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  • chrisno1chrisno1 LondonPosts: 3,710MI6 Agent

    BLEAK HOUSE – Charles Dickens (1852 – 53, compete volume published 1853)

    Ah, Charles Dickens.

    I knew I would have to read one of his novels at some point in my university studies and was not looking forward to it. For me, Dickens’s books always drag. I think it is the convoluted spider’s web plotting, where every person is interlinked and every action has a corresponding reaction. While I understand the technique and recognise it is a function of both the Victorian ‘saga’ novel and of the episodic magazine publication format employed by the author, I don’t find it in anyway realistic. Everything slots too conveniently into place. Life just doesn’t work like that: only in Dickens’s novels can an illiterate road sweeper hold the clues to an orphan girl’s parenthood; only in Dickens’s novels can the orphan girl be the font of goodness so sickening she may as well be made of treacle; only in Dickens’s novels can the best of men fall from grace and the lowest ascend to the heights; only in Dickens’s novels can every person be inter-related by marriage, custom or law to everybody else, know everybody else, help / hinder everybody else.

    This method of story construction will enthral some, who I guess enjoy unravelling cat’s cradles, but the sheer density of each conspiracy tires me out. The constant recap of plot threads via a mouthpiece or an incident to remind the book’s initial readers what happened in the previous month’s issue is exhausting. I just don’t have the time for it. To top it, the very unreality of each novel’s set-up and outcome irritates and mystifies. I keep wondering why and how things happen and fail to understand people’s choices, chiefly because these moments occur to propel a plot point further in the narrative, not to serve a character trait or sensible worldly decision. I also find the language – especially the dialogue – intensely archaic. Why use one word, Dickens seems to suggest, when I can use twenty-one? It is never enough to say “I love you” it must be written: “The best of us would never suggest to say such a powerful and enigmatic phrase lest it offend the recipient, but I feel in my heart such a soft and yet unbearable emotion I simply must, even on the point of rejection, reveal the depth of my feeling for you which has built from our very first meeting and fills me with awe and a lightness of breath; oh, will you say the same to me?”.

    God, I hate Charles Dickens.

    Bleak House is not one of the author’s most popular novels, although it is touted mightily by some. There is a personal critique book available called 100 Great Novels [can’t remember the author] and Bleak House sits proudly at No.12, higher than Dickens’s more revered works. What marks the novel of some interest is the two-voice narrative, one an omnipotent third-person-present voice and the second a female first-person-past. The book roughly alternates chapters between the two voices. The third person narrative is rich with description, metaphor and simile. It holds us tight, perhaps too tight, in its hand and attempts to portray the ultimate foolishness of the Chancery Court, where inheritances were disputed. Dickens – or rather, the ‘voice’ – compares the law’s slow-moving, indulgent, richly self-serving legal morass to the moral and physical decay which surrounds the Inns of Court, the poverty, lawlessness and disease, the crawling, crowing, grabbing inhabitants, poor, sick and embittered. These passages, more than anything else in the novel, highlight the ‘State of the Nation’ – by which I nominally mean Britain but which in reality is encompassed here by London – and mark Bleak House as a social novel, one concerned with prejudicial societies and the health and wealth [or lack of] of the poverty stricken.

    Set against this is the slightly more uplifting – though not by much – tale of Esther Summerson, a bastard child raised and educated in isolation, given a fortuitous lifeline which, as always, turns out to not be quite such a coincidence as one may have thought, and ends up the heroine to many and the friend of all. Esther is an unbelievable character even when at her best. Charlotte Bronte had some particularly disparaging remarks to cast about Dickens’s representation of women and Esther is no exception. She reminded me of the heroines of Perrault’s fairy stories: butter can’t melt in the mouth, wronged-by-all yet all-forgiven, blind both to love and of love, penitent, pretty, the best friend ever. There is a disturbing number of pet names thrown her way – “my little woman” chief among them – in a vain attempt at character forming. For Esther has no character; she is a cipher for goodness. Almost everyone else has some character flaw, most notably vanity but greed plays a huge role in the unfolding dramas. Given there must be almost fifty characters of note in the story that’s a lot of narcissism and makes for extremely torturous reading. The only note of interest I picked up on was the closeness of Esther’s relationship to her companion Ada Clare, which at times bordered on a portrait of some 19th Century cod-lesbian chic, being excessively obsessive and splattered with kind, loving words and constant references to the latter’s undoubted beauty and the former’s good and great heart. When, after a period of separation, Esther and Ada reunite they fall into each other’s arms and then to the floor in a flurry of kisses and I really did wonder what Dickens was suggesting…

