I am taking a break from reviewing for a while, a month at least. I am preparing to start writing my master’s thesis in translation, and getting the thesis done entails, among other things, translating a book. This book I am going to read over very carefully over the next several days, taking notes and evaluating possible translation problems, and then I plan to translate a chapter or two for my supervisor to evaluate and comment on. Naturally, I will not be doing much pleasure reading while I’m at it. I may - and probably will - occasionally blog something about books and/or reading until I’m done with my preparations, and may make short blogs with links to book-related sites, but I will not do any reviewing, except to post some reviews I have already finished writing.
I am one of those people who hate factual errors in books. It’s one of the reasons why I stopped reading Philippa Gregory’s The Other Boleyn Girl - the (undoubtedly intentional) factual errors were so glaring right from the beginning that I couldn’t go on. Sure, you could say the book is a fantasy of sorts – the author imagining how things were - but it is grounded in reality and features people who once existed and events that happened. It really would have been much better to write it as a roman a clef, calling everyone something else and thus allowing the reader to choose to ignore the fake history.
Playing around with real people and events is one thing – there are, after all, different interpretations of actions and how events unfolded – but concrete factual errors like saying the battle of Waterloo took place in France in 1810 and Napoleon won, or that Iceland is part of Denmark (once true, but not any more) - those really bother me. This, of course is only true if the novels are grounded in reality, i.e. they take place in the literary version of the real world, and not in a fantastic alternate reality version.
I recently found two examples of concrete factual errors that bothered me:
The first was in a romance novel that takes place in 19th century Britain, Kiss the Bride by Patricia Cabot. I have enjoyed reading some of the author’s modern chick-lit/romance novels that she writes under the name Meggin Cabot, but if she habitually makes mistakes like the one she made in Kiss the Bride, I have no interest in reading more of her historical novels. When she first wrote about the “Hebridean isle of Shetland”, I thought it was a simple mistake, and was quite ready to forgive her, but then she repeated it. Twice. Patricia, if you read this: 1) Shetland is a collective name for an archipelago off the north coast of Scotland. 2) The Hebrides is an archipelago off the west coast of Scotland. 3) Ergo, they are not the same. 4) Please get a new editor, preferably one who knows how to check facts.
Kiss the Bride is a novel, and the error, although annoying, was not enough to make me stop reading. The example I mentioned above, about the battle of Waterloo, would have, since it is so glaringly bad. But errors of this kind in non-fiction, especially history books, are unforgivable offences.
My second example comes from a history book. To me, it shows a lack of respect for the reader to make this kind of error in any kind of history. I found it last night when I started reading Harriet Quick’s gorgeous coffee-table book Catwalking: a history of the fashion model. On the very first pages she mentions a popular 19th century gothic novel about an artist’s model, Trilby, who falls under the spell of an evil genius. Quick attributes the book to Daphne du Maurier, the lady who wrote Rebecca. Once might have been an oversight, but she did it twice. Ouch. Harriet, if you want to be taken seriously as a writer of history books: 1) Learn to do better research. 2) See advice no. 4 to Patricia Cabot. 3) In case you were wondering, Trilby was written by George du Maurier, Daphne’s grandfather.
Needless to say, I stopped reading the book, instead just looked at the pictures and am now returning it to the library, unread. I don’t know what other errors there are in the book, and I don’t want to find out.
Mistakes of this sort are so preventable that it isn’t even funny. The preventive measures are simple: look it up even if you are sure, double-check it, have your editor triple-check it. Then, and only then are you ready to publish.
Bibliophile’s book of the day: Head Over Heels (romantic suspense) by Susan Andersen
This is the first in a trilogy of loosely connected stories about three marine buddies who find love when they least expect it. I have already reviewed the second book, Getting Lucky. The third book is Hot and Bothered, hardly a title I would want to be seen reading on the bus, but which will no doubt give me a couple of hours of enjoyment once it’s delivered (I’m getting it through a TitleTrader swap).
James Cooper Blackstock has come to this half-brother’s hometown to investigate the murder of his former sister in law. His brother is the prime suspect, and has gone on the run. The dead woman’s sister, Veronica Davis, returns as well, to take care of her niece and to sell the family business, a bar where Coop is working undercover as bartender, in the hope of picking up some useful information about the murder. Sparks fly when they first meet, and continue to fly as passions rise and they become lovers. But Coop has not told her who he really is, and the murderer is lurking, waiting to see how things develop.
This is in some ways a better book than the sequel and in some ways not as good. Coop is a much more human and likeable hero than Zach (not as much of a testosterone jerk), but the interchange between Coop and Ronnie is not as funny and sparkling as that between Zach and Lily. The story sags a bit around the middle, but fortunately picks up again to provide the reader with some action and a satisfying ending.
