I’ve just got back from a much-needed holiday, before taking off for another – still needed! – trip. All serving both to clear my head before I dive into exams and to get me reading lots again, after wading through a massive non-fiction tome recently. But more on that another time, I feel.

I finished a book way back in July which I still haven’t written about, and it’s partly because I was unsure what to write or how to approach a discussion of it. This uncertainty stemmed partly from a reading slump (which I appear to have passed on to Fliss, sorry!) but also because it was a very unusual book for me to read. One might say… unexpected.

The short, fairly unexciting, story behind this is that my sister bought me a copy of The Exception by Christian Jungersen, which is probably best described as a ‘psychological thriller’. I haven’t read anything that could be termed a thriller in so long – because I’m far too excitable and jumpy to read thrillers generally – that I really wasn’t sure how to approach it.

I enjoyed it! I can’t compare it to other novels of its type, but while it wasn’t perfect in its execution, it was a really interesting approach. Basically it focuses on four women, who work at an institution for genocide studies in Denmark. The story is told from the voices of the four women, in turn. What at first seems like a case of fairly simple office politics takes on a more disturbing angle as we begin to hear events from different perspectives. Various unpleasant messages are received and events take place, but nobody is sure whether the culprit is internal, external, or both. It’s not really a book of action so much as of analysing people’s characters, past and actions, and realising how these can be interpreted and reinterpreted based on the other characters wishes, preconceptions and prejudices.

What’s interesting about it, then, from this respect is that not only is it a book which has an ‘unreliable narrator’: it has four. Which, naturally, draws the reader into making their own judgements and analyses alongside those of the characters in the novel, which in itself feels quite disturbing. At the beginning, they each individually seem quite credible, but more and more doubts seep in. Another aspect is that, as they are geared towards the analysis and research of genocide, including the psychology of those involved in genocide both as those who support without controlling event (think of Nazi soldiers) and those who individually have an impact upon events and are a direct cause of atrocities (such as various war criminals) and the whole array of individuals in between, that kind of research is then brought to bear – however inappropriately – upon the people around them, as a way of understanding events.

It does keep you going with it, whether you like it or not, and explores characters who can act in both humane and cruel ways without necessarily noting any contradiction in their behaviour.

One of the interesting points about the book, from a ‘gender’ angle, is that while it’s fairly usual as a reader to come across book after book in which male characters and their motivations are at centre stage, with weak female supporting characters sometimes serving little purpose other than as a means by which the male protagonists can exercise their own autonomy, it’s less usual to find it the other way round. Often you find that even where a book has a female protagonist, the actions and inner workings of the key male characters are quite fully explored; their character development isn’t neglected. With The Exception, there are only a couple of male characters and while they play key roles in terms of the plot, it’s more in the sense that they provide particular motivations. As characters, they’re almost completely undeveloped and rarely discussed except in this incidental way. It was an interesting thing to note. So much of the written word has been given over to analysing the behaviour and inner workings of various male minds, that it was almost a shock to the system to have very peripheral male characters. I don’t, in the context, think it was necessarily a failing in the book; in fact, it enhanced it in a few respects, although I don’t want to give spoilers. Suffice to say that it highlighted perhaps that the actual identities of the men involved was pretty incidental to the action: catalysts but never actors, with the main psychological action all centred around the workplace and the interaction between the women.

Just a few thoughts! It was definitely something that was quite unusual for me, and it reminded me that I used to read a fair bit of ‘crime fiction’. Labelling books in various ways often does seem a bit arbitrary, but there is some excellent fiction out there which has a mystery or crime at the centre but I suppose that when most people think of ‘mystery’ or ‘crime’ books, quality is not the first item that comes to mind. I’ve always liked good books, and sometimes separating it out into all these genres does (some!) books a disservice. I tend to browse ‘general fiction’ in bookshops, but very rarely look at crime fiction to sift the quality from the chaff and consequently have read less and less over the years, just because I’m not looking specifically for something that has a crime in it, just a good book.

So, yes, I should probably take more time to seek out different kinds of books. Sometimes it’s good when you get given a book that you wouldn’t have found for yourself, but end up enjoying; and who knows, maybe it can change your book buying habits in the future?

Has anybody else been branching out, recently?

This book counts towards the Chunkster Challenge, being a tasty 576 pages long! Nearly there!