    Bleak House is almost 1000 pages long, and cod-lesbian chic or not, there is only so much I could take of the grim ****-lain London streets alternating with a witty mollycoddled domesticity. The whole exercise seemed to over balance every time the perspective changed. Towards the end of the novel, as the legal logjam of Jarndyce and Jarndyce begins to be breached and Esther’s true heritage reveals itself, Dickens introduces Mr Bucket, a detective, who sleuths his way to solutions to all problems. He’s your prototype Poirot, investigating people’s histories, habits and habitations, seeking clues outside the boundary of witness and confronting the offenders with withering pronouncements. It is a pity we take so long to come to Mr Bucket for his chapters are rather entertaining, although like Poirot his speeches are interminable – although what isn’t in this novel?

    I can’t fault Dickens’s descriptive talent. He paints an unholy picture of London as a genuine cesspit of fog, dirt and disease where the poor live cheek-by-jowl to the rich and where a road sweeper is as likely to associate with a titled lady or a solicitor as a brickmaker or a whore. There is humour. There is pathos. We do sympathise and empathise with the plight of the poor and take some interest in the less churning tales of the law, but the novel is a long haul and it isn’t rewarding unless you like cinematic verbosity. In short, far shorter than its 1000 pages, Bleak House is, well, rather bleak.

    I’ll leave you with that.           

  • Sir MilesSir Miles The Wrong Side Of The WardrobePosts: 28,176Chief of Staff
    edited October 2024

    A Study in Crimson: Sherlock Holmes in 1942 by Robert J Harris

    Harris ‘updates’ Holmes to WWII…

    On the dates of the first two Ripper killings from 1888, two women are found killed in similar circumstances with the name Crimson Jack written on the wall above them…Inspector Lestrade of Scotland Yard is baffled and brings in Holmes to help stop the killer before he completes his copycat 5 killings…and what is the real reason behind them?

    Harris says he was inspired by the films starring Basil Rathbone & Nigel Bruce and his stories are based on those actors.

    Rathbone has always been my favourite incarnation of Holmes, and it’s easy to ‘hear’ his voice of Sherlock here…as it is with most of the other regular characters from that film series…the one change is actually Dr Watson - he’s not portrayed as the slightly bumbling and comedic character that Bruce played.

    The story opens with Holmes & Watson asked to look into the disappearance of Dr MacReady in Scotland, which is solved in the first few of chapters - it almost reads as pre-title sequence!

    A few regular characters are here - Lestrade, Mrs Hudson, Mycroft & and one Baker Street Irregular ☺️

    Overall I was disappointed with this…I’d hoped for a better story, it’s more an adventure than a mystery…but not a very good one. It’s a ‘light’ read.

    YNWA 97
  • chrisno1chrisno1 LondonPosts: 3,710MI6 Agent

    EAGLE IN THE SKY– Wilbur Smith (1974)

    Wilbur Smith, I feel, is something of an acquired taste. When reading one of his adventure novels, it is easy to recognise why he sold in the millions: the stories are fast paced, full of exquisite detail about wildlife, locations and what Fleming termed ‘things’ – mechanics and gadgets – and the narrative fairly rollocks along. On the downside, his characters are caricatures and while the scenarios show some originality – this one, for instance, focusses partly on the defence of Israel – they always end up on the veldt or in the Indian Ocean, in drought or monsoon, hurricane, stampede, war or revolution. It doesn’t help that the dialogue is rippled with inadequacies. Most of the people in this novel read as if a child were speaking. Their reactions are uniformly stereotypical. The depth of characterisation is skin deep – uniform deep, in the case of one military general, cryptically named The Brig in case we forget he’s rather important and steadfastly upright.

