Week 25: Maggie Cassidy – Jack Kerouac
Recommended by: Sarah Stephenson
As The Undetones immortally put it, A teenage dream's so hard to beat. And a teenage dream is certainly what Maggie Cassidy is. Not just a teenage romance, full of passion, blind to the world, but also a dream in how it feels like something intensely private, not fully knowable, shareable or tangible. Intense and combustible, innocent and naive, the whole shebang of teenage relationships can be found here. And when it ends, as it inevitably must, it's easy to conclude that On the Road's Sal Paradise was right: Boys and girls in America have such a sad time together.
Yet when placed in the context of the full quote, the truth seems less apparent. Jack and Maggie's relationship is more than a purely physical thing, there is lust, sure, but there is no sex, no real driving sense on either side that it has to be thus and consumated in that way. Nor Jack's relationship with Pauline, or Maggie's flirtations with other suitors. Maybe it's a reflection of an earlier, more innocent age. Or maybe stereotypes and fear-mongering from the tabloid presses of the day, moral panics et al, have never really reflected reality for the masses.
The reality conveyed in the novel though is excellent. Keroauc's stream of concsiousness is not to everyone's taste, but in this instance it captures both teenage thought patterns, dialogue and idioms in an almost hyper-realistic way. It can take a while to get your 'ear' adjusted to it, but once you have, it flows forth beautifully and immerses you in its world. I don't know how well it would work for the young adults of today. Again, I can see the stylistic issues putting a lot of people off, and the current market is booming with far more choice via the likes of John Green and Rainbow Rowell. I'm not the target market for those books and there is a lot to like in them, and there are good reasons why they do so well within their fields. However, I found Maggie Cassidy far more absorbing – and as a result satisfying – than any 'realistic' current YA I've picked up, perhaps because this is a novel of young adulthood rather than specifically for young adults.
Of all of Kerouac's novels that I've read, this is the one that I've liked the best – the style and subject matter have just meshed better. Indeed, On the Road I enjoyed the least, probably equal parts high expectations leading to disappointment and perhaps being the wrong age when I read it (certainly too old to have been formative, perhaps not old enough to reflect on it). And as an aside, our narrator here and Sal Paradise should be read as one and the same, copyright issues prevented the use of the same name being transferable.
So to return to Sal's observation, I suspect that he is both right and wrong, depending on your age, perspective and quite possibly your relationship status. And just maybe he's a bit wiser than he is usually given credit for.
Friday, 26 June 2015
Sunday, 21 June 2015
Little Englanders
Week 24: In the Castle of my Skin – George Lamming
Recommended by: Andrew Harding
Little England. No, not the semi-mythical Tory heartlands but something that would probably be anathema to many who would fall into this particular grouping. Instead, I'm talking about Barbados, known to its citizens in times past as Little England for its close connections, at least as perceived by them, to the colonial motherland.
In the Castle of my Skin is Lamming's autobiographical account of growing up in Barbados, written when he was in his early twenties. It's also more than that: part childhood memoir, part reflection on history and change, part awakening of consciousness, both race and class. Not all of it is in told in the first person either, there are sections of dialogue between Lamming's schoolboy contemporaries which reveal their knowledge and opinions, and the limitations of these, and also dialogue between Ma and Pa, an elderly couple confronting a different set of challenges to the youth.
This makes it somewhat disjointed as a book in that there isn't always a narrative or plot to follow and the changes in style and narrator can jar a bit. It's perhaps more of a series of vignettes which shed light on a people and on a place that no longer exists, a moving account of an island being swept away on a tide of change, not unlike the floods that strike it early on. Lamming has to contend with the differences between his life in the village and his life in the city, neither of which is really compatible with the other. And there's a feeling of helplessness as riots, loss of land, emigration and the unstoppable juggernaut of modernisation sweep traditional ways of life aside. The inability of the villagers to comprehend that the land they have always lived on can be sold and they can be forcibly evicted, that even though they don't own it that is it not theirs, is heartbreaking.
Equally, race wasn't really something the characters were wholly aware through most of the story. Slavery seemed a strange concept, something out of a history book as abstract as the 1066 that they quote at school, rather than something which happened to their ancestors. Commentary on race was limited to the observation that brown (mixed race) girls were regarded as the most beautiful. At the end of the book, however, race consciousness has been brought back by Trumper, Lamming's friend who emigrated to the USA. It is unclear how much Lamming has grasped what Trumper is saying, but the seeds have certainly been sown and it is on this note it ends, feeling like the big revelation to close the opening chapters of a life.
