Review: The Woman in White

Wilkie Collins’ The Woman in White earns its place in that genre of books I call books that held my hand.  Its a masterpiece of character study, of slow, steady & tense anticipation of what will happen, how will it be resolved etc.

Collins’ writing is of the style of that time (naturally) but its never too much and there’s a perfect balance of description and dialogue. There is, of course, the strong and well known mystery aspect of the book but there’s also a subtle commentary on the impact of the social mores of the day on women. This is bought to life by the diverse characters and situations of the four main women and by their ‘servants’ and supporters, and the complexity and humour afforded by Pesco, Fosco and Frederick!

This is a long book, my copy had tiny writing –good value in small package- do read it and let me know what you think.  I’m moving on to the latest William Boyd, being still in need of a book to keep my mind from the pain in my back and safe in the knowledge that all of his previous books have been the sort that I can get totally absorbed in.  

A finished project & a gift

Can't believe I'm blogging twice in one morning but forgot to show this jacket. I've been knitting it for a while now and resting my back has meant it is now done.

Pleased to say that it fits T very well, not that I planned to give it as a gift but so nice to do that. In truth the sleeves were too long and too wide for me ... not sure how or why but alls well that ends well as it looks very good on T.

BTW, that Cuckoo is still cuck -ooing and no sighting of the Hoopoe yet this morning.

Final pages of Artful, a row of sparrows & cuck-oo, cuck-oo

My last breakfast on this terrace for a few weeks. Once again in the company of the Cuckoo (just one I think from the sounds),2-3 arguments of sparrows –at one point several aligned on the new keep-the-dogs-in-the-garden fence and of course, our black redstart family, with young that each day fly further and further away from their home in the Twisted Willow.

And, yes, I have finished Ail Smith’s innovative book –Artful- the book I started last year and gave up, just couldn’t understand the form or viewpoint. I obviously thought it worth a second go as it was left in the book basket not put away on the shelves –or what counts for shelves here at the moment,- lots of books are stacked/stored temporarily on the large shelf called the floor. 

So, a second read, trying not to be distracted by the position of the narrator  -a grieving widow who sees, smells, hears her dead lover –not unusual in my experience but it didn't;t fit with the other writing at least not at first. .So the 2nd time I just focused on the essay writing about time, form, edge, offer and reflection, and to enjoy the way Smith brings in poetry and prose, especially Dickens's Oliver Twist, Not sure enjoy is the correct verb for my final verdict on this clever book, But there’s lots in there to reflect on, right now I would highlight the exposure of form related to poetry & prose – Plath, Gunn, Katherine Mansfield are all drawn on to illustrate the arguments.  And there’s a great section on the screen in our contemporary lives.

Perhaps this book is a touch too clever.for  me. –lots of references in there that I didn’t get but they tempt me to read it all again. I guess that’s it. For me, this is a book to struggle through the first & second time, to skip where its impossible to break through with any understanding of what is meant and return to for a third read. Also, each section stands alone, so worthy of dipping into each on their own. Good value then in such a small rather off of the wall text.

That Cuckoo is still sounding off. clearly still in need of a mate. I#m going to finish my coffee and hope for a visit from the Hoopoe. I was sure I saw it yesterday –that unmistakable Mohican headgear but not much colour so maybe it was a Skylark. Clearly, my bird watching skills need more practice …. the binoculars and coffee are ready.

Birds, books and backs

Nearly time for me to leave Enmatte for a short while. So glad I’ve managed to identify the mystery birds! Small (ish), pointed beak, dark grey & black, a flash of red when they fly and yes, they are black redstarts, We have mum, dad and their fledglings –the latter are fluffy, have those (now) unmistakable red under- wings,  and are making good use of the long grass to rest from their first short flights. The parents keep watch, perched nearby and make a constant sharp whir … I am here, I am here, it seems to say. 

We also have several arguments of sparrows in the hedges, blackbirds feeding from the ‘lawn’, bullfinches come and go, and in the woods by day a cuckoo, and at night the nightingale. Overhead, the hawk keeps watch. Its all a very real privilege to watch.