The glimpses we get into the mind of the killer get annoying after a while. They are very obviously meant to show that he is not as clever as he thinks he is, but yet it is pure coincidence that leads Ronnie to realise his identity and a chance comment that leads Coop to the same discovery, not any kind of clever detective work. This makes the mystery weak, weaker than the one in the sequel.
We’re used to thinking about librarians as very organised and precise people – a place for everything and everything in it’s place, and all that. Well, what can you say about librarians who file the diaries of Adrian Mole (some of the funniest books I read in my teens) in the adult section and put Thomas Harris and Laurell K. Hamilton in the teen section? It’s one thing to put Mills & Boon romances on the teen shelves – novels that foster an exaggerated and unrealistic image of romance but which at least do not contain graphic sex or violence - but Harris and Hamilton?
I don’t know about you, but if I was the mother of young teenagers (and I’m certainly old enough) I would not want them to read either author. I still remember when I got hold of Robert Bloch’s Psycho at the tender age of twelve, and the nightmares I had afterwards. And the horror in that book is nowhere near as bad as in the books of Harris and Hamilton.
Hamilton writes horror that keeps getting more and more visceral and violent with each book, and her later books are, frankly, pornographic. As to Harris - would you want your kids reading about cannibalism and torture before they are old enough to really understand it?
Bibliophile’s book of the day: The Piano Tuner (historical novel) by Daniel Mason
In 1886, Edgar Drake, a specialist in tuning Erard pianos, is sent by the British War Office to the wilds of Burma to tune an Erard for Surgeon-Major Carroll, a man who has managed to become perhaps the most important British officer in the whole of Burma, by making himself indispensable for the peace negotiations between the British and the Burmese. The piano plays some mysterious part in all this, but has unfortunately reacted badly to the extremes of the climate and is out of tune. Drake, shy, thoughtful and eccentric, finds in himself an unexpected adventurousness as he sets off from England to tune the piano. Once he gets to Carroll’s stronghold in Mae Lwin, he is enchanted by the place, charmed by Carroll, and seduced (not in the physical sense) by a mysterious local woman. All of these unite in holding him there, and he loses all sense of time and sinks into a kind of dream. When reality finally invades, it becomes doubtful if he will ever return to England and his beloved wife.
This is a beautiful and melancholy story. Mason has a talent for describing landscapes and people in flowing and evocative prose, and it has been a long time since I read anything as cinematic as this book. In some strange way I can not quite define, I felt this was a very English book, although the author is an American. He perfectly describes the attitudes and arrogance of the British towards the Burmese people, for example in the chapters about Drake’s journey and the British officers he meets – especially a very tragic tiger hunt he unwillingly joins. The first half of the story is about Drake’s journey from England to Mae Lwin, and the second is about his stay there and the tuning of the piano. The story is very slow and flowing, right down to the last chapters, when it suddenly picks up, with unnecessary suddenness, and becomes a thriller. There is hardly any build-up to the action, and the ending, although apt, is too abrupt. I did feel that I couldn’t quite sympathise with Drake, or indeed any other character. They are all described from the outside, as if the author was describing something he was seeing on a movie screen in front of him, rather than actually being there. There is always a distance between the reader and the characters, a distance you want to bridge, but can’t, because there is something lacking in the telling of their story. This distant, at times almost clinical viewing of the characters, is a big flaw, and prevents the book from making my favourites list.
All in all, I would say this is a very good first novel, but has flaws that Mason will hopefully not repeat in his next novel.
Rating: A beautiful and tragic story of one man’s adventure of a lifetime. 3+ stars.
I recently joined the international book swap club Title Trader. I have been a member of another swap club for about a year, but that one is dedicated to romance novels only, and I have never made any swaps through it (no-one wants to swap any Georgette Heyer :(). Now, I have six books and one CD already sent out, and am expecting five books in the mail.
You don’t pay anything for the books you get, the only thing you pay is postage for the books you send out.
The swaps work on a point based system: for every book, CD, DVD, video, video game or magazine you send out to another member, you get one trade point, and for every item you receive, you pay one trade point. Easy-peasy. You can also earn points by referring others to the site (you can tell this is a plug, right? :wink:)
The good thing about this particular swap group is that the swaps do not rely on mutual availability, i.e. if someone sends you a book, you don't have have one they want, you simply receive the book and the sender gets a trade point in return.
Check it out, and if you like what you see, please join (you can choose which countries you send to). The more active members we have, the more books there are to choose from.
This is a humorous tribute to that much maligned hairstyle, the mullet (ape drape, mud-flap, neck warmer, etc.). For someone who remembers when it was actually cool to sport one (yep, I was a teenager in the 80’s), this was a great discovery. The book manages to be both affectionate and mocking, and I had a good laugh at all the pictures of famous people that I once thought were incredibly cool and cutting-edge but now, in retrospect, just had really bad hairstyles and a lousy dress sense.
