sidergoblin

[sidergoblin]

Immoral

     Quiet often as I’m out replenishing my shelves I deliberately seek out ‘fillers’, books whose sole purposes are to provide light relief between heavier, more challenging reads. Seldom do these ‘fillers’ rise above their chosen purpose. But occasionally, just occasionally I hit on one that supersedes all expectations, ‘Sheepshagger’ for instance by Niall Griffiths, bought purely for the amusement of the title only to be blown away by the content. ‘Immoral’ is very much of this stable. Purchased from a bargain bin and opened without expectation, It had me hooked me from the very first page.

     Set in Minnesota this is an above average thriller that starts with the disappearance of a local teenager and then twists and turns its way through suspicions and suspects, court rooms and crime scenes with enough convolutions to thwart even the most ardent armchair detectives but still managing to remain grounded, grittily realistic and believable. A fine line well trodden.

     ‘Immoral’, is the first novel in the Jonathan Stride series, (a further eight books have followed), and initially I did find this work worn detective a little stereotypical, almost cheesily so with his bullet holed jacket and grim exterior but this feeling rapidly passed as the story took over and he became a solid centerpiece to a rapidly shifting plot, mellowing with time into a more original character.The other players are all well drawn, realistic and believable with flaws aplenty and the dialogue is snappy and peppered with the cynicism and dark humor that police life engenders.

     If I had to find a fault with this book then its probably in the jumps that occur in the time line, they cause the story to judder unpleasantly and interrupt what is otherwise a tightly plotted and intense story. However they are essential to the plot and certainly do add to the realism. So it’s probably more a fault of my autistic need for unbroken consistency rather than a failing in the story itself.

     This ‘failing’ though is a triviality when held up against the rest of the novel which, from the outset grabs you by the collar, throws you over the bonnet of a squad car and pins you there with a plot that just doesn’t give up. It’s dark and gritty, funny and graphic, thoroughly researched and revels in picking at the salacious and sordid scabs of peoples private lives.

     The quality of the writing is also way above par. He seems to write with a natural ease that is neither forced nor heavily pondered over, which is incredible and a little infuriating considering its his first novel. It’s as if he didn’t work his way up to being a good writer, he just arrived in that state. As if he’d slipped from the womb with a keyboard under one arm, a bag of talent under the other and a mischievous grin on his baby face. I’m a little jealous.

     I cannot praise this book higher or recommend it more, it was a pleasure from start to finish and made an hours lunch break feel very,very short.

[sidergoblin]

Bad Moon Rising

     I took this on holiday, it was one of my beach reads specifically chosen to be entertaining and untaxing and as such my expectations were low, which was good, as it didn’t fail to disappoint.

     Basically it’s okay, it killed the time effectively, it was written okay, the plot was okay, the pace was okay, but it was never anything more than just okay.

     The story has a standard thriller agenda, a series of murders, (young women of course),a host of possible suspects. A harassed and grumpy D.I with a dysfunctional private life. A love interest. And a local event to act as a backdrop to the killers dastardly deeds. An agenda familiar to to any thriller fan.

     Unfortunately the killer is spottable from very early on and apart from an interesting little twist towards the end there’s few other surprises to keep the pages turning.

     This has the feel of a first novel, of an author finding they’re feet. Stumbling at times. Wavering occasionally, but resolutely, passionately, marching on. It’s not her first though and i think she’s got a few more to go before she leaps beyond the predictable into the original, and there’s certainly glimmers in it of how good she could be If she perseveres. I’d love to come back in a few books time and see what she’s achieved.

     As far as recommendations go, if your stuck in a lift this is better than the graffiti. 

[sidergoblin]

The Unconsoled

     I approached this book from a point of near blindness as the title I’d never heard of and the author I was aware of by name only, so it was a leap into the void when finally i came to read it.