Okay, I know I already kind of posted about Aztecs and pirates, but that was in the mini-golf sense. Now I thought it might be time for a brief review of my very exciting reading of late.

The Lacuna by Barbara Kingsolver
There’s been a lot of chat about this from all over the blogsophere and beyond, so I don’t really want to go too in-depth with a big old plot analysis. I do want to say, though, that I really enjoyed this. It helps, I think, that I’m really interested in the period that was covered, and the characters. It speaks volumes for the author’s skill at drawing you in that despite knowing some of the things that were going to happen (Trotsky’s going to die), I’d still get quite emotionally involved (“Oh no, Trotsky!”).

My one gripe about this, and it’s a general fault with the ‘diary’ format in fiction I think, is that it did go beyond the bounds of believability a fair few times. I don’t demand realism in my fiction. And don’t get me wrong, I can usually suspend disbelief with the best of them, but it does jerk me out of a book from time to time when the structure within which the story is told is at odds with the way the story is written. Which is a really long and fluffy way of saying that I just can’t stand pages and pages and pages of dialogue in what is supposed to be a diary. It’s a fairly minor gripe, though, and it’s hardly like Barbara Kingsolver is the only one guilty of this, so it didn’t overly hamper my enjoyment.

Essentially, I think it’s a great book, and I felt quite attuned to it because of my personal interest. Having said that, I don’t necessarily think that it’s the best quality novel out of the Orange shortlist. I’ve only read two – this and Wolf Hall – so I suppose what I’m really saying is that I think Wolf Hall is some high-quality fiction. The Lacuna is a great read, though: it might be big, but I whipped on through it, because I got so invested. Which is always a nice reading experience!

Bold in Her Breeches: Women Pirates Across the Ages by Jo Stanley
I’ll stand right up and say that I love a bit of gender history. And maritime history and pirates is an area quite in need of a more objective, reasoned analysis. Women in this context have either been written out completely, or painfully sensationalised. So I found this a fascinating book: it covers women involved in piracy from Artemisia in ancient Greece, to the modern day (well, ish, it was published in 1995, but that’s not the book’s fault). What I found particularly interesting was the attention given not just to women as pirates, but to the role of women in supporting piracy in a wider context: for instance women on land providing information and sexual services. It’s a great introduction to this area, and I’d love to do more reading around this.

Another aspect of the history which is incredibly interesting from a more political angle is the relationship between piracy and the state, and between piracy itself and privateering or working in the navy. There was a point in time when states were more inclined to tolerate such activities, and could indeed profit from it. That’s obviously a long, long way from the state of play (couldn’t resist the pun) today, when piracy can be a hindrance to international trade and ‘legitimate’ profits. Again, this book discusses these issues and has sparked my interest in further reading – I’ve already sourced a couple of books about piracy and international politics and history!

Finally, what I really appreciated was a realistic approach to women pirates. They are neither glamourised nor demonised: that kind of approach is something I think is inherently limiting. Without taking into account social factors and constraints, there’s a real shallowness to how women pirates (and pirates generally, too) have been treated. That includes the crossdressing involved when women have taken to the seas within a patriarchal culture. Crossdressing can be a practical consideration, rather than a particular desire to seem sexy or depraved to audiences of the 21st century. As for the pirates themselves, I’ve got to say that I have to agree with the author when she says:

I have the impression that I would not like most of these women pirates; they might steal my best bath oil and laugh at my poems. I also believe that women should be free to travel without fear of molestation [...]. As I think human beings should not have to risk death in the course of their work, how could I hold a brief for people – whatever their sex – who attack employees?

This study of women pirates, though, is really interesting, and a great introduction to women involved in piracy. As much as anything else, it’s given me a lot of enthusiasm for taking it further and looking at some other books focusing on particular issues, such as crossdressing or international trade. Again, that’s made this a really satisfying reading experience for me. I like getting excited about my reading, and I really did here.

It’s been an exciting reading period. I’m now going to settle down with a nice quiet-living book: The Odyssey. (Ahem.)

The Lacuna counts towards both the Chunkster Challenge and the Global Reading challenge as my book from the Americas. Bold in Her Breeches counts towards the Women Unbound Challenge.

I’m sometimes a bit fussy about reading classic, well-known texts. I feel that there’s so much pressure on me to like them, to take something meaningful from them, so I really do have to be in the right mood for such a book. If I’m feeling in the slightest bit contrary (which is the case most of the time), it’s just not going to happen.

