Normal Rules Don’t Apply - Kate Atkinson

 

Let me begin with a confession - I am a huge Atkinson fan and so am totally biased. Still - I think you will adore this book, like I do.

Kate Atkinson’s latest book is a collection of short stories entitled ‘Normal Rules Don’t Apply’, more riddle than narrative - a clue lies in the title. Atkinson gifts us with a book that we can choose to read as a disparate collection of stories, or not. I have chosen the latter, knowing as I do how Atkinson likes to surprise and delight her readers. In her novel, Life After Life, she took us on a merry dance, breaking the norms of narrative writing until the story was perfected. She continues in a similar vein here, but takes the experiment to the next level.  

The twelve stories in the collection are linked in numerous ways; firstly through setting.  The book begins and ends on Grassholm Farm, close to the Green Dragon pub, which in turn is connected to the fictional Green Acres television serial. What a lovely touch to create a collection of characters whose one point of connection is the local pub! On a symbolic level, Green Acres represents a fictional reality, in contrast to the many alternative realities that are presented in this text - after all, one fake reality is just as valid as the next!

Another connection is the way Atkinson plays with the rules of storytelling, creating a reality where unexpected things happen. For example, one main character dies close to the start of the story, but that doesn’t stop her first person narration! Another character is a talking horse. (He is so compelling that Atkinson uses him in two different stories) as well as a talking dog!  Another story involves a character from the fairytale that someone is reading popping into the world of the story and ringing the doorbell.

It seems that in the world of this book, anything is possible. The rules of narrative do not apply, or at least Atkinson is bending them as far as possible and is testing us as readers.  How far can she try our incredulity?  A woman giving birth to kittens?  Why not! She has done it before, in her excellent book. “Not the End of the World’, and she makes passing reference to the same idea here too. This time she presents us with an Immaculate Conception, which is brought about after an intense school inspection.  Did I mention that this book will have you laughing out loud?  It may be dark, and it may poke fun at humanity, but it is very droll, in a very Kate Atkinsonian sort of way. 

The titles of the twelve stories are also connected: a title in one story is a catchphrase in another, ‘What if!’And characters too have a habit of wandering into different stories - Franklyn, Mable and Father Matthew turn up repeatedly. A similar repeated motif is the reference to the scent of violets, which peppers the entire text, and even becomes the name of a character if you take the trouble to notice. And of course there are the repeated references to that unique sound “Ting’ that means so much in the book - be it a church bell, a text alert or doorbell.  Like the quiet ping of a light switch going on.  

In almost every story there is a loyal dog, remaining steadfast by its owner’s side.  From Meg, the old man’s dog in the first story, to Kerry, named for Mr Kingshott’s  mistress, Holdfast and Nosewise, Aoife’s royal hounds, along with countless other dog foxes and witches’ cats, this is a book filled with four-legged companions.  Perhaps Atkinson is saying that in another reality this book is actually THEIR story, and we humans are merely sidekicks. I would not be surprised!

Atkinson accounts for all of this craziness in ‘Gene-sis’, where she introduces Kitty, an office worker, ‘With a secret librarian soul’, who works in advertising. It is she who is charge of the world, she who flicks the switch each time things get out of hand, to reboot the universe so to speak.So all our recent bad weather, the forest fires, the mud slides, the disappearing species - all Kitty’s fault. It is trickier than you might think, but there is something comforting in the idea that Kitty is doing her best to get it right. There is always a next time after all!

For those who take the time to look, there is much to observe in Kate Atkinson’s latest book. She has cleverly laid out riddles and connections for us to discover, but even without them, this is a book to enjoy. I am sure this will be a book to return to again and again to seek new motifs which may have alluded me this time round - I am certain there must be many.  ‘Normal Rules Don’t Apply’ apparently.  You have been justly warned. This is a book for fans and for those who have not yet fallen under Atkinson's spell, and that includes you too! 

If I Tell ~ Gill Perdue

I finished this gripping thriller in two sittings, the first was on an overnight stint in an overcrowded A&E room. So often with this book, fact and fiction merged for me, beginning when two policemen arrived at the hospital with a man in handcuffs, seeking medical assistance.  For those of you who don't know, this is not unlike the scenario at the start of Perdue's first novel in the Shaw and Darmody series, 'If I Tell'. The second and final sitting was late last night and I awoke this morning wondering how the main characters, Laura, Jenny and Niamh were doing - a telltale sign that a book has gotten under my skin, and this one certainly did. 

However, the most striking thing for me about this book was how acquainted I am with where the book is set. The story takes place in Dublin, yes, but it is based close to where I live and work, so at times it felt as if the text was not a piece of imaginary work but an article from a local newspaper. I think, if anything, this amplified the plot's chilling effect on me as a reader. Knowing so well the streets where some of the darkest events happen in the book, I found myself texting my teenage daughter to cut her evening walk short and keep to the main roads.

But that is probably the same for so many people who have read this novel, and that is the point: location doesn’t actually matter - violence against women and children can happen anywhere, anytime.  There's a normalcy to it that this book rails against at its very core. Enough is enough, Perdue shouts to the sky, the reader, the world.  Like one protagonist says to the other: 'We both have to tell our stories - so that it stops happening'. 

This in a vital way, is what Perdue is doing by writing this book - it is the titular concern after all - 'If I Tell Worse Will Happen'.  I wasn't expecting how outspoken and defiant Laura would be as she reflects on the injustice shown to all those who are subject to unspeakable violence. Yet in her book, Perdue is braver than most because she writes the unspeakable, and her gaze is steadfast and fixed. She insists that we do not look away. She cleverly takes us through the ordeal that her characters face because she has woven a story around them that is genuine, compelling, and that we can relate to, with characters that are warm, familiar, and that we are totally invested in.  So when they finally open-up and tell their stories, we feel compelled to listen, regardless of how unsettling and disturbing those words are to hear. With passionate words reminiscent of Bronte’s Jane Eyre, Perdue decries the injustice of the justice system, and demands change. 