Rating: A funny book for both admirers and enemies of the mullet. 4 stars.
Also read:The world of perfume, by Fabienne Pavia, a short history of perfume, with an overview of the sources for scents and processing methods, an introduction to some of the most famous perfume manufacturers and perfumes, and a showcase of collectible perfume bottles. This is a coffee-table book, full of gorgeous photography and interesting information. 4 stars.
Children’s books I have fond memories of, part I of II
These are the books that moulded my reading habits and affected my future reading preferences. Some of them are still favourites, others I haven’t read in years.
I first read all of these books in Icelandic, and later some of them in the original languages. Most were originally written in other languages, and nearly all of them are available in English, in some version. I haven’t bothered with most of my favourite Icelandic children’s books because very few (if any) of them have been translated into English, although several have been translated into German and one or more Scandinavian languages.
The Tales of Hans Christian Andersen. Fantasy/adventures/parabl es. I was given these before I could read (I think they were a christening present) and loved to have them read to me. Later, when I could read for myself, I devoured them and got to read the tales my parents thought were too dark for a little kid. Still later, when I got a copy in Danish, I discovered that the Icelandic translator had taken all sorts of licences with the tales. I have long been planning to finish reading them in Danish, but somehow never got round to it.
Aesop’s Fables. Fables/parables. I enjoyed reading these delightful tales long before I knew what a fable was. The edition I have is full of pictures and enjoyable to look at as well as to read.
The Cat in the Hat and The Cat in the Hat comes back by Dr. Seuss. Picture books. How I envied my brother those books when we were children! The Cat in the hat was able to make as much mess as he pleased – and able to clean it up and make it look as if nothing had happened. Being good little kids, we rarely did anything destructive, but that didn’t mean we didn’t want to. It was fun to sit and read the books to him while we both looked at the pictures and dreamed...
The Moomins books by Tove Jansson. Fantasy. Probably the first pure fantasy novels I read. These are wonderful books about the Moomintroll family and their friends and neighbours and their adventures.
Enid Blyton’s Adventure books (and to a lesser extent, the Five Find-Outers). Mystery, adventure. My favourite was The Valley of Adventure. I always disliked how wimpy the girls in those books were, and always identified myself with the boys. I loved the exotic locations these kids would find themselves in, and these books are possibly the beginning of my interest in both travel literature and mysteries.
A children’s version of the first two books of Gulliver’s Travels - that’s the ones about Lilliput and Brobdingnag. Fantasy. To my knowledge, the full novel has never been translated into Icelandic, and the children’s versions have had most of the satirical bite taken out of them by well-meaning editors who have reduced them to simple tales for children.
Norse and ancient Greek myths. The books I first read (and still own) are wonderfully illustrated versions for children that are (sadly) long out of print, but for adult reading I recommend the perennial Bulfinch’s Mythology, especially for the Greek/Roman myths. I also read and loved the Gylfaginning part of Snorri’s Edda, which is the main source of the Norse mythology you find in modern books on the subject.
The Mary Poppins books by PL Travers. Fantasy. I read at least four of them and loved them all. Mary is such a wonderfully proper and yet wacky character that you can’t help liking her.
The Hobbit by JRR Tolkien. Fantasy. I was 8 when The Hobbit came out in Icelandic, and it cemented my lifelong liking for fantasy. I had cut my reading teeth on fairy tales, legends and myths and this was a natural continuation of that process. Although there are no children in the stories, both hobbit and dwarves are no bigger than children, and their behaviour is rather childish at times, which makes them appealing to children. An added pleasure is Tolkien’s style which is simply sparkling with good humour. Here is an excerpt from Chapter 1 of The Hobbit.
Bibliophile’s book of the day: The Convenient Marriage (romantic farce), by Georgette Heyer
When rich Lord Rule offers for the hand of the eldest Winwood sister, she knows she must accept, even if she loves another man. Her brother has sunk the family into debt and the only way of extricating them is for one of the sisters to marry a rich man, and Elizabeth is by far the prettiest of the sisters. However, the youngest sister, 17 year old Horatia, is determined that her sister shall marry her beloved Edward, and so goes to Lord Rule to explain and offers herself in her sister’s place. To the family’s surprise, he accepts. It appears to Horatia that Rule does not love her (he has a mistress), and that bothers her, especially as she begins to fall in love with him. This leads to several misadventures, especially when Horatia becomes determined to conquer the heart of Lord Lethbridge, an old enemy of Rule’s, and thus make her husband jealous. The plan misfires and Horatia finds herself in deep trouble. Lord Rule, however, has an ace up his sleeve…
Most of Georgette Heyer’s historical romantic novels are Regencies, i.e. they take place during the years 1811 to 1820. It is therefore refreshing to find one that takes place in the 18th century (more precisely in 1776), when fashions were – to our modern eyes – rather silly: wigs, hair powder, towering hairdos, panniers, beauty spots, etc. Those fashions play a part in the story: Heyer’s attention to detail is amazing and she describes clothing styles, hairdos and accessories with gentle mockery of both fashion and wearers. The cant and slang expressions are probably genuine, considering how thoroughly she researched all her books. The story is deliciously frothy and silly – not that there is anything silly about the plotting, but the story is a farce that hinges on characters being silly.