     It starts in a fairly standard manner with our hero Ryder, a world famous pianist arriving at a hotel in an undisclosed European city to participate in a concert that’s seen by the inhabitants as a major cultural event with Ryder’s participation as the jewel in its crown. Fairly quickly though you begin to realize that somethings not quit right, that everything is not quit what it seems. The interaction between the characters, the conversations, the laboring over minor details, it all adds up to an increasingly strange and surreal story. It was only when Sophie, the daughter of the Hotels porter and ostensibly a total stranger is revealed as Ryder's’ wife that you realize that the story is in fact a very well written, prolonged and elaborate dream sequence with Ryder as the dreamer who is, of course, totally unaware that he’s dreaming.

     This realization is reinforced as the author stars to play with time and space, dilating distance so short journeys are drawn out over long distances, long journeys curtailed by doors that lead from one building and event straight into another. This shifting of reality is familiar to all dreams and is recreated here in a truly masterful way. Also in dreams great importance is laid in inconsequential things, great debate is made on apparent trivialities. But it leaves you wondering, What on earth is going on?

     So what is it about? What is the purpose of this story? The point of this dream? I honestly don’t know. There is a persistent sense of conflict within the story as individuals, all caught up in their own worlds, all with different priorities struggle and collide against this shifting backdrop. There are funny moments , Brodski’s leg and his ironing board crutch for instance as well as as scenes of great poignancy and great pain interspersed with farce. It’s a story that runs the full gamete of imagination and emotion. But still I have little idea of the point the author was trying to make, if he was trying to make any at all.A lot of the characters appear to be searching for a perfection that they are never able to achieve. With Sophie it’s the perfect place to live. For Gustav the perfect carry,. For Stephen the perfect performance. It’s a thread that weaves it’s way through the story but it’s certainly not the purpose of it. For awhile I thought that several of the characters were all Ryder, just plucked out of different times in his life and assembled here where only in dreams is it possible, they still maybe but i’m not certain, and this does not give the story any more purpose. In fact any interpretation I have only ever partly holds up so i doubt i’ll ever find a definitive solution.

     Strangely, my abiding memory of this book is a sense of frustration as Ryder, from the outset repeatedly misses, overlooks and double books meetings and appointments, and is constantly drawn away from the best laid promises and plans with a regularity that had me grinding my teeth. Now whether this frustration is intentional or just a my autistic streak kicking in I don’t know. Also the persistent over thinking, the over analysis of each occurrence or event becomes very wearing and contributes to a feeling that the book is far, far, longer than it needed to be.

     However, would I recommend it? If asked on the day I’d finished it i would have said no, not at all. But now I would have to say most definitely yes. Because what it did do, what it managed to do, is promote a huge amount of thought and internal debate. I’ve probably returned to and dwelled upon this book and its story more than I have on any other for a long time past and that can only be a good thing. Anything that promotes that degree of thought can only have a positive affect. So yes I would most definitely recommend it.

     This is a strange novel, reminiscent of a David Lynch film where all appears real but just not quite right, at the same time it’s like nothing else I've read. It’s and intriguing walk through a maze where the center remains stubbornly unobtainable, where conclusions are elusive at best. Should you choose to read it then throw away your preconceptions, your expectations and dive straight in, the journey is difficult and the ending inconclusive but you wont regret it.

     One reviewer said it was a masterpiece, another said it should be burnt, this is one of those rare books where both are probably right so personal does the experience become. You will just have to read it and decide for yourself.

[sidergoblin]

The Fetish

     This is my second sojourn with Mr Moravia and I dearly hope that its not my last.

     Written in in 1963 this is not so much a selection of short stories as a collection of brief observations, glimpses of stories in progress. Vignettes, snapshots almost, and except for the odd escaped criminal or accidental drowning the majority are unremarkable in their content, just snippets of everyday life. Its akin to skimming through TV channels and lingering awhile on one scene before clicking randomly onto another.

     In the wrong hands this could deteriorate into tedium quit rapidly but Moravia is a master of the subtle dissection of life’s mundainities and the maze of motivations that lie beneath outwardly simple social interactions. He writes in exquisite detail on each magnified detail, teasing out the hypocrisy and baser needs beneath the cultivated white wash, not aggressively, but in a gentle, simple and measured manner that’s excised of anything unnecessary and its a delight to behold.

