Random Jottings

Michael - E F Benson

In case it has not come to your notice, last year I discovered the Mapp and Lucia books by EF Benson and fell for them hook line and sinker.  I read them all in a couple of months as is my wont, and then fell prey to despair at the fact there were no more.  I checked out this author and found he was incredibly prolific and many of his output were still in print.  I have posted about Paying Guests and Mrs Ames on Random and said how much I enjoyed them.  With Mrs Ames I began to see that there was more subtlety and weight to his books than perhaps had been my initial impression and this has now been confirmed as I have just finished Michael.  The copy I obtained was the US edition though I ordered a completely different one from Amazon, but when it turned up I was very pleased as, with all US paperbacks, it is beautifully produced.

I closed it up ten minutes ago and wish to write about it while I am still in a state of feeling that I have been knocked sideways.  Gosh, this is a simply WONDERFUL book.  I am quite overwhelmed by it, spent the last two hours not moving from the sofa so engrossed and gripped had I become.

It starts relatively peacefully.  Michael, son of Lord Comber, is a misfit and feels his ugliness deeply  The description of his appearance put me in mind of a book I read years ago by one Pierre la Mure,  Moulin Rouge, a fictionalised life of Toulouse Lautrec and the misery his ungainly appearance brought him.  Michael is aware that he is a disappointment to his father who would much prefer that his gracious, elegant and charming cousin Francis, was his son instead of him.  Michael loves music and wishes to study it but instead is in the guards which he hates.  He comes to a decision that he has to do something with his life, resigns his commission and sets off to Bayreuth to hear Parsifal.  On the way he meets Hermann Farbe, a brilliant young musician who he had seen at a concert prior to his trip,  where he accompanied his sister, a gloriously talented singer, Sylvia.  They become friends, they return back to England, he meets Sylvia and a whole new life opens up for him.  He ceases to worry about his appearance, what people think of him, he is happy and open and free and starts composing music.  He falls in love with Sylvia and though she turns downs his initial proposal of marriage, he does not lose hope.

The background and scene is now  set for what is for me, the heart of the book.  Michael is visiting his parents, though he and his father are now estranged over his choice of lifestyle, when he realises his mother is ill.  It is obvious to a modern reader that she is in the first stages of dementia.  At that moment his distant, vague relationship with his mother changes.  Almost as if she knows that there is not much time left, she comes to him:

"I hope you are happy Michael.  I want you to be happy. You used not to be happy when you were small, you were always sensitive and odd. But you do seem happier now and that is a good thing....but it wasn't I who made you happier.  I never made anyone happy, but now that you are living the life you choose, is it better with you?......I have begun to feel lonely, nobody wants me.......there is nobody and it began to strike me that you perhaps might want me.  There was nobody else and who should want me if my son did not?  I never gave you the chance before, God forgive me, and perhaps it is now too late.  You have learned to do without me"

I found this part of the book when his mother gradually deteriorates and he takes care of her as his upright, hidebound, inarticulate father cannot, very moving.  Michael gives up his newly acquired freedom to care for his mother and his genuine love and kindness are evident in the tender care he takes of her, and it is seeing this real unconscious love and understanding that makes Sylvia realise that she truly loves the real Michael, the one she had doubted.

If the story had finished here, it would have been viewed as a slight romance, charming and delightful.  But it does not.  Sylvia and her brother are half-German and we are on the eve of the first World War, that long last hot summer before the cataclysm engulfed Europe and life was never the same again.  Hermann has a deep profound love for Germany and leaves to fight for his country and Michael knows that he has to rejoin his regiment that he left so easily a year earlier.  He can do no less.

Before he leaves, he is struck by two blows.  Francis, the light hearted, young cousin who he loved so dearly is killed at the start of the war and he is overcome by hatred at the events that have brought this about and this feeling is extended towards the German race, of whom his fiance and Hermann, who he loves like a brother, are part.

Then, hIs mother, who had to be placed in a home and had turned against him in her distress and confusion is dying.  He goes to see her and prays that out of the darkness that has overtaken her, he will be able to see his real mother one last time.  His wish is granted:

"Turning her head slightly, she saw him and there was no longer any question as to whether her mouth smiled for all her face was flooded with deep, serene joy.

He bent towards her.  "Michael my dear" she said gently......she looked at him and all the mother love which before had been veiled and clouded, came out with all the tender radiance of evening sea, with the clear shining after rain.

"I knew you wouldn't fail me my darling....you were so patient with me in the trouble I have been through. It was a nightmare but it has gone..."

I am not ashamed to say that by the time I arrived at these pages I was so totally at one with Michael that my eyes filled with tears and I had trouble seeing the page.  Later, at the funeral he is walking next to his father, the estranged parent who had despised him so long and who he thought he hated.