Recommended by: Andrew Harding
Little England. No, not the semi-mythical Tory heartlands but something that would probably be anathema to many who would fall into this particular grouping. Instead, I'm talking about Barbados, known to its citizens in times past as Little England for its close connections, at least as perceived by them, to the colonial motherland.
In the Castle of my Skin is Lamming's autobiographical account of growing up in Barbados, written when he was in his early twenties. It's also more than that: part childhood memoir, part reflection on history and change, part awakening of consciousness, both race and class. Not all of it is in told in the first person either, there are sections of dialogue between Lamming's schoolboy contemporaries which reveal their knowledge and opinions, and the limitations of these, and also dialogue between Ma and Pa, an elderly couple confronting a different set of challenges to the youth.
This makes it somewhat disjointed as a book in that there isn't always a narrative or plot to follow and the changes in style and narrator can jar a bit. It's perhaps more of a series of vignettes which shed light on a people and on a place that no longer exists, a moving account of an island being swept away on a tide of change, not unlike the floods that strike it early on. Lamming has to contend with the differences between his life in the village and his life in the city, neither of which is really compatible with the other. And there's a feeling of helplessness as riots, loss of land, emigration and the unstoppable juggernaut of modernisation sweep traditional ways of life aside. The inability of the villagers to comprehend that the land they have always lived on can be sold and they can be forcibly evicted, that even though they don't own it that is it not theirs, is heartbreaking.
Equally, race wasn't really something the characters were wholly aware through most of the story. Slavery seemed a strange concept, something out of a history book as abstract as the 1066 that they quote at school, rather than something which happened to their ancestors. Commentary on race was limited to the observation that brown (mixed race) girls were regarded as the most beautiful. At the end of the book, however, race consciousness has been brought back by Trumper, Lamming's friend who emigrated to the USA. It is unclear how much Lamming has grasped what Trumper is saying, but the seeds have certainly been sown and it is on this note it ends, feeling like the big revelation to close the opening chapters of a life.
Thursday, 11 June 2015
Who do you think Jew are?
Week 23: Kalooki Nights – Howard Jacobson
Recommended by: Gemma Etienne
It's a good job that I make it a rule not to give up on books. I don't like throwing in the towel, I read quickly enough that I'm not stuck on something I don't like for an eternity, and I've been surprised by books late on – either they've taken a while to get going before becoming great or an average book has had a good development or twist at the end which has made me like or at least appreciate it more. And in this instance it would just be bad manners not to finish someone's recommendation.
I must confess that I struggled with Kalooki Nights to start with. For about the first half of the book I wasn't enjoying it, and having read one other book by Jacobson, The Finkler Question (for another reading challenge of sorts – working my way through all the Booker Prize winners), which I really didn't like, I wasn't holding out high hopes. The narrator of the earlier part of the book, who I'll refer to as Young Max, was precocious without either the quirks and charm of Salinger's Glass family or the childish imagination of Kerouac's first person narrators. For what was ultimately a plot-driven book, nothing really happened during this period and there was a lot of talk about Jewishness which largely boiled down to 'being a Jew is brilliant' and simultaneously 'being a Jew is bloody awful'. This is at least being a step up on The Finkler Question, where the entire book seemed to be tediously devoted to only the latter of those two concepts. And I was a little uncomfortable at the way all Germans were depicted as Nazis – there would be uproar if a book were published where all Jews were depicted as Shylock. I'll give him the benefit of the doubt and assume it was supposed to be satire, but I couldn't detect it and it just sounded a bum note.
That's a lot of obstacles to overcome but as I said earlier, sticking with it did eventually pay dividends. The plot, once it got going, was genuinely compelling, with the mystery at the heart of the novel that kept me hooked. And the characters came to life when they grew up (literally) and truly started interacting with each other, particularly Max's relationship with his mother and the first two of his ex-wives. It sees to me that rather than writing about Jewish People, Jacobson is much better writing about people who happen to be Jews. I admire the scope of what he's trying to do in understanding what it means to be Jewish in the 21st century – that's a pretty damn big question to ask. However, I feel it's much better to answer such questions through complex, interesting characters, through their lives, relationships and actions, rather than any through overarching thoughts and statements.