     The author, fascinating in his own right was born in Italy to wealthy parents, grew up to be a communist and atheist, journalist and critic, playwright, and a novelist for which he was nominated for the Nobel Literature prize on no more than 13 separate occasions. Not bad for a boy whose mainstream education had ceased at nine.

     This book is is an engrossing read, simple, elegant, incisive and clever. Quiet different in style from anything else I’ve previously come across and a definite score for the Italians after the past French domination of my Lunch breaks. It’s like a cool glass of wine under a simmering Mediterranean sky and I’d heartily recommend it.

[sidergoblin]

thats sexier than anna friel...

Some of my older books on bookshelves from floor to ceiling… and into the corners. 😀

[sidergoblin]

Hide & Seek

     This is the second book in the long running Rebus crime series and so taken was I by the first one that I’v resolved to gradually work through all of them in sequence, so, two down, eighteen to go!

     My first encounter with Rebus was through the TV series with Ken Stott, these adaptations though can differ markedly from their literary ancestors and fans of one can struggle crossing over to the other. But that’s not an issue here, so well and so close is Stott’s depiction of the character to the original that you can’t read the dialogue without hearing his voice or picture him as the story unfolds.

     Written in 1990 this is just starting to show it’s age, the ‘Tech’ has raced ahead and Rebus is still in the pub wondering where he parked the car but these are minor problems and easily overlooked. It’s solidly written, well balanced, tightly edited and well paced, not too fast, not too slow.

     The plot is obviously not going to be straight forward, it twists and turns, teases and deceives but manages to remain well grounded in gritty realities throughout. It does though take almost, just almost, second place to Rebus who dominates the book, scowling from every page, irritable and quit often a little drunk.

     I love the fact that he’s unconventional, that he’s impertinent and irascible,selfish and annoying, grubby and brutally honest. He’s like my childhood favorite ‘Colombo’  but malicious and without the charm, patience or self control. He gets under peoples skins just for the shear pleasure of doing it and i read it with a guilty smile. He’s definitely not ‘Morse’, and he isn’t in Oxford, there’s not a hallowed hall in sight but there is a squat with a bath full of poo and Rebus is going to get to the bottom of it !

     This is a cracking read that whiffs of stale fags and whiskey throughout and I would hugely recommend it. Ideal lunchtime fodder.

[sidergoblin]

A portrait of the Artist as a Young Man.

     I have to admit that I approached this book with a huge degree of trepidation after attempting ‘Ulysses’, failing miserably, and being forced to shelve it unfinished. But, since I’d already purchased this I was honour bound to attempt it.

     Set in Ireland in the early years of the last century the story, as the title suggests describes the formative years of an imagined intellectual, Stephen Dedalus, and the encounters, characters and events that helped shape his later life. This character is undoubtedly based on the author himself but how much is fact and how much literary invention I can only  guess at.

     Probably one of the most powerful influences was that of the church which, in that country and time was cemented into society, school, home and heart with an inseparable bond. Stephen, like all the children is inducted into it from day one and from then on the faith is reinforced with a fervent, near paedolithic lust. From this seed and the nurturing of it sprouts the guilt of sin and the shame of sinning. The fear of damnation and eternal torment are drummed into that young mind, and at times induced a tortured state of confusion and dread, terror and depression.

     There is a drawn out scene, brilliantly written, where a priest describes to a class the horrors of Hell and Eternal Damnation and it’s done with such zeal, such glorying of the torment, such passion at the punishment of sinners that its genuinely unsettling, the fact that this rhetoric is being spouted to a class of youngsters is simply nauseating.

     Of course there are other influences, school, home, family and friends but none of them seem as invasive or as dwelled upon by the author.

     Written many years before Ulysses it tentatively uses the style of writing that he pushed to such extremes in his Magnum Opus, Joyce's style I have to admit is different from anything else I’v encountered and again, much like ‘Ulysses’ I struggled with it, although as this is an earlier work his unique style is far less developed and more mainstream so at least I was able to finish it! However I became routinely lost as the characters spiraled ever upwards into philosophic debates and theorizing far beyond the grasp of my self educated and thoroughly grounded steel toe capped boots.

