This book was published late last year and the buzz about it all around the blogsphere was pretty intense and got rather fraught at one stage with arguments and comments flying backwards and forwards about its merits, or lack thereof, depending on your point of view.
I decided to leave it for a while until all calmed down and read it a little later, which I have now done. My feeling about all the fuss is that the description of the book is a trifle misleading: 'A Year of Reading from Home'. I think we probably all thought the author would be working her way through her newly rediscovered books, commenting on each and presenting them to us as a kind of list or catalogue of her
reading. Instead we have a rather rambling, roam through Susan HIll's House, description of where she found the book, and then a chat about its content. It is all very loosely structured and I never for one moment felt that a year was passing or that there was a time limit on the content. Instead we have a gentle meandering take on the books tucked away on her shelves that she happens to come upon, it seems very arbitrary and no plans at all. I could be wrong of course.
I rather liked this approach, the feeling of serendipity and wondering what would happen next. I know that some comments have been left on Susan devoting a chapter to W Sebald (who?), but why shouldn't she? I had never heard of him but by the time I had read this chapter, I certainly knew who he was and what he had written. Whether I will ever read any of his output is a moot point but at least I have an inkling now of his kind of writing. The author has nothing to say about Australian and Canadian literature, which again brought about some stern comment, but I will admit that I know nothing of this subject and, apart from Margaret Atwood and my favourite and wonderful L M Montgomery, would be hard put to have anything to say about this either. So taking umbrage at this is, in my opinion, a waste of time. I could, however take huge umbrage about this sentence which, to me, far outweighs the so called slight on Colonial literature:
"I am bored by Jane Austen"
Now this did cause me to breath sharply and wince as anybody would who have one of their favourite authors/plays/musicians/opera etc etc denigrated or anything about which we feel strongly. I freely admit that if anybody says a nasty word about my favourite living opera singer, Bryn Terfel (OK well Placido as well), I bristle and I spring to his defence and get really shirty if I hear anything sarcastic or nasty said about him. Whereas you could say what you like about Rolando Villazon and Pavarotti and I would not care - it is all down to personal taste in the end. Same applies to literature.
I enjoyed this book very much. I did have mixed feelings about it and was rather wondering what I would think of Howards End is on the Landing, but I spent a very pleasant and relaxing afternoon in its company and will return to it for another leisurely read at some time. I admit to skipping the pages about Sebald and I want to go back and look at them again and there are mentions and opinions of other authors about which I know little. I may draw the line at Virginia Woolf as though I have many friends who love her and her Diaries, which Susan mentions here, I do find the whole Bloomsbury lot just plain tiresome.
"I am bored by Virginia Woolf" (this is me and not Susan HIll.....)
I found more to like and agree with in this volume than I did to dislike and disagree and, even if Susan Hill does not like Jane Austen, she loves Trollope and adores Dickens so she is still a Kindred Spirit as far as I am concerned.....
