Entries by Becca (52)
Address Unknown
The story takes the form of a series of letters between Max and Martin, friends and co-owners of an art business in California. Martin is German,
and has lived in America for years; Max is a Jewish American. The letters begin in 1932 when Martin returns to Germany as a wealthy man in a thoroughly downtrodden country. Despite his liberal politics, Martin is quickly swept up in the enthusiasm for Hitler, and then for Nazism. When he betrays the trust of his friend, Max exacts a chilling revenge. Address Unknown is very spare - I read it in under an hour and then re-read it again. It also feels pretty worthy, as if it belongs squarely on a GCSE History syllabus. However, it's also a very striking story of how friendship and fireside discussions, the warmth of the human heart, can be crushed under the wheels of an ideology.
This book is in fact a clever short story, but it could have been an absorbing novel if it had shown Martin's transformation with more psychological resonance and political depth. As it is, it's too thin for me to love it, but it was arresting and admirable.
Becca
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Friday Update
Welcome to the first Friday Update of 2008! Here's a little precis of my book- and reading-related enjoyment this week.
Last week I received a lovely old Penguin paperback of Agatha Christie's The Moving Finger, which gave all the usual Christie frisson whilst still allowing me to sleep peacefully at night. A review is on its way, dealing with the problem of a mysteriously appearing currant loaf. Rather more seriously, I've also been ploughing on with Goncharov's Oblomov, one of the novels I picked for the Russian Reading Challenge hosted by ExLibris in 2008. Oblomov is a delight, but I say ploughing because I'm out of practice with reading anything that takes more than half a brain. A kind of claustrophobia sits over me whilst I'm reading it. I'm aware that the story is more than it seems; it's an allegory for the decline of the aristocracy in 19th century Russia, with existential dilemma thrown in for good measure (I'm thinking the book of Ecclesiastes). But I am also suffocated by the eponymous character. I've just reached page 177, and Oblomov has finally got out of bed. His laziness is grotesque - both comical and nightmarish - and yet it is simply a character trait I possess in abundance, played to an extreme.
Woman's Hour Drama on Radio 4 has been gripping me, with a dramatisation of Lionel Shriver's We Need To Talk About Kevin. I toyed with the idea of a re-read, but realized that the appeal of the book was perfectly encapsulated by the radio adaptation. I appreciated anew the control Shriver exercises over the voice of her narrator, and the wonderfully chilling plot twists. Next week is the Orange Prize shortlisted A Concise Chinese-English Dictionary for Lovers, which I reviewed last year, so I'll be listening eagerly online.
And finally, I was very pleased to hear that 217 Babel has received a new update recently. 217 Babel is a hypertext fiction that will be growing over the coming weeks and months. It tells the stories of the inhabitants of a block of flats near the sea, all intertwined and growing together. At the moment it is full of mystery and I love it.
Rounding off 2007...
I promised a countdown of the Top-Ten books I wished I'd read in 2007, but never delivered on that promise. I'm sorry. I forgot what going to the parental home for holidays does to the rhythms of my daily life. My mobile lies abandoned in the corner of a room; I leave my current interests and return to old obsessions; I pick up books I read as a child and read them again; I forget not only what is going on at work, but actually what job I do; I begin by waking at 7.30am but end the holidays getting up at 10am. And worst of all: I neglect my blog.
But with the New Year come those ill-fated Resolutions. I made about 20 of them this year, and many of them are destined to be broken. Obviously the most important Resolution is to improve my writing and review more books on this blog.
Before that begins, though, I simply have to finish off the Top-Ten list from last year. So here it is, in one fell swoop:
Six.
Self-Help by Edward Docx
I started this doorstop of a book back in August, and quite enjoyed it. The problem? I put it down, and it was so big and so involved that I couldn't be bothered to pick it up again. I'm fairly certain that Docx's ambition was to write the new Great Russian Novel, so perhaps I will revive it this year in connection with the Russian Reading Challenge.
Five.
Girl Meets Boy by Ali Smith
Ali Smith is one of my absolute favourite writers. I first encountered her when I read The Accidental which made the Booker shortlist in 2006. And then I picked up a copy of Hotel World, which is maybe even better. Smith writes with real verve, succeeding in being both stylistically flamboyant and engaging. I didn't read this in 2007 because I wanted to add it onto my Christmas list, along with
Four.
The Welsh Girl by Peter Ho Davies
The Welsh Girl got such outstanding reviews from the good people of Palimpsest that it was rather shocking when it wasn't shortlisted for the Booker. However, it has been selected for Richard & Judy's Book Club this year, so I doubt that Mr Ho Davies is crying his eyes out. And I got my nice hardback copy for Christmas, sans R&J sticker. We're all happy.
Three.
Light Years by James Salter
Another one that the Palimpers have been shouting about. They're usually right, after all.
Two.
The Golden Notebook by Doris Lessing
When the winner of the Nobel Prize for Literature is announced my guilt and embarrassment is usually assuaged by the fact that the author is barely known in the UK, and their work is often not available. This year I have no excuse. The Golden Notebook is the seminal Lessing work, but I might pick up a copy of The Cleft, simply because of the (rather bad, but rather interesting) review it got on Eve's Alexandria. 
and drum roll please:
One.
Housekeeping by Marilynne Robinson
Gilead was my book of 2007, so I'm saving this up for some dark moment when I'm most in need.
Top-Ten Wish-I'd-Read-in-2007 Eight and Seven
Eight.
English Passengers by Matthew Kneale and
Seven.
Ghostwritten by David Mitchell
Both of these books were leant to me during 2007. English Passengers is sitting on my shelf at work, with the 
recommendation of my office mate, who said that it was the only book she enjoyed reading this year. Ghostwritten is languishing on my TBR shelves at home; I don't dare bundle it into a work bag or take it on holiday because it's a signed copy and I have no intention of getting it crumpled. I think I'd enjoy both of these novels, but mostly I wish I'd read them just in order to alleviate my guilt at not having returned them to their rightful owners yet.
Top-Ten Wish-I'd-Read-in-2007 Nine
I think that the book drought may be over; I read two chapters of Thomas Hardy's The Return of the Native last night, and even put it in my bag this morning. A promising development. I had earlier tried Jodi Picoult's Mercy for the third time, but got only to the bottom of page 1 before I threw it aside in utter boredom. (That's further than I've ever got with it before.) So, there's a copy up for grabs for anyone who fancies a page-turner that leaves me absolutely cold. Anyway, I think that the despising of the chick-litty thriller in favour of proper Victorian novel is a good sign: not only might the book drought be ended, but perhaps Hardy heralds a watershed in my reading, when I will no longer love trite rubbish, and will only read stuff that is Good For Me.
Anyway, on with the Top-Ten-Wish-I'd-Read list.
Nine.
Watch Me Disappear by Jill Dawson
John Self reviewed this over at Asylum in February, and ever since then I've been putting in and taking it out of my Amazon basket, doing a little dance. It got good reviews on Palimpsest from all and sundry.
It's a modern reworking of Lolita set in the contemporary Cambridgeshire of Holly Wells and Jessica Chapman, and in the 1970s. Its a story about the sexualisation of children, and I'm hoping that it has something fresh to say.