Bronte gave us one defiant voice in her book where Perdue gives us three: Laura, Niamh and Jenny.  A triptych of female narrators, all speaking in the first-person present-tense, creates three-fold tension and a powerful sense of immediacy. The technique allows us to get inside the heads of three very important female characters, and while there are male characters in the text, we only view them at a distance. I think the impact of this on the reader is that we gain a very strong understanding of the female experience in the world of the novel, which reflects the book's theme and is crucial to its success. That being said, there are lots of interesting male characters here too and each of the women have positive experiences with men.  Niamh's father is very kind and accepting of her.  Laura's husband is forever patient and understanding, and Jenny's father, and boyfriend Luke, are both very tender and sensitive to her needs. Perhaps this is something that Persue will devlop in her second novel in the Shaw and Darmody series, called 'When They See Me', which is out now.

'If I Tell' is great company if you are ever stuck in A&E, or anywhere indeed, and need a gripping read to whisk you away to another reality, even if and especially perhaps, it happens to be set on your doorstep!  It may be all the more thrilling for that.

Michelle Burrowes

The Quiet Music of Gently Falling Snow ~Jackie Morris

The visual equivalent of an iced tea in summertime! The Quiet Music of Gently Falling Snow by the wonderful Jackie Morris.

I return to this beautiful book again and again and just escape into its magical world filled with strange instruments and unusual animals. I like to unravel the narrative of each  image set in unknown, frozen lands. 

While the book consists of a collection of musically themes illustrations and folk tales, I must admit that I personally use this text as an opportunity to engage in some slow-looking. The author has kindly given us a mystery to untangle, a quest to complete and each time that I return to the image - another scenario presents itself. Like the the turn of the kaleidoscope, we never come across the same image twice. 

Hours can drift away between the covers of this rich, compendium of stories and art - be warned!

I Am The Subway ~ Kim Hyo-eun

This beautiful book written and illustrated by South Korean author Kim Hyo-eun, is translated by Deborah Smith and was originally published in 2016 when it won the Best Illustrated Children's Book Awards in the New York Times Book Review and well deserved too. It charts a day in the life of the Seoul subway, the longest subway system in the world with 7.2 million daily users.

The illustrations are

watercolour paintings and are beautifully done. It is interesting how the artist has chosen to show people from various angles: we don't see much facial detail but are given just a suggestion of who they are and how they're feeling just by the colour that the artist uses to depict them. He also expresses so much about the characters through body language and how they position themselves on the train. Some are slumped over, tired after their busy day, others peek shyly through the opening carriage doors.

The author brings these characters to life by presenting us with colourful scenes of their lives outside the train - such as the shoemaker in his golden workshop, the grandmother swimming in the blue sea. Colour is also used to create vistas of the world outside the subway, such as the busy street where the student goes to school. This clever use of colour teaches us that all of these characters have their own interesting, wondrous lives that we can only imagine. We cannot help but be curious about them, but it is the subtle use of colour that brings these characters to life in our imaginations.

I especially like how the author gradually builds up the amount of colour in the book. It begins with very plain monotone hues becoming more colourful as the book progresses. The first image is painted with muted shades of green and blue, in a haze of grey, suggesting a cold dawn at the start of the day. The final image in the book is of the same scene but at sunset, utilising beautiful orange, yellow and light blue washed. This golden ending of the book is completely satisfying and reassuring.

However, most of the text is concerned not with the landscape outside the train, are the characters who inhabit it. As the book progresses the characters are painted in a more colourful way to depict their colourful lives outside of the train. Just as the train picks up speed, and the story develops, so the illustrations become more vibrant, more deeply saturated. The colours from the outside world have seeped inside the train until at the very end we're given a beautiful full-coloured, detailed painting of the characters inside the train.

Their faces are no longer abstract - each has different features which mirror their individual stories. They are no longer a mass of featureless strangers. They have become humanised and we can see that each character is fully alive and each carries their own colourful stories. I have never seen colour used this way in a text. How clever! Kim Hyo-eun's book is simply wonderful and I highly recommend it for those who love illustration, trains, people-watching or all things Korean.

By Michelle Burrowes 2023

Our Garden Birds ~Matt Sewell

This beautiful book by Matt Sewell features the birds in our gardens that are so familiar to us. The author provides us with information about the habits of the birds and their histories. More than anything though this book gives us a selection of beautifully drawn illustrations that are full of humor and personality. The drawings remind me of Charles Dickens's animalistic caricatures and his ability to transform all sorts of people into animal form. Here Sewell has managed to do the reverse, creating little birds that have definite human qualities and character. This is a book to keep close to your garden window, to dip into now and then when you want to slip away from the hassles of life. It is a reminder that those colourful visitors who frequent our gardens are not so very different from ourselves, if we take the time to notice. 

Remembering Hughes and Mantel

 This year we lost two wonderful authors, particular favourites of mine: Shirley Hughes and Hilary Mantel. Each woman was a master in her own way - the former created the most beautiful characters through her warm, swirling, colourful drawings, and the latter dazzled us with her rich, imaginings of past worlds and happenings. Hughes's depiction of Dogger is just as unforgettable as Mantel's Cromwell - and through their stories, we will forever remember the women who brought them to life. 

My bookshelves are full of the words, drawings and books of Mantel and Hughes, and while I am sad to think that they have written their last, I am cheered by the stories that they have left behind - and am forever grateful that they were so prolific and hard-working while they were with us. Their legacies are their characters, the very ones who kept them up long into the night and to whom they gave their precious time.  In their turn, these characters will help breath life anew into the memory of Shirley and Hilary as they sail away from this temperal realm.

And one last thing... Mantel's books are full of ghosts and the undead. If by any chance she would like to haunt this author from time to time, she'd be very welcome. Just knock twice! 

