy", this reasoning doesn't really go far with me. Nevertheless, after visiting the lovely little shop I am completely in love with this design. Seeing them all stacked up in their uniform covers, with the hint of riotous color just waiting to be revealed... swoon. It's very feminine, even more so than if the books were covered in floral print or something equally cliche. And of course the fabric-print endpapers are beautiful. 

I love the inclusion of a bookmark, too; it makes all the difference. A bookmark stuck into each book is a direct invitation to read the book. As much as I love pretty editions, they can sometimes lean into ornamental territory. The bookmark is wildly enticing.

Somehow my new admiration for these books tugged a whole lot of random things into line, and now I have a genius idea: I want to dress like a Persephone book. You heard. I want to buy fun, colorful printed fabrics and sew little sleeveless blouses and wear them with a grey skirt and cardigan. I've been a more-colors-the-better sort of dresser for the last six years or so, going so far as to ban black and grey from my wardrobe entirely. But now I have a sudden desire for a new direction.

Yes, that's more or less the thing.

As I say, I am actually reading the books I bought, so you will be hearing more about them as I get to them; but now (hopefully) you won't have to read any more gushing about their physical appearance!

Multilection: the newest thing in text consumption!

So! Following on from my successful experience re-reading The Lord of the Rings, I have now also revisited Jane Austen's Persuasion. Actually, what happened was, I charged up my Kindle a few days before my flight, but when I got off the plane at Heathrow and took a seat to wait for my hotel shuttle, said Kindle was dead. I cannot tell you how displeased this made me. Luckily however I travel with a ridiculous number of gadgets and so was able to use the Kindle app on my iPad, where I found a languishing ManyBooks.org copy of Persuasion. (And now the Kindle has mysteriously stayed charged up despite every-other-day reading for the last couple of weeks. Hm.)

It's amazing, this business of reading something again that you've already read in the past! Who would have thought you could learn so much! For instance, did you know that Captain Wentworth's moody friend is called Captain Benwick and not Bentick? In all honesty, I'm still reading it as -tick in my mind. And none of the swoon-factor of Wentworth's letter (you know what I'm talking about) is lost by having read it before. Incredible!

I'm so thrilled with this completely new thing that I've just discovered that I've decided to give it a name:

Multilection

(from multus, many, and lego, I read; of course). Yes indeed, I am really something to have discovered this thing and shared it with you, and I look forward to receiving your praise and admiration now.

Books on the horizon

It's a dangerous thing to be the book I bring with me on a trip. I usually finish it pretty early in the proceedings, so that by the time I have to decide what's coming back with me, it's looking kind of old and dull next to the shiny exotic new foreign books.

Probably the only book I'll be bringing with me to London next month (other than missals) is my Kindle. Now praise we all our Kindles! This is precisely why I got the Kindle, and let's hope it doesn't have any kind of technical issue while I'm over there. The only potential non-ebook I might have with me is Bel Canto, which I bought at the Open Books sale and is just about the only book I bought there that isn't three inches thick.

The first thing that will probably be on the Kindle for my reading pleasure is Doctor Thorne, by my old friend Anthony Trollope. Being in the public domain is a pretty good argument for picking this series back up, huh?

Also in the free books realm, I've been meaning to re-read some Jane Austen, although my thoughts are a little too nebulous about that to translate into actual reading at the moment. I find that it's best to wait until I'm really, really interested in reading something or else it just drags.

Another possible re-read, crossing over into books that cost money, would be The Lord of the Rings. I've been itching to re-read this for about a year and I think the time might be right. I'm only hesitant because I already own three paper editions (yes, yes) and spending $23 for an ebook version makes me a little... cringey. I'll probably start reading the paper version before I leave and see how far I get.

I'll certainly have Norwegian Wood on there, since Alice is doing another read-along.

The Time in Between is another one that's on my radar. I don't know anything about it except the publisher's blurb -- and that it's got a gorgeous cover/endpaper design in hardback. You know, sometimes you just have to read things because they're intriguing. Aside from the subject matter and art direction, my interest is piqued by the fact that it's been translated from Spanish and brought to the US market. That's kind of a vote of confidence, right?

So that's sort of my reading plan for the next couple of months. Such as it is.

Books worth adding a few pounds to your suitcase (and your credit card bill) (see what I did there)

You know what's a good way to fit books into your suitcase to bring home? Between the ribs of the rolly handle in the bottom. Once I managed to bring 12 books home with me without paying an excess weight fee. Here, in no particular order, are some books I brought from London to the US.

Pie, by Angela Boggiano. I love British dinner pies. Love, love, love. Oh sure, American pot pies are okay, but they tend to be more "creamy soup with biscuits on top". My mother is from the very small area of the US where pasties are common, but other than that, it's unusual to encounter a really good savory pie in the states. So I bought this book in the hopes of being able to produce the thing I love myself. I tried the cheese and onion recipe after much researching and specialty-ingredient shopping and it turned out delicious, even if the crust was a little wonky (my own fault).

The Great British Picnic Guide was actually a gift. It's a pretty sort of book, with recipes and ideas and so on: the sort of thing that makes you forget how unpleasant eating on the ground in the outdoors actually is.