    David Morgan is the hero of Eagle in the Sky. He is a young, gorgeous and carefree playboy. A rich inheritance provides for him and a place is set aside on the board of the family business, but he flounces off for a stint in the South African Airforce before grabbing his monies and galivanting across Europe, drinking, pulling birds and acting the complete idiotic lothario. He isn’t very likable. Beautiful Debra Mordecai changes all that – as only a woman can in a Wilbur Smith novel – and Morgan high-tails it to Jerusalem in pursuit of this damaged beauty and, to demonstrate his maturity, enrols in the Israeli Defence Force. Luckily, Morgan was born to a Jewish mother and speaks Hebrew, is circumcised and was educated in the Torah. He isn’t very religious though, and neither is Debra; handy, as they spend most of their time together like two randy teenagers.

    Tragedy ensues when a rogue Islamic terror group infiltrates a wedding, killing several of the guests, including the bride. David and his wingman Joe [the bridegroom] go on a deadly revenge fuelled slaughter in the skies and end up getting killed, or almost killed, themselves. David’s Adonis good looks become a fire ravaged travesty of his former self and he starts to rebuild his life, although his bolshy, impulsive character never alters, hence the sudden bouts of negative self-confidence regarding his features seem entirely out of kilter with the rest of his persona. Throughout, even when married, he remains a selfish, arrogant, misogynistic he-man. The author gives his hero some horrible condescending lines to say and some verbal affections [“doll” was prominent and irksome] which irritate and fail to endear him to this reader. Debra is the more interesting character, but Smith seems less interested in her unless she is undressing or in peril. Both happen frequently.

    A good enough adventure, which ticks plenty of boxes, but is ultimately as empty as the skies the author takes so long to describe. I do prefer Smith’s standalone novels to his Courtney or Ballentyne sagas, which remind me of a kind of in-print version of the Marvel Cinematic Universe, but this one left me somewhat cold.  

  • BarbelBarbel ScotlandPosts: 38,411Chief of Staff


    RAYMOND CHANDLER’S PHILIP MARLOWE (Editor: Byron Preiss)

    This was originally published in 1988 to commemorate the 100th anniversary of Chandler’s birth. It comprises 25 short stories about Marlowe written by 25 then contemporary authors including Max Allan Collins (another similar pastiche of his, this time of Mickey Spillane’s Mike Hammer, was recently covered in CoolHandBond’s Comic Strip thread) and Sara Paretsky. As might be expected from so many writers, the stories vary from exceptional to merely passable though I’d hesitate to call any of them actually poor. The many authors all attempt to adopt Chandler’s style, and again they vary in their success.

    The last story in the volume is “The Pencil” by Chandler himself, the only Philip Marlowe short story he wrote. To clarify that, several stories that didn’t originally feature Marlowe were later republished with his name inserted.

    This was my third time reading this book. The first was back in either 89 or 90 when I got it in paperback (hardbacks were beyond my means at that time). I bought it in hardback when it was reissued more recently and read it very happily, which I have now done again. Chandler wasn’t a prolific author (only seven novels plus about two dozen short stories, not all detective stories) so more Marlowe is always fine by me - except the recent “The Goodbye Coast” which was terrible.

  • caractacus pottscaractacus potts Orbital communicator, level 10Posts: 4,167MI6 Agent

    Barbel said: ...The Pencil by Chandler...

    __________________________________________

    I dont think I have The Pencil in any of the paperback short story collections in the Potts archives, I may have to find this Chandler tribute book just to fill in that gap in my collection

  • BarbelBarbel ScotlandPosts: 38,411Chief of Staff

    It might be under an alternative title - I've seen it called "Marlowe Takes On The Syndicate" or very close to that and there may be others.

  • chrisno1chrisno1 LondonPosts: 3,710MI6 Agent

    JUST SO STORIES – Rudyard Kipling (1902)

    Kid’s stuff.   