This is why it took me a while to read The Second Sex (which I read when I was 21 after having had it on my shelves for a good three years), and it’s why I didn’t read bell hooks’ Ain’t I A Woman until last week, after a couple of years of having my copy.

While written in 1981, this book still feels like a powerful and relevant part of feminist writing. The text – which draws particularly on American society and history – deals with the ways in which both racism and sexism have worked together to oppress black women. In this light, feminism as practised by white, middle-class feminists who are keen to keep racial and feminist struggles clearly delineated and separate (as were many black male civil rights campaigners) weren’t able to capture the different ways in which sexism impacts women of different races and classes.

Certainly while I acknowledge that the specifics of the book can be seen to be American-focused, the principles of the book have far wider applicability, and inclusion and respect for others’ viewpoints – including really hearing what those with other perspectives have to say – is something that it is worth continuing to keep working at within the feminist community. In particular, one of the excellent points that can be taken from bell hooks is that it’s neither possible nor desirable to separate ‘sexism’ from other forms of prejudice and hatred that operate in contemporary society and politics. This is something that we need to keep on focusing on within our own feminism.

I’m well-aware that as a heterosexual, cisgender, able-bodied, white feminist I have a huge amount of privilege, but as I keep learning and reading (and there are some truly excellent blogs and books out there) I become more aware of the interconnections. The issues aren’t separate. For instance, sexism operates very nicely, hand-in-hand, with gender dualism and enforcing of gender roles on men and women (the only two appropriate options in this worldview): this obviously has a very specific impact on those who define, in whatever way, as LGBT. While I may reject sexism, I fit a lot of stereotyped notions (on the surface, at least): and that sexism is not something that I can separate out from the double-whammy of prejudice that hits others. It doesn’t really work to reject one aspect of this prejudice and leave the rest. We need to keep taking it on back a step, getting to the roots of it. There, I think we’ll find, that cisgender prejudice, homophobia, ableism, racism, and many other things, truly are feminist issues.

The writing in Ain’t I A Woman is incredibly forceful. There are several passages that continued to resonate with me after I’d put the book down – and I finished it a week ago! – and that I hope will keep me thinking. In a chapter entitled “The Imperialism of Patriarchy,” hooks writes:

As people of color, our struggle against racial imperialism should have taught us that wherever there exists a master/slave relationship, an oppressed/oppressor relationship, violence, mutiny, and hatred will permeate all elements of life. There can be no freedom for black men as long as they advocate the subjugation of black women. There can be no freedom for patriarchal men of all races as long as they advocate subjugation of women. Absolute power for patriarchs is not freeing. The nature of fascism is such that it controls, limits, and restricts leaders as well as the people fascists oppress. Freedom […] as positive social equality that grants all humans the opportunity to shape their destinies in the most healthy and communally productive way can only be a complete reality when our world is no longer racist or sexist.

Equally, in a chapter on “Racism and Feminism,” in which hooks examines the racism of white feminists:

Every women’s movement in America from its earliest origin to the present day has been built on a racist foundation – a fact which in no way invalidates feminism as a political ideology. The racial apartheid social structure that characterized 19th and early 20th century American life was mirrored in the women’s rights movement. The first white women’s rights advocates were never seeking social equality for white women. Because many 19th century white women’s rights advocates were also active in the abolitionist movement, it is often assumed they were anti-racist. […] In contemporary times there is a general tendency to equate abolitionism with a repudiation of racism. In actuality, most white abolitionists, male and female, though vehement in their anti-slavery protest, were totally opposed to granting social equality to black people.

An important part of feminism is continuing to challenge: not just sexism that is external to us, but the privileges and prejudices that may be internal to us. This is a challenging book, and it should be, and it’s a book that should be read. Working against racism (beyond and within the feminist movement) demands more than including one black woman as part of a panel discussion, it’s about a fundamental reworking of our approaches to feminism and racism, and that’s an ongoing process. Part of that, for me, is going to be to continue reading blogs, and books such as this. As this is the ‘famous’ text, it’s easy to forget that bell hooks wrote other books, but she did, and I certainly plan to look some more out.

This book is applicable for the Women Unbound challenge.