He is clearly a decent writer, and while I don't find him screamingly funny the way some people do (and I'm immediately sceptical of any review which describes a book as 'hilarious' as in my experience it rarely proves to be anything of the sort), he definitely has a talent for wordplay and witticisms. A couple of stand out (sorry!) moments were on the plural of hard on and the use of umlauts in names. However, from what I have read and what I know about his other books, I'd like to see him write about something else. As Max says right at the start of the book, "Why, why, why, as my father asked until the asking killed him, does everything always have to come back to Jew, Jew, Jew?"
Recommended by: Gemma Etienne
It's a good job that I make it a rule not to give up on books. I don't like throwing in the towel, I read quickly enough that I'm not stuck on something I don't like for an eternity, and I've been surprised by books late on – either they've taken a while to get going before becoming great or an average book has had a good development or twist at the end which has made me like or at least appreciate it more. And in this instance it would just be bad manners not to finish someone's recommendation.
I must confess that I struggled with Kalooki Nights to start with. For about the first half of the book I wasn't enjoying it, and having read one other book by Jacobson, The Finkler Question (for another reading challenge of sorts – working my way through all the Booker Prize winners), which I really didn't like, I wasn't holding out high hopes. The narrator of the earlier part of the book, who I'll refer to as Young Max, was precocious without either the quirks and charm of Salinger's Glass family or the childish imagination of Kerouac's first person narrators. For what was ultimately a plot-driven book, nothing really happened during this period and there was a lot of talk about Jewishness which largely boiled down to 'being a Jew is brilliant' and simultaneously 'being a Jew is bloody awful'. This is at least being a step up on The Finkler Question, where the entire book seemed to be tediously devoted to only the latter of those two concepts. And I was a little uncomfortable at the way all Germans were depicted as Nazis – there would be uproar if a book were published where all Jews were depicted as Shylock. I'll give him the benefit of the doubt and assume it was supposed to be satire, but I couldn't detect it and it just sounded a bum note.
That's a lot of obstacles to overcome but as I said earlier, sticking with it did eventually pay dividends. The plot, once it got going, was genuinely compelling, with the mystery at the heart of the novel that kept me hooked. And the characters came to life when they grew up (literally) and truly started interacting with each other, particularly Max's relationship with his mother and the first two of his ex-wives. It sees to me that rather than writing about Jewish People, Jacobson is much better writing about people who happen to be Jews. I admire the scope of what he's trying to do in understanding what it means to be Jewish in the 21st century – that's a pretty damn big question to ask. However, I feel it's much better to answer such questions through complex, interesting characters, through their lives, relationships and actions, rather than any through overarching thoughts and statements.
He is clearly a decent writer, and while I don't find him screamingly funny the way some people do (and I'm immediately sceptical of any review which describes a book as 'hilarious' as in my experience it rarely proves to be anything of the sort), he definitely has a talent for wordplay and witticisms. A couple of stand out (sorry!) moments were on the plural of hard on and the use of umlauts in names. However, from what I have read and what I know about his other books, I'd like to see him write about something else. As Max says right at the start of the book, "Why, why, why, as my father asked until the asking killed him, does everything always have to come back to Jew, Jew, Jew?"
What's in a name?
Week 22: Tigana – Guy Gavriel Kay
Recommended by: Ashley Hayden
What does Tigana mean to you? Probably you either think it's gibberish or think of the former French midfield dynamo and later Fulham manager. To the majority of the Palm, however, it's a word they can no longer hear, a name stripped of all power by brutal magic. It might share a moniker with one of Les Bleus, but this Italianate setting is the basis for the fantasy novel I've been looking for.
One of my personal bugbears is the need within the genre for novels to be part of trilogies or even longer sagas, where it's hard to get away from the law of diminishing returns – the later books get longer and the pace slows to a crawl. I accept that this is driven partly by fans who generally like this and want to spend more time exploring the sandbox they have been given to play in, and partly by publishers who know they have a banker on their hands if the first title is a success. I'm not against this format, obviously, but I do long for more stand-alones, without the numerous sequels, prequels, side treks and whatever else. Tigana falls into this category and I like it for the fact it's self-contained.
I also like it for the world it builds: human, low magic, political, and fractured. I like it for the places it presents: small enough but part of a much bigger world. I like it for the plot, its twists and turns, its own take on the overthrow the tyrant story. I like it for being plot-centric but character driven. And I like it for the interesting characters, possessed of multiple dimensions, who I grew to love and care about, and the story told from a variety of viewpoints. I like it for the romance and the heroism, the humour and the action, the shades of light and dark. And I like it for being all of these things wrapped up in one neat package.