"One moment stood out for Michael above all the others, when as he entered the graveyard, somebody who he could not see said 'I am the resurrection and the life' and he heard his father, by whom he walked, suddenly catch his breath in a sob"

I found Michael to be a fine man and a fine character.  I think that word is the right one.  He has courage and a huge capacity for love and understanding and at this stage of the story, he has to go to fight, knowing that his fiance's brother is fighting on the other side.

The ending, which is more or less inevitable, but none the less moving for that, could have been mawkish and hackneyed, but instead there is a gleam of humour, great warmth and love and it is not until the last line, in the last paragraph on the last page of this simply marvellous book, that we know if Michael is to be happy, or not.

To say I was bowled over by this E F Benson story is putting it mildly.  I closed it up with that horrid feeling that I have read it, and even though I may re-read it, I will never capture again that feeling when you open a book and realise you are in the middle of something special. 

I am going to have to sit down for a bit and have a think about this book - it has really affected me deeply and I am not sure on reading this post if I have managed to communicate to you the essence of Michael's character and to tell you how enormously I came to love and admire him by the end.  I hope so but if not do get a copy.  It is in print and available.  You won't be disappointed.

I am now a Woman on a Mission and my tracking down of all of E F Benson's books, starts now...

Thursday Thoughts

Have had a very tiring week so far and not had a huge amount of time for posting.  Last week an aunt of mine died at the age of 97.  She is my mother's elder sister and now my mum, aged 96, is the last survivor of the five 'Brewis girls' who all worked at one time in Fenwicks in Newcastle and were renowned for their style and elegance.  They made all their own clothes from ends of rolls of material hey got cheap from the store and I have wonderful pictures of them.   All of them strong, feisty independent women.  Thank goodness this trait runs in our family.

I could not make the funeral, which was in Bath, and on Monday I drove my mother to my sister and her husband who were attending and would take her with them.  Have not done this drive for a while but it wasn't too bad, I stayed overnight and then set off back the next morning and that drive was not  so much fun.

   

And here is a picture of my mum who I think looks pretty nifty and my elder darling daughter, Kathryn.

Fog hung pretty thick and low as I drove through the forest road to get to the M1, it was a short cut that I am familiar with but rather wished I had not taken it on this occasion, anyway hit the motorway and within 50 yards was out of the fog.  Don't think it lifted, more the carbon dioxide from the lorries chased it away.  I have never been on the M1 in the week and the traffic was horrendous, two lanes totally blocked by lorries and petrol tankers, forcing us all into the fast line in which I am not particularly comfortable as you end up with the maniacs and that is not a good experience.

Anyway, all things pass and once I was off the motorway and driving across country it was better. However, by the time I got home I was tres knackered and spent the evening reclining in the bath, then reclining on the sofa in a striped nightie, woolly dressing gown, face gleaming with face cream, hair on end, feet which had had foot cream sloshed all over them, nestling in a pair of left over lime green flight socks from a long ago Virgin flight to the US and, in short, looking an absolute sight.  I did not care. Comfort was all.

Then last nlght out with the other PAs from the group at work on a long postponed and delayed Christmas meal.  Lovely Italian restaurant, lovely food but again did not get home till late and this morning could barely move and just to really finish it all off, madly busy at work and I was charging around like a lunatic.  Tonight is a night in as I am visiting friends tomorrow so not much posting I am afraid and I am looking forward to Saturday when I can just loll in a languid manner and rest the old bod.  I am getting too old for all this charging around.  Sadly...

I am glad to see that many of you are listening to the Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Society on the book at bedtime.  I am finding it quite quite wonderful, but you know I love it and will go on about it for ever, so will stop now.

I have also started Michael by E F Benson which certainly promises to be a different kettle of fish to Mapp and Lucia but after reading Mrs Ames which I found a more serious book, I think this one is going to be good.  It captured my interest after 10 pages so good sign.

This is a total ramble with nothing of real interest but just wanted to drop by. Will be back on Saturday.

Au reservoir.

Listen out for.....

  ...this week's Book at Bedtime for those of us on this side of the pond.  That simply gorgeous, lovely,    delightful book that I fell totally in love with last year is being read out in ten programmes over the next two weeks. 

I am referring of course to the Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Society and it is being read by Emilia Fox and others.  I have listened to the first programme and it was a total joy. Listening with the book in my hand, I can see it has been abridged but it is being done very well indeed.

If you can, please do listen.  This was in my top ten reads last year and is a total joy.