Lessons in Chemistry ~ Bonnie Garmus

If, like me just 24 hours ago, you haven't read Lessons in Chemistry, by Bonnie Garmus, please stop reading this post and go get yourself a copy. I haven't been this excited about a book in some time.  Maybe it is just the time of year - though I doubt it - but I've been thinking a lot about the past, and this book fits my mood entirely. Set in the mid 1950s to early 60s in America, the book should describe the glamorous lifestyle of the modern woman, newly liberated from the kitchen, survivor of the Second World War, sisters of Doris Day and Audrey Hepburn, whose independent spirit could make any girls' dream seem a possibility. But instead, it details the numerous, ridiculously prevalent barriers to success and equlity that women and girls had to endure all their lives, and may still do.  I think this is what gripped me from the first page: this book is not set in the past. It is the story of women and girls today: the inequality persists, though perhaps not so openly.

One notable motif in the book is the idea that women need to take some time for themselves, if they are to stay in touch with who they really are.  I am reminded of Virginia Woolf's notion, that every woman needs a room of her own if she wants to fulfill her potential and Garmus is elaborating upon this idea here, for certain. Indeed, Elizabeth Zott transforms her kitchen onto a labratory, a room of her own, as she experiments with being a single mother and independent scientist. Even her coffee maker is a machine that she has invented, made up of test tubes and chemistry implements.  She literally takes a sledgehammer to her kitchen - destroying the ultimate symbol of domesticity - only to find herself working in a new kitchen as a television cooking instructor.  It seems escaping the confines of the kitchen will be harder than she thought!  

Like Ibsen wrote in his play 'A Doll's House', in 1879, the roles women play can be extensive yet exhausting, but at some point, a woman must be true to herself - or lose her sense of self entirely - and that requires her to be selfish with her time, her talents. In this text, the brilliant and forthright Eizabeth Zott, knows this to be true, then forgets it, and embraces it as a truth once more. She is a scientist and despite her gift, has to deal with relentless attacks on her character and career from numerous men, women and teachers! I spent much of the novel passionately hating the characters who got in Elizabeth's way, gritting my teeth as I endured, as did Elizabeth, their attempts to blight, burden, and abuse her. Garus's brilliance lies in her ability to make us care so much about this character. I suppose I cared so much about Elizabeth because I empathised with her.  I recognise misogyny in the workplace, in society: inequality in the law and the legal system.  Aren't we done with sexism already?  It's almost 150 years since Ibsen wrote his play, but still these themes are relevant.  

While Garmus has chosen to set her book in the middle of the last century, these themes still ring true. The reader roots for Elizabeth and the 'family' of characters that surround her. Each one is as endearing as she is, each villain is as toxic as any that splattered onto the page from Dickens's quill, and like Dickens, Garmus takes every opportunity to explain the psychology behind their cruelty, even allowing some to move from the dark side into the light. 

But more than anything, I found this book to be inspiring. It felt like a healing balm, the antidote to the craziness of modern living. There must be something ironic in that - how a book about the restrictions of life in 1950s America can be liberating in the early 20s in Ireland.  And, at this time of year, when reflecting on the past 12 months, seeing how unfair the world can be and looking ahead to 2023 with some uncertainty, Lessons in Chemistry reconfirmed my faith in humanity and the belief that all will be well. This is not a book that must be read at Christmas time, in fact, I think that it is an especially great book to read at the beginning of a new year.  It reminds us how far we have come in the world, and that we should not sit on our laurels: there is much that needs to be changed in the world, but with good people by our side we can accomplish anything. 

As a teenager I studied Chemistry in school - an extra subject- where a determined and formidable teacher took us during lunch breaks and free classes. She managed to squash a two year course into one, for the simple reason that about five of us girls asked her - the alternative subject was Ballroom Dancing (I kid you not). When I think of it now, she was an amazing teacher to take that onboard - for no extra pay, no extra credit. Elizabeth Zott reminded me of her, her frankness, her certainty - after all, the equations never lie. This book made me want to dig out my old Chemistry notes and become a scientist, or at least appreciate the importance of cracking open the shell of an egg with a knife when cooking and not whacking it off the side of the counter.  If you have read the book, you will understand what I mean...

If you haven't read Lessons in Chemistry yet - well, what are you waiting for?

Grey Bees ~by Andrey Kurkov

I knew I would love this book when I was only a few pages in - there was just something so familiar about this wonderful book set in a world between things. The main character - Sergey - lives in a little town in the Grey Zone between the battle lines of the Ukrainian forces and the Russian backed Separatists. With only an old school friend/enemy for company, Sergey lives a lonely existence, winding his clock, drinking honey vodka and tending to his bees.  Like the protagonist waiting for this bees to wake up and the honeycombs to fill, I spent most of my time reading this book with my knuckles clenched, waiting for something dreadful to occur. There are dangers at every turn - you never know who can be trusted. Will the knock at the door be a friend or foe? Who is creeping outside his tent and whose footprint are those in the snow? That sense of fear is lurking on each and every page - and is purposely done, I believe -as Kurkov tries to capture the reality of what life was like in war-torn Ukraine, in 2015. Of course, as the current Russian attack in Ukraine focuses on Donbas, the Russian speaking regions of Eastern Ukraine are much in our thoughts, giving extra poignancy to this novel first published in 2018.  Yet despite the palpable trepidation the overwhelming mood of this book is positive and life affirming. 

While Sergey leaves the Grey Zone to find greener pastures for his bees, he never really leaves his 'in-between' world very far behind. He cannot easily commit to relationships, such as the one with his wife, Vitalina and daughter, Angelica. They have moved away, leaving Sergey to his beekeeping. Yet when he phones them, his wife's voice seems warm: she reaches out to him, asking him to come to her. But Sergey cannot. He is used to the war zone which is paradoxically a place where he finds peace. As such, Kurkov presents us with the predicament of the Ukrainian people - they fight for peace, remain in a theatre of war because it is their beloved home. 

Nor can Sergey move on and form new relationships. Gayla welcomes her into her home and life, but somehow, he is caught between words - this time in terms of relationships. He cannot move away from the family unit he formed with his wife and daughter. He is stuck again in a no man's land, not married yet not completely separated either. 