It's a bit of a doorstopper (another genre trope) but not overlong – I'm more forgiving in that it's feature length rather merely an instalment anyway but it didn't outstay its welcome and it didn't sag. It would perhaps have been interesting to find out more about the Barbadians, who were a bit one-dimensional, though this was balanced by knowing more about the Ygrathians, or at least some of their high-powered figures. And while both were important, the latter have precedence by virtue of Brandin's more central role in the plot. Overall it really did tick all the boxes for me and I'll certainly be checking out Kay's other books.
Recommended by: Ashley Hayden
What does Tigana mean to you? Probably you either think it's gibberish or think of the former French midfield dynamo and later Fulham manager. To the majority of the Palm, however, it's a word they can no longer hear, a name stripped of all power by brutal magic. It might share a moniker with one of Les Bleus, but this Italianate setting is the basis for the fantasy novel I've been looking for.
One of my personal bugbears is the need within the genre for novels to be part of trilogies or even longer sagas, where it's hard to get away from the law of diminishing returns – the later books get longer and the pace slows to a crawl. I accept that this is driven partly by fans who generally like this and want to spend more time exploring the sandbox they have been given to play in, and partly by publishers who know they have a banker on their hands if the first title is a success. I'm not against this format, obviously, but I do long for more stand-alones, without the numerous sequels, prequels, side treks and whatever else. Tigana falls into this category and I like it for the fact it's self-contained.
I also like it for the world it builds: human, low magic, political, and fractured. I like it for the places it presents: small enough but part of a much bigger world. I like it for the plot, its twists and turns, its own take on the overthrow the tyrant story. I like it for being plot-centric but character driven. And I like it for the interesting characters, possessed of multiple dimensions, who I grew to love and care about, and the story told from a variety of viewpoints. I like it for the romance and the heroism, the humour and the action, the shades of light and dark. And I like it for being all of these things wrapped up in one neat package.
It's a bit of a doorstopper (another genre trope) but not overlong – I'm more forgiving in that it's feature length rather merely an instalment anyway but it didn't outstay its welcome and it didn't sag. It would perhaps have been interesting to find out more about the Barbadians, who were a bit one-dimensional, though this was balanced by knowing more about the Ygrathians, or at least some of their high-powered figures. And while both were important, the latter have precedence by virtue of Brandin's more central role in the plot. Overall it really did tick all the boxes for me and I'll certainly be checking out Kay's other books.
Tuesday, 2 June 2015
Heart of a continent
Week 21: Danubia – Simon Winder
Recommended by: Dom Holdsworth
"Being a geek is all about being honest about what you enjoy and not being afraid to demonstrate that affection. It means never having to play it cool about how much you like something. It's basically a license to proudly emote on a somewhat childish level rather than behave like a supposed adult. Being a geek is extremely liberating." So said Simon Pegg, who has made a very successful living out of being a geek in a variety of ways, so he ought to know. Taking that definition, it's very easy to say that Simon Winder is a Central Europe geek.
The second book, after Germania, that he's written on the subject, the key part of Danubia is the subtitle: A Personal History of Habsburg Europe. And it very much is a personal story, or set of them. It's written in the Bill Bryson and Nick Hornby mould, taking people and places and liberally peppering them with personal thoughts, stories and anecdotes. It is also a history book, focused on the interesting characters over a long period, and the forces that shaped Mitteleuropa for several centuries. Loosely chronological, it also jumps around a lot, full of fascinating minituae and non sequiturs ranging from the architecture of Budapest Zoo to Admiral Von Tirpitz's beard and guest quarters. It's a bit like Horrible Histories for grown-ups.
The writing may not be to everyone's taste, flipping a bit between off-hand colloquialisms and pompous tryhardery, but the tone generally hits the mark at the entertaining and amusing level it strives for. There is a lot to enjoy and it's good to dip into as there is a lot to enjoy and Winder's love for his subject matter is obvious. The other side to that is that it doesn't have a strong enough narrative thrust, it's not trying to make a coherent argument, and perhaps it could have been pared down a little.
It vaguely touches on some of the ideas of Brendan Simms' excellent Europe, a longue durée approach to the continent that focuses on Germany's position as the dominant power (or it's potential to become so) as being the driving force for the last five hundred years. Where Danubia shines on a historical level is on the later sections as the Habsburg Empire breaks up as the forces of nationalism come into play, and the creation of national myths to give new countries and peoples legitimacy as they redraw borders.
