Shirley Flight, Air Hostess in Storm Warning

My copy of the unwieldily-titled Shirley Flight, Air Hostess in Storm Warning doesn't actually have this cover -- instead the hard cover is prettily patterned with tiny aeroplanes, which caught the eye of my younger daughter in an op shop and made her decide it would be a perfect birthday present for me. It's true, this 1961 book fits beautifully into the oeuvre of girls' career books that were discussed in A Smart Suit and White Gloves, though the Shirley Flight books were sadly not mentioned in it.

After a little digging, I learned that 'Judith Dale,' the author, was actually Edward Reginald Home-Gall, who produced sixteen books in this series, in which Shirley Flight goes to Congo, Spain, China and Hollywood, and tangles with diamond smugglers and the Flying Doctor among many other adventures. Storm Warning sees Shirley's plane downed in Mauritius in response to an impending cyclone. Most of the story centres on Shirley's plucky efforts to secure accommodation for and feed her roster of passengers in a shabby hotel, where of course her charm and ingenuity satisfies even the fussiest 'pax.' The final section of the novel crams in pages of breathless adventure, as Shirley and her 'red-haired pal' Wendy rescue a kidnapped teenager, brave a simultaneous earthquake and cyclone, and foil some 'swarthy' treasure seekers.

Unfortunately the book is marred by some egregious racism, as Mauritius (which to me sounds engagingly diverse) is described in the most unflattering terms as being populated with 'lazy' and 'indolent' persons of various cultural heritages, the names for which I won't repeat here. Even the French hotel proprietor is a purely comic figure, and don't get me started on the sinister Hispanic villains. I suppose at least Storm Warning shows Shirley and Wendy actually doing their jobs as well as pluckily flying into the teeth of storms, climbing cliffs and rescuing victims of abduction.

Lonely Castle in the Mirror

I don't know how I've managed to remain oblivious to this book for so long -- it is so exactly right up my alley, and I only found out about it by accident, and I decided to borrow it on the strength of the title alone. First published in 2017, Mizuki Tsujimura's Lonely Castle in the Mirror is a much loved favourite in Japan, and has been turned into a series of manga volumes and an animated film.

For me, it did take a while for the story to get moving, but the third and final section of the book positively galloped along as all the plot pieces fell into place. Lonely Castle in the Mirror opens with Kokoro, who is refusing school and hiding in her room after being traumatised by bullies. Magically her bedroom mirror opens a portal to another reality -- an enchanted castle where she finds six other junior high students, most of them also avoiding school, and all with their own private problems, and a mysterious wolf-girl who calls the shots and tells them they have access to the castle for a single year, during which they must find a hidden key to a secret room which will grant one of them a wish.

I did find what I assume to be traditional Japanese courtesy and reticence a bit frustrating initially, as it took ages for the seven to start to trust each other and begin exchanging information that allows them to solve the questions of how and why they've been summoned here. (I did pick the twist, she says smugly.) But after the slow start, the plot slides into place like a beautifully made puzzle box. If I were younger and didn't have a gazillion more books on my pile to read, I could imagine re-reading Lonely Castle immediately to pick up the clues. 

But more than a satisfying fantasy mystery, Lonely Castle has a lot to say about bullying, shame, friendship and mental health, and many young readers will see themselves reflected here. 

The Model Murder

I am really enjoying Amanda Hampson's series of Tea Ladies mysteries. This latest installment, The Model Murder, is set in 1968 and times are changing. Protests against the war in Vietnam are in the streets, pop art frocks are on the way in, but Hazel and her friends are once again drawn into a shadowy world of crime and corruption, brothels and bookies.

The Model Murder is a clever title, as we're not sure until almost the end of the novel whether the missing model in question is a victim or the perpetrator of the killing. This book abounds with deceptions, lies and fake identities. Stern, self-righteous Merl has been hiding a secret for thirty years, and when the reason for it is finally revealed, it expands the tea ladies' universe a little more. Betty gets caught up in an avant-garde theatre group, whose members are not all they seem, and whose workshops are painfully funny for any student theatre victim-survivors. Irene finds herself a new weapon, which will no doubt feature in future volumes. And I hope there are future volumes. The Tea Ladies are undemanding but highly enjoyable company.
 