The Coroner - M R Hall

It would appear from checking my current Books Read list that January has turned into Crime month as I have been reading Agatha Christie, Ngaio Marsh, Andrea Camilleri and Donna Leon.  I adore reading crime novels, always have done ever since I read my first Agatha when I was about 12,  Then There were None which was known by a much less politically correct title then.  Totally gripped and since then have been fascinated by detectives and mysteries.  Loads more wonderful stuff out there to discover as well as the interest and demand for this genre never seems to flag.

I was sent The Coroner by M R Hall as part of the Amazon Vine programme.  Never get tired of receiving free books, always a thrill.  The tag line on the front of this book is 'I'm a Coroner.  I spend my life laying things to rest'.  We are introduced to the new Coroner of Severn Vale.  Her name is Jenny Cooper, newly divorced and recovering from a breakdown, her teenage son lives with his father and new girlfriend and it is made clear from the very start of the book that Jenny has some deep childhood trauma in her life that has affected her personality and made her doubt herself and her abilities.

OK so we have the usual maverick type person, knocking back tranquilizers and wine as if they are going out of fashion, full of angst and generally falling apart and I felt a weariness of spirit come upon me and thought Do I really really want to read this?  Do I really want to end up feeling as if I too would like to put my head in the gas oven? (As I am all electric decided there was no danger so on I went).  I persevered and glad I did as I gradually became drawn into the story.  Jenny's curiosity is aroused by the previous coroner's behaviour prior to his death and the fact he was trying to get to the bottom of the death of a teenager who had committed suicide in a young offender's institution.  Then there was the drug related death of a young teenage girl, another suicide, seems a clear open and shut case, but as with all good crime stories, we begin to doubt that all is as it seems and Jenny decides to investigate further.

Once again, the usual stock characters pop up, the local businessman and Member of the Council, obnoxious and pompous who does not want Jennie to get involved, he is clearly on the make and has been taking backhanders from the owners of the offender's facility who want to build a bigger and better commercially run building elsewhere; the policeman, ambitious and ruthless who has skimmed over the investigation into the teenage girl's drug induced death; a slimy lawyer and an investigative journalist seeking a good story.

As she digs deeper into the mystery and cover up nasty things begin to happen to Jenny and her friends and her new lover, but the reader knows that ultimately she will find the guilty party. She does but it is not quite such a clear cut ending as normal and we are left with characters who are obviously going to reappear in the next story of what we are told is 'a fantastic new series heroine who takes on the establishment in a search of truth and justice whilst dealing with a very broken personal life'.

I always feel if you are going to use a cliche or two, then you may as well go the whole hog and The Coroner certainly does not hold back in this regard.  And yet, and yet - I found myself becoming more and more engrossed with this story, I began to feel great sympathy for Jennie and though there were times when I felt like screaming DON'T DO THAT as I could see disaster just around the corner, ultimately this turned into a real page turner and one that I thoroughly enjoyed, despite my initial doubts.  The final scene in the court room was very exciting and extremely filmic and I did my usual trick of casting actors in the various roles - already have an idea for Jennie - and I find that I can recommend this book to you as a good start to the series and I am looking forward to the next one.

I had assumed,  that like JK Rowling, M R Hall was a woman as the book is certainly written from a woman's viewpoint and is sympathetic to Jenny's unhappiness and vulnerability.  However, I have just checked and have discovered that he is "a screenwriter and producer and former criminal barrister, a profession he left due to a constitutional inability to prosecute".

So now we know. 

Recommended.

Mrs Ames - E F Benson

When I discover a new author I tend to go into hyper drive and hunt out as many as I can find and last year's discovery of Mapp and Lucia have sent me into Benson mode.  I was lucky enough to find two out of print paperbacks in my local second hand bookshop, Paying Guests which I posted about here and Mrs Ames which I finished last week.

Reading the blurb my initial reaction was that I was in familiar territory:

Mrs Ames is queen of Riseborough society. Sceptre firmly grasped in her podgy little hand, she reigns supreme in a world of strawberry teas, high street gossip and riotous insurrections by misguided pretenders like Mrs Altham, Miss Brooks and dear cousin Millie.  But, Mrs Ames is ten years older than her husband and beginning to feel all her fifty-seven years

So the reader starts off enjoying the Tilling type infighting and jockeying for social position, amusing and witty as always, but gradually realises that there is dissatisfaction and vague unhappiness underneath it all.  Mrs Ames husband, Lyndhurst, forms a romantic attachment to his wife's cousin Millie, who is married to the local doctor, Dr Carter.  They flirt in a gentle, understated way.  Millie is a woman who makes men feel desirable and such fine fellows:

"She gave him one of those shy little deprecating glances that made him involuntarily feel that he was the most agreeable companion.   'Ah you are being wicked now.....you understand better than anybody".