It is also part travelogue, detailing the places the author has clearly spent a lot of time in, and it was enjoyable for me to reminisce about the many places I've also visited in the region, from Salzburg to Brasov and many places in between. Coupling that with elements of my own studies and wider reading, it also catapulted me back to Mr Gingell's A Level history class, and the personal touches that he added that made them so enjoyable also shone through here. It's a bit unwieldy, more meandering than the titular river, but also crammed full of interesting detail, personal stories and some decent insights into a history that sits outside of most people's knowledge. If you want an introduction to Central Europe, with plenty of feeling, you could do considerably worse.
Recommended by: Dom Holdsworth
"Being a geek is all about being honest about what you enjoy and not being afraid to demonstrate that affection. It means never having to play it cool about how much you like something. It's basically a license to proudly emote on a somewhat childish level rather than behave like a supposed adult. Being a geek is extremely liberating." So said Simon Pegg, who has made a very successful living out of being a geek in a variety of ways, so he ought to know. Taking that definition, it's very easy to say that Simon Winder is a Central Europe geek.
The second book, after Germania, that he's written on the subject, the key part of Danubia is the subtitle: A Personal History of Habsburg Europe. And it very much is a personal story, or set of them. It's written in the Bill Bryson and Nick Hornby mould, taking people and places and liberally peppering them with personal thoughts, stories and anecdotes. It is also a history book, focused on the interesting characters over a long period, and the forces that shaped Mitteleuropa for several centuries. Loosely chronological, it also jumps around a lot, full of fascinating minituae and non sequiturs ranging from the architecture of Budapest Zoo to Admiral Von Tirpitz's beard and guest quarters. It's a bit like Horrible Histories for grown-ups.
The writing may not be to everyone's taste, flipping a bit between off-hand colloquialisms and pompous tryhardery, but the tone generally hits the mark at the entertaining and amusing level it strives for. There is a lot to enjoy and it's good to dip into as there is a lot to enjoy and Winder's love for his subject matter is obvious. The other side to that is that it doesn't have a strong enough narrative thrust, it's not trying to make a coherent argument, and perhaps it could have been pared down a little.
It vaguely touches on some of the ideas of Brendan Simms' excellent Europe, a longue durée approach to the continent that focuses on Germany's position as the dominant power (or it's potential to become so) as being the driving force for the last five hundred years. Where Danubia shines on a historical level is on the later sections as the Habsburg Empire breaks up as the forces of nationalism come into play, and the creation of national myths to give new countries and peoples legitimacy as they redraw borders.
It is also part travelogue, detailing the places the author has clearly spent a lot of time in, and it was enjoyable for me to reminisce about the many places I've also visited in the region, from Salzburg to Brasov and many places in between. Coupling that with elements of my own studies and wider reading, it also catapulted me back to Mr Gingell's A Level history class, and the personal touches that he added that made them so enjoyable also shone through here. It's a bit unwieldy, more meandering than the titular river, but also crammed full of interesting detail, personal stories and some decent insights into a history that sits outside of most people's knowledge. If you want an introduction to Central Europe, with plenty of feeling, you could do considerably worse.
Begin again
Week 20: Life After Life – Kate Atkinson
Recommended by: Rhianna Jones
Imagine if life was like Wayne's World. This is pretty awesome on a number of levels – party on – but one of the joys is that instead of the bad ending, you could choose to have the mega happy ending, or indeed the Scooby Doo ending. Now imagine if this was done repeatedly, over and over, with multiple options, splitting down different paths like the many-worlds theory, with infinite possibilities. This, in a nutshell, is the premise for Life After Life.
It follows Ursula and her family from the moment of her birth, ultimately through to old age, though it is predominantly bracketed by the two world wars. The reader lives and relives her story as it splits and spreads as if it were a hydra: when one head is hacked off, another spawns in its place. It's an interesting concept and obviously there's a lot of ambiguity present as it's almost impossible to tell what the 'real' version of events is, if such a thing can even be said to exist. From a writer's perspective, it's the chance to explore a lot of different ideas with the same characters and without having to stick to a fixed narrative. It's obviously more fleshed out than a character sketch, more a series of the same subject but painted in different lights, from different angles, with different materials. To follow through on the artistic metaphor what it perhaps lacks though is a truly finished masterpiece as an end product.