Books That Made Us

 

Books That Made Us by Carl Reinecke is the companion volume to the ABC television series from 2021, and it was a birthday present from one of my daughters. It's turned out to be the perfect accompaniment to the current conversation about the Top 100 Australian books list being put together by Radio National. It's a succinct but comprehensive and very readable summary of the history of Australian literature and publishing, from Marcus Clarke's Term of His Natural Life up to Melissa Lucashenko's Too Much Lip. 

I was pleased to encounter plenty of old friends among these books, but I was also alerted to some big gaps in my reading education. I've still never read anything by Patrick White or George Johnston, for example. But it was wonderful to accidentally listen to a segment on Late Night Live about the poet Lesbia Harford, and recognise the names of her associates Katharine Susannah Prichard and Vance and Nettie Palmer from reading Books That Made Us.

Reinecke has helped me put a context around some authors who came to prominence slightly before my time, like Thomas Kenneally and Frank Moorhouse, as well as writers I feel I know much better, like Helen Garner and Christos Tsiolkas. Books That Made Us works perfectly as an educational guide as well as a Books To Read list and a potted history of Australia itself.

Gullstruck Island

This is the first Frances Hardinge book I've read, and I gather it's a good one to start with. Already I'm in awe of her virtuosic world-building, her vivid characters and setting, and her brilliantly imaginative story-telling. Gullstruck Island opens with a description of the 'Lost,' just the first of many rich ideas: the Lost are gifted but vulnerable members of the community who have the ability to detach their senses from their bodies and travel at will -- what we used to call astral travelling, though I haven't heard anyone talk about that for a long time. The Lost are vital for communicating news, forecasting weather and spotting distant dangers, and when they are all mysteriously killed in the space of one night, the whole island is bereft. The only surviving Lost seems to be quiet Hathin's sister Arilou, and the secret they never mention is that Arilou may not be a Lost after all...

There are wonderful layers of subtext in Gullstruck Island, about race and colonisation, but couched in a fantasy setting that echoes without exactly replicating real world history. 'The Lace' are an oppressed minority with their own culture and dialect, and it's the ancient stories of the Lace that end up pointing the way to everyone's salvation from the conspiracy that threatens the island.

It was quite shocking to read the last portion of the novel, which involves a volcanic eruption with a flood of mud, rock and steam rolling inexorably down the channel of a valley -- exactly like the horrific events in Nepal recently. Though Gullstruck was published fifteen years ago, it felt eerily and horribly contemporary, and impossible to read without recalling the terrifying images from that part of the world.
 

Restless Dolly Maunder

  

After the success of Kate Grenville's exploration of her mother's story in One Life, Grenville went back another generation to explore her maternal grandmother's life in Restless Dolly Maunder. Dolly appears in One Life as a difficult, sometimes cold and demanding woman; in Restless, she comes fully into focus as an energetic, thwarted character who could have achieved so much more if she'd been allowed the same freedoms and opportunities as a man.

Interestingly, while One Life was classed as a biography, Restless Dolly Maunder is published as a novel. I guess Grenville felt that the gaps she had to fill with imagination and speculation were that much larger for her grandmother than for her mother. In some ways, I didn't serve Dolly Maunder well by reading her book straight after One Life, because it covers much of the same ground and I didn't feel I was encountering a new person, though Dolly's story is much more fleshed out and she is more sympathetic than her portrayal in One Life.

I enjoyed Restless Dolly Maunder for the same reasons that I loved One Life: it's a window into a life that would have otherwise gone unremarked and uncelebrated, a life of a courageous, smart, determined woman who did her best with the hand she was dealt, sometimes at the cost of her closest personal relationships. (Her husband's infidelities also played a role, to be fair.) Kate Grenville has mined her family's history to great effect, I could read any number of these stories, but I guess she might have run out of material by now.

