18.6.18

The Little Prince

Antoine de Saint-Exupery's The Little Prince is one of those classic children's books that is probably more popular with adults. Its romantic allure is enhanced by the fact that the author, a fighter pilot, was killed in action during WWII, not long after writing it. Saint-Exupery was primarily an essayist and writer for adults, but The Little Prince has proved to be his enduring legacy, with an animated series and countless translations. We are reading it for the Convent Book Group, under the theme of Philosophy.

Can I make a confession? Not really a fan. I won a copy, picked up cheap at a library book sale, because it is a classic and I felt I ought to have it. But it just doesn't do it for me. Twee. Sentimental. Vaguely misogynist. I find the illustrations just badly drawn rather than naively charming. Him and his devotion to his bloody rose and his volcanoes and his boababs. It's all a bit try-hard for me. It comes across as a book written to order, by a publisher who said, hey, Antoine, why don't you write something for kids, mate? Something whimsical yet profound? Which is exactly how it happened.

Not for me, thanks.

12.6.18

Love in a Cold Climate

One of my favourite books of all time, I've read Nancy Mitford's Love in a Cold Climate (and its predecessor, The Pursuit of Love) so many times that the pages have acquired a soft, worn texture, almost like cloth.

I haven't read them for a long time, though. I decided that A might enjoy a dose of Mitford, as I was about her age when I fell in love with her books, so I started reading her The Pursuit of Love. But she found Davey Warbeck irritating, and when she realised that the children grew up and married, and didn't spend the whole book being hunted across country by their father, she lost interest. However, she has required my company while she studies from time to time lately (it's the SAC time of year), so I took the opportunity to reacquaint myself with the story of beautiful Polly, terrifying Lady Montdore, creepy Boy (aka the Lecherous Lecturer) and flamboyant Cedric.

Reader, I remembered almost every word. It was like sinking into a deliciously scented, decadent warm bath with a bottle of champagne and a box of chocolates on the side: pure, slightly guilty delight. I know from reading her letters that Nancy Mitford worked hard on her novels, but they read as if they were effortless, like an amusing, politically incorrect friend telling you an endlessly entertaining story. Mitford might be an acquired taste, but she has sunk into my reading DNA and I doubt I will ever be able to dig her out.

11.6.18

The Nine Tailors

Photo from kidbucketlist
Now this is a good Lord Peter Wimsey novel -- I read this several times in high school (though I still couldn't remember whodunnit!) As Lawrie Marlow says when she finds her twin reading this novel, 'Sewing?' To which Nicola replies, 'No -- bell-ringing,' which leaves Lawrie more perplexed than before.*

When I last read Dorothy L Sayers' The Nine Tailors, I had no idea what the art of change-ringing was, and happily allowed all the novel's complicated references and descriptions sail over my head. These days, thanks to Google, I was better able to inform myself. Change-ringing involves ringing a set of bells in an ever-changing sequence -- it's more to do with mathematics than music, running through every possible permutation of the order in which they can be rung. To me, the ringing of church bells is one of the most glorious sounds in the world: I cherish the memory of hearing bells ring out on a cloudless autumn's day in Avignon. But apparently change-ringing is a particularly English obsession!

This is perhaps the ultimate 'cosy' English mystery, centred on a country church in the fens of East Anglia. (As an aside, I note that Kevin Crossley-Holland's Waterslain Angels, which also featured cherubim on -- along? under? -- a church roof, was likewise set in the Fens. Is this a peculiarity of East Anglian churches? Google has thus far been unable to answer this question.) Several volumes in to the series, Lord Peter has thankfully shed most of his annoying mannerisms and become good company, though he has acquired yet another improbable skill to his repertoire -- he is an accomplished (though rusty) bell-ringer, as well as an amazing cricketer, expert on old books etc etc. But I forgive him.

No Harriet Vane in this book, though she first appeared several novels ago in Strong Poison. I don't think we had Strong Poison in our school library, though I certainly remember Gaudy Night (from which book, along with Brideshead Revisited, I formed all my ideas about life in Oxford. Oh dear.)

I think I must get my hands on Strong Poison. Perhaps Harriet Vane has already mellowed him? Also I want to read Murder Must Advertise, which has a cricket match in it. Lots of catching up to do!


*The nine tailors, or nine single strokes of the bell, are tolled to mark the death of a man. For a woman, it's six.

4.6.18

The Five Red Herrings

Photo from UK Rivers Guidebook
Another Dorothy L Sayers title from my Peter Wimsey omnibus, The Five Red Herrings is set in Scotland, and we are never allowed to forget it for a moment! This is a picture of the river where the body is discovered, the Minnoch, where the unfortunate victim seems to have tumbled down a bank while painting the scenery. But it soon transpires that foul play is afoot, and the presence of a half-finished painting on the easel suggests that the murder could only have been performed by a fellow artist. The five red herrings of the title refer to the six other artists in this little community, all with motive, opportunity and wonky alibis (of course, one of them is no red herring, but the real deal).

I must admit I struggled with this novel at first -- I've only read it once before, as a teenager, and I remember feeling inordinately proud of myself for spotting the first vital clue, thus proving myself to be the 'intelligent reader' referred to by Miss Sayers, who would guess what was missing from the crime scene.

I do adore Scotland, but the constant rendering of dialogue in dialect became a little distracting. "She's troubled in her mind aboot Mr Farren. And nae wonder, wi' him mekkin' a' that disturbance and gaeing aff that gate an' never comin' back for twa nichts." Eventually I relaxed into it, but it took quite an effort at first! And in the first third of the novel, there was a LOT of guff about bicycles and train tickets and timetables that I frankly couldn't be bothered to keep track of, though it was significant in the end. I also (dear me!) had trouble telling our six suspects apart.

So, not my favourite Wimsey, despite the alluring Scottish setting. But it did come home with a rush, and a most entertaining re-enactment sequence, which made up for its other shortcomings.