It's not a short book and I found it took a long time to get going. I can't decide if the slow, repetitive pace of the opening was necessary to get the most out of the meatier sections at its heart, or if it simply needed to be jump started. It laid down the concept so you got used to different potential scenarios quickly, but it did little to pull me in or develop characters and I could imagine some people giving up on it before it really kicks into gear. Likewise, I found the ending disappointing in its lack of closure – with infinite possibilities available, choosing when to stop felt somewhat arbitrary.
However, the core sections that were the mainstay of the book were very good, with interesting characters who were built up slowly from the various snapshots showcasing facets of their personality. Ultimately the story was always going to live or die by the connection with the characters, as if you don't care what happens to them in one story, you certainly weren't going to in an alternative version of events. Fortunately Ursula, Pamela, Teddy, Sylvie, Hugh, Izzie and co had enough (quintessentially English) family drama and compelling narratives to pull off what is undoubtedly an ambitious concept.
And Englishness is at the heart of the book, with the time period also inevitably comparing and contrasting it with Germany. The focus on the wars is perhaps unsurprising as if history is full of 'what ifs', then, as Ursula and Nigel discuss, 'What if Hitler had been killed before he became Chancellor?' is probably going to be netting you a top score on Family Fortunes. Outside of life split between Fox Corner and London, we also get to witness one version of Ursula's life where she moves to Germany and marries, and another where she volunteers throughout the Blitz. These sections were the heart of the book and I found myself wanting more, only to be slightly disappointed to be taken on a different journey before I was ready to depart. It's a smart book and with patience a rewarding one that I enjoyed, but I can't help but wonder if Kate Atkinson were to write it again, would she abandon the concept in favour of the story, and would it be a better book for it?
Recommended by: Rhianna Jones
Imagine if life was like Wayne's World. This is pretty awesome on a number of levels – party on – but one of the joys is that instead of the bad ending, you could choose to have the mega happy ending, or indeed the Scooby Doo ending. Now imagine if this was done repeatedly, over and over, with multiple options, splitting down different paths like the many-worlds theory, with infinite possibilities. This, in a nutshell, is the premise for Life After Life.
It follows Ursula and her family from the moment of her birth, ultimately through to old age, though it is predominantly bracketed by the two world wars. The reader lives and relives her story as it splits and spreads as if it were a hydra: when one head is hacked off, another spawns in its place. It's an interesting concept and obviously there's a lot of ambiguity present as it's almost impossible to tell what the 'real' version of events is, if such a thing can even be said to exist. From a writer's perspective, it's the chance to explore a lot of different ideas with the same characters and without having to stick to a fixed narrative. It's obviously more fleshed out than a character sketch, more a series of the same subject but painted in different lights, from different angles, with different materials. To follow through on the artistic metaphor what it perhaps lacks though is a truly finished masterpiece as an end product.
It's not a short book and I found it took a long time to get going. I can't decide if the slow, repetitive pace of the opening was necessary to get the most out of the meatier sections at its heart, or if it simply needed to be jump started. It laid down the concept so you got used to different potential scenarios quickly, but it did little to pull me in or develop characters and I could imagine some people giving up on it before it really kicks into gear. Likewise, I found the ending disappointing in its lack of closure – with infinite possibilities available, choosing when to stop felt somewhat arbitrary.
However, the core sections that were the mainstay of the book were very good, with interesting characters who were built up slowly from the various snapshots showcasing facets of their personality. Ultimately the story was always going to live or die by the connection with the characters, as if you don't care what happens to them in one story, you certainly weren't going to in an alternative version of events. Fortunately Ursula, Pamela, Teddy, Sylvie, Hugh, Izzie and co had enough (quintessentially English) family drama and compelling narratives to pull off what is undoubtedly an ambitious concept.
And Englishness is at the heart of the book, with the time period also inevitably comparing and contrasting it with Germany. The focus on the wars is perhaps unsurprising as if history is full of 'what ifs', then, as Ursula and Nigel discuss, 'What if Hitler had been killed before he became Chancellor?' is probably going to be netting you a top score on Family Fortunes. Outside of life split between Fox Corner and London, we also get to witness one version of Ursula's life where she moves to Germany and marries, and another where she volunteers throughout the Blitz. These sections were the heart of the book and I found myself wanting more, only to be slightly disappointed to be taken on a different journey before I was ready to depart. It's a smart book and with patience a rewarding one that I enjoyed, but I can't help but wonder if Kate Atkinson were to write it again, would she abandon the concept in favour of the story, and would it be a better book for it?
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