  • CoolHandBondCoolHandBond Mactan IslandPosts: 7,611MI6 Agent

    HERNE THE HUNTER #24 The Last Hurrah by John J McLaglen

    This terrific western series was written by Laurence James (odd numbers) and John Harvey (even numbers) under the pseudonym of John J McLaglen. Surprisingly, little difference is noticed between the two writing styles. Jed Travis is known by the name Herne the Hunter, and is a feared shootist and bounty hunter who travels the West hunting down the bunch of rapists who defiled his wife, who then hanged herself. Over the course of the series he kills every one of them in books #1-3, and then has adventures in the rest of them.

    Unusually, for a pulp character series, this one has a proper ending and this final entry of the series is a poignant, if extremely violent, novel as Travis reflects on his life, thinking of his long dead wife, his only friend fellow gunman Whitey Coburn, his meetings with other characters from the Piccadilly Cowboys series of books - Edge, Crow etc. and characters from popular westerns such as The Magnificent Seven. It’s a westerns aficionado’s dream novel and a fitting end to one of the truly great pulp western series.

    Yeah, well, sometimes nothin' can be a real cool hand.
  • chrisno1chrisno1 LondonPosts: 3,710MI6 Agent

    THE AGE OF INNOCENCE – Edith Wharton (1920)

    Newland Archer comes from the monied elite of New York society c.1870. He is engaged to the beautiful, but heroically unimaginative May Welland, and everybody believes they are the perfect match. On the day they announce their betrothal, May’s cousin, the Countess Ellen Olenska, presents herself at the Opera. Ellen has deserted her abusive Polish husband and returned to America intent on rebuilding her life on her terms. Stifled by the city’s societal runaround of dinner parties, easy living and gossip, Newland sees in Ellen’s demeanour and behaviour an opportunity to break the monotony of convention. In attempting to do so, the pair fall in love, but it remains unconsummated and, as Newland ages like the city he inhabits, so his love recedes to a place of cherished memory.

    A romantic melodrama from Edith Wharton that in its setting encompasses her own life span and the world she was born into. As such, the novel is phenomenally well detailed and follows the conventions of the day in forms of address, politeness and understanding. For instance, early on Wharton spends several pages outlining the various histories of the wealthy families that surround Washington Square, making it clear who the important people are in New York, the why and how of their attaining such grand positions. Much of the story takes place in dark, chilly winters, bleak times for everyone as well as the reader. Here, the ravishing May Welland shines like a virginal goddess and is pitted against the earthy, European uniqueness of Ellen; baubles battling silently on a snow-tipped Christmas tree. The drama plays out like a series of small plays where we never reach the second act; each chapter builds with clues and metaphors to a character’s thought and intent, yet we never see these come to fruition. The action is static, revisiting scenes and occasion time and again; the main action takes place over two years and is bookended by scenes at the Metropolitan Opera. In-between times, whole episodes pass where only one significant line may be uttered, or an observation made, while the ‘business’ of 1870s New York – parties, crockery, marriage, gossip, travel, clothes, food, etc – is described in consummate depth. To that extent, The Age of Innocence is not as interesting as Wharton’s clever and innovative The Custom of the Country. It also has a less interesting central figure: the third-person narrator Newland Archer. He is a dull fantasist, performing most of his about-turns in his head. Reality is unexciting for Newland. Even impending marriage strikes a low chord. It is no surprise the dashing Ellen Olenska catches his [and other’s] eyes.

    In fact, Newland is most interesting as a character because he is so obviously enacting the traditional female role in melodrama, where the woman is caught between a handsome and challenging romancer and a devoted, but un-spritely husband. Thus Wharton is able to challenge the literary conventions while her characters assault the societal ones. Change, which at one point is detested and decried by the dignified Van Luyden’s, eventually comes to the city, but not through Newland Archer’s potential for adultery and elopement [he discusses both subjects with his wife and with the Countess in vague, analogous fashions – the dialogue is littered with allusions and misinterpretations – I sometimes wished for more straight-forward storytelling]. More so, change happens through Newland’s influence as a doyen of polite society and civil administration, a man who upholds the past while seeking the future in the present, a role one feels he would never have inhabited had he embarked on an affair with Ellen Olenska. This only becomes clear during the bitter coda, which tops the novel off marvellously as the elegant, longed-for past metaphorically meets the brash, unbridled future only without Newland’s sturdy presence, for despite his efforts he remains tied to the established conventions he tried so hard to break.        