The Dark Flood Rises

Margaret Drabble's The Dark Flood Rises has earned a dubious distinction: it is the first overdue book I have had from the local library since I first joined it over twenty years ago (I've just discovered I've borrowed 1379 books in that time, honestly I'm surprised it's not more).

The reason it became overdue is simple: I bit off more than I could chew. Between two libraries, books coming off reserve, birthday presents, and loans from friends, my immediate TBR pile was completely unmanageable. I thought no one else would be urgently requiring the Drabble novel, so I renewed it a couple of times, and it turns out you're not allowed to keep renewing loans indefinitely! Who knew?

Margaret Drabble's The Millstone was the first adult novel I remember reading that I identified with instantly and instantly. Self-sufficient, perhaps lonely Rosamund, with her deep desire to cause no fuss and put nobody out, seemed to be my soul twin (perhaps I should go back and reread it, and see if it lands any differently nearly half a century on). I've kept reading Margaret Drabble's novel, feeling at home with her privileged, inward-looking protagonists, until now we've reached what must be near the end of the road. The Dark Flood Rises is all about old age and death. There are a couple of actual deaths, and a few near misses, but most of the novel is occupied with Drabble's usual meandering meditation around a particular subject, drawing in literary allusions, dream imagery, snippets of social history and entertaining anecdote. It's not so much a deep dive as a thoughtful stroll, as characters briefly touch and separate, images and phrases echo and recur, and the reader is invited to place themselves among the passing parade. Am I more like Fran, frantically distracting herself from the inevitable and determined to be useful? Or like Josephine, burrowing into a safe hole with books and intellectual diversions? Or like Bennett and Ivor, fleeing to the sun and the simple pleasures of food and drink and reminiscence?

At 87, we can expect no more fiction from Margaret Drabble, but my goodness, what a rich legacy she will leave behind. 

On the Calculation of Volume 1

I heard On the Calculation of Volume by Danish author Solvej Balle being discussed on the Radio National Book Shelf program, and because it has a timey-wimey plot, I was instantly intrigued. Main character Tara finds herself trapped in a time loop, where she wakes up day after day stuck inside the 18th November, just like Groundhog Day, except without the comic slant, and with the difference that she wakes wherever she fell asleep the night before, rather than returning always to the same starting point.

Tara is away from home in Paris when the pattern strikes; in a panic, she flees for home and explains her situation to her husband Thomas. But the day is not repeating for him; every 18th November happens for the first time. Again and again Tara has to explain her plight. They experiment together, try to stay awake all night, try to figure out why some things reset and others remain used up or transported. Eventually Tara separates from Thomas, withdrawing into their spare room and living a shadow, unseen life around his movements (he, of course, assumes that she is away in Paris). As Tara draws closer to a full year having passed for her, having experienced 18th November 365 times, she wonders if the loop will close -- or is there some significant action she must take to break the spell?

On the Calculation of Volume has to be the dullest title I've ever heard, especially for such a weird, haunting little book. Maybe it sounds better in Danish? And I can't have been listening properly to the Book Shelf, because I entirely missed the fact that this is just volume 1 of a projected seven book series!I absolutely flew through this novel, unsettled and delighted. Needless to say I have already reserved volume 2. 

We Saw What You Started

 

It's fitting that I've finished the final book the CBCA Notables list during Book Week, just after the winners have been announced. I predicted that Barry Jonsberg's Darkest Night, Brightest Star, with its themes of toxic masculinity, male violence and trauma would be a timely winner this year, so I'm not surprised that it took out the top prize, while I was pleased that Lili Wilkinson's Unhallowed Halls and Jade Timms' Golden were both Honour books in the Older Readers category.

In some ways We Saw What You Started by Carla Salmon is a very typical entrant in the Older Readers list. Set in a coastal town -- tick. Elements of romance -- tick. A mystery/crime plot -- tick (crime is very hot right now). One character with an American background to increase its international appeal -- tick. In fact I didn't mind the American character this time, Otto splits the narration with local Aussie Milly, so the US viewpoint is not overwhelming (apparently as soon as an Australian book mentions the word Mum, it instantly forfeits any chance of US publication).

