I have been catching up and sorting out the last couple of days and now feel organised enough in my mind to start the reading posts for this year. On checking my blog it seems I read about 240 books last year. A huge chunk of these were read on my cruise last January-March and were all light, enjoyable reading. I have posted in the last few months about my approach to my choice of reading. I will just say it again though that I now read for pleasure. If I do not feel like reading the latest Booker or Costa or whatever, and I seldom do, then I don't. I am beyond that stage now.
I started off the year as a I mean to go on and that means Crime and Golden Age Crime in particular. I read The Affair at Little Wokeham and A Losing Game by Freeman Wills Croft. I love these books. The tiny details, the tidy mind of Inspector French as he sorts the wheat from the chaff, all wonderful. When reading these I was reminded of an Anthony Trollope title I read a few years ago, John Caldigate, which concerns the protagonist being tried for murder and the proof of his guilt or innocence hinges (no pun intended) on a postage stamp and a post mark. A good friend of mine who very generously loaned her collection of FWC to me said that his writing 'satisfied the pedant in me'. I agree.
ECR Lorac is another writer I am enjoying thanks to the British Library Crime Classics. They have new ones in the pipeline but in the meantime I am tracking down other titles and enjoying them. Some are better than others which is bound to happen when you are so prolific. I have just read Rope's End, Rogue's End set in Wulfstane Manor which is loved and lusted after by Paul the elder of the Mallowood brothers. His father cut him out of his weill and left it to his sister and an ill brother. All the family loathe each other and it is at a meeting one weekend when a shot is heard and Basil, a financier who is heading for ruin, is found shot. Suicide. Yeh right. We all know it is NOT. Totally convoluted and full of twists and turns and great stuff. I do like her Inspector MacDonald. I found this edition on ebay. Originally 2/-!
Agatha Christie's Golden Age by John Goddard. Only to be read by those who do NOT know Who Dun It in the Agathas. As I am aware of the identity in every single book she wrote that does not bother me but do be warned. As the author sorts out the puzzles and the clues it is inevitable that he will identify the culprit and he makes this very clear. I was looking forward to reading this and to spotting clues new and old but oh dear me, got bogged down in the turgid writing which managed to make the mysteries appear boring. I soldiered on, but in the end gave up and on the charity shop pile it goes.
Another going to the charity shop or rather, back to the shop as I purchased it from one, are the Duff Cooper Diaries edited by his son John Julius Norwich. Duff Cooper According to the blurb was a "statesman, soldier, Member of Parliament, wit, poet diplomat and scholar". He was married to Lady Diana Cooper one of the famous beauties of the time and a well known and admired actress, knew everybody and everyone including Edward VIII (aka the Duke of Windsor) and yes, his diaries are witty and fascinating to read. But what brought me up short was the fact that he seemed to have sex with every single woman he met. His affairs were legion and in between writing about them he assures us he loves his wife. Later on she suffers from depression and he wonders why...
In the end I threw it back in the charity shop bin. What an unpleasant, shallow man. No wonder he and the Duke of Windsor got on well. A disappointment as I had been pleased to find these and was looking forward to reading them. .Diaries are a give away. The personality of the writer seeps out of the entries and, in this case, I found it repellent.
After this I turned with relief to the latest Inspector Montalbano, Death at Sea which I had been saving up as I love these books so much I like to eke them out. I saw a programme on Andrea Camilleri a couple of years ago and he came across as so sweet and charming. He said he had written about ten books and they were all tucked away as he was not sure how much longer he could keep going. He wanted a back list for when he had died. He was at least 80 then so I am not sure how many more he can write but I am delighted with his foresight!
OK loads more still to go but I think I will turn this into two posts and return in a day or so.
