“I've been thinking with my guts since I was fourteen years old, and frankly speaking, between you and me..."

 "... I have come to the conclusion that my guts have shit for brains.”

I love High Fidelity. I read the book as a teenager and at some point my Mum must have rented the tape (tape!) from the video man who used to call in to people at home and rent a film for a couple of quid. They were obviously bootleg, you had to know someone else on his ‘route’ to get him to visit, and if you’d been a customer for a while you could request films and he’d ‘see what he could do’. Such an innocent time.

Anyway, where was I? Oh yes, I saw the movie version of High Fidelity. And I loved it. I was pretty into music as a teenager (I would have been….12 when the film came out, a high impressionable age). I wanted to own every album ever. I owned stuff I thought I should even though I wasn’t that keen (I know I’m committing suicide here, but Nirvana’s Nevermind would come under this category). I knew Rob Fleming/Gordon (book/film) was a loser, and horrible really, but he was still a sort of icon to me.

I still watch the film reasonably often, maybe once a year? Which doesn’t sound like much, but think honestly, think about it. What movie do you watch every year other than Christmas films and Lord of the Rings??

Anyway, I've watched the film countless times but I hadn’t reread the book….until now.

And my goodness, Rob Fleming is an absolute arsehole! He admits it himself of course, but I just didn’t remember how bad he was! He’s horrible. Really awful. Sexist, self-absorbed, ignorant, prejudiced… And yet you can’t help but relate to him. Everyone has the same thoughts he does, he just has more, and worse ones, and he believes them and acts on them. But his fears are universal, of stalling, of committing and missing out, not wanting something but not wanting its absence.

Which just makes his progression even more compelling. It happens fairly quickly ostensibly after Laura takes him back, but there are moments peppered throughout. He has minor breakthroughs for himself when he’s chasing down past lovers but the reader can see the big ones – realising Charlie is a pretentious twit, struggling to get anything going for his birthday, confronting his fear of loss when Laura’s Dad passes away.

These prime him, tenderise him, slough off the hard shell he’s been building. So when Laura takes him back you can see that he has changed. He’s still the same person of course - he’s probably still an arsehole! - but there’s potential again. Wiggle room for him to not be such an acerbic critic but to embrace a bit more, fill his life a bit more.

You see this when he meets Laura’s friends who he really likes, despite their ‘awful’ record collection (a moment which made my 12 year old self cringe, as her 30 year old equivalent quite likes a lot of what Rob considers naff), and you see this after Marie’s gig at Championship Vinyl where he wants his life to be more and sees himself as the driver for this rather than railing at the world for not giving it to him on a plate.

This book teaches the Robs of the world that people can surprise you. Laura isn’t sitting around waiting for you, she’s got problems of her own. Barry can actually sing; he can read the room and play for the crowd rather than just for himself. Dick can meet a woman and have a relationship. People can be fantastic even if they different hobbies or musical choices to you. Your parents can have a social life.

Others are not side-characters in your life, we are not what you have assumed we are. Or if we are, that’s not our totality. We are all multi-faceted, well-developed main characters. You just don’t get to hear our inner narrator or see the backstory.

Because, essentially, it’s not what you like. It’s what you are like.

*Quote from Nick Hornby

“I have this feeling, that all it will take will be one moment, even a tiny moment, provided it’s the correct one.”

“Like a cord suddenly snapping and a thick curtain dropping to the floor to reveal a whole new world, a world full of sunlight and warmth.” 

As I’m currently reading a book that I’m hating but am obligated to read (long, very boring story), I thought I would reminisce about a book that I absolutely loved but that I know I will never read again.

There’s actually a couple of those (shout out to 1984, a brilliant book which broke my heart so thoroughly I don’t think I’ll ever recover) but The Unconsoled is worth a blog entry as it’s not mentioned very often.

Picture from Wikipedia

It’s not an easy read, which might be why it often gets sidelined when compared with Ishiguro’s other novels (i.e. Never Let Me Go; Remains of the Day) but it is engaging and challenging, and it sucks you in and, much like a good maze, after a couple of turns you have no idea how you got there are how to get out again.