What gives We Saw What You Started its unique flavour is that the action is centred around the local surf club and the rivalry over championships. Milly's father seems to favour her twin brother Jasper; is Jasper really a bad seed, or just obnoxious? Meanwhile fires are starting all over town, and new arrival Otto keeps being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Who is innocent and who is guilty? We Saw What You Started is a satisfying mystery story, and dare I say it, a great beach read.

Discipline

 

I had to wait a looong time for Randa Abdel-Fattah's first adult novel, Discipline, to become available at the local library; the reservations started mounting up as soon as the controversy over her (non) appearance at the Adelaide Festival early this year hit the news. There are still 26 eager readers waiting.

Abdel-Fattah's experience as a writer for young adults shows in her skill at keeping the action moving. Discipline is set in 2021. Viewpoints flip between Ashraf, an academic under siege at his (fictional) university, and Hannah, a young journalist at a mainstream newspaper. Linking these two characters is Jamal, Ashraf's PhD student and Hannah's husband, whose family is under attack as Israeli forces bomb Gaza. All the characters are under pressure to mute their pain and anger at the situation in Gaza, with Hannah and Ashraf's superiors anxious not to offend the Jewish community.

Discipline is not just a chronicle of anguish and frustration. Ashraf and Hannah are both part of exuberant, supportive, tight-knit communities, while Hannah also draws strength from her religious practice. Abdel-Fattah is careful to show that Muslim, Arab and Palestinian identities, while overlapping, are not identical and not monolithic. At times Discipline is uncomfortable to read, as it highlights moments when I might have 'both-sides'd Middle Eastern conflict, or slid unthinkingly into unsupported assumptions. I'm very grateful to Randa Abdel-Fattah for giving me such a vivid glimpse into her reality. 

Raising Hare

Raising Hare is the kind of book that I simply can't resist. It's the perfect intersection of nature and human experience, written in a gentle, thoughtful style by Chloe Dalton, who has mostly worked in politics and foreign affairs, focused on big international events. All that changed during lockdown when she lived in the country, in an isolated barn conversion, and unwittingly rescued a leveret (baby hare) and took it into her home. Against all odds, the hare grew and thrived, drawing Dalton into a hitherto unseen world of predators and prey, hedges and fields. Keeping her doors open so that the hare could come and go, tiptoeing around the sleeping animal, making sure that guests keep their noise down not to scare it, Dalton shapes her life around the hare, and is rewarded with her trust, to the point where the hare gives birth and raises a pair of leverets inside the home.

Dalton admits that before her relationship with the hare, she paid little attention to the natural world. The hare opens her eyes to the rhythms of the seasons, the activities of the birds and animals, the effect of intensive farming practices on the loss of wild spaces like hedges and woods. Raising Hare is not a long book, but it's a beautiful and profound reading experience based on close observation of small and undramatic events, like James Rebanks' The Place of Tides.

The Set-Up Girl

The Set-Up Girl by Sasha Vey is a fun novel about romance, crushes, sexual identity, misunderstandings and friendship. Amalia comes from a Slovenian Catholic family, a background I haven't seen explored before, and one which apparently comes with strict parents and tight extended family relationships. Amalia, her sister and mum are in a book group with her aunts and cousins, which adds a wry commentary to the boy/girl crush and friendship dramas she finds herself in. Amalia's see-sawing attraction to the hot boy and the hot girl felt very plausible, but it was grounded by her deep friendship with Mae, who is having identity and romance struggles of her own.

One element of The Set-Up Girl that I found slightly disturbing, but no one else seems to have a problem with, was Amalia's and her sister's routine deceptions of their parents, sneaking out after dark, setting up 'camping trips' that are a cover for visiting music festivals, secret alcohol drinking, secret dating, and other mild rebellions. It seemed to me that it might be better to open up communication between the generations, especially since both Amalia and her sister are over 18 and technically adults... but neither my daughter nor the members of my book group had any problem with the situation at all. Maybe I'm still in denial about how much (or how little) my own kids deceived me in their adolescent years! Anyway, in a YA book I should definitely be on the side of the kids.
 