His acquaintances Pashka and Petro are not strictly friends - one a Russian speaker, the other a Ukrainian soldier, but they are not strickly enemies either. Like him, they live in the Grey Zone, and share an understanding of the hardships they have all endured.  But Pashka was his enemy at school, 'borrows' from him and bring strangers in the night, while Petro gives him the gift of a hand granade. He travels with his bees, seeking a place where they can gather nectar safely, but wherever he goes, he does not belong. The people look at him strangely when he tells them he is from the Grey Zone - a refugee in his own country. They cannot understand what he has been through or what binds him to his home in no man's land. In a way, this book is really a study into the ties that bind us to country and place, and what it means to be home. What makes home a home when there are no other people there that you love?  No street names, no utilities, no power and not even any post. Kurkov uses the simple character of Sergey Sergeyich to puzzle out these complex questions. 

The use of colour in the book is also really interesting. For much of the text, we are shown a monochrome winter world, where snow covers the earth for miles and miles. There are dots of colour: a blue haversack, a green Lada, a pair of purple slippers - all important objects in this story.   But the sparcity of colour mirrors the shortage of food, electricity and human companionship that epitomises Sergey's world - that is until he re-enters Ukrainian territory on the outskirts of The Grey Zone. He sees miles and miles of sunflowers - the national flower of Ukraine. The colour stretches out across our imaginations like the Ukrainian flag - yellow ground against blue sky - creating a landscape that is incredibly moving. Through this blazing colour drives Sergey in his windowless Lada. The glorious colour is almost heartbreaking: it momentarily captures a sense of nationalistic pride without pomp and ceremony. It's only a man driving home - but it feels like the land itself is welcoming him. The moment is profound and endlessly memorable. If this were Yeats, he'd be sailing on to Innisfree, if it were Tennyson he'd be riding down to Camelot. The feeling of home-coming is eternal and universal. One cannot help but be reminded that, as I write, millions of Ukrainians have been forced to flee their homes, to say goodbye, maybe forever, to the sunflower-filled fields of Ukraine. Kurkov's tale has even more poignancy now, with a pathos that increases daily as Ukraine hemorrhages its people as a result of Putin's war. 

Read this book - I loved every line like I knew I would. 

By Michelle Burrowes

 

The Peculiar Life of a Lonely Postman ~ Denis Theriault

 

 One has to wonder just how much of this short, little book is lost in translation?  Set in Montreal, Canada, the story was created in French, but the version that I read was translated into English by Liedewy Hawke.  I mention this because, unlike most books translated into English, this one must have been particularly challenging I imagine as the text contains numerous three line poems written in the Japanese Haiku style.  I often wonder how much of a poem's meaning is conveyed through its syntax and word choice. How can a poem be translated when  the poet has spent so long threading each syllable, each word together for a specific effect?  From Shakeaspeare to Seamus Heaney - the intended meanings are surely lost in translation, changed, mutated at the very least. 

However, the world of Bilodo the postman is as familiar as any postman I have ever met, though his obsessions and blatant - illegal - disregard for the rules of the postal service are what sets him apart and keep us reading to the end. I cannot say much about the plot - I would hate to spoil it for curious readers - but it leaps and bounds, ofen into the realm of disbelief and you have to make a bit of an effort to follow it wherever it leads. 

Above all else - this is a book about fantasy and what ifs - where Thériault has let his imagination run wild. He creates a world where characters are not limited by financial concerns - who needs a job! - and enjoy endless resources - why have one apartment when I can have two!  Still, as readers, we are only too guilty of imagining our way into a good story, and this is what Thériault does here. He follows where Bilodo leads and ends up someplace unexpected. The ending of the book was quite clever and had me reaching for the sequel immediately. This has to be a good sign, doesn't it?

Truth be told, it was the cover that drew me to this book - a beautiful soft back, textured cover, that had the feel of rough handmade paper suitable for watercolouring. Nomoco is the Japanese artist and illustrator responsible for art that wraps around this text and I am such a fan.  And so we return to where we began - the international appeal of this book. A team of creators from many diverse backgrounds have produced this text that will at times make you blush, but more often will challenge you to believe that the impossible is possible in a busy street in Montreal, in the rain. 

By Michelle Burrowes

The Girl with The Louding Voice

It has been a while since I read a book that I simply could not put down. This was such a book. I was gripped from the first page to the last to learn the fate of this charming Nigerian character, Adunni and I could not rest until I had. Everything from the unusual grammar and syntax to the description of household objects and social norms convinced me to suspend my disbelief and believe completely in this main character all all who journey through these pages.

The story is grim, yet happy - such a conflict. I still am feeling mixed emotions at the story's end.  It must be said that the book contains details of rape and attempted rape and as such I do not think it suitable for everyone.  

Above all else though, is the incredible sound of this book. There is singing, yes, as Adunni's beautiful voice longs to express itself.  But as the title of the book suggests, having a voice is a central theme.  Again and again, characters tell Adunni to stop singing.  This is not because she does not have a nice voice - indeed there is power in it. She is able to sing an unborn baby and its expectant mother to sleep.  She uses her voice to sooth her terminally ill mother and it attracts compliments from others who hear her sing as she works.  But the malevolent characters in the book try to take away her voice.  She is beaten by Big Mama for singing in the garden.  The brutality in the face of Adunni's happiness is shocking. 

But there is another sound that fills this book, it is the sound of Adunni's speech. Adunni's voice is the voice of the narrator in this personal account of life as a 14 year old Nigerian girl. The author uses Adunni's vernacular and writes it phonetically so that we can hear her voice rippling through every page. I still can hear her phrasing ringing in my ears days after finishing the text.  

Adunni meets a neighbour who tries to teach her written English, and we see and hear Adunni change her language as she educates herself, but not entirely!  Adunni masters her use of words as she does her circumstances, learns, adapts and thrives, despite a difficult start in life. She finds her voice - a louding voice - and we know that for Adunni, there will be no going back. 