He becomes drawn into a semi-serious flirtation which takes place over the summer months.  It gradually becomes noticeable to Mrs Ames and it is then that she has to sit down and ponder on her feelings for Lyndhurst, and realises that she is fond of him, she loves him and has no intention of letting anything further happen.  She takes herself off for a series of restorative treatments in order to rekindle her husband's interest but despite her best endeavours, this is a failure.  She banks on her husband's love of his easy life, his position in the small town where they live, the years they have been married and is sure this will stop him doing anything reckless.

However, matters progress further than either Mrs Ames or Dr Carter thought they would and both of the middle aged lovers decide to leave together.  Cousin Millie had entered into this flirtation in a light hearted manner as a mere diversion from her rather boring life but something had crept into her consciousness, had disturbed her:

"Neither wifehood nor motherhood had awakened her womanhood.  In that she was a woman she was that most dangerous of all created or manufactured things, an unexploded shell, liable to blow to bits both itself and any who handled her.......the heart of it had never been penetrated by the love that could transform its violence into strength..."

For most of this novel I found Cousin Millie a rather irritating character, one of these helpless feminine creatures who drift rather selfishly through life using beauty and charm to get their way.  Nothing mean or spiteful about her, just an acceptance that she was beautiful and desirable and that she did not have to make much of an effort to be loved.  But danger lurks and she feels real emotion for the first time and, though Colonel Ames was drawn to her, it is made clear that he is afraid of being too heavily involved and when it comes to taking the final step, has huge doubts:

"....for a moment all these trivialities stood away from him and for an interval he saw where he stood and what he was doing - the vileness the sordidness, the vulgarity of it..."

Well, of course we know that this whole situation is not going to have a happy ending.  Mrs Ames steps in at the last minute and stops her husband from leaving as deep down she knows that he does not really want to go and her intervention is a relief to him. 

I found this story rather touching.  It has very many funny witty moments, particularly a Shakespearian fancy dress party where all the ladies decide to keep their costumes a secret and then all turn up as Cleopatra, the usual jockeying for social position and the petty intrigues and gossiping, but ultimately this is rather a melancholy, sad little story.

"Millie you are not going to see Lyndhurst....the tension of those wide childish eyes slowly relaxed and her head sank forward and there came the terrible and blessed tears in wild cataract and streaming storm.  And Mrs Ames looking at her felt all her righteousness relax; she had only pity for this poor destitute soul ...........slowly the tears ceased and the sobs were still and Millie raised her dim, swollen eyes. 

'I had better go home, I wonder if you would let me wash my face cousin Amy.  I must be a perfect fright'.  'Yes dear Millie' said she 'but there is no hurry we shall have some tea'

'I don't see how I can ever be happy again' she said.

'No Millie; said the other 'none of us three are that exactly.  We shall all have to be patient, very patient and ordinary'

I found this ending poignant and sad in a gentle way.  Life will go on as usual and gradually Colonel Ames and Cousin Millie will get used to seeing each other again and this will fade away, though I cannot help but feel that while Colonel Ames will be happy to settle back into his quiet routine, Millie will not.  She has been awakened to deeper feelings and I feel that her happiness in her previous life will never be enough for her.   As I finished this book I thought of Edna Pontellier in The Awakening by Kate Chopin, another woman whose deeper feelings were aroused by a summer love affair.  There was no way back for her, so what will happen to Millie? 

A tantalizing ending leaving the reader wondering and this reader very impressed with E F Benson and eager to read more.  Highly recommended if you can find a copy.

And now the end is near - farewell ER

Well, it is the final series of ER.  It has been running for thirteen years and viewing figures have dropped, naturally.  Not because I think its standards or acting level or anything like that has fallen, but simply because people get tired of a show and want something new and exciting.  The original cast has long gone and on watching the episode the other night the only two actors there who I recall from Series one were two of the nurses.

When ER first hit our screens it was simply sensational and breathtaking.  The non stop action, the blood, the guts, the music, the sheer bravura pace of it all was quite stunning.  My first experience of watching a hospital drama was years ago when, at the age of 11 I watched Emergency Ward 10, on an old battered second hand black and white telly which we owned.  Gosh, this was the height of sophistication and drama and tension and it gripped the nation.  We had the usual saintly nurses, then there was one, there always is, who is no better than she should be and who is fancied by all the doctors and is usually having an affair with one of them.  In these very chaste days there was no rampant sex on the gurneys in the back rooms, more a chaste kiss in the sluice or the kitchen, and if Matron found any fraternisation, you were out deary, no arguments. 

If I remember rightlly the name of this particular nurse who set hearts a thumping in Emergency Ward 10, was Jill, or that might have been the name of the actress. Not sure.  One thing I do remember is that there was a very very young John Alderton (Little Dorrit, He Knew He was Right, Upstairs Downstairs) in this series and I believe in real life he and this actress got married. 

