Habitual Reading
June 11th, 2010
I’m always curious to know what books people are reading. It’s a bit of a nosey question, like asking what they’re having for dinner that night or what brand of knickers they have on. And it also assumes that they have a book on the go, but many people who love to read don’t have the time or energy unless they are on holiday. Or they just don’t read.
I grew up in a family of readers. That’s what we did. Sport, other than walking, was something that happened on the television and made you want to turn it off. Sporty people find that bizarre. Well, maybe so, but I didn’t know any different. I didn’t go to a live sporting event until in my thirties – and then I was only shepherding a mob of little boys. I brought a book with me and sat up the back of the stand, doling out money and food on request.
This inaugural sporting event was a soccer match. I’ve stood through endless winter mornings watching schoolboys play soccer and reading a book at these matches was akin to publicly beating your child with a mallet, so in spite of my bookish ways I became fascinated with the game. So I may have to slow down my book intake once the 2010 Soccer World Cup starts, because I can’t help myself, I have to watch. Although I’ll be hunting down a copy of Nick Hornby’s Fever Pitch to read during half time.
But to satisfy those who ask I list below the books I’ve read over the last six weeks.
The Fatal Englishman, Sebastian Faulks
I’d be happy reading Faulk’s shopping list so when I stumbled on this in a second hand bookshop I grabbed it. “Faulk’s triple biography of three English prodigies who died young diligently sets each tragedy in its historical place and time to show how the feelings of a generation came to be projected upon their tragedy.” Brian Case, Time Out.
I enjoyed this book as I knew I would. At the front of the book snippets of reviews can be read and on the front cover David Hare of The Spectator declares the book to be “wildly exciting.” I don’t know what sort of life Mr Hare leads because although this is a fascinating read it’s not quite as exciting as he would have us believe.
The Group, Paul Solarotoff
Another fascinating non fiction book. Journalist, Paul Solotaroff writes about a New York therapist and the six people he is treating through group therapy. Sex addiction, compulsive spending, drug abuse, bullying husbands, crippling shyness – all worked through in the group, some successfully, some not. Solotaroff’s description of the group dynamics and the ultimate fate of the therapist is compelling.
Kate Atkinson, Case Histories
Kate Atkinson, Behind the Scenes at the Museum
Kate Atkinson, One Good Turn
Kate Atkinson, When Will There Be Good News?
Yes, I’ve had a Kate Atkinson binge and I feel so much better for it. Although her propensity for killing women and children in her books gets to me sometimes.
Philip Kerr, March Violets
Philip Kerr, The Pale Criminal
Philip Kerr, A German Requiem
Philip Kerr, The One from the Other
and I’m halfway through …
Philip Kerr, A Quiet Flame
These five books feature a private detective, Bernie Gunther. Gunther is a fabulous character with his hard boiled morality and hilarious, dark, tough guy humour. Kerr’s research is deep and thorough, and his recreation of the Weimar years of the German Republic, and the moral minefield of Berlin in the immediate aftermath of the Second World War, provide a sense of time and place so intense I wanted to get out my ration card, nylons and a ticket to Argentina.
Kerr’s Bernie Gunther books are ‘a brilliant transfer of a Chandler novel to postwar Germany. The wise guy dialogue … and the moral man making his way in an immoral world are pure Chandler. Powerful and impressive.’ The Observer.
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Categories: on reading | Tags: books, imagination, reading
3 Comments
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I always have a book on the go. Always. Though when I’m writing, I generally avoid fiction and stick to non-fiction or research. I just finished Footsteps in Paris by Gillian Tindall, which was an eye-opening (and beautifully written, I might add) account of her ancestor’s trip to Paris on foot in 1814. He walked there–as did thousands of others–from Edinburgh, to complete his medical studies there. And from there, she writes about Paris as it was at the end of the Revolutionary/Napoleonic era–about the water-carriers and the bringing of the firewood into the city by river…it’s just fascinating.
Now I’m reading Young Nelsons by D.A.B. Ronald, again a fascinating study–this time of the thousands of boys who went to sea, and wanted to go, and wanted to serve, as well as those who were sent to sea instead of being sent to the gallows…the whole thing was part philanthropic society/part law enforcement.
This Tindall ancestor chap walked from Edinburgh to Paris? My offspring can barely make it from screen to fridge. Young Nelsons sounds interesting. The age at which children become adults is always shifting. I believe current research shows that adolescence lasts until twenty five, when the brain finally matures, although this finding must be partly coloured by our culturally determined notion of adolescence. People didn’t really give a toss about such things until recently.
As a voracious history reader perhaps you can recommend to me some good books on the Weimar republic?
Phillipa, I had to laugh at the lovely image of you, nose buried in a book, handing over ten dollar bills and doling out hot dogs to a gaggle of cold, dirty young footballers. Gorgeous!
I’ve read Katherine Howell’s, Frantic this week (in between torturing people in the simulator, agonising over edits, and drinking champagne) and enjoyed it. In my pile to be read is Anna Campbell’s My Reckless Surrender, Linda Howard’s Ice ( how many times can that name be used for a book!) and Young Mandela by David Smith.
All I’ve got to do is find the time to read them now….
Love the post!!