    A very fine novel, but one that perhaps ponders too much. The pace is a sedate crawl. However, the intricacies of the society game are well described and there are moments of wit and satire among the vast channels of obdurate scenery. Wharton’s writing errs to the conservative. It lacks spice. This may be because it is a later work and the need for her to startle an audience had diminished. She replaces the haughty, vicious, obvious and self-serving heroine Undine Spragg in favour of a tacit triplicate of lovers whose triangle of passion is played out in half-sentences, riddles and unspoken understandings. A kiss on the hand means so much more to these people than just a kiss on the hand. However, you do wonder why they are so unphysical. Newland Archer’s passion seems confined to taking stiff walks and grasping mantelpieces. May Welland appears to have no passion at all, so godlike a figure is she described. Only Ellen, modern, uncultured – or differently cultured, as one wag points out – breathes life into the world and even here it is fleeting and unrewarding, like chasing sunlight on a snowy morning.

    Martin Scorsese made a film of the book. An unusual choice for him, one feels.  

  • chrisno1chrisno1 LondonPosts: 3,710MI6 Agent

    WALDEN – Henry David Thoreau (1854)

    A static travelogue from the transcendental theorist Henry Davod Thoreau, Walden is a diarised account of his two years spent in self-imposed virtual isolation on the shore of Walden Pond, near Concord, Massachusetts. Nothing happens. Thoreau communicates with nature. He writes. He theorises. Most of his diary is a series of ‘lectures’ about the environment, the economy, social upheavals, past times, politics, theology – the big subjects. Most of these ‘lectures’ are posed questions which the author almost answers before posing a secondary, or third set of questions. Some of his notions are interesting. All of them are long winded. The prose features a poetic ear which sits at odds beside Thoreau’s egotistical intellect. This man does not present himself as pleasant. His attitude towards rich and poor is remarkably even-handed: unless they inhabit the same ideas and attitudes as the author, he displays utter disdain for them both. His political leanings are left of centre, calling on the proletariat to demand a better quality of life and a better representation in government, fulfilling the ideals of the American Revolution. Overall however, unless you enjoy reading whole chapters about the depth, drift and colour of the ice flows on the Walden Pond, or the fish within it, or the flora and fauna around it, the book feels laboured. It is hard to divest the theorising from Thoreau’s obvious enthusiasm for nature. One feels the author wrote this not for others, but himself, and as such Walden is entirely self-absorbed.      

  • Napoleon PluralNapoleon Plural LondonPosts: 10,526MI6 Agent

    I picked up Angela Thirkell's Christmas at High Rising at my local library, it's got the sort of cover that earns its crust, a woman in a muff skating on ice, all very Love for Lydia. It's a late 20s/30s collection of humorous pieces about a family, set around Christmas - it leans towards Richmal Crompton's Just William series, well that's very funny but this didn't do it for me. That's the good thing about funny books - if you don't find it funny you don't have to hang around to get into it, you just ditch it, as it only has one job, to make you laugh.

    Similarly it's not a great idea to sit down with someone to watch a funny movie if there is scope for tension, because if you're not laughing, or one of you is and not the other, it's a drag - it's awkward and you can't hide it. You don't get that vibe if you're both watching a drama.

    "This is where we leave you Mr Bond."

    Roger Moore 1927-2017
  • chrisno1chrisno1 LondonPosts: 3,710MI6 Agent

    THE DANGER – Dick Francis (1983)

    Back in 2019 I read Shattered, a latter day novel by the former jump-jockey Dick Francis – the man whose mount Devon Loch famously slipped and stumbled on Aintree’s home straight and gave up a win at the 1956 Grand National. Francis had a good career in the saddle, being Champion Jockey of 1954 and the Queen Mother’s go-to rider. He had a longer and even more prolific second career as a writer, penning over forty bestsellers, starting with his autobiography The Sport of Queens. He won Edgar Allen Poe and Silver Dagger Awards and was lauded by both critics and the public, who lapped up his books by the million. Often these were based in or around the world of horse racing. Even when Francis ventured beyond his native world, there was usually an element of the racing world attached to the characters. For instance, Shattered had a hero who was a glass blower by trade, but my vague memory of an ultimately disappointing book was that horses and horse racing featured somewhere. Shattered simply didn’t grip me enough. It was dull. It was simple. It lacked tension. It is heartening to report that The Danger, written some twenty five years earlier than Shattered, is rather good. 