Back when I was an eager young first year student at University, a lecturer asked a mixed-gender class who would call themselves a feminist. It was in the middle of a discussion on something else, I forget what. What I still haven’t forgotten was my one, lonely hand, waving in the breeze. That moment of disillusionment, right before the lecturer raised his own hand, declared himself to be a feminist, and turned to the rest of the class: “Why aren’t you feminists?”

It made a nice change.

Perhaps this was an anomaly. It was mixed-gender and decidedly not anonymous which can put some people off. Also, it was a class of probably about twelve people, tops, which doesn’t really count as statistically significant.

In my third year, I enthusiastically signed up for a module explicitly dealing with feminist legal issues. The same question was put to the group of us – about thirteen – in the first class. We were all women, all in theory interested in women’s studies. Once again, I was the only student to acknowledge being a feminist. And once more my spirit momentarily failed.

Only for a moment, though. I haven’t in the years that have passed shied away from calling myself a feminist (although it’s been a word hurled at me – somewhat ineffectually – as an insult). I’ve also managed to meet some wonderful feminists, on and offline, and I know that we do in fact exist. Which is why I was so excited to hear about Reclaiming the F Word: The New Feminist Movement by Catherine Redfern and Kristin Aune.

It’s split into seven sections, covering: bodies; sexual freedom and choice; violence against women; work and home; politics and religion; popular culture; and feminism itself. It’s a pretty good range of the areas in which feminists are active. While it’s impossible for one book to fully capture the entire range of feminist interests and concerns, this book does a great job of picking out some of the key issues.

Essentially, it’s a book about the relevance of feminism today, and the work that is being done by feminists (individually and collectively) in the UK. As the authors say, it’s a ‘whistle-stop tour’ but no less valuable for that. Based on a survey of 1,265 feminists – with some results included in an Appendix – the authors have incorporated survey responses, and the thoughts and views of other feminists throughout the book.

Each chapter leads in with what the issues are about, what the situation is, and how it’s harmful to women. Inevitably, these passages are the most distressing; but a huge part of feminism is about opening your eyes to those issues, seeing through a feminist lens, recognising the problems so that we can set about really deconstructing them and doing something about it. For instance, in the chapter on violence against women, not just the offensively low conviction rate for rape is discussed, but also the public perceptions and reporting of rape, and what rape victims are like and how they act, and the impact that this has.

As this book hammers home, women’s fights are not yet won. Our sexuality is not our own; we are not protected from violence, we are not believed when we report it; our talents are not recognised on the same level as those of men in the same field; we are not adequately represented in political, religious and other institutions around the world; we are not encouraged to meet our full potential except in terms of an extremely limited ‘physical’ potential that extends only so far as waxing our legs, but not sufficiently far as to recognise the accomplishments of female athletes and sportswomen.

What the writers also show, though, are the huge numbers of women (and men) who keep fighting, in a seemingly never-ending variety of ways. The pages are bursting with the activities and achievements of feminists engaging in a wide range of activism. Some of these I knew about (such as the Pink Stinks campaign), but others were new to me (like Robogals), and I found myself frequently running to my computer to look up more details about particular projects.

So much for all the people just lining up to say that young women don’t care about feminism. The mean age of survey respondents was 31, with the mode being 23.

A feminist friend of mine once told me that “patriarchy works in many ways.” She wasn’t wrong, and those ways can be both horrendously blatant and dangerously insidious; but feminists work in many ways, too, on a range of issues, and are constantly striving to de-cloak more subtle forms of discrimination, and to do something about the effects of it. It’s a tough gig, but someone’s gotta do it. Even better is when lots of people do it, and Reclaiming the F Word tells us that that’s just what is happening, and will hopefully inspire more people to take action, however they choose to do so. There are even ‘Take action!’ sections at the end of each chapter, to get the ideas rolling.

Reclaiming the F Word is a statement of why feminism is still necessary, is a recognition of the amazing work that’s being done, and is a rallying cry to women and men everywhere to get involved. It strikes a great balance between these themes, and the thorough research, clear and honest writing, and unabashed celebration of feminism in all its myriad forms mean that everybody can take something positive away from reading this book.

I know that a fair few people I know are going to be getting some strangely similar book-shaped presents in the coming months.

Saying you’re a feminist in itself isn’t always easy, and it’s even harder to keep learning about the abuses of women in the UK and around the world: to keep seeking out the information; to keep challenging misconceptions and harmful attitudes and actions, especially those of people in positions of power; to keep doing something about it. But it’s necessary, it’s worth it, and you’re not alone.