I suppose that might be frustrating, but as your protagonist is similarly confused about what’s happening you can take comfort of someone being in the same boat as you. Which is unusual in a novel where you’re either in someone’s head or a third party watching it all happen. I like the subversion of normal novel structure. Expectations of knowing what’s happening and why are never met.

In the Unconsoled, our narrator Ryder falls into these situations which transform into others after a few pages, but he remains calm, sincere, and absorbed by the moment he’s in rather than waste energy trying to unpick everything around him. So, as boat-buddies, we do the same; swimming peacefully through the narrative and watching the landscape swirl and change around us.

Like him, we don’t know where the path we’re on is going and we don’t know why we keep walking down it. But yet I keep walking – the lack of knowledge serves to pique my interest more, and further down the rabbit hole I fall.

Important things come sharply into focus before blurring out again. People step out of the wings for a few pages before disappearing again. Threads are picked up, dropped, and picked up again.  Time doesn’t fit together and nothing ever gets resolved. But there’s not just confusion and narrative interest. There’s also joy and humour here, not to mention incredibly poignant moments and characters.

I don’t think it’s original of me to compare the novel to a dream (in fact I assume this is what Ishiguro was going for) but it’s more than that. It’s a stress-dream. The fear of performance, the doubt over whether Ryder is who the characters think he is, the interruptions every time he tries to sleep. Like the frog in the pot of water, you don’t feel the stress and tension rise until your shoulders are up by your ears.

And it’s probably this stress that stops me from ever picking it up again. I know now the extent to the twists and turns and I know the inevitable toll it will take on my body and, although I am so pleased I put myself through it once, I could never do it again. I would try to read too much into it; try to make sense of it. That would normally bring me much joy, but I loved this novel because it forced me to drop all that, it forced me to drift dream-like through the pages. A singular experience and one which I would not wish to taint or try to recreate and experience some ersatz simulacrum.

All in all, the Unconsoled is not for the faint-hearted, but it is an unforgettable, thought-provoking, and worthwhile read which I highly recommend.

*Quote from Kazuo Ishiguro

“Words belong in contexts…”

“…not pegged out like biological specimens.”

Latest in the completed reading pile is La Belle Sauvage, the first in the Book of Dust trilogy by Philip Pullman.

I reread His Dark Materials a few months ago in preparation for this book. I was given it at Christmas and have been itching to read it, but I wanted to do it justice. I originally read His Dark Materials when I was a teenager so although I remembered the basics of Lyra, Dust, Mrs Coulter, Will and Mary, I didn’t remember all the details and how things had ended up.

The reread was better than I remembered, and La Belle Sauvage similarly did not disappoint.
As ever with Pullman, he effortlessly creates characters you feel you know. They have flaws, desires, and weaknesses to juxtapose their strengths. The plot zips along and you quickly get caught in the current of the action and the unfolding mysteries.

As ever with my reviews, there will be no spoilers. All I will say is things get a little weird at one point (which I’m hoping will be explained/developed in the next two books in the trilogy) and the ending comes a bit too quickly. You build up pace, the tension rises – and smack! It’s over and you’re closing the back cover.

Speaking of covers, the dust cover is pretty enough by itself:

But underneath it is just as lovely – I particularly like the quote on the spine rather than just the book title and author as usual:

My only other criticism was at one point I swear an adult’s ferret daemon changed into a mouse daemon, which shouldn’t be possible.

All in all, however, I highly recommend this book and I personally cannot wait for the next book to be released.

*Quote from Philip Pullman

“The man in black fled across the desert…”

“…and the gunslinger followed.”

Possibly one of the best opening lines of a book ever. Shame the rest of the series didn’t live up to its promise….

Well that’s possibly a bit harsh – it’s a good series, a very good series...but not a great series.

A Tower of Towers

Book 1 was good, book 2 was really good, book 3 was okay, book 4 was really dull, book 5 was really good, book 6 was really good, and book 7 was good.

The ending really let it down – no spoilers, but where was the promised show-down???

It is incredibly ambitious, let’s praise that up front. What other series can offer you gunslingers, killer robots, mutant monsters and time travel?

It’s detailed, it’s wide ranging, it doesn’t shy away from doing unexpected and brutal twists – which leave you shaken but so much more drawn into the narrative.