Rating: Another delightful confection from Georgette Heyer. 3+ stars.
This is the account of Bill Bryson’s (broken up) journey around Australia, to visit its biggest cities and some interesting sights, natural and man-made.
Bryson is obviously an australophile. This book is a virtual love letter to Australia, especially its natural beauty, and in a lesser way to its people. Even though he writes in his usual humorously mocking style, and criticises certain things, especially environmental policies and the less than helpful staff at hotels in a certain city, the book is for the most part a very positive and affectionate, sometimes glowing, account of this interesting country. Besides covering his impressions and travel experiences, Bryson gives some account of Australian history and the country’s attractions, and the book can, in fact, be used as an informal guide to some of the places he visited. He seems to have been very diligent in hunting down and exploring unusual little museums and sights, some of which may not even be mentioned in guide books.
I have previously read four of Bryson’s other books: Made in America and Mother Tongue, both of which are about the history of the English language, and two travel books, Notes From a Small Island and The Lost Continent. I liked the language books – they were funny and good reads, even if some of the etymology was a bit suspect, but I didn’t particularly like the travel books. Notes… I found to be so overloaded with Bryson’s signature self-deprecating humour that it went over the top and started sounding like whining. I would also have liked to read less about him and more about the country he was supposed to be writing about. There was something, some spirit or spark that was missing from The Lost Continent (not to mention the hostile, almost sarcastic, undertone) and I had to force myself to finish it.
Here, finally, is a travel book from Bryson that deserves all the praise that has been heaped on him as a funny travel writer. He writes about the country and people and has toned down the self-deprecation to an acceptable level so that it is actually funny instead of “here-he-goes-again” tedious, but it is rather sad that he should feel the need to make some rather mean-spirited comments about people who are supposed to be his friends. Don’t get me wrong, I sometimes couldn’t help laughing, but I still think they are mean. Of course, I don’t know what the people in question are like – maybe they are mean right back at him, but it doesn’t feel very friendly to me. But these are minor faults in an otherwise good book.
Rating: A great and sometimes funny introduction to Australia, its people, cities and sights. 4 stars.
When a conniving and secretive young housemaid at the Maxie mansion is murdered, the local constable immediately calls in the Scotland Yard. The Yard’s representative is Chief Inspector Adam Dalgliesh, who goes about his job of investigating and interviewing suspects and witnesses, in a thorough, calm and apparently unemotional manner. He uncovers seething emotions, hatred and passions that bubble just under the surface, and finds that most of the people who were at the mansion the night of the murder had good reason to dislike or even hate the murdered woman.
This, the first of P.D. James’ popular Chief Inspector Dalgliesh books, is a rather Christiesque story. Dalgliesh uses Hercule Poirot’s preferred method of gathering together the suspects to unveil the killer, and the story is a country manor mystery in the Golden Age style, as so many of Agatha Christie’s books were. The characters of the main witnesses and suspects are developed in depth before the crime takes place, only the victim’s full character is left to be uncovered as the story progresses. Dalgliesh is very much in the background all the time, and it is his implied rather than actual presence that drives much of the latter part of the story.
Just as I kept seeing George Baker in my mind when reading the Inspector Wexford book I reviewed on Wednesday, I pictured Roy Marsden, who played Dalgliesh on TV, in my head whenever Dalgliesh was mentioned. This is the unfortunate thing about knowing a character from the screen before ever reading about them – you find it difficult to separate the on-screen representation from the character on the page. Not that it mattered, Marsden was the perfect choice to play Dalgliesh.
Rating: Another good beginning to a mystery series that I plan to pursue further. 3+ stars.
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About me
What this blog is about:
Reading and books.
If you’re wondering about the name 52 books, it stems from a book-a-week reading challenge I set myself. The challenge is over, but I'm still reading, and will continue to blog about the books I read and my reading experiences, and other stuff connected with books and reading.
I rate the books (if I feel like it), giving them stars ranging from zero to 5.
Books I have already read (sporadically updated):Cover gallery
Note: Some of the entries are linked to the months the reviews appeared in, because I made several entries for each book. I have marked those reviews with an asterix (*). If you want to read the whole review from beginning to end, you must scroll down and read from the bottom up (but you probably already knew that ;-) >
