Bloomsbury: A House Of Lions (Leon Edel): This book provides a detailed and fascinating portrait of the nine key individuals who comprised the ‘Bloomsbury Group’, namely: Maynard Keynes, Leonard Woolf, Virginia Woolf, Lytton Strachey, Clive Bell, Desmond McCarthy, Roger Fry, Vanessa Bell and Duncan Grant. American author Edel is clearly a very gifted biographer and the book is extensively researched (and in fact he’d previously met a number of the principle players or their relatives and published the book in 1979, when he himself was 72). At times, I felt that Edel was simply ‘showing off’ (too excessively for my taste) his extensive knowledge of his subject. I thought that he was overly condescending towards the privileged life of Cambridge upper-class undergraduates (all male, of course!) in the early years of the 20th century and that he adopted a rather condescending view of women in general (even including Virginia Woolf and Vanessa Bell to some extent). Although I had previously read a number of books about Bloomsbury, this book provided fascinating additional background. An excellent book.
Vanessa Bell: Portrait Of The Bloomsbury Artist (Frances Spalding): I absolutely loved this excellent biography (first published in 1983 and re-published in 2016). Yes, I appreciate that I’ve probably become excessively absorbed in Bloomsbury-related stuff over recent years (especially reading two lengthy, detailed volumes in the past month!), but it’s been a compelling journey. I’d been particularly drawn to the paintings by Vanessa Bell and Duncan Grant and this book provided fascinating insights into the work and lives of both of them (and the Bloomsbury group). Bell became something of a mother figure for the whole group and a catalyst for much of what the group came to represent. She walked an emotional tightrope in her relationships with her husband (Clive Bell), ex-lover (Roger Fry) and lover (Duncan Grant) and enjoyed a bohemian lifestyle of sexual freedom, fierce independence and honesty. As a painter, Bell was as radical as her sister Virginia Woolf the writer (Woolf described Bell as ‘the Saint’ for her practical sense of duty and organisation). The book has been compiled from letters and diaries (without letters, how much would have been lost!). It’s full of amusing and intriguing details: for instance, she wasn’t particularly political (although more left-wing than her husband)… and once asked the man sitting next to her at dinner if he was interested in politics… the man in question was prime minister Asquith(!); in 1925, after the lease on their Charleston house had been renewed, she had a studio added (“compared with the domestic proportions elsewhere in the house, this huge vaulted room offers both expanse and haven-like peace”)… the builder’s estimate was £250! A wonderful, intriguing biography.
The Leopard (Tomasi Di Lampedusa): The writer (1896-1957) was the last Prince of Lampedusa and the novel was published posthumously in 1958. It’s set in the spring of 1860 at a time when Fabrizio, Prince of Salina, still ruled over Sicily - albeit in “decadent and impoverished aristocracy, deaf to the upheavals of the world” (as I’ve seen one reviewer describe things)… but then Garibaldi landed in Sicily and the Prince had to decide whether to resist the forces of change or come to terms with them. It’s a renowned, highly-praised book with an impressive sense of long gone glory and an elegance of language but, I’m afraid, I really struggled to come to terms with it. Apparently, there’s a 1963 film of the book and perhaps, if I saw it, it might make me want to re-read the book. Not one of my favourite books of the year. Sorry.
Broken Greek (Pete Paphides): Moira recommended this (published in 2020). I’d never heard of the writer (apparently he’s had a career in music journalism… and he’s also married to Caitlin Moran). Although he’s 20 years younger than me, we share the fact that we both grew up in Birmingham. His parents moved from Cyprus to Brum in the 1960s in the hope of a better life (with no money and very little English) and opened a fish-and-chip shop in Acocks Green. Shy and introverted, Paphides stopped speaking from age 4 to 7, but he ended up ‘discovering’ pop music (‘Top of the Pops’, ‘Dial-a-Disc’) – which provided him with the safety net he needed to protect him from the tensions of his home life. It’s a long book (582 pages!)… which, in fact, only covers his life up to the age of 13 (so there might be more to come?). Paphides was (and probably still is) passionate about music and, even from an early age, spent all his pocket money on records. He’s a natural story-teller and I found his recollections of Brum (complete with doing an entire circuit of the number 11 bus route – just like my grandmother used to do!) and the trials and tribulations of growing up absolutely captivating. For me, it contained just a little too many musical insights and details (fascinating though they were), but this is a really very lovely book: tender, funny and overflowing in musical trivia and knowledge. I highly recommend it.
PS: I also re-read Kate Atkinson's 'Big Sky' this month (it's our Storysmith bookgroup's latest book).