This book will creep inside your heart and make its home there: a nest where Adunni will sing and sing forever - with a strong, full, louding voice. 

By Michelle Burrowes

The Yule Tomte and the Little Rabbits ~ by Ulf Stark and Eva Eriksson

 

This beautiful book written by Swedish author and screenwriter Ulf Stark, who passed away in 2017.  It is illustrated by author and artist Eva Eriksson and is a must have for anyone who loves Christmas. The story borrows heavily from Swedish folklore and the the Christmas Tompte who brings presents to children at Christmastime. He is a Dobby-like gnome who lives in people's houses or on farms and protects children and animals. If treated badly, he will play tricks and can be grumpy at times. The tompte in this book is certainly grumpy, in fact that is his name! Unlike Percy the Park Keeper - this Tompte is upset when animals come to his home seeking shelter. Yet he is kind despite his best efforts to the contrary.  He doesn't like a fuss and is the most unlikely Christmas character that I have come across in a long time, not since Scrooge perhaps!  

Still, this is a really charming book. Eva Wriksson has created a collection of beautiful illustrations that fills the heart with joy. Published in 2014, this hardback edition is stunningly produced, with a sumptuous red binding in a large format. I have shared lots of illustrations here, just so you can see the quality of the images. 

One interesting thing about this book is that it is broken into 25 sections, one for each day of advent.  What a perfect way to count down to Christmas!  Of course, you don't have to read it in sections, but I strongly recommend it. 

In a way, it it the unexpected meanness of the tompte that reminds us of the spirit of Christmas.  The family of rabbits, embody what Christmas is all about - their faith in the Yule Tompte never wanes.  The little rabbits are especially faithful to the magic of the season - two little rabbits take matters into their own hands and seek out the tompte.  They insist that he visits their home and he cannot refuse them. Their deep concern for one another is truly heartwarming. They live in hope and never doubt that the tompe will come and all will be well. 

And while the yule tompte is meant to bring gifts to the rabbits, it is they who give a gift to him - the return his lost hat!  Yet they also give him something even more important - the gift of friendship and comraderie in the depths of winter. This is something that we can all certainly relate to as 2020 draws to a close. 

The spirit of Christmas is captured between the covers of this beautiful book.  It would make the perfect gift for anyone with an interest in children's literature, or illustration.

By Michelle Burrowes

Wild Swans ~Jung Chang

I realise that I am coming late to this book.  While friends of mine were discussing this text in their book clubs some eleven years ago, I was always reluctant because of stories of foot binding and all sorts of imagined horrors.  So I always demurred and went for an easier option.  But recent interaction with Chinese nationals piqued my interest in the country and culture of China.
I can honestly say that this book was an education. I knew virtually nothing about the history of this vast country before opening the book and certainly had little understanding of the experiences of its people over the centuries. This book deals with the lives of three generations of women in the same family and moves from 1908 to 1991.  Each generation, it has to be said, suffered greatly and endured much, but nevertheless, survived in a brutal and unforgiving society.  People in China have lived through starvation, war, the erosion of civil liberties, yet still they care deeply about Chinese society - from a micro level - the family unit, to the macro level of their country as a whole.  That is what struck me most about this book -  just how much the author loves China despite all the suffering that she and her family endured at the hands of warlords, Japan and the Communist Party.  Despite being tortured, silenced, accused in the wrong, threatened and brutalised, Jung Chang has a deep love for her country and its people.
She struggled to accept that Chairman Mao did not always act for the betterment of the Chinese people: she adored him without question for so long. But the stories that she tells about countless individuals who like her family, were abused and brutalised for decades, have a devastating toll on her and us as readers.  It is very difficult to argue in the face of such detailed criticism.  Mao was not good for China - the Chinese people suffered greatly at the hands of the Party and still do I am afraid.  For me, the most disturbing part of the story, and there are many I must warn you, was the Cultural Revolution, that saw pupil turn on teacher, child turn on parent and the destruction of countless cultural artefacts that are simply irreplaceable. It is hard to consider that so much of Chinese culture was destroyed so pointlessly, just to flatter someone's ego, to appear zealous and to demonstrate affiliation to a Party. The eliteism and inequality in Chinese society under Communist rule came as such a shock to me.  I don't know how I was so naive to believe that social equity was part of Communism experienced in China.  The competition between people to be seen as better than their neighbours, led them to turn on one another, in a cruel and savage way, but also gave them an opportunity to show great courage and bravery.  And that is the amazing thing about this book - everywhere there is a duality and impossible paradox.  There is national pride and disappointment, cowardice and bravery, truth and deception, want and plenty, kindness and cruelty, destruction and creativity, selfishness and selflessness - almost on every page. These are elements in every society of course, yet it seems so very pronounced in the world described in this text. Again and again we, as readers, are hopeful that conditions will improve for the citizens, but then things become immeasurable worse until it almost feels that no country has ever suffered as much as the Chinese in the last century!
It is not surprising that this book is banned in China.  It reveals an insight into a part of the world that is still quite closed-off to the outside. China is hugely important on the world stage, and is becoming ever more so.  Just today, China has implemented new laws that will see the erosion of many civil liberties in Hong Kong - something that must must be so terrifying to Hong Kongers themselves.  We take such liberties for granted in the West - the right to protest, complain, elect our political representatives and to vote those we do not support out of power - these rights do not belong to the people on mainland China.  Those who speak out do so at great peril.
Yet, one thing that this book championed is the resilience of the Chinese people and how they will go to take care of their families and friends.  This will stick with me forever - as will the version of China that is presented in this book.
The author's mother was made kneel on glass, her father was tortured for years although he had given so much of his life and passion to the Party.  She had friends who jumped out of buildings because they felt their lives were too difficult to bear, and she tells of countless other agonies that add up to a collection of horrors that are so difficult to explain, unless you have read the book.  And you cannot think that such an existence is the domain of the past.  I was shocked to find so many echoes of the past in modern day America.  Just as Mao claimed that there was no Famine, Trump claims Covid-19 is not something to worry about... Just as Mao always kept an enemy on hand - someone for the public to hate, so too does Trump.  He always needs a 'villain' for the America people to hate - be it Comey, Schiff or Clinton. It seems that there are some methods of tyranny that are used by countless dictators the world over.
I hope that the resilience of the Chinese people will continue, despite all the hardships that they have endured in the past and at present. This book has taken me on an amazing journey, from the comforts of my sofa - into the far reaches of a country so distant and different to my own that that alone has been a marvellous thing.  Despite this book being banned in China, I see it as a testament to the generations of silenced Chinese people whose stories needed to be told.  I have heard those stories and I urge you to read this book and  listen too.