Aubrey/Maturin books are a summer reading staple for me, and searching used bookstores for the next one in the series makes for a nice afternoon. But I'll be honest, I have mostly brought these home because I feel like I need to own one of each cover design.

Kristin Lavransdatter is a three-part novel about a woman in medieval Norway that I started reading because I was in the mood for some first-class historical fiction. Obviously it had to come home with me, it's going to help balance out all the un-classy Georgette Heyer.

It's unusual, really, to come across a book that you can't get in America. And, okay, you can buy The Spirit of Solesmes here, but it wasn't on Amazon when I got it. And it's an outstanding Christian-spirituality book, so I was very glad I shelled out the money when I did.

I can't remember the title or any other identifying information about this next one, and although I'm pretty sure it was exclusive to the British Library somehow it's not on their online shop. It was a small reprint/translation of a sort of domestic handbook from colonial Latin America. How to manage a household, that sort of thing. I know, at this point you're wondering why you even bother reading other blogs when this one is so informative and engaging.

Ok, so I actually bought The Secret Life of Buildings in Manchester but bear with me. Unlike all of the others on this list, this one was pretty disappointing; in fact I didn't make it past the first few chapters. The book claims to be architectural history told in an engaging way that takes into account the way the buildings were used and how they changed over time -- a social history of architecture?! Yes please!! But after reading the essays about the Parthenon, the Basilica of San Marco, and the Hagia Sophia, I was completely non-plussed. The author picks some little point or theme for each building and gives vignettes illustrating how these theme plays out in different phases of its history. But it plays fast and loose with the facts in name of cleverness a little too often for my taste. Furthermore, although these three buildings are religious buildings, the author makes it clear that he has no time or regard for religion. Fair enough, but it's hard to understand the religious design and use of religious buildings, much less how one religion might adapt another religion's buildings, without at least trying to wrap your head around religion beyond just "one superstition is the same as another." But oh! Look at that lovely cover! Even if I had read it and realized its disappointingness before having to wedge it into my suitcase, I probably still would have brought it home, just because of its stylish good looks.

He who is tired of London is probably tired of Samuel Johnson quotes too

You certainly don't have to look far for literary whatnot in London; the place is sickeningly thick with bookish sites (and probably cites, har har). I don't think I've ever deliberately sought any of them out - with the possible exception of the time I went with my high school English class, but that was a package thing. And the time I lived 2-3 blocks from Mr Holmes' flat in Baker Street - but that was coincidence. I think you're pretty much always in some sort of literary reference in London, but my point is, I've never sat down with a book and a map and gone to a place for the sake of seeing where some fictional character did something.

I have sought out the British Library, of course, for research purposes but mostly for the food. The catering is all by Peyton & Byrne (IIRC) and it's right up my street as they say. In fact, it has been my custom, on arrival at some awful early hour at Heathrow, to hustle into the city to the BL, where I settle myself on the terrace with a latte and some sort of pastry and watch the English Lit types collect before the main doors open.* Another creature comfort of the BL is the free wifi, which is a wonderful thing to put you on your feet before hauling your suitcase off to your digs.**

Coffee, bun, literary scholars.

So maybe this is shallow, but my mental literary map of London has less to do with "here's Where Nicholas Nickleby lived" or even "here's where Jane Austen stayed" but more to do with, "here's where they always have a big stack of Patrick O'Brian novels" and "this is the best place to sit with a book instead of going to the archive."

Why am I rambling on about this? Because in about a month I'm headed back out to spend a good six month chunk in the ol' Metrop. And right now I'm having a hard time thinking of it as anything but a huge stressor and disruption. A stressor, because it's obviously an enormous and expensive pain in the butt trying to work out banking, housing, etc (all in process, thank you). And a disruption, because one likes one's friends. One is rather inclined to think that one's social future is here, not there. And one is not immune from thinking that spending six months in a foreign country isn't likely to do one's love life much good. Given that this will be my eighth lifetime trip to London, is it so surprising that it's not quite my first choice for a European vacation anymore?***

What gets me through the funk (and the guilt produced by the funk) is thinking about books, oddly enough. Many of my most relaxing memories of the capital are book memories. And one of the purposes in starting this blog was to provide a communications channel and outlet, to make some of that reading less solitary.

So to keep that calm, happy energy flowing, I think I'm going to work up some lists of my personal literary relationship with London: bookshops and reading spots I guess, but maybe also books I've brought home, the books I've brought with, and the books I really, really wanted to buy but didn't. I hope you'll bear with me.

* This follows the cup of tea at the Costas in arrivals and the almost inevitable fumbling to reload the Oyster card - why do I always run that down before leaving?
** I mentioned this to a London grad student once who let loose a bitter rant against tourists and freeloaders who clog up the bandwidth people need to do research. Fair enough, but I am unrepentant, partly because I have a reader's card, na na na boo boo.
*** 1. Vienna, 2. Rome, 3... Ljubljana? Maybe? Anyway, this ain't vacation, it's work, so all my £££ are needed in London.