Reclaiming the F Word is due for release on 10 June 2010. I got my copy from the LibraryThing Early Reviewers programme. This book counts as part of my reading for the Women Unbound Challenge.

I confess to having had A History of Western Philosophy sit, unloved, on my shelf for far too long now. It’s not that I don’t want to read it, it’s just that it’s so huge and philosophy is so complex that I really feel that I need some proper time to devote to it.

I’m also a fan of the Routledge Classics series, I think they’ve got some good stuff in there. So I eagerly picked up a copy of Bertrand Russell’s Why I am not a Christian, which is a book of essays.

I’ll start off by saying that I enjoy reading philosophy (particularly political and legal philosophy, but also other more generalised philosophising), but I’m not a philosopher by trade. So my opinion is that of an interested but entirely unqualified reader.

That opinion that this is overall an interesting selection; but I did find it very hit and miss. There are parts which are very well-written and captured my interest – whether I agreed or not with the arguments/premises – and these tended to focus on academic freedom, scepticism in Protestant and Catholic communities, and items of historical interest, such as the essay ‘The Fate of Thomas Paine’. Paine being a pretty cool chap in his own right.

Another one that I feel is worth singling out, because it has within it both elements of the book that I really enjoyed, but also some parts that I found pretty odd (more on that later) is ‘The Existence of God – a Debate Between Bertrand Russell and Father F. C. Copleson, SJ’; a discussion between Russell and Coplestone, the latter arguing that the existence of God can be proven. It’s quite an antagonistic discussion in places, but I do like the format. I think that discussions on the subject can really – if well done – capture the positives and negatives of people’s positions, with some particular flaws noted and caught out, but I also find that it inspires me to think critically about both the initial arguments and the counter-arguments. It’s a nice little intellectual exercise, picking fault with both sides, no matter which you may overall agree with!

One particular passage which gives a bit of a flavour of the parts I think Russell deals with well is from the essay ‘Freedom and the Colleges’:

Taxpayers think that since they pay the salaries of university teachers they have a right to decide what these men shall teach. This principle, if logically carried out, would mean that all the advantages of superior education enjoyed by university professors are to be nullified, and that their teaching is to be the same as it would be if they had no special competence. ‘Folly, doctor-like, controlling skill’ is one if the things that made Shakespeare cry for restful death. Yet democracy, as understood by many Americans, requires that such control should exist in all state universities.

I think this shows just how forceful Russell can be. And this has some good positives – such as inspiring him to some rather eloquent passages, which certainly have been thought through – but also has the flip-side, in some places, of dogmatism on social issues, and rather stretching a point.

A couple of passages that I found difficult focus on the family, but there are also some odd bits in other places. From ‘The New Generation’:

Assuming the break-up of the family and the establishment of rationally conducted State institutions for the children, it will probably be found necessary to go a step further in the substitution of regulation for instinct. Women accustomed to birth control and not allowed to keep their own children would have little motive for enduring the discomfort of gestation and the pain of childbirth. Consequently in order to keep up the population it would probably be necessary to make child-bearing a well-paid profession, not of course to be undertaken by all women or even by a majority, but only by a certain percentage who would have to pass tests as to their fitness from a stock-breeding point of view.

Equally, there are some places where I felt that perhaps the limitations of the essay – and the inherent narrowness of focus – meant that some ideas which are hugely important for his theories went undiscussed. Perhaps real consideration of them would have problematised the initial argument to a degree which isn’t really accepted or noted in the essays in which they arise. For example, in ‘Can Religion Cure our Troubles?’ Russell comments on intellectual integrity, by which he means ‘the habit of deciding vexed questions in accordance with the evidence, or leaving them undecided where the evidence is inconclusive’ (my italics).

In theory, I agree. I do think that it’s relevant to point out, though, that ‘evidence’ can be a tricky concept. It’s not always as clear-cut as it would like to be believed. Certainly a huge part of evidence is not just the ‘evidence’ itself, but the interpretation of it. This can be seen quite clearly in the case of law, where a piece of evidence can point to two very different conclusions, depending on the approach that you take, and the theoretical tools you employ to analyse it. So to that extent, I’d probably feel the need to add a certain subjective element to the idea of intellectual integrity, as well as an objective, evidence-based, component: i.e. that there should be some form of evidence and the particular interpretation of it is genuinely believed, through the employment of rigorous analytical procedures to assess it. Y’know, it’s not as catchy, not particularly well-worded and it’s really just something I’m throwing out there, but I think it captures my point that it’s an important area to think about, if you’re going to start talking about evidence and academic freedom.

