Category: Books

The Brethren (1977): Robert Merle

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★★★

Fortunes of France: Book I

First published in 1977, The Brethren was followed by a whole series of novels which trace the fortunes of the de Siorac family in late 16th-century France. The French editions have been tremendously successful and Pushkin published this English translation of the first volume earlier this summer. I was delighted to be invited to review it, partly because it was compared to Dumas and Dunnett, but primarily because the blurb included the word ‘swashbuckling’ and that was too much to resist. There hasn’t been enough swashbuckling around here recently. This must be rectified.

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Jeeves in the Offing (1960): P.G. Wodehouse

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★★★★

It’s extraordinary that it took me this long to get round to Jeeves and Wooster, partly because it’s exactly the kind of silly English humour that I like, and partly because I spent three very happy years eating strawberries, drinking champagne and falling out of punts at Bertie Wooster’s alma mater. I suppose I should really have been methodical and started with the first Jeeves collection, but someone donated Jeeves in the Offing (1960) to the book stall at the village fete this year, so it seemed a good place to begin.

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Arabian Sands (1959): Wilfred Thesiger

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★★★★½

Wilfred Thesiger is one of those intriguing people who seem genuinely to have been born out of their time. The Arabian journeys described in his wonderful book could easily have taken place in the late 19th century or, at the very least, in the golden years of Edwardian exploration. They have a timeless quality: the hard slog across the sands; the knife-edge between life and death; the absence of any luxuries or comforts; and only the company of camels and a few trusted men. And yet these journeys, pressing into one of the last great wildernesses of the world, were undertaken between 1946 and 1950: within living memory. Thesiger only died in 2003, but although he is tantalisingly close in time, his spirit is very much that of another age.

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The Innamorati (1998): Midori Snyder

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★★★

Books often take on something of the spirit of the places where we read them and, in retrospect, it can be hard to separate impressions of the story itself from its context. I read most of this quirky novel curled up on the Loggia dei Lanzi in Florence (some weeks ago now) and so my memories are rather confused and dreamlike, but in a way that entirely suits the book. I’d chosen it deliberately for my trip, because The Innamorati is set in a fantastical version of mid 16th-century Italy, in a world infused with the spirit of the commedia dell’ arte.

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The World of the Castrati (1996): Patrick Barbier

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★★★½

The History of an Extraordinary Operatic Phenomenon

I should really have kicked off my Baroque reading project with this book by Patrick Barbier. It’s a useful introduction which offers a broad survey of the history of the castrati across Europe, from their beginnings in the church choirs of Byzantium, Spain and the Vatican, up to their twilight years as outdated anomalies, and the departure of the last few castrati from the Sistine Chapel choir at the beginning of the 20th century. Barbier’s focus though, predictably and gratifyingly, is on the heyday of 18th-century opera and, to my relief, he prefers anecdotes and colour to the technicalities of musical vocabulary.

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The Castrato and his Wife (2011): Helen Berry

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★★★★

I’ve had an unintentionally Baroque-themed summer, so you’ve got a series of posts on countertenors and castrati coming up. (I was going to apologise for it in advance, but I’ve changed my mind: if one person discovers Leonardo Vinci or Franco Fagioli because of these posts, I’ll be happy.) It’s all because I’ve spent the summer shuttling back and forth across Europe for work, which sounds glamorous, but actually just means that I’m more familiar with the layout of Schipol airport than anyone could really desire. It’s been hard to concentrate on books so I’ve been trying to teach myself about music instead. You’ve already had my Artaserse post and there’s plenty more where that came from, although I will start reading more novels again soon, I promise.

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The King and the Slave (2014): Tim Leach

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★★★★½

When I finished Tim Leach’s debut novel, The Last King of Lydia, I was deeply impressed by the way he’d transformed a story from Herodotus into an elegant and beautifully-written meditation on fortune and happiness. Little did I guess that I’d have the pleasure of reading another of his books so soon (and a sequel no less!), returning to the sumptuous might of the Persian empire in the 6th century BC.

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Fool’s Assassin (2014): Robin Hobb

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Robin Hobb © Ulf Andersen/Getty Images

★★★ ½

Fitz and the Fool: Book I

And so the first book in Robin Hobb’s new trilogy is published, reacquainting us with characters whom we last met ten years ago in the heart-rending Fool’s Fate (or during last year’s reread, in my case). I was thrilled to be granted a review copy of Fool’s Assassin, which I’ve mulled over for some months, and now, as publication date draws nigh, it’s time to share my thoughts. As you know, Hobb’s books have played a crucial role in my formation as a reader, and ever since I heard that a new trilogy was in the pipeline, I haven’t been able to help feeling rather anxious. Let me explain.

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No One Here Gets Out Alive (1980): Jerry Hopkins and Danny Sugerman

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★★★

The biography of Jim Morrison

The Doors’s debut album was among the first CDs sent by my uncle in my correspondence course on classic rock. Being an impressionable young thing at the time (oh, it was all of three years ago), I was struck by the face on the cover: the brooding stare from under lowered lids and the tumbled mass of dark hair. And the music wasn’t half bad either, with its weird lyrics and dreamy rhythms: in fact, the album swiftly became one of my favourites. But I never paid much attention to the band themselves. When I went to Paris with my parents back in 2004, before I’d really heard of the Doors, we went to Père Lachaise; but, while Mum sought out Jim Morrison’s grave, I homed in on Oscar Wilde’s. And then, a few weeks ago, someone gave this biography to our village fete book stall. I decided it was time to learn a little more.

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