Category Published 2009

Shop Girl Diaries by Emily Benet (Kat’s book 7, 2010)

Reading Angela Carter’s lovely descriptions of south London earlier this year had made me realise how little I read about contemporary London, and this really fitted the bill nicely.


Shop Girl Diaries (Salt Modern Lives)

Emily Benet
Salt Publishing 2009, Paperback, 256 pages, £9.99

Hurray for Twitter: I found out about this book, set in a shop close to where I live, through the @Se1 account. Even though it’s square-shaped. For some reason this really grinds my gears. I like books to be book-shaped, otherwise I feel like I’m reading an accordion or a copy of Meg and Mog. Also, I worry about dropping it in the bath.

Among the Mad by Jacqueline Winspear (Kat’s book 6, 2010)

Hands up – I absolutely judged this book by its cover. I was hoping Jacqueline Winspear would be some soupy-eyed matron from the 1930s a la Agatha Christie, and deliver me a nice, unchallenging 30s-set murder mystery. The cover’s pastel pink for crying out loud.


Among the Mad

Jacqueline Winspear
John Murray 2010, Paperback, 352 pages, £7.99

Anyway, it turns out the Kent-born Winspear is no such thing: she writes today, but now lives in California, where I hope she will soon develop soupy-eyes and a matronly attitude. And while Maisie Dodds is indeed set in the 1930s, it’s not fluffy and there’s very little 30s slang.

Too Big to Fail by Andrew Ross Sorkin (James’s book 4, 2010)

Oh, how I wish I could put this book in the fiction category. It chronicles in sometimes mind-numbing detail how some of the world’s largest financial institutions brought the global financial system to the brink of collapse and how the US government narrowly averted this disaster with an almost unimaginably large bailout.


Too Big to Fail

Andrew Ross Sorkin
Allen Lane 2009, Paperback, 640 pages, £14.99

What’s most breathtaking about this book – and there are many such things – is the speed with which embattled CEOs go from being free market zealots to morally outraged supplicants with an expectation that they should be bailed out on the best possible terms by the taxpayer. Of course it’s no surprise that such morally compromised men should be hypocrites; that goes hand-in-hand with what they do. But that they would be prepared to argue for a doctrine that so opposes the logic of their entire working lives is pretty stunning.

The Boy With The Top Knot by Sathnam Sanghera (Kat’s book 2, 2010)

Times columnist Sathnam Sanghera bookends his memoir on life growing up in Wolverhampton with a letter he’s battling to write to his protective, ultra-traditional Punjabi mother. We don’t know what this letter contains, beyond the fact that it’s going to break her heart and it’s got Sanghera swigging neat vodka while he tries to write it. Good start.


The Boy with the Topknot

Sathnam Sanghera
Penguin 2009, Paperback, 336 pages, £9.99

What starts out as a memoir of growing up as a beloved younger son in a Punjabi family and then building a media life with white London friends as an adult soon zig-zags into family investigation. This isn’t a neatly arced story: we stumble across new developments with no real notice. Far from being an all-knowing observer dropped hints by Sanghera’s narration in some kind of Christmas Carol guided travel through his life, we come across things at the same time as he does, making it a far more accurate depiction of how surprises happen in real life. Bang! Surprise one. Bang! Surprise two. We flit from time to time (all held together easily, you don’t lose track) but you feel engaged rather than distanced. No Joanna Trolloping here.

Nobody Move by Denis Johnson (Shane’s book 2, 2010)

Johnson wrote this as something of a palate-cleanser after the vast Tree of Smoke. This 200-page hardboiled crime story was originally serialised in Playboy before being published last year. It has echoes of Cormac McCarthy’s No Country for Old Men and about two-dozen noir movies.


Nobody Move

Denis Johnson
Picador 2009, Paperback, 208 pages, £11.99

The central character is Jimmy Luntz, a compulsive gambler in debt to a guy called Juarez. When Gambol, Juarez’s right-hand man, comes to collect, Luntz shoots him in the leg and goes on the run. He meets Anita Desilvera, framed by her husband and her boss for the theft of $2 million. While Anita and Jimmy plot to steal the money, Gambol and Juarez come to town hunting Jimmy.

Your Face Tomorrow. 3: Poison, Shadow and Farewell by Javier Marías (James’s book 1, 2010)

Javier Marías is an Anglophile Spanish writer who has had a niche audience in the UK for a while now. Recently his work has attracted more notice, particularly his trilogy Your Face Tomorrow of which this is the concluding part.


