Thursday, 16 August 2012

Donna Leon

Talking about Donna Leon, she is another one I should have put on the list.
I would like to capture half - no, all - of the simple elegance with which she writes.
Donna Leon writes novels, set in Venice, featuring the Italian detective Commissario Guido Brunetti. The novels are, in my experience, consistently good and by 'good' I mean they are readable, accessible, valuable and, in short, worth reading. Other people seem to agree. Here are some snippets from the review-blurb on a back cover:
  • she tells a good story ~ Scotsman
  • clever, vivid and wholly absorbing ~ Observer
  • an emotionally complex, intellectually and morally satisfying narrative ~ Scotland on Sunday
How does she do it?

Like Maeve Binchy, she builds her story through conversations between friends and this is the key to the whole tenor of her books. Commissario Brunetti has friends. In fact, he's a friend by nature and quickly becomes a firm favourite of the reader.
I am reading Wilful behaviour. Let's look, chapter by chapter, at some of these conversations.
  • 1. The explosion came at breakfast ... Guido Brunetti's wife Paola is enraged by the treatment of women as displayed in the morning papers. The conversation progresses naturally to a mention of Paola's students at the university where she teaches and later that day one of her students, Claudia, approaches her with a question.
  • 2.'There's someone to see you, sir' ... The same day, at the Questura were he works, Guido has a visitor. It is his old friend Marco Erizzo. They adjourn to a bar and, over a small glass of wine, Marco spills out his problems.
  • 3. At dinner that evening, Guido and Paola tell each other about their day. Their conversation eddies around the earlier conversations with Marco and Claudia.
  • 4. A week or so later Claudia and Paola speak again.
  • 5. The next day, Claudia goes to speak to Guido at the Questura.
  • 6. As a result of his conversation with Claudia, Guido goes to talk to his father-in-law, Count Orazio Falier.
  • 7. At home for lunch, Guido briefly relates the morning's conversations to Paola, amidst all the banter of a family meal.
  • 8. Back at the office, Guido phones another old friend, Lele Bortoluzzi.
  • 9. At home, Paola and Guido talk about her father and his father. The next day, Claudia is found murdered. Guido phones Paola to tell her. He assesses the crime scene with his colleague Vianello. Conversations follow with the landlady and the flatmate.
  • 10. Conversations continue with the landlady and the flatmate and with the pathologist at the scene of crime; and with Vianello.
  • 11. Guido and Vianello work together in the dead girl's flat and then Guido goes to talk with a contact of Claudia's, an old woman whom she looked upon as a grandmother; Hedi Jacobs.
  • 12. Guido walks back to the Questura and goes in to talk to Signorina Elettra, 'the woman who does', his secret weapon. Signorina Elettra is the chief's personal assistant and, while there, Guido is summoned into Vice-Questore Patta's office. They speak and later in the afternoon, Guido receives a call from the pathologist and then goes down to the lab to look at some of the evidence collected from the scene of the crime. The conversations are fragmentary but they are connected.
  • 13. We are on page 110, the story is well under way and further conversations with Paola and Signorina Elettra continue to move the story forward.
That's all you need to know. The story builds conversation by conversation. 
Now you can go and do it.
Wilful behaviour, Donna Leon. Arrow,  2009
Paperback, 368 pages
ISBN-10: 0099536625; ISBN-13: 978-0099536628
Originally published in hardback by William Heinemann, 2002
ISBN: 0434009946
The book:
The author:
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A visit to the library

I went to the library yesterday and came home with five books, three of them were novels written by women. The other two were not novels. Three novels, all written by female writers - and this is not unusual. There is something about books written by some women writers that I like. Put it another way. There is something about books written by men that I don't like. Is that true?
Not entirely.
There are plenty of books written by women that I don't like. In fact, when I think about it, most of the books in the library, whether written by men or women, are books that I don't like, won't ever like. It's the same with poetry.