    Andrew Douglas works for Liberty Market Ltd, a company that specialises in hostage negotiation. He’s in Bologna overseeing the return of kidnappee Alessia Cenci and things are not going to plan, thanks to an overenthusiastic police response. From the grand stand opening, Francis delivers a thriller of some depth and interest, dealing as it does with Stockholm Syndrome, mental and physical trauma and guilt complexes. Somewhere alongside the psychological rhetoric is a decent thriller which takes us from Italy to the UK and over the pond to Washington D.C. and a big race meet where flat jockey Alessia plans to rehabilitate herself into horse racing. Douglas fears that Alessia’s kidnap is not a random incident and as other kidnaps take place, he begins to draw dots between them and eventually uncovers a methodical villain lurking in the background of the horse racing world. Francis provides plenty of intrigue although it is fair to say there isn’t much actual action, this is definitely a procedural thriller. The best descriptions are reserved for the racing, where Francis really comes into his own. Despite that, he is able to rack up the suspense and the final few pages of torture and escape are worth the wait. This section brought back memories of Morris West’s The Salamander, and I wondered if Francis’s wife, Mary, who did the bulk of research, editing and proofing for the majority of Francis’s career, had read it. She certainly seems to have read up on kidnapping and the psychology of incarceration!

    Overall, a much improved effort.

    The title is never explained.  

  • chrisno1chrisno1 LondonPosts: 3,710MI6 Agent

    SUMMER – Edith Wharton (1917)

    Charity Royall is bored in North Dormer, an isolated village in the New England mountain pastures. The wilful teen minds the village library, looks down on her idle flighty peer group and yearns to escape the red house where she was raised by the liquor loving lawyer Mr Royall. He is not her father, but he rescued Charity when her birth mother, Mary, put her bastard daughter up for adoption. Mary is unseen in the novel until the very end when events spiral out of Charity’s control and conspire to influence what will be life changing and affirming decisions. Until the slightly bitter, slightly glowing ending – a moment of genuine realism and approbation among the tortuous romance – Charity has been an assertive and forthright individual. She deals firmly with the unwanted attentions of her step-father. She glories in the countryside and the open spaces of the mountains. She is quick witted and delivers memorable riposte after memorable riposte in attempts to gain and retain the upper hand over her relatives, friends and the beautiful architect Lucius Harney – a new and exciting stranger in town who spurs the local girls’ hearts and minds. It is Charity who wins his attentions and embarks on an intense love affair that leads her back to a destitute mother and the uncouth gypsy people who live in the mountains.

    Edith Wharton considered Summer to be one of her best books. It benefits immensely from brevity, condensing the long hot summer into a steamy 150 pages where the basking sun and the heady, deliriousness of Charity is clearly defined. Characters are strong, and Wharton retains the reader’s interest in a story which develops through a fairly obvious narrative, by essentially confining her story to only three persons. There are others, but they flit around the action like moths attracted to a flame, only to disperse at metaphorical daylight, leaving the mysteries to be evoked by Charity, Harney and Mr Royall. Some excellent observations abound and Wharton, who is most famous for urban fiction, creates brilliant vivid images of the town, its landscape and population. I was completely taken in by Charity who is a thoroughly believable, provocative yet vulnerable person; her naivety displays itself with as much regularity as her strength and passion. Wharton renders the lovers’ passion through a series of intimate scenes during which Charity either anticipates or reflects on her trysts with Harney, the moments of ecstasy symbolised by the pressing humidity, the closeness of nature and the doting domesticity Charity and Harney develop. 