Your Face Tomorrow

Margaret Jull Costa (Translator)
Chatto & Windus 2009, Hardcover, 560 pages, £18.99

This is by far the longest part of the work, and it has much more action than the other parts, although that’s not setting a terribly high bar, since very little happened at all in the first two parts. Marías is fond of the run-on sentence and at times his writing because almost Proustian, ambling as it does through multiple clauses before ending somewhere far removed from the sentence’s origin, and there is often page after page of parenthetical digression.

The Kindly Ones by Jonathan Littell (James’s book 59, 2009)

If I hadn’t made the mistake of trying to read J.M.G. Le Clézio’s tedious and dreadful Terra Amata, which remains unfinished and therefore unreviewed, The Kindly Ones would easily be the worst book I’ve read this year. Unlike Le Clézio’s stinker, Littell’s book is at least readable in the literal sense, but it has no virtues beyond that.


The Kindly Ones

Charlotte Mandell (Translator)
Chatto & Windus 2009, Hardcover, 992 pages, £20.00

Max Aue is a homosexual member of the SD, a committed Nazi and an active participant in the holocaust. He is present, Forrest Gump-like, at virtually every significant event of the war, from the massacre at Babi Yar to the battle of Stalingrad (which he is transferred into after the Germans’ encirclement is complete), to the fall of Berlin.

The Eitingons by Mary-Kay Wilmers (James’s book 51, 2009)

I’ll be honest: I bought The Eitingons because of the cover, which is a beautiful modernist composition in red, black and cream. I didn’t know anything about it, whether it was a novel or even who the author was. It turns out that it is a family history by Mary-Kay Wilmers, who is the editor of the London Review of Books. It also just so happens that her family history provides a fascinating journey through the 20th century.


The Eitingons

Mary-Kay Wilmers
Faber and Faber 2009, Hardcover, 496 pages, £20.00

There are three major figures in Wilmers’ family tree whose stories are covered here, as well as a supporting cast of several more. The first is Motty Eitingon, a refugee from the Ukraine who somehow managed to build an enormous fur import business in New York. The second is Max Eitingon, who became a disciple of Freud, and the third and most interesting is Leonid Eitingon, who was a member of the KGB in its various guises (Cheka, OGPU, NKVD, etc) from the revolution until the late 1950s.

Brooklyn by Colm Tóibín (James’s book 48, 2009)

Colm Tóibín is a wonderful writer, and Brooklyn appeared to a rapturous critical reception. It was rumoured to be a strong contender for the Booker Prize and it’s been dominating the critics’ ‘Best of 2009′ lists. All of which puts me in a tiny majority when I say that I found it all rather disappointing.


Brooklyn

Colm Toibin
Viking 2009, Hardcover, 256 pages, £17.99

As always with Tóibín, the writing is impeccable, and there is a wonderful melancholy air hanging over the entire novel, a grim sadness which leads one to expect a story with more grief than it in fact contains. It’s fashionable to characterise Irish writing as ‘miserable’, and we are frequently pointed to modern examples such as Anne Enright’s The Gathering and Sebastian Barry’s The Secret Scripture. Both of those books deserve a more considered response than that, and Tóibín’s deserves the same respect.

Brooklyn is the story of a young woman forced to emigrate to the United States because of the lack of opportunity in her native Ireland of the 1950s. Although gender barriers across Europe had taken an enormous hit thanks to the efforts of women during the just finished war, the benefits of greater equality had not found their way to southern Ireland. Eilis is expected to find a prosperous young man and marry him, even though the choice is poor, and the parochialism of the local men depressing.

Eilis heads for America under the protection of the church, and finds work there in a department store. There, she struggles with loneliness and homesickness. Just as she begins to find her feet, news from Ireland calls her home.

The tension in Brooklyn centres on Eilis’s decision once she gets back to Ireland. Will she stay and sink back into the old, and by her new lights old-fashioned, ways of a patriarchal society, or will she return to the land of the future? In many ways, this can be seen as a parallel for the choice that faced much of the world at the same time. Sink back into the past, dominated by an elite of men, or forge a path into the democratic, technology-dominated future?

