We Have Always Lived in the Castle, by Shirley Jackson

We Have Always Lived in the Castle was Shirley Jackson’s last novel before her death in 1965 and is primarily concerned with the themes of ‘otherness’, mental deterioration and isolation, both geographically and socially. In common with The Haunting of Hill House, a stately but decrepit and far-too-big house plays a major part in the story, in this case the Blackwood manor house, a lonely and isolated pile in acres of woodland, far away from the snooping eyes of the hateful villagers. Like its inhabitants the house deteriorates and suffers greatly, but it’s still standing at the end.

The story is told from the perspective of 18 year old Mary-Katherine Blackwood, Merricat for short, who lives with her older sister Constance and her disabled uncle Julian who has no recollection of the poisoning that incapacitated and nearly killed him. Twice a week Merricat braves the stares and the whispers of the local village, venturing out just long enough to buy groceries, swap library books and drink a cup of coffee, just to show the villagers that she is not afraid of them. She has a very blunt, unusually candid manner of speaking, but it’s clear from the beginning that she harbours secrets. She’s incredibly paranoid and full of fear and a specifically spiteful form of hatred for everybody but her sister Constance and her cat Jonas.

I don't normally quote from books, but look at this for an opening line;

My name is Mary Katherine Blackwood. I am eighteen years old, and I live with my sister Constance. I have often thought that with any luck at all, I could have been born a werewolf, because the two middle fingers on both my hands are the same length, but I have had to be content with what I had. I dislike washing myself, and dogs, and noise. I like my sister Constance, and Richard Plantagenet, and Amanita phalloides, the death-cup mushroom. Everyone else in our family is dead.
― Shirley Jackson, We Have Always Lived in the Castle

Jackson does a pitch perfect job of adding paper thin layer upon layer of unease, steadily building tension and a slowly prickling sense of agitation. It’s very hard to pin down what it is that creates such unease (apart from masterful writing, obviously) but the reader understands from page one that the narrator is a very unusual and very psychologically damaged woman. There are no ghosts or monsters, no haunted house and no phantoms; all the fear in this book comes from the unknowable shady corners of the human mind.

Soon enough we learn that six years prior to the events of the novel a collection of murders occurred in Blackwood House. All other members of the family, immediate and extended, were fatally poisoned at the dining table. Investigators found the source of the poison in the sugar sprinkled on blackberries served at dinner. Merricat survived, being sent to bed with no supper as punishment. Constance, the chef on this occasion and the only one who took no sugar on her berries was the obvious suspect, but a lack of evidence sees her acquitted. The murders become notorious, and the three surviving Blackwoods become village curiosities; reclusive, inescapably odd and invisible.

The sisters’ (and Uncle’s) quiet, and ultimately quite happy life is disturbed when a cousin appears at the house, ostensibly there to reconnect with his family after the  disowning of the surviving Blackwood sisters, his intent and motivation is fairly obvious very quickly. His appearance disturbs the tranquil and established routines, routine so scared it’s almost ritual and sets in motion a deadly chain of events that will change life forever at Blackwood house.

This is such a skinny book it can be read in an evening- it’s gripping and absorbing, and it’s really hard to say what element makes it so unnerving. The sense otherliness is all I can attribute it to. Merricat and Constance are not like normal  people and when they keep to themselves they are happy. I loved the psychological element of this novel, the way that small town gang mentality and persecution is explored and the pains that Constance goes to to keep her evidently mentally ill sister comfortable, safe and content. The sisters (and the cat) want for nobody else, they seek out nobody else, and as long as it stays just the three of them, they will be fine.

As far as the plot goes, it’s a very simple plot. But it’s not the plot that makes it. It’s the writing style that is so arresting. When the ‘twist’ (if it can be called that) is revealed, the reader has suspected it for some time. It’s the casual way that it’s presented that makes it notable, not the revelation itself.

Very much recommend. I read it on Halloween thinking incorrectly that it was a ghost story. While there’s nothing supernatural about it, the moody isolation is certainly atmospheric and it’s definite worth a read for its interesting characters and its creepy sensations.