I digress.   I have never been a huge fan of medical series per se. I have watched Casualty and Holby City on the odd occasion to see what I was missing, and realised that I wasn't missing much but I have friends who swear by both and never miss an episode so each to his own.  So I was not madly excited when I heard about ER but the fact that it was written by Michael Crichton and backed by Spielberg's production company, Amblin, and the word on the street that it was wonderful made me switch on and that was it, I was hooked immediately.

The earlier series had the saintly doctor Mark Green, the young intern Dr Carter and of course, the utterly divine George Clooney (here is a picture just in case you have forgotten how wonderful he was/is).  Totally unknown when he joined the cast as Doctor Ross, a previous star of many a failed tv series and star of the movie The Attack of the Killer Tomatoes (true) this was his moment when he entered the stratosphere and millions of women watched each week to drool. I was such an one and when it was learned after a few years that he was leaving, the collective trauma was immense and the show's demise was predicted. How could it possibly survive with Dr Ross?

Well, it did and proved that it was not just a vehicle for one person.  Though I missed the Divine George, I was able to transfer my affections to a new bit of eye candy, one Goran Visjnic, who I think is one of the most gorgeous men I have ever clapped eyes on and it was bye bye George hello Goran.  Just call me fickle.  I wrote about this in an earlier post here

Anyway, it is now all coming to an end and, yes the last series flagged a bit, but it was still head and shoulders better than many other shows on TV and the last episode ended with a bang, literally. ER  always left you with a cliff hanger and in this case Dr Pratt and a nurse were arguing over who was going to accompany a Mafia informer to police custody as he lay injured and the ambulance left.  We never saw who it was and the ambulance blew up.  So when the first episode started, who was it, the nurse or the doc?  In the event it was neither and we poor saps thought oh thank goodness and then relaxed. But this is where ER always gets you.  We thought all was going to be well and then Dr Pratt, who was injured but not seriously, took a turn for the worst and the entire episode was the fight to save his life.  You did not know if this was going to succeed or not.  By the end I had damp tissues clutched in my hand and my withers had been wrung once more and ER was back on form and is obviously going to make this last series count.

I gather that previous actors are going to make guest appearances and as mentioned in an earlier post, there are rumours that George Clooney may be one of them, but he has denied it.  We shall see.

In the meantime I have another 20 episodes to watch and relish.  All the previous series are out on DVD and are on special offer in various shops so I really think I may have to get them and then they can sit alongside 24 and West Wing on my shelves, my other addictions.  I met with my daughter Helen last night and as a fellow addict of the previous mentioned series, she has admitted to another serious problem with House and has all of them on DVD.  When this first started it was on digital and I did not have access and by the time I got it sorted, I had missed a couple of series and let them go by. Well, now I can sit down and see what I think of these as Dr Daughter had loaned them to me.  Hopefully, these should keep me going for 2009 until the autumn when Season 7 of 24 will be available on DVD.  Thus are my days measured out.....

Nothing on TV tonight that I want to see, so I may sit down and watch another episode of Hercule Poirot with the wonderful David Suchet. I am watching them all right from the start.

Oh yes didn't I tell you?  I have all these as well.

Then I have all of Sharpe to watch, Hornblower and Jeeves.  If we have a wet summer, I am ready.
 

Thursday

Busy day today so just a short waffle this evening.  Nice parcel awaiting me from Amazon on my return home after sleeping all the way from Liverpool Street to Colchester. I had my iPod in and Schubert soothed me so much I nodded off.  A couple more Montalbano books in the parcel, I am now a total convert to this wonderful series after an indifferent start, The Shakespeare Secret by J L Carrell which I have heard good things about, a murder with Shakespearean settings, the Top Ten Guide to Istanbul where I hope to visit soon and then a book from the Amazon Vine programme, which actually came yesterday, The Coroner.  So a goodly pile.  I seem to be reading mainly detective fiction at the moment and loving it.

So nothing much else to report today.  I just checked my latest visitors on the little Widget I have on Random and I do find it fascinating to see where people are checking in from:  Three visits from Brighton, one from Kempton in Bedfordshire, two from Reading in Berkshire and then we suddenly leap to Atlanta, San Mateo in California and a visitor from India.  Keep on coming.

Just made a cup of tea and closing down now but thought you might like a photo to keep you going until the next words of wisdom spill from my quill.

   

This was taken from half way up the Campanile in Florence.  Did not get to the top. Vertigo set in at this stage and I had to sit down for quite some time before I could face the journey down.

Au reservoir, off to watch ER.  Last series so determined not to miss a single episode. Lots of past actors supposed to be guesting but not sure yet if George Clooney is going to be one of them.  We can only hope...

It's Raining Men...