By Michelle Burrowes

Where My Heart Used to Be ~ Sebastian Faulks

I've just finished reading Sebastian Faulks's novel, 'Where My Heart Used to Beat' and I have to say, I want to go back to the start and re-read it. That's not because the book was unbearably complicated, but because by the novel's ending. I was gripped by the story and enchanted by its characters, I don't want to say goodbye to them just yet. This is a story about one man's long, complicated, lonely life - simply that.  Yes - it really considers how can a person go through life not connected to another human being.  Are we actually alone, or does it just feel that way?  After all, we all have parents, acquaintances, and colleagues, don't we?  This novel focuses on someone whose life began during the Great War, and spanned the Second World War, its aftermath, the Cold War and right up until the 1980s.  I have always wondered about the generations who lived between the Wars, how they coped and how they survived that awful time, not just the soldiers, but their wives and children. This novel considers some of those questions and follows the life of English doctor, Robert Hendricks, the novel's protagonist, as he looks back over his life and begins to heal. He is contacted by someone who fought with his father in WWI and so begins a period of reflection that changes his life forever.

This is an incredibly moving book, Faulks takes your breath away with his hard hitting pathos and the end of this book genuinely left me winded.  

What was so impressive was the way that Faulks builds to this point in the plot. He slowly layers detail upon detail in a meticulous fashion, but not so that you'd notice. It is only at the book's end that everything falls into place with staggering effect.  Faulks traces all of the minor and major moments in a life and connects them all together, creating a matrix of memories that is reminiscent of how Dickens creates Pip in 'Great Expectations', or David in 'David Copperfield'.  We live in the day to day life of these characters, and learn to love them. So it is with Robert Hendricks. From his earliest memories living with his mother, then school life with his Latin tutor, to life in the trenches on the Western Front, to endless hours with his patients and colleagues on the psychiatric ward - we follow Robert wherever he goes and come to know him intimately.

This book also deals with developments in psychology and the treatment of mentally ill patients during the twentieth century - Hendricks is a doctor of psychiatry. As such, the novel seems to me to be a cross between Faulks's 'Birdsong' and his later novel 'Human Traces' - not in terms of plot, but in terms of subject matter. Here the author returns to two topics that he knows well.  He is so at home in this period of history, it is easy to forget that he isn't a contemporary of Owen or Sassoon.  Is there any living fiction writer who writes so well or so movingly about WWI?

I'd happily recommend this book to a friend, but only after I have read it once more - I can't part with Robert Hendricks just yet.

By Michelle Burrowes

The Convictions of John Delahunt ~ by Andrew Hughes

I've just been transported to the dark and corrupt Dublin of the 19th century - a place that I had always imagined that I would enjoy sauntering though.  In his second book, 'The Convictions of John Delahunt', Andrew Hughes takes us from the elegance of Merrion Square, to the squalor of the Dublin tenements, along alleyways where horrendous acts of depravity and cruelty take place. 
Given that the titular character begins his narrative in a prison cell, things do not bode well for Mr Delahunt, but I honestly did not expect the world of this text to be so dark and grim.  Neighbours turn on neighbours; one person's misfortune is another person's opportunity.  Georgian Dublin is a heartless place, inhabited by back-stabbing cutthroats who would sell you as soon as look at you.

I have no better opinion of humanity having read this book and I think that my view of Georgian Dublin has forever been changed for the worse.  Yes there was poverty at the time.  Yes there were unscrupulous individuals, but unlike an author, say like Dickens, who also deals with a grim and corrupt society, there is nothing to balance the brutality that Hughes describes. Where is Joe Gargery or Mr Micawber?  Where in the humor, the redemption?  This leads me to consider, is it always necessary to depict that brighter side of life?  Perhaps not.  Andrew Hughes's book prefers to dwell in darker corners.

This is a story about the criminal mind, its focus is on the mentality and social circumstance that creates a murderer.  As such, this book is successful.  The very strange thing is that most of the really disturbing events in this story are the very ones that are based on fact - they actually took place.  The post-script is quite shocking and the most disturbing reading of all.  Human life seemed to have mattered so little at the time.
I am not sure if I am glad that I read this book, but I know that l will not forget it ... 

Every time I pass though Gardiner Street or Merrion Square I will be thinking of Delahunt and taking a backward glance over my shoulder.  