I scan the shelves of poetry and hope, hopelessly, to find something that rises above the awful mediocrity of human futility. And fail, more often than not. Not always, it's true. Occasionally, I light upon an RS Thomas or a Gillian Clarke and my spirits rise and respond. But not always. Not often.
One of the other, non-novel, books I came home with yesterday is a book called Serious Poetry by Peter McDonald. I'm looking forward to getting into that and engaging brain to brain with the author and with the poets 'from Yeats to Hill', grappling with purpose and intent, 'form and authority', as it says. The other 'non-novel' is, interestingly, also related to poetry. It is Now all roads lead to France by Matthew Hollis, the acclaimed biography of Edward Thomas. I revere Edward Thomas - it is a sickness of our age; my age, at least. But even then, much - most?- of his poetry leaves me cold, or worse, lukewarm. I revere him as a poet not so much for the product but for the potential; because of his evident integrity.

[At this point I go to my shelves, the small, dark-stained wood, three-shelf bookcase that my Grandfather made (or is that another personal urban myth?), and search for my book of Edward Thomas - Edward Thomas: Collected Poems, with foreword by Walter de la Mare. It is a slim volume alongside those of DH Lawrence and Thomas Hardy. [I do have another novel out from the library at the moment, The Return of the Native by Thomas Hardy. And he's a man.] Nothing ever quite touched the *** (supply adjective: simplicity, success, majesty) of Adlestrop but Adlestrop would not exist but for the rest. We write to write one *** (supply noun: work, success, ...) and we are lucky - blessed - if we achieve even that.]

I have a theory. Women writers, some women writers, are are able to approach closer to their truth than most men. And their truth, the truth of the individual writer, is our truth. Most men are evading it; and most women for that matter. Fewer men seem to be able to find that bridge across the chasm that connects them with this inner integrity. You know it when you see it, and you see it if you're really looking for it.
If all this sounds like elitist guff, I don't think it is. All human beings (have the capacity to) recognise (this kind of) truth. In most of us, however, this capacity has been suppressed either by the imposition of false authority or by - that is, as the result of - fear. It is the writer's job, the artist's job, to enable reconnection.

What did I bring home?
Suffer the little children by Donna Leon
Something might happen by Julie Myerson
The gravediggers daughter by Joyce Carol Oates
I'll report back later.
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Thursday, 2 August 2012

Other people's novels

I'm looking for equivalence.
Which novel by which author comes closest to the tale I'm trying to tell?
Is there a match? Does anything come close?
Here are a few contenders. (The list keeps getting longer, so I'd better nail it while I can.)
  • Joanna Trollope
  • Maeve Binchy
  • Mark Haddon
  • Nick Hornby
  • Jon McGregor
  • Kamila Shamsie
  • Sebastian Faulkes
  • Ian McEwan
  • Ian Rankin
  • Donna Leon
  • Robert Harris
  • Sam Bourne
  • Kate Moss
My story has historical, crime and suspense elements in it but it is essentially about people and society. If you see where I'm coming from.
So perhaps it is most like Sebastian Faulkes's A Week in December except that it is not a week and it is not in December and it is not set in London and doesn't have a terrorist subplot - yet. But, in its own way it is perhaps a 'state of the nation' novel.

A Week in December
I have blogged elsewhere about Jon McGregor's remarkable first novel, If Nobody Speaks of Remarkable Things; see After the Silence. I can only hope to aspire to his sensitive and realistic portrayal of contemporary society and local community. Joanna Trollope heads the list because of her felicity in handling contemporary family dramas and her clean, elegant writing. This is accessible, contemporary fiction at its best. Similarly Maeve Binchy relates the stories of everyday, ordinary people. Mark Haddon comes close with his book A Spot of Bother. But ... well, he doesn't do Joanna Trollope as well as Joanna Trollope does. The main difference is, I suppose, that he is a man. The book is a male take on the domestic drama with all the disturbing undertow of the male psyche. I have no intention of writing a psychodrama but I wouldn't mind achieving a 'deep, sharp humanity'.

A Spot of Bother
Nick Hornby is another man who had a go at the domestic drama in his novel How To Be Good and, bravely, he takes on the female point of view. Well done him. Again, it might be thought of as a 'state of the nation' novel or perhaps, better, a 'confused mind of the nation' novel if the nation is held to reside in the suburban streets of Greater London. Much of it does, of course (reside in the suburban streets of Greater London); especially the literati and cognoscenti. A large number of them didn't like this novel - which tells you more about them than it does about the novel. It's good, if quirky and off-beam and it touches a nerve.