Despite its flaws – and some of them are as flaccid as just thinking that he comes across as a bit of a prat at times – it’s a thought-provoking group of essays, and worth a read. Without trying to undermine Russell, I think it’s actually worth reading for the very last essay alone, which he actually did not write. It’s an Appendix, discussing in detail the ‘Bertrand Russell case’; when Bertrand Russell was appointed as a teacher at the College of the City of New York, but was forced out by religious and other pressure groups (and a judge) based primarily on moral and religious considerations. It’s a fascinating read, and you can draw from it what you will, but it illustrates in and of itself the pressures that can exist on academic freedom.

I, like Bertrand Russell, believe that its hugely important to resist such pressures, and this book of essays can keep you thinking about why. He was one of the people who have consistently fought for academic and intellectual freedom and have paved the way for the kind of freedom of thought that students in higher education in the present day can at times take for granted.

This was applicable to the ‘Essay reading challenge’ for which I shall chalk up 14 essays out of 20 (NB: I discounted ‘Religion and Morals’ because it’s a page long, but added in the Appendix which is itself an essay. Also, it’s long, and I totally read it, so I want my credit).

Firstly, it is with much happiness that I find myself back in my flat in London. I’ve been away for work with no access to the internet, and so no blogging. I cope very badly without the internet, I have found: there’s the anxiety (what emails am I getting?), the fear (what if a sudden and dramatic rainstorm is predicted and I don’t know about it so haven’t brought my umbrella?) and the sadness (poor me, for I cannot keep up with the blogging world).

It’s all pretty intense.

So luckily for me, I had a massive book with me to keep me happy and occupied either side of the 11 hour working days and I made the most of it.

The Balkan Trilogy by Olivia Manning is actually made up of three books: The Great Fortune, The Spoilt City, and Friends and Heroes. As it comes in one volume, though, and I glomped it up all at once, I’m going to review it as one book.

Books about WWII are spread thickly across the bookshelves in pretty much any bookshop of repute; and while obviously it’s a huge part of European modern history, it might sometimes seem implausible that anything new could be said about it. Of course, though, there are so many stories to tell and while there are a lot of elements that remain the same – and still significant – there are new perspectives to offer. Certainly I’d never read any literature relating to Athens in the Second World War.

The Balkan Trilogy is not just about the war, though, although that plays a major and compelling part of the narrative; but there’s also a strong character-driven element to it all. That touches where the characters end up, when, and who with.

At the beginning of the Second World War, Harriet marries Guy Pringle, an enthusiastic, giving and personable young lecturer, while he’s on leave. Having travelled back with him to Romania, where he lives and works at the University, she begins to discover that her new husband is enthusiastic, giving and personable, but nonetheless not the person she thought him. For all of his attention and generosity focused on the outside world and affection for all of the people in it (with particular reference to those who share his own brand of left-wing radical politics), there seems to be little energy expended on making Harriet herself happy, and an insensitivity to her needs.

As she learns more about Guy, Romania itself is changing: it begins as a place that feels secure and welcoming to the English couple, but with the threat of invasion from any and all sides, and internal politics that are becoming decidedly askew (not to mention the Jew hiding in their flat), the situation deteriorates, with Harriet feeling alone in a collapsing city. Restaurants and shops that were plentiful become empty, people start to leave, and there are numerous threats. Sticking it out until threats become explicitly focused on them, Guy and Harriet make for Athens.

And so the story repeats: Harriet becomes more distanced from Guy but nonetheless bound to him, and Athens which initially was a sanctuary becomes drawn into the war. The couple are forced to flee as the trilogy ends.

In theory, then, it’s all quite simple. It’s the quality of writing that really makes this worth your time. It’s wonderfully well-observed, both in terms of an account of people and places in wartime, the places that Guy and Harriet live in – and it’s worth noting that a lot of those elements are taken from Olivia Manning’s own experiences – as well as the highly-developed characterisations. There’s nothing flimsy about them or their interactions, and in particular the relationship between Guy and Harriet is complex and intriguing.