Wolf Hall, by Hilary Mantel

I was very prepared to like this book. Having already proven to myself that I do not thoroughly hate historical fiction by going mad for The Marlowe Papers, I was expecting remarkable things from Winner of ALL THE PRIZES Ms Mantel.

Set in the reign of Henry VIII, Thomas Cromwell, Blacksmith's Son and former runaway, has abandoned his beloved but disgraced Cardinal Wolsey and earned himself a place in the King's court.  He's good at talking people into and out of things.  He gains and loses assorted familiy members. It's backstabby, it's got some women in it. They storm around in dresses and look at tapestries. The king likes to have his own way...some people get put in prison for being Lutherans...

Oh god how I raged at this book. It starts off well enough, in the beginning I quite liked ragamuffin sailor escapee young Thomas Cromwell. The first of many Thomases...Tomi, if you will. He's promising, ruthlessly building himself out of the role of 'blacksmith's son', to cloth merchant, to landed douchebag to second most powerful man in the land. As with many books, I don't know if it's my history that lets me down...I'm not reading it to learn history though, so I don't care if this isn't accurate or this couldn't have happened, I'm reading it to go on some sort of courtly rampage with some of history's most outrageous characters.

I think it's the characters I felt most let down by in this novel, actually. I found Henry VIII to be sort of sad and easily manipulated, Anne Boleyn to be a spoiled diva and Thomas Cromwell to be the king of all suckups. Katherine of Aragon was some sort of mournful martyr and I really couldn't work out why everyone hated Wolsey so much. Or Thomas More. Maybe this is historically accurate. Maybe the characters not being as you expect was what Mantel was going for. I just didn't care about what happened to any of them, really. Apart from Jane Seymour. She seemed nice* 
*yes I am aware she gets the chop, historically.

The style of writing was the source of most of my rage. In fairness, it was probably ok. I finished the book at least, so something must've kept me going, although I really can't work out what. Refusing to follow my own advice and give up on books I'm not enjoying once more. Mantel's use of language and turn of phrase is occasionally genius- she is very good at creating beautiful moments that sort of last for an instant and then are gone. Many of the meetings between Thomas Cromwell and Mary Boleyn felt like that, I felt that was a story strand that was going somewhere. However, her reluctance to use proper dialogue signposts was infuriating. Some authors choose to not use speech marks and paragraphing to be cinematic, or to disorientate the characters and/or reader, but I really can't see why Mantel chose to not use speech marks or indication as to who was speaking.  Or thinking.  Or mixing their speech with thought. I didn't care enough about what was going on to try to work it out. Which brings me in a roundabout way on to: "He, Cromwell, went for a walk.". "He, Cromwell, entered the room". WHY?! Why keep doing this?!!? Why set such signposts in a scene that involves one man, and then omit them entirely from multi-men scenes?? Argh!!

It was very much a novel of ups and downs. Paragraphs of brilliance ruined by odd editorial choices, lacklustre characterisation and poor signposting. I am my own worst enemy when it comes to not knowing when to give up. But you can't really moan about a book unless you've read it.

The Lord of the Rings, by JRR Tolkein

Well I have finally done it.  It's taken the best part of two decades, but I've finally read the Lord of the Rings in its magnificent entirity. 

This series is my literary Everest.  My mum's cousin, who is as far as I know, the only 'reader' in my family, bought me the snazzy boxed set for my 9th birthday (which would be 1997, just in the interests of full disclosure).  I attempted many times over the years to read it.  I got further and further with each attempt, the latest of which was during the 1st year of my Undergrad degree.  I though  "I'm doing a lit degree goddamit, I should be able to read this".  Boredom inevitably took over each time, and I gave up, concluding that traditional Fantasy (of the Ork/Elf/Wizard kind) was just not appealing to me in the slightest.

Until one day, it wasn't boring any more!  Hurrah!  I know that the vast majority of the world has seen the film and/or read the books, so I kind of feel like it's mostly pointless recounting anything about the plot.  Although to be honest, there isn't a great deal of one, not for a while at least...

The worst kept secret in literature...