I live in a flat built in the mid 80s.  This was before the days of double glazing and I have single glazed windows.  They are useless.  They are cold.  They let the draughts in and they collect pools of condensation.  I mop, I wipe, I have towels on the window sills but there are times when the water drips onto the carpet, admittedly not the finest Wilton in the land, and now that is looking ghastly and tatty.

So I decided enough was enough and money that I would much rather spend on music, books, theatre, travel and chocolates has to be sacrificed to the greater good of keeping me nice and warm and helping to cut my electricity bills.  I decided I was going to replace my windows - all six of them and one of them a very large bay window which lets light in and is lovely but is HUGE and the worst focal point for condensation.

Off I go to find A Man to do The Windows and when I say it is Raining Men I mean it.  I have had Mick, Ian, John, Steve, Trev and Gary all tramping their way into my flat.  I have brewed pots of tea, supplied biscuits and had to buy a bag of sugar for them as they all seemed to take three spoonfuls in each cup,  all while they vied for my attention.  I have never been wooed so much in all my life, not even in my salad days when I was green with youth.  It is sad to think they were all turning on the charm for one thing only.  My money.

'sigh'

The man from Everest double glazing was a joke.  When he arrived the phone rang and there was another Man on the line also wanting to come round and persuade me to buy his Windows.  When I told him I had the Man from Everest here (sounds like Sherpa Tensing does it not?) he said 'you'd better watch it, they stay for hours and you will never get rid of him'.  When I went through to speak to Mick of Everest he said to me 'you had better be careful who you let in the house you know. Some of these blokes are cowboys and you will never get rid of them'.  'Odd that' says I 'he just said the same thing about you'....

I ejected him after a while as he came up with the most ludicrously expensive figure to replace the windows, then offered me all sorts of percentages off, then said he would ring his manager to see if he could get me a better deal as 'you are such a nice woman'.  I sat back and decided to let him carry on with this farce, better than going to the theatre, and of course I could have a better deal but I had to sign on the dot that day.  I let him rabbit on and then asked him 'Do I really look that stupid?'.

He left.  All the brochures and literature he gave me were chucked into the bin and I awaited the next in line.

This went on for a week and I tell you I now know all I need to know, or in fact, what I do  not need to know, about Argon gas, internal beading, security locks, night opening, air vents, lining, drilling, bolting, 'A' standard glass, Pilkington glass, clear glass, extra tough glass, blah blah blah.  I am thinking of going on Mastermind with double glazing as my specialised subject.

   

In the end after viewing all the products, looking at all the samples, checking the estimates I decided on the Man.  A local firm with lots of experience and recommended by friends.  So we closed on the deal and I asked when he could come and do the windows and he told me that he could not do it till March as he was off to climb Mount Kilimanjaro.  As you do...

I am not making this up I promise you.  He is an ex-para and he and half a dozen of his old Army mates are climbing Mount K and are raising money for the Heroes charity for men wounded in Afghanistan or wherever they happen to be at the moment.  He said they have had the most amazing response.  Well good for them said I and I am happy to wait till March.

Then a thought struck me. 'What happens if you fall off Mount Kilimanjaro? Who will put my replacement windows in then?'  'Don't worry Madam, I have it sorted.  I will leave instructions for one of my men to make sure that you get your replacement windows no matter what happens'

I think I am in love.....

A Fantasy World

Slightly wary about heading up a post A Fantasy World as the last time I used the F word in a post, I had some most peculiar visitors.   However, as I am writing about Georgette Heyer (yes, again - stop muttering at the back) and really, this is a fantasy world we are entering, I am going to flag up this title and if you are Googling and hit on this for all the wrong reasons, may I suggest you stay and read.

If you describe a book as a fantasy novel, the natural reaction would be to imagine it is a story full of Hobbits, trolls, Orcs and other such phantasmagorical creatures, set in a far distant magical land.  But there is a different kind of fantasy.  It is the fantasy world the reader creates when reading any book that transports you away from the realities of life, where no washing up exists, no housework needs to be done and we are swept off our feet by dashing men who clasp us to their manly breasts.

Be still my beating heart...

All of Georgette Heyer’s novels have the ability to transport us into such a world.  OK, deep down we are aware that the realities of living in the Regency times were not as they are portrayed here in the salons of the fashionable of good ton.  We know that people were fairly indifferent to personal hygiene, the streets and roads were filthy dirty, most people lived in slums and in dire poverty and while lip service is paid to those who lived in such awful circumstances (Leaky Peg in Heyer’s Arabella is a case in point), all of Heyer’s Regency novels are full of beautiful heroines and masterful heroes.  We know all this but we put it to one side while we read.