Actually, I got so absorbed in this book and the lives of Guy and Harriet that I sometimes felt so very indignant on her behalf that I became slightly inclined to irritability with the people actually around me, and had to remember that, in fact, they were nothing whatsoever like any of the characters. Which is probably good! Because neither Harriet nor Guy are wholly empathetic, but neither are ‘bad’ characters either.

How I reacted to Harriet is in some ways very similar to my reaction to Martha Quest, the central character in Doris Lessing’s Children of Violence series (which I really need to finish some day). I sometimes felt so angry at their treatment by others within an unfair society – as both are constrained and limited by their gender and their role in their relationships – that I became genuinely agitated. One of those moments in The Balkan Trilogy comes when Harriet expresses dismay at being not shown any consideration by Guy, who would rather leave her to her own devices and talk with his own friends; his immediate reaction is shock: why should she get special treatment from him when she is but ‘part of himself’? Equally, any opposition of Harriet’s to him or his political views is seen by him as a sign of her ‘immaturity’. At other times when drawn into their complex inner worlds I felt slightly uncomfortable and claustrophobic about it.

They are very different characters, though. Harriet is far more decisive and forthright and a great deal easier to anger, even if it’s not always channelled in an effective way. Guy is appealing and you want so much to like him, but he’s deeply flawed and frustrating. As a reader, you might well come to the judgement that they are both immature, which evidences itself in different ways.

I’ve focused on Guy and Harriet but I can’t leave this review without pointing out that there are lots of other characters who are just as clear and fascinating.

It’s a wonderful book, and kept me happily engrossed for the entire 1036 pages to which it stretches. Phew. I highly recommend it. Before I’d even finished the last page, I rushed out to buy the sequel – yeah, I couldn’t believe it had a sequel either – The Levant Trilogy. It’s half the size of the first trilogy, but it looks fascinating and I can’t wait to read it. In fact, I’m so very enthused that I also want to see Fortunes of War, the TV serialisation of the books starring Emma Thompson – because I love her! – and Kenneth Branagh.

Anyway, at 1036 pages all in one volume, you betcha bottom dollar that I’m going to be including this in my books for the Chunkster Challenge.

I’d also be interested to hear people’s thoughts on their own experiences with WWII fiction?

First of all, Happy Easter everybody! I hope you’ve all had a lovely Sunday.

Coming up to the lovely long weekend, I’ve been enjoying A.S. Byatt’s latest, The Children’s Book.

I really enjoyed this. It spans a goodly time period, as the children grow up into adulthood, and covers a lot of ground. What made this book stand out, for me, were the characterisations. There are some beautifully drawn characters in here, full of depth and subtlety. (And some less so, but the main characters are very well done.) As I also found with Possession, the use of language is fantastic; Byatt certainly writes extremely well, with intelligence and understanding. I love the complexities in her writing. Nothing is easy, or obvious, and I do like a good bit of ambivalence and ambiguity in my fiction.

Particularly in this book, the characters are also incredibly interesting. They range from the artistic – and there are some wonderful passages touching on art, and especially ceramics – to the political to characters who are actually quite conventional. Although there aren’t that many of those.

This kind of goes hand in hand with my earlier point about complexity and ambivalence. I really don’t want to spoiler this book for anybody, but while some parts are perhaps predictable (not a criticism, I don’t think it was a real flaw) the broader structure of the narrative… not so much. Certainly, the grouping at the end of the novel is very interesting. It didn’t peg with me straight away, but when I went away and thought about it I realised how different it was from expectations and from where it would have been natural and easy for the novel to go, but just works so well.

The only criticism I’d make of this book is that sometimes it feels a little too swamped with characters. There are huge numbers of things going on at any one point – which is great! – but could get a little overwhelming. I don’t want to pick holes in it, though, or overplay the criticism, because frankly it’s the only one I have. I loved this book and enjoyed it immensely, so I’m currently going around placing it into people’s hands and giving them an encouraging nod. Or two. Or, in fact, three.

Given that I’ve loved everything I’ve read by A.S. Byatt, I’m certainly going to be reading even more as time goes on.

Alphonse asks: any applicable challenges? At a pretty rocking 624 pages of awesome, this is totally good for the Chunkster Challenge. Good show, I say!