The salient points are as follows, I suppose.  A Hobbit, a species that is by its nature home-loving and adventure shunning, comes into possession of what is probably the most powerful object to have ever been created.  The One Ring.  He is as surprised as anyone to learn this, and sets about wondering how to get rid of such an item.  The first instalment sees Frodo, the heroic Hobbit set out on his journey with three faithful companions to the Ring's place of origin in order to destroy it so that dark powers may never gain possession of it.  During their early travels (and after a few perilous events) the ranks of their Fellowship are swelled by an enigmatic Elf (Legolas), a mysterious but inexplicable awe-inspiring hermit badass named Arragorn/Strider (he goes by many names, incidentally), Boromir representing the race of Men, heir of the Stweardship of Gondor, Gandalf the Grey and Gimli, the grumpy Dwarf.  The nine of them vow to do what and all they can to ensure that Frodo make it to Modor in as few pieces as possible in order that he be able to fulfil his quest and rid Middle Earth of the influence of the evil Sauron forever.  Sauron himself is conspicuous by his absence for almost the whole book.  He manifests himself briefly (Seriouly, of over 1000 pages, he gets like a single line of actual appearance) and only when he's defeated.  The whole book works on the concept that evil is an infection really, that Sauron may be the origin of the Evil vibes, but that weakness and cowardice in great numbers combined with even the most singular source of evil is what is threatens to destroy the world.

What can you say about a story that has been analysed and discussed in the most unimaginably minute detail? I mean some people live and breathe this. There are full blown Middle-Earth historians in real life. Tolkein has created a world that is so real that it has it's own mythology and lore, several of its own languages and calenders, its own history and legends.  It's much funnier than I remembered, Gimli and Merry & Pippin are all very funny characters and some of their dialogue is brilliant.  I feel like I must also give a special mention to Treebeard the Ent, as I just wished that Ents were real!  It's as British as socks and sandals too.  Even the most epic and deadly quest in fiction stops for tea and a pipe of tobacco.



Middle Earth in All its Glory

There's tragedy, there's treachery, sacrifice and sorcery, there are more songs, poems, ballads and odes than you can shake a stick at.  There are small battles, fought hand to hand, there are epic battles fought over entire realms.  If the word "Epic" did not exist, it would have been coined to describe this narrative.  There is heroism on a very personal scale, and the type of heroism that ushers in new eras.  I really don't think it's possible to describe just how rich and full Tolkein's world is.  Not just full in terms of its inhabitants and its customs and lore, but the fullness of the landscape- every forest and bridge and every plain and mountain range is painstakingly described and populated, the grass feels real and the leaves feel real.  It really is remarkable.  Enjoyed it so, so much.  It's a commitment, and it takes some powering through at the beginning, but it really is one of the most incredible narratives I've ever read.

My only criticism is of myself, for being so daft as to keep giving up on this.  But I suppose it proves that there really is no such thing as the wrong book, simply the right book at the wrong time.  Also Boromir never actually says "One does not simply walk into Mordor".  That, it seems, is a Peter Jackson invention.  I know.  Console yourself...

Make Room, Make Room!, by Harry Harrison

It is misleading to call Make Room, Make Room! a post-apocalyptic narrative, because there's not really an apocalypse at any point.  Nor *technically* can it be an alternative future, as it's set in the world that we occupy.  Also because technically it's set in the past.  We'll go with dystopian future.

Written in 1966, Harrison predicts what life will be like for the 334 Million inhabitants of New York City, in the year 1999.  It's a grim and desperate place, overcrowded, filthy and full of misery.  Most people live in abject poverty, those that have a roof over their heads share their rooms with many other families, food is strictly rationed and water is collected from taps in the street between certain times.  There's a feeling that the environment is doing everything it can in revenge for the toxins and the pollution that humanity has inflicted on it.  The sun's heat is much more intense in the future, and everyone swelters in 40 degree heat in the summer, then freezes in the winter.  There is no electricity, gas or natural resources of any kind.  There are no cars on the roads, only peddle cabs.  The cars are now homes, rusting away in useless car parks.