     

Sourcebooks in the US are very good to me and send me lovely copies of the Heyer novels, many of which they are reissuing.  It goes without saying that I hope their kindness continues and that I receive the reprints as they come out, because I think they are gorgeous, so beautifuly produced and, without wishing to sound unpatriotic, I say again that I find US paperbacks seem to be of better quality on the whole than the UK equivalent.   Not saying all of them have high production values, rummaging through the shelves at Borders in Boston or Chicago has proved this is not the case, but the vast majority of them are well produced with good paper and they lie open flat without having to bend, and break, the spines. 

Anyway, two of the books I was lucky enough to recently receive and enjoy all over again were Faro’s Daughter and Regency Buck.  I read them over the Christmas hols when family had departed and I had nothing to do but wallow.(This post is concentrating on the Regency novels.  Simon the Coldheart will be reviewed another day and The Conqueror I have yet to read).

Faro’s Daughter opens with Lady Mablethorpe, awaiting the arrival of her nephew, Mr Ravenscar.  When he arrives we see immediately that he is one of the dark, sardonic, saturnine Heyer heroes:

“He was very tall, with a good pair of legs, encased in buckskins and top boots, fine broad shoulders under a coat of superfine cloth, and a lean harsh featured countenance with an uncompromising mouth and extremely hard grey eyes”

He learns that Adrian, Lady Mablethorpe’s son has fallen in love with a lady in a gaming house who has him “in her toils” and she wishes Ravenscar to help extricate Adrian from this predicament.  His reaction is unfavourable and when we hear what Lady Mablethorpe has to say “I beg that you will take care Max. They say the girl is like a honey-pot and I’m sure I’ve no wish to see you caught in her toils”

This sentence is a dead give away as we know immediately what is going to happen, and it does. Max finds himself falling love with Deborah Grantham who is, of course, a lady of breeding  forced to run a gaming house in order to survive. She is beautiful, intelligent and honest and, as in all good romantic stories, at first disliking Mr Ravenscar ends up falling in love with him.  Lots of adventures on the way and intrigues and plotting and all great fun.

Regency Buck concerns a brother and sister, Peregrine and Judith Taverner who have been left in the guardianship of Lord Worth, following the death of their father.  It transpires that their father, not the most intelligent of men, got his Earls mixed up and instead of the middle aged guardian expected they found quite the opposite.

“He was the epitome of a man of fashion.  His locks were carefully brushed into a semblance of disorder, his cravat of starched muslin supported his chin in a series of beautiful folds; his driving coat of drab cloth bore no less than fifteen capes and a row of silver buttons.  He had a look of self consequence; his eyes, ironically surveying her from under weary lids, were the hardest she had ever seen and betrayed no emotion but boredom, his nose was too straight for her taste. His mouth was well formed but thin lipped. She thought it sneered”

OK – well she dislikes him.  He sneers at her.  Instant antipathy so once again, we know what is going to happen.  However, this story is one of Miss Heyer’s more substantial books and before the inevitable ending, we discover that somebody is trying to eliminate Peregrine in order to gain his fortune and Lord Worth finds his guardianship more onerous than he had anticipated.  A great deal of historical background in this book and a wonderful portrayal of the Prince Regent and the Pavilion at Brighton which is to be savoured.

We are also introduced to Worth’s brother, Charles Audley.  A warm hearted, handsome laughing man he appears the opposite of his cool, sarcastic brother and Georgette makes him a lovable, endearing character.  There is method in this as Charles appears in another of Heyer’s books, and one which is, in my opinion anyway, her finest work:  An Infamous Army.  Her depiction of the Battle of Waterloo makes for absorbing reading and Charles is the hero in the love story fashioned around this momentous event in history.   We also meet Judith and Lord Worth in this story and Lady Babs Childe, Charles love, who is a member of the Alastair family, who feature in These Old Shades and Devil’s Cub.    Georgette Heyer links these stories together beautifully through the generations so that the reader is delighted to stumble upon familiar characters.

If the fantasy land of the balls, salons, visits to Vauxhall Gardens, dashing heroes and glamorous heroines is one you love, and I fully admit to being a paid up member, then read every one of Georgette Heyer’s Regency novels you can lay your hands on and for sheer wit, vitality and laugh out loud humour, may I recommend Cotillion or Friday’s Child.  Fantasy at its finest.

 

Montalbano and Brunetti

After gorging myself on the Donna Leon Brunetti books set in Venice I cast about for another Italian detective/policeman and came up with Inspector Montalbano in the books by Andrea Camilleri.  He lives in Sicily as far away from Venice  as possible but I just thought Oh yippee Italy and started to read them expecting to fall in love with them as swiftly as I had with those of Leon.