     So it’s dated, hard to read and intellectually overwhelming so where is the payoff? where’s the reward? Well, it lies in the troughs between the struggles, it lies in prose that is musical, lyrical and dreamlike in its swaying flow, drifting between the inner world and the outer in a seamless stream of beautiful erudition. He paints pictures that are greater than the sum of their parts, he creates images of such clarity and beauty they simply take your breath away. There is a scene where Stephen encounters a woman whilst walking on the beach, its uneventful, no words are spoken and only glances are exchanged but its extraordinary in its beauty. Now some years ago I had the pleasure of visiting Paris and I spent a day at the Louvre, I also spent much of it unmoved until by chance I came upon a Renoir and it stopped me dead in my tracks, I stood and stared and all the other paintings just faded away, they were of no comparison.I had that exact same feeling when those two characters met, Ill never forget that Renoir just as I’ll never forget that girl on the beach. That’s just how exceptional his writing can be.

     However uncertain I am of this author, however much I struggle with his work; no matter how far beyond my grasp intellectually he might be. I do know a thing of beauty when i see it, even if i don’t understand it, after all i can appreciate the voice of an opera singer without understanding the lyrics. There are many scenes of beauty in this book and they certainly justified the investment of time so I would recommend it to those with the patience to attempt it, but this will, most definitely, stretch you.

[sidergoblin]

Saying Goodbye.

    ‘On behalf of my mother I would like to thank you all for coming today. I have no doubt she would have taken great pleasure in seeing so many of her family and friends all in one place at last. Not that she would have said as much. It was not in her nature to make a fuss or have one made of her. And though we are here to say goodbye she also wouldn’t have liked to see any of us upset, again it was just not in her nature.

    Whatever I say here cannot sum up in any way my mother’s life or the influence she’s had on us, there is neither the time nor vocabulary to do her that justice. I could recount a multitude of memories but at the moment they are still too painful to put into words. What I can say is a little of what I’ve learned from her.

    Happiness for instance. She drew so much happiness from the place in which she lived, and from sharing it with the person she most wanted to be with. Most of us achieve one or the other in our lives but seldom are we lucky enough to find both as she did. It was the simple things that made my mother smile and as a child it made my day if I could make her laugh just once.

    Love. Love is having a hand to hold, no matter if the road ahead is bathed in sunlight or hidden in darkness. A hand that is always there, it doesn’t need to be seen, no reassurance is necessary, but when reached for it’s always there.

    And strength, my mother’s life has taught me that the greatest strength is found not in muscle or bone but in the mind and in the spirit. For when the road became dark, as it did on many occasions she did not demand sympathy, or apportion blame, she did not become bitter in her pain. Instead, drawing on that incredible well of strength she faced the world with a quiet and unwavering dignity. Her steps on the road may have faltered but her determination never did. She was the strongest person I’ve ever met and I am better for it, I saw her unfaltering dignity and I’m humbled by it.

     I have many memories of that long journey with my mother, but I choose not to remember the dark roads she often had to walk, but instead the happiness, love, strength and dignity with which she chose to travel.’

Thank you.

25/10/2016, saying goodbye.

[sidergoblin]

The Affairs of Flavie

     Here we go again, another dip into the Penguin classics mystery bin. Originally published in 1945 this is an English translation of a work by a much respected french author, it’s not his most famous publication but its held in high regard.

     Set in the Southern French town of Grenoble the story follows the wealthy Euffe family after its patriarchs sudden and accidental death at the hands of a flower pot. The Death itself is random, a confluence of circumstances, an accident sudden and simple. But the impact of this vase sends out ripples and it is these waves that the author sets out to explore. Firstly from the point of impact, the realm of the raw and emotional. Then outwards through town and time. Exploring the effects on the networks of relationships and alliances. The shifting and shuffling of society as each roils in grief, vents their passions or seeks to take best advantage through cold and calculating one-upmanship before the pieces settle back into place.