There are some amazing images, some beautiful characters and the series is littered with incredible ideas, but it just could have done so much more with them with a little more planning and editing. Not to mention a little less ‘up-my-own-arse megalomaniacal metafiction…

I know Mr King writes it as it comes rather than having a plot planned out, but you know what? That shows, and not in a good way. So much wasted potential, so many needless pages of bland garbage. Wizard and Glass was a particular low point for me (though I’ve spoken to others who disagree) as I couldn’t give two figs about the love story, and none of the other characters involved are developed. And it has little bearing on the rest of the series! I would say that Cuthbert and Alain deserved more but you what? I don’t know whether they do – I never got to know them past a few quirks (Cuthbert’s funny and Alain is deep. Full stop.).

Well worth reading, but I’m glad I borrowed them rather than bought them. I would recommend them to people but I doubt I’ll re-read at any point.

I’m glad I read them. I’m glad I went on that journey with those characters, but I don’t feel I’ll carry much of it with me, thankee sai.

*Quote from  Stephen King

“Seems I canna possess your soul…”

“…without losing my own.”

I just finished reading Outlander (Took all my willpower to not write Highlander) by Diana Gabaldon.

Picture from Wikipedia

In brief – I enjoyed it. The characters were amusing and likeable, they were pretty realistic and they didn’t do anything wildly out of character just to move the plot on. There were a couple of holes, but I am willing to suspend judgement and say they’d probably be worked out in later books.

However, I do not think I am going to read those books.

As much as I did enjoy the characters and plot, I found the whole thing needing a great deal of editing. Far too bloated a book. Way too much guff.

I appreciate that I don’t really give a fig about the sexy stuff or what people are wearing or whatever. After a certain point (i.e. as far as the plot and setting is needed) description adds (or should add) richness. I found that the ins and outs of the sex scenes was gratuitous and added absolutely nothing. But then, as I said, I don’t really want to read an erotic novel; others may love those bits.

But it wasn’t just the bodice-ripping parts that I skimmed through. We had about 5 pages at one point talking about killing a wolf. 5 pages. 1 wolf. Seriously. Far too bloated.

In all, it took me 11 days to finish. It shouldn’t have taken so long; it should have been a much shorter novel.

It’s a shame really. It’s a lot better than some of the Young Adult books I’ve read, but I’m more likely to continue reading books in those series as they are short and generally quite action-packed. They act as palate cleansers between more substantial book-meals.

This was like eating the same dinner every night. Really good for the first few evenings, but then you get sick of having the same flavours and textures over and over again…

Overall rating = 6/10

*Quote from Diana Gabaldon

“Walter Benjamin said a book can wait a thousand years unread…”

“…until the right reader happens to come along. Books are in no hurry.” 

Tsundoku is an untranslatable Japanese word that means “acquiring books and letting them pile up unread.”

We are all guilty of this, don’t deny it. And if you are some sort of alien who does not do this, I say: "Welcome to planet earth, if you hang around here for long enough you will start buying books and letting them pile up unread."

I have stopped buying books, true, but I am still in the nasty habit of borrowing books. From whoever will lend them to me. And letting them pile up unread.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m meticulous about returning them, but it can take me a long time to get around to reading them in the first place…

As CB and I hope to move within the next year or so, and as books are a pain in the proverbial to pack up and move, we have made a pact to try and read all our unread paperbacks by the end of the year. This includes both unread books and those we wish to reread. Of course there are books we will always keep – Lord of the Rings for instance – but those I don’t begrudge moving house with. It’s the ones I know I will read once (or once more) and then will jettison off to whoever will take it.

I have also been systematically taking all my books from my parents’ house to my current flat, resulting in a huge pile of unwanted unnecessary books. I only own one bookcase so until today I had numerous piles of books on the floor of our spare room. A couple of these piles have now been transported to the local library, which was very happy to accept them.

The thing about these piles of books is that they make me sad. I love books and I love reading, and if I’m not going to reread these guys I want them to find a new owner who will. A bookcase full of gorgeous volumes is a magical thing, a wall of adventures at the tips of your fingers. But knowing I will never go on those journeys again, that just makes me feel guilty and sad.

Set your books free people! Let them find new homes and new lovers!

*Quote from George Steiner