Girl, Woman, Other (Bernardine
Evaristo): Wow! I
thought this was a simply stunning book. Wonderfully written, conceived and
delivered, the novel follows 12 characters (most
of them black British women) through their lives spanning an array of different
decades. Each character has a chapter and, in these chapters, their lives
overlap. Their backgrounds and experiences are all very different. There is
much joy and celebration, but also sadness and struggle. Many of the characters
are close – friends, relatives or lovers (I sometimes had to keep referring
back to remind myself of the various relationships/links!). Having read a
number of books recently on the question of race and colour, this novel only
served to underline such issues… while also addressing a wide range of others
(feminism, sexual-orientation; politics; class; prejudice; immigration; family
etc etc). I’m a little in awe of Evaristo! It’s probably the best
book I’m likely to read this year. Hugely readable, clever, entertaining,
informative, funny and thought-provoking. Quite, quite brilliant.
This Is The Day (ed Neil Paynter): I first read this book of daily
readings and meditations from the Iona Community in 2005 (published in 2003)
and turned to it again at the start of lockdown (it covers a 4 month period).
As someone who continues to struggle in my spiritual wilderness (which has been
ongoing for a fair amount of time), I again found it a useful crutch…
particularly the contributions from Kathy Galloway (who I was fortunate to have
met during my two months on the island in 2012). The daily readings provided
helpful reflections at the start of each day.
Quite Ugly One Morning (Christopher
Brookmyre): An
entertaining crime thriller featuring a somewhat
eccentric investigative journalist (and cat burglar!), who is happy to ‘bend
the rules’ to get to the truth. Starts off with the gruesome murder of a
doctor, before delving into matters relating to NHS Trusts (I’ll stop there…
*no spoilers*). It’s quite amusing, gory and, frankly, pretty absurd in places.
Although I found it an enjoyable read (despite the blood and mess), I wasn’t
altogether convinced by the plot and frequently felt that it was a little too
contrived.
A Year In Provence (Peter Mayle): I first read this book nearly 20
years ago… and felt that ‘lockdown’ was a suitable time to re-read it. Clearly,
Provence is a beautiful place and the Mayle’s adventures in setting up home
there are amusing, gentle and frequently very funny… but, while the
descriptions of the region are evocative, the descriptions of the local
characters are what make the book so delightful. The Mayles made various trips
to local village restaurants to eat amazing artisan dishes and consume the odd
bottle or two… and I frequently found myself wondering how they managed to
drive themselves home after consuming copious qualities of the local vino.
Interestingly, in the preface to my paperback edition, Mayle describes his
mixed feelings about the effects that the book had had on their lives…
wonderful to receive letters from readers etc but “sometimes less wonderful to
find the reader on the doorstep, book in hand and tongue hanging out for a
glass or two…”. It was also sad to note (from Wikipedia) that the Mayles relocated to Long Island, New York, to get away
from fans and sightseers at his home in Provence (although he subsequently returned
to France). He died in 2018, aged 78. I very much enjoyed reading it
again.
My Name Is Why (Lemn Sissay): I bought this memoir after watching
an ‘Imagine’ programme on television. Sissay is an award-winning writer,
broadcaster and poet (he received an MBE for services to literature in 2019). At
the age of 5 months, the “Authorities” placed him in the hands of “incapable
foster parents” and then moved him from institution to institution until he was
18 years old. He describes the ordeal as “imprisonment”. This memoir is a
harrowing account of his struggles of those early years and his 30 year
campaign to obtain his records from the Local Authority. He suffered years of
discrimination and prejudice due to his colour and, although he came across
some ‘good people’ (like his social worker, the child psychologist and,
finally, a woman from the National Association of Young People in Care), there
was also a very long list of people who were cruel, dismissive, uncaring and
abusive. Towards the end of the book, Sissay includes poignant, heart-breaking
responses from other ‘inmates’ to a blog post he wrote in 2013 – who clearly
had received similar life-damaging treatment in similar ‘institutions’. It’s a
painful, powerful memoir which pulls no punches (it reproduces extracts from
his records)… and provides a shameful reflection on how society treats some of
its less fortunate members.