     This all sounds very heavy but there’s a feel of an English farce about it, a slender vain that is amusing, light, titillating and deliciously voyeuristic and this thread of peeping amusement persists throughout. Overall though the author performs a delightful dissection of pre-war society and the timeless bubbling of human interaction. Lifting the skull cap to expose the brain that nestles like Grenoble itself amidst its ring of mountains then tweezering into the grey matter, peeling back and laying bare the pulsations of life with a masterly penmanship.

     If I had to criticize anything I would say that I felt nothing for the characters , whether they succeeded or failed, prospered or perished and that should have made the book a trial and yet it didn’t, the standard of writing is so high that it absorbs you when the characters do not. Also it was a long read. It took an age to get through so patience is needed. It takes time to absorb that wealth of detail, the subtleties and all the plot twists the author has crammed into it.

     The final quarter seems to loose its immediacy and the threads become a little frayed until they culminate in an improbable ending but I’ll forgive him this. If you have the time and patience to read this you will find it very rewarding and i would thoroughly recommend it.

[sidergoblin]

Fear of the Dog

     I chose this simply as light relief, as a break from the weightier tomes, like a glass of water to freshen the palate before the next course so i wasn’t expecting too much, however i was pleasantly surprised.

     Written in 1997 this is the authors first novel and though the inexperience shows the results are above par. Played out against the backdrop of the London art world this is a First Person Thriller with a pulp fiction look that hides a surprisingly intelligent plot where both the killer and the victim are revealed from the outset. It reminded me initially of ‘Columbo’ but that similarity soon faded as the author strode off on his own.

     This is not a heavyweight novel but the back story pleased me and the slow and steady reveal was teasingly good. It is predictable in places but the story has enough twists and turns, and is cunning and tantalizing enough to make them excusable.

     Well worth a look. 

[sidergoblin]

My mother died 33 hours ago.

[sidergoblin]

The Man on the Balcony

     This is a departure for me, my first foray into Scandi’ crime drama and it’s an old school one at that. Written in 1967 this is no.3 in a series of 10 featuring the Investigator Martin Beck. The series has had by all accounts a huge impact on the crime fiction genre but with my limited dabbling in the field i’m too unqualified to comment on it. The fact they’re still in print after 50 years though says a great deal.

     Strangely, and i think uniquely these books are written by a husband and wife team who took turns in writing alternate chapters, (A recipe for disaster i felt if ever there was one), and yet the story proceeds seamlessly without any obvious clashes of style or pace, a marriage made in heaven it seems.

     The story is precisely written, tightly plotted, simple, elegant and very character driven, It’s easy to see why the series became so successful.

     It does however suffer a little from it’s age. It’s by far not the oldest book i’v read so having to mentally shift into an era 5 decades past shouldn’t have presented a problem, but struggle i did. I think it was the normal flow of things juddering as i tried to forget the ‘Tech’, that the modern world, and modern crime dramas are awash with. It was a small problem though and probably just a personal one.

     I also struggled with the ending as for me it was a little anti-climactic, i don’t want to spoil the plot  but it lacked that ‘Oh it was HIM’ feeling that i like in a crime drama.

     Don’t be dissuaded by my nit-picking though, as a lunchtime read it was distinct, interesting, entertaining and a good introduction to the genre. Worth picking up.

[sidergoblin]

Homo Britannicus

     One of my favorite films of childhood is ‘The Time Machine’, the 1960 retelling of the H.G Wells classic, and i recall with relish the scenes where Rod Taylor inches forward the control on his invention and the world speeds up before him. The sun darting across the sky, day and night flickering, buildings and cities rising and falling. And i had a similar feeling whilst reading this book, such is the sensation created by the author.

     The tale speeds and slows as glaciers rise and fall, the temperatures wavering, the flaura and fauna shifting and mutating against the ever changing environmental pressures. And through it all the human races persists, gaining a toe hold on countless occasions only to be swept away again, insignificant in the face of time and nature..