By Michelle Burrowes

The Wreckage ~ Michael Crummey

Just because I don't talk about it doesn't mean that I haven't spent the entire night having imagined conversations with you about it. So much of our lives is spent living inside our heads - it is difficult to calculate what things are important to us, where our passions lie and who we really are!  So little of our preoccupations even exist outside of our heads.  So many conflicts and arguments never actually happen - we imagine them all.  Maybe the same can be said of love?  Do we convince ourselves that we are in love when we are sitting alone, contemplating another person?  Do we 'talk' ourselves into believing that that love is reciprocated?  In 'The Wreckage', the main characters,Sadie and Wish, are separate for much of the novel, yet each cannot forget their passionate affair many years before.  That intense encounter changed their lives completely, consumed their waking hours in the years since, and influenced the life-choices that they made.  Crummey is forcing us to consider the great relationships of our lives in this novel.  He is asking, are their people who mark us forever?
Is there a great love for every one of us - a love that will alter our lives and who we are?  Can another person have such an impact on another person's character?  What is it that happens to us when we fall in love with another person - do we change and if so, is it for the better...?
Human relationships are at the very heart of this novel set before and after the Second World War, and leading up to the present day.  Crummey perfectly presents us with vibrant characters and cleverly makes us care for their welfare as they collide with one another and their lives become entangled. There is a young couple from divided Catholic and Protestant communities in a small Newfoundland town, and a Canadian Soldier and his Japanese prison guard, whose lives are as bound up together as are the lives of the young lovers.  Crummey considers how lovers and enemies mark us in this life, how encounters can scar us and leave us reeling for years after, struggling to regain our ballast.  There are people that we never get over meeting - some people whose voices we can never evacuate from our heads - this book deals with those human interactions. There have been endless encounters that have effected my life - countless encounters, countless kindnesses, countless cruelties. Aren't we all the same?  Grandmothers, aunts, sisters, teachers, pupils, sons and daughters whose comments still ring in my ears years later - and that is just it... How many of our interactions with others are only brief encounters, that reverberate at length in our minds.  In Crummey's novel, the male protagonist, Wish, is haunted by a single comment that his girlfriend said to him, "Don't make a whore of me."   You can imagine how a young Catholic might find that line particularly jarring, just as he was about to do exactly that.  He is also burdened by memories from his time as a prisoner of war in a Japanese internment camp and later in Nagazaki, when the atom bomb was dropped.  The memory of seeing a dead woman with a living infant feeding at her cold breast is just that kind of image that is central to the Catholic preoccupation with the Madonna and child.  In fairness, this image is one of the most disturbing of the book, but there are more that I cannot mention here.  Crummey has certainly written a love story here - but the novel works on so many levels, symbolism and philosophical questions are never too far from the surface, and that is what makes this text so extraordinary.  Expect suffering, great passion, long distances and short conversations, unanswered questions and shocking revelations - presented in the masterful language that we have come to expect from this wonderful writer, and you will have an idea of what 'The Wreckage' has to offer.  It's a great book - what else is there to talk about?

By Michelle Burrowes

The Coroner's Daughter ~ Andrew Hughes

If you have ever found yourself walking along a Georgian street, imagining what it must have been like to wander there when the houses were newly-built, fanlights newly-polished and panelled doors freshly painted; mused awhile about the inhabitants, from footmen to fine ladies in their high-waisted fashions - then 'The Coroner's Daughter' is a book for you.  Wicklow author Andrew Hughes has managed to take us inside a typical Georgian townhouse in Dublin, back in 1816, breathing life into the tall five-storey main stay of the Dublin landscape.  In the character of Miss Abigail Lawless of Rutland Square, (now Parnell Square) we are presented with a heroine unlike those of contemporary novels such as those by Jane Austen.  Abigail may be as curious as Elizabeth Bennet, who also faces the failings of a beloved father, but the similarity ends there.  Hughes's creation is if anything more like a modern woman than a creature of her time.  She expects to be seen as any man's social equal, possibly because her father treats her that way, but she is not at all resigned to the inequality of her time as one might expect.  In that way, Abigail reminded me of a kind of time traveller, like Claire Randall  from Diana Gabaldon's 'Outlander' series- a modern woman who finds her self cast adrift in the past. Abigail Lawless expects to accompany her father to a medical lecture at The College of Surgeons, takes carriage trips out of the city on her own, wandering the streets of Dublin alone, down its back alleys and thoroughfares.  We know from contemporary letters by Jane Austen that such independent journeys were unheard of - Lizzy Bennet is made fun of for visiting a local neighbour alone and on foot and that was in the relative safety of a small rural village.  For Jane Austen herself carriage rides unaccompanied through London were a shocking luxury and most unusual- she could only afford such freedom at the pinnacle of her literary success when she was in her late 30s.  But young Abigail Lawless (living up to her name perhaps?) cares little for such social mores.  Instead, she follows those she suspects of murder down dark alleyways or to lonely, derelict country houses, to challenge them outright.  But we must remember that being a Georgian heroine, she has not had the advantage of reading the Miss Marple novels and knows little of the art of trapping the guilty by stealth, and with the assistance of a willing police constable!  Again and again, Abigail places herself in great danger, (not unlike Lydia Bennet perhaps?) but in this case it is her passionate desire to know solve a puzzling crime that persuades her to leave the security of her father's house.   In the character of Mr Darby (not Darcy!) we are presented with a dark villain worthy of the name, and in Ewan Weir, her father's young student, we find a charming Scot and fitting side-kick for Abigail. There is undeniably a romantic spark between them, but also a professional respect and a mutual interest in pathology that sets this pair up as a great crime-solving duo who may have numerous crimes to solve in the future.  The ending certainly opens the way for one sequel if not more.  The very thought delights!
If you are prone to dream about those who first inhabited Georgian Dublin, then you will most likely want to shake Andrew Hughes by the hand and thank him for his novel 'The Coroner's Daughter' - for he has kindly done the dreaming for you.
-A must read for Austen fans and Dubliners alike.

Dear Jane

It has been 200 years since you last drew breath on this earth, and we are still captivated by your books and characters.  There are so many mysteries surrounding your life and work - it is no wonder that we have so many questions that we would like to ask you.
For a start, did you like your mother?  So many of your mothers are weak, distant or dead!  It really makes one wonder.
Then there is the great Darcy question... Is he based on a real man? Many question that such a man could exist, but we like to think that he could and in your absence we can imagine that your paths crossed once.
This brings me to my next question: Did you ever know true, requited love?  Not with Bigg-Wither or LeFroy, but with one who cherished you for who you are whom you loved in return?  I hope you did. During those uncharted years, when we know nothing of your whereabouts, perhaps you found complete happiness, wrote a sequel to Pride and Prejudice and were as carefree as a bird.  I wish all these things for you - on this day, when they put your face on the £10 note, when your family kissed you a final goodbye - we think of you and hope that you knew great happiness once - as great as the happiness that you have given to so many around the world.  Rest easy, dearest Jane.
Ni bheidh do leithead ann aris.

