july-august 2017 books

Enter A Fox (Simon Gray): To be honest, although I had come across Simon Gray (he died in 2008, aged 71), I hadn’t previously actually seen any of his plays (as far as I can recall) or read any of his memoirs. The cover of this short book, first published in 2001, includes various enthusiastic endorsements, such as: “The second funniest book I have read this year is The Smoking Diaries by Simon Gray. (For the record, the funniest is Enter a Fox” by the same author” or “Has a man ever written such sustained and hilarious diatribes against himself?”. Well, sorry, but I was somewhat disappointed and left underwhelmed. To my mind, the book (written apparently in an attempt “to learn to write fluently” on his new Apple) is no more than a stream of consciousness rant by a bit of a grumpy old man (I should know – being both old and prone to ranting!). Entertaining at times but, if this is a recipe for making money, I should be sending my facebook rants to a publisher!
The Terracotta Dog (Andrea Camilleri): I really do like these Inspector Montalbano mysteries. It’s taken me a little time to get into them (Montalbano, with his “sardonic, engaging take on Sicilian small-town life and his genius for deciphering the most enigmatic of crimes”), but I’m now a big fan. The stories and characters are always entertaining, funny and irreverent; they all involve references to food, beautiful women, the ‘Mafioso’… and Montalbano relaxing on his veranda overlooking the sea and going for long swims… The crimes are always the focus but, for me, the characters, humour and colour of southern Italy are the crucial keys.
Will You Please Be Quiet, Please? (Raymond Carver): A book of short stories, first published in the USA in 1976 (1993 in the UK). I’d not previously read any Carver books (and I wasn’t aware that he was particularly noted for his short stories). All the stories are set in America and are almost banal in content and seemingly full of insignificant detail. I frequently found them frustratingly open-ended and inconclusive – but that is clearly Carver’s style. Storylines are often feature the struggling relationships and frustrated dreams of ‘ordinary people’ (and plenty of alcohol, cigarettes and violence!). After I’d finished the book, I read that Carver (who died of cancer in 1977 at the age of 50) that he was born into a poverty-stricken family at the tail-end of the Depression and was the son of a violent alcoholic... and that (according to Wikipedia) he married at 19, started a series of menial jobs and his own career of 'full-time drinking as a serious pursuit', a career that would eventually kill him. It seems that he constantly struggled to support his wife and family, before enrolling in a writing programme in 1958 (which he ultimately saw as a turning point in his life). His stories clearly reflect his own experiences. I enjoyed the book – somewhat frustrating (and just a little disturbing at times), but compelling nevertheless.
The Goldfish Boy (Lisa Thompson): Essentially, this is a children’s book (albeit 400 pages long). It’s about a 12 year-old boy with OCD… who, amongst other things, is obsessed with clean surfaces and making notes about his neighbours (spied through his bedroom window). But it’s also a mysterious story about a missing toddler… and finding friendship when you’re lonely. It’s a very beautiful book (poignant, joyful and funny) and very beautifully written… I loved it.
On The Danger Line (Georges Simenon): First published in 1944, this is a volume of two short novels (‘Home Town’ and ‘The Green Thermos’) which essentially relate to criminal psychology. In ‘Home Town’, after an extended absence, travelling abroad and living on the fringes of the underworld, a man returns to the place of his early years. He’s a controlling bully and fraudster. He tells lies to impress his family and friends. He’s a nasty piece of work! The second book, ‘The Green Thermos’, tells the story of an anarchist in Paris who tries to prevent a bomb plot – in spite of police pursuit and dangers from those he has turned against. Both stories are intriguing and yet, to my mind, not totally convincing. Simenon was clearly one of the most prolific writers of the twentieth century – apparently “capable of writing 60 to 80 pages per day”! I reckon he would have rattled these off by Friday lunchtime! (PS: I’ve STILL to read ANY of his Maigret novels!).