     This book sets itself a huge and bold task, drawing on the work of the AHOB (Ancient History Of Britain project), it attempts to relate the history of human existence in the British Isles from the earliest most tentative steps approximately 700,000 years ago, right up to our more settled times. So broad is this subject and so huge the pool of information available that the potential to overwhelm or swamp the reader is immense but it’s written and edited with sufficient skill that it teeters perfectly on that razors edge of being sufficiently detailed to remain interesting to those familiar with the subject, yet restrained enough to still be accessible to those that aren’t.

     As time progresses so you see the subtle evolution of our ancestors, the slow, determined emergence of our race from the shadows. The presence of these early settlers is evidenced by a huge archive of tools and treasures as well as cave paintings and even modifications to the landscape itself, and yet the physical aspect of these early Brits is noticeably elusive. Sometimes a mere fragment of a bone is all that remains of an entire life. A recovered fragment that now sits mute and still, enigmatic, only hinting at the life and love and laughter that once it was a part of, evidence of life but a life unknowable. Then to realize that for every fragment that’s recovered there are hundreds of thousands of lives that have popped into existence only to dissolve away again in the fleeting sweep of geological time leaving no trace whatsoever. It inevitably brings your own mortality sharply into focus, what will remain of me, of my life when i am gone? its quit a sobering and reflective aspect to the book.

     At its end, inevitably, the book looks towards the future and it is daunting to say the least. Despite what we may think our presence on this island is temporary to say the least. Human expansion and decline are inextricably linked to the climate, sometimes through monumental glaciations, other times from just a minor change in temperatures. We are insignificant in the face of dissembling nature and in time we will be scoured from this land again, its inevitable, but the way we are hurrying these changes along is just alarming. Don’t get me wrong this final chapter is not the drum beat of a treehugger decrying the evils of the modern world but more like a doctor giving a prognosis to a smoker who refuses to quit....

     Fascinating, engaging, thoughtful and reflective this is a genuinely good read and i turned each page with an eagerness that never waned. The author obviously relishes his subject and it shows through on every page, this is no dusty and scientific tome, but a glimpse into a long gone world of wonderful things, vibrant stimulating and thoroughly enjoyable, i hugely recommend it. 

[sidergoblin]

The Wind in the Willows.

     From the Anthropomorphize’d animals to the dark and scary woods if there was any book that could be called the definitively classic children's story then this is probably it. So it is with some reluctance that i admit to never having read it, until now that is.

     First published in 1908 this work was written in a world hugely different from our own where steam and the horse were still king and where class and the old order still held sway, entrenched and oblivious to the cataclysmic world events still to come. A world as different to ours as that created by the author, which is both wonderful and strange in equal measure.

     The book is populated with characters that are familiar, simple and delightful, humorous and varied and still fresh despite the years and the wealth of imitation that has occurred since their inception.

     The story line is also familiar and i feel widely imitated but there are aspects to it that the child audience, at whom the book is aimed, would certainly struggle to understand, for example the strange scene where ‘The Wayfarer’, a seafaring rat attempts to lure Ratty away to the Wild World is both mysterious and unsettling, brilliantly written, but unsettling all the same.

     The author was of an era when there was a much greater connection with nature and this knowledge is reflected throughout the story and to a degree that would be hard to find in most modern tales such is the disconnect that now exists between the two. His sheer love of the British countryside is evident throughout and its a delight in itself.

     Blowing a hole through this genteel landscape is the stories most domineering, and certainly most memorable character, Toady. An astonishing creature who sits in complete juxtaposition to all the other players and drives pel-mel over every notion of how a child's storybook character should behave. He’s exuberant and generous yet wildly immature, selfish, petulant,obsessive,spoiled, unrepentant and quiet possibly psychotic to an extent that would render him sectioned for his own safety in any modern world. He lies, cheats and steals in such a self centered and pathological manner that  i can only hope that he wasn’t based on a real person. He races through this tale like a nightmare vision of things to come, the future world made flesh, the car obsessed, the self obsessed, the consumer led narcissist in a disposable world desperately seeking the next big thing, the next thrill.