The reason I found Brooklyn underwhelming is that it seems to promise rather more conflict and misery than it delivers, like a horror movie with no scares, just ominous music. This leads to a rather overwrought feeling to the writing, even if it is in other respects beautifully controlled. It’s not a bad novel, not by any means, but it is rather conventional in narrative structure, plot, characterisation and outcome, and I’ve come to expect more than that from Tóibín.

Trotsky by Robert Service (James’s book 42, 2009)

Trotsky has always intrigued me. He was an intellectual, a superb writer, but also a brutal proponent of terror, an ideologue and propagandist. Robert Service has written a trilogy of biographies of the major figures of the Russian revolution, of which this is the final part. His biographies of Lenin and Stalin were good and included a wealth of new information from the now opened Soviet archives.


Trotsky

Robert Service
Macmillan 2009, Hardcover, 624 pages, £25.00

Trotsky’s reputation in the West relies in large part on his own highly partial accounts of the revolution and his colleagues and antagonists. Various lefties have kept his flame if not burning, then at least smouldering these last 60 years or so, but no Troskyist government has ever attained power. This distortion in our understanding of such a key figure needed correction, so Service’s book is very welcome indeed.

It’s well known that Trotsky was expelled from the USSR as an enemy of the people and eventually murdered on Stalin’s orders, and this famous death has clouded his biography in a haze of pro- and anti-Stalin internecine strife.

Service shows how Trotsky constantly amended his own legend to suit the political situation. Prior to the October revolution, Trotsky had been in almost complete disagreement with Lenin on several occasions and for at least some of the time between 1905 and 1917 considered himself closer to the Mensheviks than the Bolsheviks. This would, under Stalin, become a death sentence.

Trotsky was a man unto himself even after decisively joining the Bolsheviks and taking his place in Sovnarkom (i.e. a senior member of the Soviet government). His most famous role was as head of the Red Army during the Civil War that immediately followed Russia’s separate peace with the Central Powers. The brutality of the Civil War is notorious, but Trotsky seems to have won the respect of his troops. One oddity is that Service almost completely omits discussion of the famine that swept the USSR during and after the Civil War.

After Lenin’s illness and death, Trotsky was repeatedly outmanoeuvred by his rivals, now unleashed from their personal loyalty to Lenin. Service speculates that the core reason for Trotsky’s defeat was that he did not ultimately want the supreme leadership badly enough, and was not prepared to make the compromises – both physical and political – that an effective campaign would have required.

He belabours the point that Trotsky underestimated Stalin, who he thought of as an intellectual nullity. Stalin was many things, but he was not stupid, and was a far more effective politician than Trotsky. It’s a myth that Stalin was immediately vindictive towards his enemies; in fact it took almost ten years from Lenin’s death before the terror started, by which time Trotsky had been exiled for several years. Before his power was cemented, Stalin was constantly compromising and playing adversaries off against each other; playing politics, in other words.

Service finds a memorable phrase to sum up Trotsky’s inability to compromise or use the language that would have made his line more palatable to his colleagues: “He lacked the talent to manage his talent”, which could easily stand as his epitaph.

Somewhat against my expectations, the story becomes less interesting once it turns to Trotsky’s exile. His support in the Soviet Union was gradually snuffed out by a combination of executions and politicking, and his influence became almost non existent. Indeed he became the original un-person. Having lived for a time in Turkey, he passed through France and ended up, famously, in Mexico.

Here there’s a more exciting tale to tell – an affair with Frieda Kahlo, assassination attempts, and so forth – but by this time Trotsky’s involvement with the Russian revolution had completely ceased and not even his acolytes believed in some kind of glorious comeback.

It’s difficult to see an alternative history of the Soviet Union under Trotsky’s leadership, but especially to see how it would not have been brutal. Of course it’s unlikely that its brutality would have matched the almost unbelievable proportions of the Stalinist terror, but Trotsky was, above all else, utterly ruthless, and was in full agreement with Lenin’s ideas on the use of state terror. But what use are speculations on alternative histories?

This is a decent biography of a fascinating subject, but it never quite fires into life. Service’s prose is solid if uninspired, and this is constantly brought to the reader’s attention when the author praises Trotsky’s own exuberant prose style. Service’s writing is plagued with tics, which become wearing very quickly. One of these is to refer to Trotsky’s opponents following Lenin’s death as the ‘ascendant party leadership’, which is a technical term used by historians in this field, but it quickly becomes annoying as it is repeated time after time.

Nevertheless, this is an important addition to the literature on the endlessly fascinating subject of the Russian revolution, and one of its most important proponents.