By Michelle Burrowes

All the Light We Cannot See ~ Anthony Doerr

The further we move away from 1945, the easier it seems to view the horror of WWII from new perspectives.  Has it taken all this time for the world to consider the German side of the experience? It certainly seems that we have come a long way since the Leon Uris books of my youth, and those classic war films where every German was a villain, every liberator a hero. Well, Anthony Doerr certainly faces this stereotype head on in his Pulitzer Prize-winning novel 'All The Light We Cannot See'. We are presented with a young, blind, French girl, Marie-Laure LeBlanc - enchanting, perceptive and oh so vulnerable. Just as vulnerable is Werner Pfennig, a young German boy - clever, dutiful and brave. Both children suffer greatly because of the war; parents are lost as are homes, possessions and childhoods.  The whole movement of the book is based around their coming together - step by step, a gentle, inevitable progression.  And the novel seems to come down to this moment- their meeting - and on what the next generation have to say to each other, when the adults have made such a mess of things.
In truth, their meeting is crucial: if it goes badly, it'd spell curtains for future peace.  Luckily it is a success.  Is not this the most hopeful of moments?  Doesn't it foretell the inception of the European Union years later? That France and Germany can be such forgiving neighbours in 2017 - after twice facing each other down the barrel of a gun - still surprises me,  yet in Doerr's book, it all seems possible.  There are incredibly brutal acts perpetrated on both sides, and this book contains some of the most horrific I have ever read.  The suffering of German women on the arrival of the Russian troops, as described by Doerr, will haunt me forever.  He shirks from nothing - presenting us with the horror of war - experienced on all sides - because these stories must be told.
But this is just a story after all - and Doerr is a master teller of tales.  Page upon page of vibrant imagery, beautiful language and characters so real that they must have lived once... make this book one that will keep you just where Doerr wants you, while he re-programmes your mind and shines a light on the truth about WWII.  And it suddenly seems to me that Marie-Laure's is not the only blindness at the heart of this novel.  And if there is light - the light the we cannot see - well perhaps now is the time to face that light, that kindness, that hope... because after all... 1945 was such a long time ago.

By Michelle Burrowes

Gone: A Girl; a Violin; a Life Unstrung ~ by Min Kym

It was a sunny afternoon in Dublin, and I had just stumbled from watching a masterclass given by Maxim Vengerov to some very talented young violinists.  With strains of Sibelius still echoing through my head, I wandered by a book shop on Dawson Street and saw Min Kym's autobiography in the window.  The striking black hardback was jacketed in vibrant teal, with the silhouette of a curvaceous violin cut out in the center.  I thought the image intriguing.  I had to have it.

To be honest, I hadn't even heard of Min Kym before I bought the book, but having spent a few days with her voice ringing through my head, and listening to the CD the accompanies the book, I feel that I know her well enough now.  As an autobiographer, Kym manages to walk that tight-rope between story telling and truth that this genre relies upon.
Indeed there were times that I felt that Kym too easily ran from responsibility, blaming all life's problems on her parents for making her too submissive, which resulted in her Stradivarius violin being stolen, her resulting depression and anorexia. But in a way, I think that this was part of the book's charm; her imperfections as a protagonist made her seem more human.  When you read between the pages, you can see that Min was a very determined little girl, every such 'master' musician  has to be selfish with their time, and egotistical to a point.  The young Min was well able to challenge her Korean teacher who lacked the skill to teach her.  Determination and confidence were inherent in the young progeny.  What was so tragic was how an opportunistic crime sent her into a tail-spin and that confident little girl got lost. The hard truth was that it wasn't just a violin that was stolen in the café that day.  

The reader can empathise with Min's loss because in the chapters leading up to the theft, she explains simplistically and poetically what a violin means to a player.  She describes it as her child, a female baby, another limb, her teacher, but is not content with any of these similes.  What is clear, is her utter anguish at the violin's loss and the tragic thing is that this book is a tragedy.  Though the violin was found, the instrument was never returned to her to keep, insurance companies put pay to that, and to this day, it remains locked away in a bank vault, suffering the silent fate of so many of the world's most valuable instruments.  And this is something that the book forces you to consider: how is it that musicians can no longer afford to own and play these very old and treasured instruments?  Surely they do not belong in the dark?
It is because Kym repeated personifies the Strad that we are horrified by its ultimate fate.  She compares her suffering to it, saying how they are both imprisoned now.  This was the most moving part of the book for me.  Her beautiful instrument, which 'glowed' for her, now never sees the light of day. Surely it should be where the public can enjoy it, someplace where it is not just be a musical equivalent of stocks and bonds.  

Yet, experts argue that these hugely expensive violins are not as special as we imagine them to be.  In a recent study, listeners prefered the sound of modern violins, when comparing them to old instruments while blindfolded.  This suggests that the myth of the master luthier and his violins is just that, a myth.  That supports what any sensible person already knows, that these old violins are ridiculously over-priced, but it is to the benefit of banks and investors that the myth continues.  And after all, there is an intangible romance about violins, whether be their aesthetic design, or evocative sound, that keeps us spellbound.
For me, every violin is a promise of something truly beautiful, in the hands of the right player that is. And Kym's book publishers have knowingly used the image of the violin on the book's cover to entice readers like me.  The really clever bit is that the image is a void, a cut-out, the violin itself, missing from the image, and as such mirrors perfectly the book's narrative.  

'Isn't it beautiful?' the book shop sales assistant said to me when I presented it to her at the counter.  'I saw it this morning myself', she added, 'and I had to get a copy.  We ought not to judge a book by its cover I know.  Let me wrap that separately,'  And with that she enfolded it in soft paper so as not to tear the jacket, and placed it lovingly into a bag on top of my other purchases, just as if it were a real violin!  So I was not the only one guilty of loving this book cover, of loving violins, of loving a myth. And with this book you get all that and a good story.   

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