    Now in any modern novel, certainly one aimed at children, Toady would be the bad guy and in strict accordance to moral precepts he would get his comeuppance at the tales end, but strangely this is not the case here. Weasels and stoats take the moral thrashing at stories end but Toady is somehow never punished for his transgressions, there’s no moral resolution. It’s quit odd.

     This is definatly a book of its time and a few wrinkles might have appeared in those intervening years to blemish it’s complexion, but it’s these very differences and the distance traveled that enhance its charm.

     Delightfully weird, strangely satisfying and hugely recommended.

[sidergoblin]

A History of the Guillotine

     This to most would seem like a very macabre read, and without doubt it is from cover to cover. But i bought it primarily as a companion book to a previous read ‘A handbook of hanging’, which focused on the profession of the English hangman through out history. Obviously ‘The Guillotine’ gives a French perspective to the Capital arts.

     Written in 1958 this is not a modern book but its an easy read full of fun facts, personalities , and macabre and grisly detail. It’s neither pro-punishment or against, focusing instead on the instruments creation, history and implementations. Touching on those who operated it for years as well as those who met it for mere minutes...

     It’s a pleasant lunchtime read made more satisfying by the mildly horrified looks of other diners. If your into true crime, or history with a sharp edge, or just oddball books i’d certainly recommend this.

[sidergoblin]

Huckleberry Finn

     I found this little gem in a charity shop and if it hadn’t been free I’d probably have passed over it as the cover design is awful. The contents though are complete and unabridged and that’s all that matters.

     Huck’Finn is a classic of American literature and Mark Twain American Royalty. And despite its age, it was published in 1884, the narrative remains fresh and vibrant and is still easily engaged by a modern reader. It’s rich in period detail and language and lacks the ‘fat’ that turns a lot of classics into a labour.

     The story is simple, the hero, Huck’ Finn, think of him as an 18th century Bart Simpson, runs away from home in dramatic circumstances and embarks on a journey down the Mississippi by raft. On his way he encounters many people, good and bad, and has larks and adventures aplenty, all good boys own stuff.

     The supporting characters are well drawn and believable and created with obvious relish by an author with a keen eye for all aspects of human behavior. Not least his superb ability to capture the imagination of childhood with its flights of fancy, limitless possibilities, fears and superstitions. The biggest character in the book though is also the one that says nothing at all, and for whom the author most obviously had a love affair. The river. It’s present from the outset and flows through the book like the plot, getting the cast into trouble and out again with equal indifference, cold, silent and magnificent. Also there is a subtle humor that threads its way through the story and you get the impression that Mr Twain smiled a lot as he wrote.

     All the same it can be surprisingly dark in places with numerous shootings and deaths, most notably the killing of Boggs by Sherburn, and the mob that goes after him. So different is this from the other instances Huck witnesses it feels as if it were transposed from some other weightier tome of the age for purposes lost in time.

     This book has a large number pf positives in its favor but unfortunately these pluses are counterbalanced by a huge negative. It is shockingly racist, it is after all set in the South and in era when slavery was the norm. But still it is shockingly racist in both its depiction of slaves as scared, cowardly, ridiculously superstitious, unintelligent and wholly inferior to the white man. As well as in the attitude of the white population to them. It runs throughout the book and is unavoidable. I know a book is written in its time and is of its time and by no means should books be edited or censored for a modern audience but it pollutes the whole story. It makes for a genuinely uncomfortable read and its not a book I’d recommend to anyone unless I wanted them to get a better understanding of the twisted reality of slave ownership and the reduction of a people down to a near animal status. This is also a sad reflection on the author  as he makes no attempt to seize the moral ground here instead he reinforces those stereotypes again and again and depicts the black man as little more than livestock, a possession to be sold or traded. Mr Twain put Huck and Jim on the same raft, put both to flight, he could have made the equals. But instead Jim appears as a gibbering subhuman, totally at sea without the white boy to look after him. Nauseating.