    Wharton cleverly contrasts Charity with two other women, Anabel Balch and Julia Hawes. They barely feature, yet they encompass all Charity’s fears for her future. Anabel is a well-educated, pretty and well-to-do woman who lives in the next village; she has exceptional breeding, is the envy of all but Charity, yet lacks a passionate nature. The unseen Julia meanwhile is a surrogate moral compass in that she had an illicit affair, bore a child and has turned to prostitution to pay for her child’s welfare; the unforgiven Julia is spoken of in whispered tones. In Summer, Charity learns not only of her desires and sensualities, but of societal expectations [as demonstrated by Anabel] and its dangers [as suffered by Julia]. Charity’s own Damascene moment comes on a lonely rain swept journey to the bleak mountain village of her birth and a frosty meeting with her mother that chills the reader as much as it chills the heroine. 

    Very good. 

  • chrisno1chrisno1 LondonPosts: 3,710MI6 Agent

    THE MILL ON THE FLOSS – George Eliot (1860)

    A dull Victorian melodrama about two siblings, Maggie and Tom Tulliver, whose father owns the bread mill straddling the Floss river. Maggie, like her father, is impetuous, headstrong and quick witted. Tom, like his mother, is slow intellectually and stagnant as a pond emotionally, but while he learns business and saves his father’s ailing business, Maggie becomes flighty and brings disgrace to her and her family via an unexpected elopement. Tragedy reunites sister and brother, proving that blood really is thicker than water – unless that water is trying to drown you.

    Popular for decades, George Eliot’s saga is spoilt mostly by being so long winded, choosing to split its narrative into scenes that become little more than observational cultural windows into the lives of the lower and middle classes. We barely see a decent stick of furniture for the first half of the book. Religion and societal expectations play a bigger part in everyone’s lives than emotions. Maggie’s loves and lusts [both of them entirely inappropriate and unobtainable] are far too modern and unconventional to be anything but a scandal; they underline Eliot’s own difficult upbringing and her depreciation of the role of women in Victorian society. Men are seen as being far too assertive, bordering on abusive either physically, mentally or intellectually. Women are not assertive enough or they 'nag'. They however have redeeming faetures that all the men - including a kindly but cowardly paster - fail to possess.

    Occasionally, even though the book is written in the third person, the author introduces herself as a character, directing our thoughts and understandings with a first-person observational narrative, usually on religious beliefs or emotional conveyance. This skews whole sections of the narrative and closes the door on any outlier perspective about the flawed characters.

    I like Maggie though, she seems quite modern and rather sexy with her dark skin, dark eyes and folds of dark voluminous hair. At least she recognises her inner turmoil and confronts it, often facing down the protagonist, which is an endearing modern attribute.   

    The Mill on the Floss was alright, I suppose, just.  

  • BarbelBarbel ScotlandPosts: 38,411Chief of Staff

    THE LIQUIDATOR

    UNDERSTRIKE John Gardner

    The first two Boysie Oakes books by our own John Gardner. I picked the first off the shelf casually, having read it many years ago and seen the (very faithful) film quite recently, and enjoyed it thoroughly. So thoroughly that I went straight into the second which again I had read a long time ago and again enjoyed very much. I'm going to continue rereading the whole series now.

    Boysie, for those who don't know, is a cowardly and incompetent British agent who always somehow lucks through his missions. Gardner was a good writer, better than he's usually given credit for, and if you've only read his Bond books I suggest giving Boysie a go. Right, @Silhouette Man?



    For @CoolHandBond, my copy of "UNDERSTRIKE" is a first in adequate condition inc jacket. My copy of "MADRIGAL" is a first in excellent condition but lacks the jacket (lost somewhere over the last 50ish years). All other Boysie Oakes books I have are common-or-gardner 😁 paperbacks.

  • Shady TreeShady Tree London, UKPosts: 3,028MI6 Agent

    @Barbel Thanks for the recommendation on these. I've never read any of them but am now tracking all of them down.

    Critics and material I don't need. I haven't changed my act in 53 years.
  • CoolHandBondCoolHandBond Mactan IslandPosts: 7,611MI6 Agent

    @Barbel “Understrike” is probably around the £30 mark, the other one maybe £5 due to no dust jacket. But the real value is not monetary but in the pleasure of owning such items, as we have discussed before.