Finished Joyce Carol Oates collection of short stories today.  Faithless, Tales of Transgression is full of grim,authentic and wide ranging pictures of the lives and deaths of today’s Americans. I needed to give these stories space, but Oates writing always pleases. She can do as much (and often more) with a short story as other writers do with longer prose.

Gentle tasks are on my to do list at the moment –my back is still a problem, less painful thanks to  the local GP and I can now see the origin of the problem after a visit to Radiology in Fleurance. I have a drawer full of analgesia …but a glass of wine (or two) does the trick just as well.

My latest knitting project is finished and I’m so pleased that its now in Tracey’s wardrobe as it fits her much better than me! As I tried it on I was thinking how could I change these sleeves …   they are perfect on T’s long arms.

And to close the news that one of my poems was ‘commended’ in a local competition this month. Odd really, I wrote it quickly staying with B&A in Wales last May –so the first version is in their guest book, and I made very few changes after taking it to a workshop. You just never know what the judges are going to like!  Encouraging to be placed like that, its obvious but unless you write and send stuff out there there’s no chance of anything being published. So, forward with the next poem … perhaps the black redstart family might be in there, they deserve some recognition for the pleasure they give.

Review of Bring up the Bodies & some journaling

What could be better –a warm sunny day (or 3), a comfy chair in a quiet garden, time to read and Hilary Mantel’s prizewinning continuation of being Thomas Cromwell.

Bring up the Bodies is every bit as good as its forerunner, Wolf Hall, There is firstly the authentic language, words that are ancient & foreign to modern ears and yet with clear meaning, prose that flows, its sentences doing what all good sentences should do  -saying one thing and saying it clearly, and always as if Cromwell was dictating them.

The story is, of course, well known but also much of it is unknown and contentious, as Mantel says at the close. No matter, the exit of Henry 8th’s second wife is a good story, with a cast that provides the very best of character, parody and pathos. Mantel blends all this into a simply wonderful novel. Bring on the next one, this is the way to write history even if it is possibly somewhat at a slant.

The end of the book was today … tomorrow we are going to market to buy hens. Paul has set up the electric fence so their newly trimmed run, clean and freshly strawed house is (we very much hope) safe from the foxes and anything else that might try to get in. And I must find new book!!

Also today the farmers have been out sowing seeds of summer wheat, or maybe corn. Giant machines are passing across the Le Gers clay, now slightly drier after a few days sun. Perhaps the beds at the bottom of our garden might be ready for the seed potatoes that wait to be planted! 

The strawberries are ripening but the slugs and ants have the upper hand in most at the moment. Looks like we need to scatter some nasty stuff around and fill the traps with yet more beer. 

Book review: A Book of Silence

Sara Maitland’s book on silence burrows deeply into its subject, in a gentle (so appropriate) and scholarly way. This latter quality could be off putting. There was much about people who I met for the first time in the book but this gave the writing authenticity and for me, a confidence in the thoughts and  arguments cultivated by Maitland during her quest to learn more about silence and silences.

Naturally, it is a personal story, shaped by Maitland’s own brand of spirituality and writerley position but its accessible to others, drawing in a balanced way on silences seekers and their experiences from a wide well.

In places it is discomforting (no bad thing), enlightening (worth a re-read for the learning alone) and inspiring –It left me thinking that perhaps in a busy life I might look for and find some silences of the sort Maitland discusses..

So last night I stood on the terrace, in the silence of the stars, and a nightingale, or maybe two, in the near woods, sang, sang and kept on singing and I gave silent thanks for the opportunity that in this place I can do something like that.

I had spent the day in conversation with a poet friend who lives just north of Toulouse. My visit to her extended my knowledge of the local area  -and added to my navigation along French roads skills. The Garonne, and the Canal provided key points to cross and the town names a small poem  to help me recollect the route … Aussonne, Seilh, Lespinasse  … an assonance & consonance ensemble

Susan and I had a good walk around fields of rye and young corn, admiring the local water tower with its camouflage of blue and white and musing about finding spaces in time and place to read and write. I drove home through avenues of Limes, a second ceiling below the cloudless sky –trees like statues, their foliage lace-like, spring bright, extending to the horizon, and, of course, quintessentially French.