     This book is a little glimpse into a bygone place and time, it was a bright and vibrant peek, but i am happy to close the covers on it.

[sidergoblin]

Schindlers List

     The ‘plot ’to this book should be no mystery to anyone, so huge was the film it spawned so i’ll spare the details. But in essence it’s the decision by one man who, upon witnessing the persecution of the Jewish population in Krakow chose to do the right thing. The decision was a faithful one and once made he never wavered from it no matter how great the personal cost or the danger it placed him in.

     I’d seen the film more than once before purchasing the book and my reason for reading it is that there is always more to a story than a film has time to include,  and I was simply interested in what had been left out.

     Oscar Schindler was not unique in trying to aid the persecuted during WWII, there were many others to a larger or lesser degree although the numbers seem just a tiny fragment amidst the masses involved, but of all of them Oscar was perhaps the most unlikely. A wheeler dealer, a Black marketer, wealthy but still a market trader at heart, a master briber and manipulator, a spy, a drinker, a gambler and incorrigible womanizer. He was also a Nazi party member although I don’t think he had any political leanings let alone right wing ones. Indeed his master, to all intents and purposes was profit, his motive money.

     Oscar was no angel and this is made clear through out so it makes his actions when confronted by the holocaust all the more startling. He could have shrugged, thrust his hands in his pockets and gone off in search of his next deal as the majority of others did, just turn and walk away, indeed based solely on his past character you’d have expected him to. But, inexplicably, he chose to do the right thing and his reason has never been really discovered. But regardless of reason there are thousands alive out there today that would not be if not for him and that fateful decision.

     As it turns out some of these negative aspects  of Oscars character were the very things that were essential in his success. He saved lives by wheeling and dealing, bribing and manipulating, utilizing contacts and confidantes. And all with an overwhelming sense of self confidence and fearlessness. Two traits that proved invaluable as he’d moved among the darkest faces and behaviors that the third Reich could generate, and immersed himself in the grimmest business the world has ever seen. 

     Oscar was an industrialist working with people who’d industrialized murder, who had reduced life to a low investment, high return enterprise. Who had cost analyzed the transporting, holding and feeding of Jews down to the lowest Mark. Few realize today that every aspect of a Jewish prisoners life had a profit margin. From the home in which he’d lived to the clothes he stood up in. From the energy that could be drained from his body and the skills pulled from his hands. Then, ultimately, from his hair and his fillings, his skin and his fat, and finally his ashes. All had a profit margin. Genocide and industry bonded with ruthless German efficiency. Maybe this is what had appalled Oscar, seeing the means of his success , the game, the pleasure of profit perverted to such an horrendous end. Maybe this is what had spurred him to act, to invert the German machine, to pour money in and pull lives out. Again, whatever the cause we’ll probably never know but to do what he did he had to swim with the monsters, beasts both large and small, and somehow avoid being devoured.

     One of these beasts was Ammon Goethe, the officer in charge of Krakow's liquidation and Commandant of Plaznow concentration camp. Ammon strides through this book with a diabolical presence. Both brutal and murderous he was the psychopathic cutting edge of the final solution, the drunken trigger man, heartless, soulless, corrupt and unpredictable and yet Oscar played him, pandering to the beasts desires with one hand whilst leading away the condemned with the other. He walked the finest of lines and one slip, one push too far and a multitude had stood in line to denounce him. Oscar would have disappeared without a ripple and all his ‘Schindler Juden’ with him.

     But he pulled it off, albeit at a cost. He survived the war but his actions had left him alienated among his own countrymen and financially destroyed, a situation that he was never to recover from. Although in his later years he was supported by the very people he’d risked all to save 

     This book is well written, and though detailed it does not feel like a history book. It’s easy to red but, not an easy read. It does not leave you with a warm glow. Yes it’s about a man who saved thousands of lives, but its also about the millions who couldn’t, didn’t, or wouldn’t. It’s about the polar opposites of human behavior, about the fluidity of the mob that runs so easily to the darkest extremes not just the few that fight against the current.

     If you have a faith in humanity this might shake it.