Hot on the heels of my review of Paul Theroux’s latest novel, Mother Land, I have reviewed his new book of collected essays, containing a jaw-dropping (and eye-watering) account of an interview with Nurse Wolf, a Manhattan-based dominatrix. You can read the review in the Sunday Times here
(Photo by Eugenio Mazzone on Unsplash)
I never keep track of how many books I read in a year, but one thing is for sure: it’s never enough. I spend most of the year thinking how great it would be to finally read that novel by so-and-so, or re-read such-and-such, or even tackle Proust, but time is short and seems to get ever shorter, while my to-be-read pile gets ever higher.
I have, however, read some excellent books this year. One of the great things about reviewing is that I often discover authors and books I would never have otherwise read. Highlights this year include Andrew O’Hagan’s book of essays The Secret Life, which contains a gripping account of his abortive collaboration on Julian Assange’s autobiography; Philip Hoare’s wonderful RISINGTIDEFALLINGSTAR (though I never did work out why the title is all in caps and run on like that); and Richard Ford’s moving memoir about his parents, Between Them.
Fiction-wise, the novel I loved most this year was actually published last year: Deborah Levy’s Hot Milk. I had never read any of her books before, so this was a real revelation: a hypnotic read, drenched in Spanish sunshine, and quite unlike anything else I have come across. I also very much enjoyed Amanda Craig’s The Lie of the Land and Paul Theroux’s Mother Land.
But my overall book of the year was one of the first I read back in January: Xiaolu Guo’s terrific Once Upon a Time in the East, her memoir of growing up in an impoverished Chinese village. I mentioned earlier in the year in this blog that it would definitely be a contender for book of the year, and as it turns out nothing since has quite matched it. It very much deserves its shortlisting in the biography category of this year’s Costa Awards, and I hope it wins.
It occasionally happens that my reading for work pushes my reading for pleasure into the background. Recently I realised that I had inadvertently abandoned The Evenings by Gerard Reve. It had been moved some months ago from my to-be-read pile and shoved in a cupboard while other books took precedence. It was only when I saw a review of it in the Guardian the other day that I remembered I was halfway through it. Having picked it up again, I’m now trying to figure out who all the characters are and what on earth is going on in the plot.
Anyway, in between times I’ve reviewed the following books:
Affluence Without Abundance by James Suzman – a study of the San or Bushman tribes of Namibia, in which I learned that the San believe that white people’s hair makes them look like goats and that warthogs are ‘clever, sociable, and vengeful’. Review here
Guernica: Painting the End of the World – James Attlee’s account of Picasso’s monumental painting. Apparently, Jackson Pollock was so impressed by the painting that when he overheard a fellow artist criticising it he suggested they ‘step outside and fight it out’. Review here
Ascent: A Life Spent Climbing on the Edge by Chris Bonington, in which the great British mountaineer recounts peaks climbed and comrades lost. Review here
Fifty years after publishing his first novel, Paul Theroux has just published his 31st. Mother Land is a very funny book about a feuding Cape Cod family ruled by a monstrous matriarch. This review appears in the latest edition of the Literary Review here
Right, now back to The Evenings …
In this powerful memoir, Kevin Toolis contends that the Anglo-Saxon world has lost the art of mourning the dead, and that we should look to the way the Irish do it. Open caskets, touching the dead body, sitting in vigil by the coffin, playing sexually charged ‘wake games’ – all would help us come to terms with our mortality. You can read my Sunday Times review here
Philip Hoare writes about the sea. A lot. He won the Samuel Johnson prize for his book Leviathan, about his fascination with whales and Moby-Dick, and followed it up with The Sea Inside, which I reviewed here. His latest book ranges from memories of childhood trips to the seaside to accounts of how various cultural figures, from Shelley and Byron to Wilfred Owen and David Bowie, have loved and loathed water. It’s a really terrific book, full of great stories and a tremendous feel for the power and thrill of the sea. Here’s my Sunday Times review
OK, so I’ve been a bit slack in updating this these past few weeks, but I’ve done a number of reviews recently, as follows:
Andrew O’Hagan’s book of essays (previously published in the London Review of Books) includes a brilliant account of his abortive attempt to ghostwrite a memoir by Julian Assange. Here’s my Sunday Times review
I’ve spent a lot of time on the Jurassic Coast in Dorset, but have never found a dinosaur skeleton, as Mary Anning did in 1811. Brenda Maddox’s book is about the Victorian geologists like Anning who changed the way we looked at the world – proving for example that it is much older than anyone thought and thus challenging Christian orthodoxy. My Sunday Times review is here
And finally, I very much enjoyed Amanda Craig’s latest novel and reviewed it here for the Literary Review.
I’m not much of a fan of the seaside (too windy, too cold, too exposed) and one of my few interactions with seabirds was when a seagull swooped to steal my sandwich, but Adam Nicolson’s new book is a great read, full of interesting details about things such as fratricidal kittiwakes and cannibalistic gulls. You can read my Sunday Times review here
Book reviewing might seem like a gentle occupation, but occasionally it can tip over into viciousness. After I wrote my review of Richard Ford’s new book, I read that he spat at Colson Whitehead because of a negative review Whitehead had written of a Ford book – in fact, Ford had waited many years to take his revenge. You can make your own minds up about whether I am likely to be on the receiving end of a Ford attack: my Sunday Times review is here
Another week, another Chinese memoir. But Yiyun Li’s Dear Friend, From My Life I Write to You in Your Life is very different to the Xiaolu Guo book I reviewed a couple of weeks ago. It’s more of a collection of essays than a memoir, and although we actually learn very little about Li’s life, it’s quite a compelling book. You can read my Sunday Times review here
I don’t often gush about a book, but this memoir by Xiaolu Guo – one of Granta’s 2013 Best of Young British Novelists – is terrific. If I ever do choose a book of the year here on this blog, this would be a definite contender. You can read my Sunday Times review here
Ian Critchley 