Well, I didn't.  I read the first two and found them very indifferent and rather boring.  I found Montalbano to be a character who had no attractions for me whatsoever and as different from the gorgeous Guido Brunetti as it can possibly be.  Whereas Brunetti is happily married to Paola (thought there are hints in the later books that he is falling in love with Elletra at the Questura) with two children, Salvatoro Montalbano lives on his own, Livia his lover lives miles away and drops in now and then, he is obviously tempted by Ingrid a Swedish woman who keeps popping up at intervals, and he appears to have no home life at all.

Because I know and love Venice, I delighted in the descriptions of that wonderful city.  Though I do not know every byway Guido takes when travelling around the city, there are enough mentions of churches and places that are familiar to me so that I can place him and this gives me a nice feeling.  I know nothing of the landscape of Sicily which could not be more different from my beloved Venice and I found the books somewhat alienating.

But then I found that I gradually began to like them.  Why did I continue reading them when I was not keen?  Because I am a sucker for a series of books, the knowledge that there were several of them for me to find and would keep me going - simple as that.  I read them in a haphazard kind of way, totally out of order and then after half a dozen found I was hooked and that Montalbano had a dry wit and a caustic sense of humour that appealed to me and I found I was enjoying them.  I then did the usual and read all the outstanding ones over the last few weeks, have re-read a huge pile of the Donna Leon ouevre and now of course am stuck again and waiting for the next ones from the pens of these two authors to be published.  I have to wait till June and then they will be mine....

On paper these two men, Brunetti and Montalbano do not have much in common apart from their profession, though it would appear that they are two incorruptibles in a cess pit of backhanders, conspiracy and scandal amongst the great and the good in both cities, but the one thing that you cannot help noticing is how much they love their food.  Brunetti always tries to get home for lunch no matter what and this is always described so beautifully that you can feel your mouth watering:

"He sat and lifted the kitchen towel spread across the board and exposed the half wheel of golden polenta, still warm and now grown firm beneath it........and spooned liver and onions onto his plate then added a broad wedge of polenta.  He speared a piece of liver with his fork, pushed onions on top of it with his knife and then began to eat.   For dessert there were figs.  He took his knife and began to peel one, when he had one with juice running down both hands he cut it in half and handed the larger piece to Paola......she poured them both glasses of port and borught them to the table, sweet, it caught up with the lingering taste of fig"

Now, we turn to Montalbano who I have to say seems to be real glutton.  His housekeeper, a cook of great skill and taste, leaves meals for him in the fridge.  He never knows what he is going to get and is always thrilled and delighted to see what is there.  He is also a well known figure in all the local restaurants and trattorias and seems to take incredibly long lunch breaks and then has to fight of sleep all afternoon.

"Back in the house he opened his refrigerator.  Adelina must have come down with a acute form of vegetarianism. Caponata and a sublime pasticcio of articholes and spinach.  He set the table on the   verandah and wolfed the caponata as the pasticcio heated up"

and later he receives a gift of food from the alluring Ingrid:

"He opened it and realised it was insulated.  Inside there were five round, transparent plastic containers in which he could see large fillets of pickled herring swimming in multicoloured sauces, there was also a whole smoked salmon........first thing he did when he got home was attack the salmon. A hefty slice dressed with fresh lemon juice and a special oliver oil given him by the person who had made it  ..the virginity of this olive oil has been certified by a gynaecologist said the little ticket that had come with it"

No matter how awful the day has been, how dreadful the sights that have greeted them, both Guido and Salvatoro find consolation in food.  I find the descriptions of these marvellous meals and the wine they drink spaced out beautifully in all of these books, as a way of anchoring not only the two policemen, but gives us the readers time to reflect also on the happenings and the possible answers to the case.

I adore italy, always have done, history, music, food, wine - the lot.  When I read these books I cannot help but laughing and contrasting them with English detective fiction and the place of food within.  In the Bill Slider stories by Cynthia Harrod Eagles, Slider has a friend who loves to cook, there are mentions of fine food in the Ngaio Marsh stories but these are few and far between, though we are sure that Alleyn must be a lover of cuisine, and Lord Peter of course has a good palate, but on the whole the over riding memory of food and its place in your average detetive fiction seems to consist of rushed meals, Macdonalds, hamburgers and other ghastly food.  In the case of Inspector Frost, a much darker and more unpleasant character than the one we know and love from the TV series, his entire eating habits seem to be centred around fry ups in the police canteen or grabbing chicken tikka masala sandwiches from filling stations.

British detective fiction and hamburgers and sarnies versus Italy and pasta with artichokes and olive oil.

No contest really but if I have it wrong and anybody can come up with examples of food in Uk and US detective fiction which is worthy of a mention please let me know.  And yes, I know Hercule Porot loves his food so no need to tell me that one....