How To Be Good
Kamilla Shamsie's second novel Salt and Saffron is a confection and a delight but Kamilla Shamsie deals with life-as-it-is-lived with a deep humanity and insight. If this is chick lit then I'm a chick. I love the bounce and vitality of the writing.

Salt and Saffron
I don't think I have read any Ian McEwan. Or have I?. I did see the film of Atonement and I'd like to try reading Solar sometime; but you can see I have a problem. I am suspicious of Literary literature.
And then there is what I called the historical, the criminal and the sense of suspense, hence, Ian Rankin, Donna Leon, Sam Bourne and Kate Mosse. Robert Harris is in a league of his own with books like The Ghost, Enigma, Pompeii, Imperium. He has it all: clean, clear writing, historical acumen and a sense of plot. If he lacks anything, it is perhaps in depth of character and a certain sense of humanity. His writing can sometimes be, or appear to be, clinical.

Enigma
So, am I any closer?
Like I said,
My story has historical, crime and suspense elements but it is essentially about people and society. If you see where I'm coming from?
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Tuesday, 31 July 2012

Losing [my] medallions: After the silence

Losing [my] medallions: After the silence: OK. So, I concentrate on the pattern of words, the characters emerge and events actual and potential begin to take shape. Are you still with me?

Monday, 30 July 2012

Joanna Trollope on BBCRadio3

Great to hear Joanna Trollope this morning on Essential Classics, BBCRadio3  
Is this available as a podcast? Could it be?
Joanna Trollope talked briefly about how she chooses the subjects of her novels by tapping into current preoccupations and how she enjoys doing the research for the books, talking to people with first hand experience of the issues involved. In particular, she spoke about The Other Family published in 2010 and her most recent book, The Soldier's Wife.
Very interesting.

Joanna Trollope:
 The Other Family 
Hardcover, 336 pages, published by Doubleday; 1st edition (18 Feb 2010)
ISBN-10: 0385616147 ISBN-13: 978-0385616140
Details on Amazon

The Soldier's Wife
Paperback, 432 pages, published by Black Swan (14 Feb 2013)
ISBN-10: 0552776424 ISBN-13: 978-0552776424
Details on Amazon 

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Salman Rushdie: The Enchantress of Florence. A review.

Salman Rushdie's The Enchantress of Florence finds him on familiar, East-meets-West ground, as a Florentine refugee turns up at the Mughal court, says Tim Adams in a Guardian review.

368 pages hardcover; Jonathan Cape; First Edition First Printing edition (3 April 2008)
ISBN-10: 0224061631 ISBN-13: 978-0224061636 (details from Amazon)

'This book is a load of old cobblers' I was thinking most of the time I was reading it. It teeters on the brink of being thrown over in favour of something else and indeed I almost gave it up on more than one occasion in favour of something more intelligent and sensible, but then it beguiled me into reading another page and another page.
It is a conjuring trick; a hall of mirrors.
So I kept on reading one more page until in the end I discovered I had been reading a masterpiece; a cultural, historical and human tour de force. It seems, superficially, to be nothing much more than artful, colourful fluff, a tiresome confection, but, by the end, the 'fluff' has consolidated into, or perhaps better, out of the fluff has appeared a magical evocation of an age and its people. I put the book down having read the last page stunned by its audacity and its artistry. It is a work of art, of genius, superficially frivolous, totally profound. 'Old cobblers', it transpires, joined end to end, maketh magic.
The story is the story, overall, of the renaissance mind.
It is the time of Shakespeare and Elizabeth I, but set elsewhere. Niccolo Machiavelli in Medici Florence, The Ottoman empire in Turkey, the great Mughal emperor Akbar in India, the discovery of the New World - these are the fixed points in a shimmering mirage of a tale. Wonderful.
It is a complete waste of time until, at the end, you realise what Rushdie has done.

For more reviews see Goodreads.
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Sunday, 8 July 2012

Tweet for the day

From Twitter:

Just as we must dance as if no one is watching, we must write as if no one is reading. — Robin LeFevers
... as if ... Dancing.