The plot switches between several New Yorkers, as we witness the events in NCY between the Summer of 1999 and the eve of the 21st century.  NYPD Police Officer Andy Rusch shares a single room with retired engineer Sol, who has wired up a wheel-less bike to power their fridge and TV with home-made power.  Andy likes his job, but the pay is rubbish, the hours are ridiculous and it's pretty pointless having a homicide department in a city where there are hundreds of murders a day, and a single department to deal with it.  We also meet Billy Cheung, who loots a food store during a Pensioners' riot, for a box of luxurious soylent steaks (a delicious sounding meat substitute), selling them to fund a job as a messenger.  Actual meat just isn't obtainable any more, most people seem to survive on algae crackers and oatmeal.  Their paths meet when Billy accidentally becomes a wanted criminal, something which is suspicious in itself, in a city where the crime rate is too high to keep count of.  Shirl, girlfriend of a murdered crime syndicate who lives in an air-conditioned apartment with plumbing (!) is also a central character, the only one perhaps that has a vaguely comfortable lifestyle and who is forced by circumstances relating to both Andy and Billy to experience a different life on a different social plain, even if only temporarily.

It's relentlessly bleak, focusing on a lack of natural resources, unsustainable urban development/decay and overpopulation as the world's undoing.  It's implied that birth control is 'just not done', it seems odd to Shirl at least, we assume for socio-religious reasons.  Though there is no other religious leaning in the book, save for the prophet of doom that appears towards the end, predicting the end of the world at the stroke of midnight.  It's not a particularly riveting narrative, it took upwards of two weeks to read, despite being short.  The hostility of the world prevents characters behaving in a way that However, it raises some interesting ideas about the worlds (still) increasing population and the reactions of civilisation to the challenge and impossibility of attempting to live in a world that is exhausted and can no longer support the human race.

East of Eden by John Steinbeck

East of Eden

Steinbeck's epic novel starts with a description of the Salinas Valley that's so full of smells, sounds and colours that it'll be burned into your mind's eye forever.  Every tragic story of human nature needs it beautiful natural backdrop.

It's a story of numerous generations of two farming families, the Hamiltons and the Trasks.  The Hamiltons are poor, but work hard and live happily.  The Trasks are a family of soldiers and farmers, and not particularly good (or suited) to either occupation. The Trask brothers seem doomed to re-enact the story of Cane and Abel and their fatal rivalry generation after generation, fighting and competing for their father's love and attention.

So much of the story asks questions about what it is that makes a person.  Is a person the product of a time?  A place? Their upbringing? Is a a person genetically programmed to behave a certain way?  Are they a product of their education?  Their choices and decisions?  Most of the characters in this novel struggle with these questions throughout their entire lives.  Apart  from Lee, the Chinese servant and Sam Hamilton, who are perhaps the only two men in California who can think straight and see sense.  Their conversations showcase Steinbeck's knack of showing true understanding between people and giving the reader faith that perhaps one in every 100 people has that calming influence and sensibility that's needed so universally.

Personally, I think the most interesting character in the novel is Cal, the third generation Trask.  He's dark complexioned, brooding and hugely intelligent.  The type of intelligence that can make a man a brilliant businessman, or a malicious malcontent.  Cal's angelic twin, Aron, is loved by everyone and appears to sail through life with ease.  Everybody knows how it feels to try your hardest and to find that it still isn't enough and the reader can't help but ache with sympathy for Cal, reliving the neglected life of his uncle Charles, who Steinbeck himself abandons part way into  the story.  Cathy/Kate too is a brilliant study of pure evil.  Every Biblical allegory has to have its Devil.  Her complete lack of emotion, her unending patience and her psychopathic-genius intelligence make her seem otherworldly or mythological, like Pandora.

I absolutely loved this novel.  Usually I can tear through 600 pages in a couple of days, but you can't do that with East of Eden.  It's too good to rush.  You get full of it.  Like gateaux or cheese.  The ending is devastating too.  You wonder how you can end a novel that sprawls continents and decades like this one does.  Turns out you end it with a punch to the guts and the confirmation that it's your choices that make you who you are.

I honestly did not know that James Dean played Cal in the film.
I only sort of half knew there was a film.
Casting like that doesn't happen anymore.