One Life: My Mother's Story

I enjoyed Kate Grenville's One Life so much -- more than I expected to. She is just such a readable writer, even when handling material that by her own admission, might seem very ordinary. It's a biography of Grenville's mother, Nance, but it reads like a novel, and I kept eagerly turning the pages.

Mind you, Nance was not really such an ordinary woman. One her friends described her as 'remarkable,' and in many ways she was exceptional, despite living all her life in sleepy Australian towns and suburbs. But even the most ordinary lives contain their own drama and pathos. Nance was the child of an unhappy marriage, of pub owners Dolly and Bert (Grenville has also written about her grandmother in Restless Dolly Maunder, which I might check out next). (The pub owning background was also interesting on the heels of reading Australian Gospel.) Nance trains as a pharmacist at a time when it was unusual for woman to gain professional qualifications, but once she's attained her apprenticeship, she's qualified herself out of a job. She marries Kenneth, a closet Trotskyist, and their partnership has its ups and downs -- he's proud of her for working, but is clueless about taking up the domestic burden. Time and again Nance is thwarted by lack of childcare in her community.

One Life is a loving, clear-eyed tribute to a woman whose story becomes extraordinary in Grenville's hands, and a kind of first hand history of the middle decades of Australia, covering the Great Depression and the wars. I loved it.
 

The Conversion

Amanda Lohrey's novels tend to be a slow burn -- don't come to her books expecting thrills and action. But if you're in the mood for thoughtful observation, interesting ideas and internal development, a novel like The Conversion will hit the spot. 

Zoe buys the small country church that her husband Nick had his eye on, after Nick's death in complicated circumstances involving infidelity. Nursing her grief and anger, Zoe 'squats' in the church, unable to feel at home in the soaring space, with stained glass saints staring down at her. As she sorts through her feelings about Nick and tries to decide how to adapt her new home, she gradually gets to know her neighbours and finds a place for herself in the small community.

In many ways, The Conversion is a story of spaces and places, how we change ourselves to fit the places where we live, or change those places to fit our needs and yearnings. Zoe wrestles with how to alter the vertical orientation of the church, toward God, into a horizontal orientation for human living. Another character abandons his apartment, with its expansive views, for a more narrow but intense view of the sky from a courtyard garden. Zoe is pressured to allow the local high school to perform a play in her living space, and the experience fundamentally changes her relationship to the space and to the memory of her husband, which I sense the church represents.

Lohrey's novels might be quiet and seemingly uneventful, but I find they stick in my mind long after they're finished. 

Brain Rules for Ageing Well

John Medina has written several of these Brain Rules books -- about music, about babies, about work, about teenagers -- and Brain Rules for Ageing Well offers advice (current in 2017) about how to preserve or even improve our brain function as we get older. It's written in a light, friendly style with enough science to be convincing but not enough to overwhelm the reader.

Most of Medina's advice is just sensible: stay connected to friends and family, learn new things, exercise, eat properly, lower your stress (easier said than done). He does devote part of one chapter to the theory of so-called Blue Zones, which unfortunately was recently pretty comprehensively debunked -- for a few years, there was a lot of hype around certain areas of the world, like Sardinia and Okinawa, where people seemed to live well beyond the expected age limit. People got very excited by the supposed lifestyles adopted by these Blue Zone inhabitants -- but it turned out that most of the zones were actually quite poor areas where welfare fraud was common, and the people who were apparently living to 110 had often died years before... Oh,well, back to the drawing board.

One finding in Brain Rules for Ageing Well that initially surprised me was the beneficial effect of marinating in nostalgia. Our brains lay down their most vivid memories during our late teens and early twenties, so reliving those years makes us feel more alive. I can certainly testify that listening to the upbeat music of my youth during my morning walks puts a pep in my step, and when my husband was preparing for a high school reunion last year, the mood rush lasted several weeks as old friends reconnected over group chats and shared memories. So maybe there's something in that -- though I won't be revisiting 80s fashions or hairstyles any time soon.