    I have only read The Liquidator, and that was probably 40 or so years ago. I think I will try it again after your recommendation 🍸

    Yeah, well, sometimes nothin' can be a real cool hand.
  • BarbelBarbel ScotlandPosts: 38,411Chief of Staff

    Thanks, CHB, and as you say the real value is in the pleasure of owning such items. I'm not selling, just curious.

    @Shady Tree I do hope you enjoy the series. Please read them in order!

  • Silhouette ManSilhouette Man The last refuge of a scoundrelPosts: 8,930MI6 Agent
    edited January 19

    Thanks, @Barbel. Yes, the Boysie Oakes novels are great. John Gardner is definitely a very underrated writer and these books were where he started out and really honed his craft as a thriller writer. They're highly recommended for anyone who only knows Gardner from his Bond continuation novels.

    I've been collecting the hardback editions of his Boysie Oakes books (both UK and US editions) and I have most of them now including a few that are signed. I've been trying to collect all of his novels in first edition and signed if I can find them. I also have a good few of his novels in uncorrected proof from, though they are harder to find. Online the prices are often quite high if the book is signed and sometimes even if it isn't. As he's one of my favourite authors I try to collect as much as my modest bank account will allow. 🙂

    "The tough man of the world. The Secret Agent. The man who was only a silhouette." - Ian Fleming, Moonraker (1955).
  • Sir MilesSir Miles The Wrong Side Of The WardrobePosts: 28,176Chief of Staff

    I’ve only read The Liquidator from that series…obviously I must find the others…I really liked Gardner’s The Secret Generations, The Secret Houses and The Secret Families trio…

    YNWA 97
  • CoolHandBondCoolHandBond Mactan IslandPosts: 7,611MI6 Agent

    That’s a nice collection you have @Silhouette Man signed editions are always nice, too!

    Yeah, well, sometimes nothin' can be a real cool hand.
  • Silhouette ManSilhouette Man The last refuge of a scoundrelPosts: 8,930MI6 Agent

    Thanks, @CoolHandBond. I was lucky enough to correspond by email with Mr Gardner towards the end of his life. He was always very nice to talk to. A real gentleman. I'm just glad I had the chance to tell him how much his work meant to me before he passed away. I recently acquired one of his personal signed copies of The Liquidator which also came with a signed letter inside. It wasn't cheap but I was delighted to acquire it.

    "The tough man of the world. The Secret Agent. The man who was only a silhouette." - Ian Fleming, Moonraker (1955).
  • CoolHandBondCoolHandBond Mactan IslandPosts: 7,611MI6 Agent

    I’ve been lucky enough to meet and/or correspond with quite a few authors, Gardner was not one that I did, but it seems like he was very much like most of them in the sense that he was humble and gentlemanly. Those will be happy memories for you @Silhouette Man 🍸

    Yeah, well, sometimes nothin' can be a real cool hand.
  • Silhouette ManSilhouette Man The last refuge of a scoundrelPosts: 8,930MI6 Agent

    Yes, they are happy memories, @CoolHandBond. That's good that you've had positive experiences with authors too. It's always good to meet your heroes and not be disappointed. 🙂

    "The tough man of the world. The Secret Agent. The man who was only a silhouette." - Ian Fleming, Moonraker (1955).
  • Shady TreeShady Tree London, UKPosts: 3,028MI6 Agent

    I'm making good progress in putting together a Boysie Oakes collection, fairly inexpensively. The couple of novels in the series that I don't yet have in hand are on their way to me as paperbacks. I've picked up a couple of later, non-Oakes Gardner novels too. Of the hardback copies I've acquired, most have tatty jackets, so I'm putting the jackets aside ahead of my reading spree, which will possibly be in the Spring. I've never read any of these before so am looking forward to it.

    Meanwhile I'm watching on DVD the 'The Liquidator' movie, which I first saw on TV decades ago. Tonally, that film sits somewhere between Blake Edwards and DAF, with some interesting points of correspondence with DAF and the Tom Mankiewicz Bond treatments, suggesting that Mankiewicz or the other Bond film-makers of the early 70s may have had it in mind as part of a mix of influences.


    Critics and material I don't need. I haven't changed my act in 53 years.
  • BarbelBarbel ScotlandPosts: 38,411Chief of Staff

    I hope you enjoy them, I'll feel terrible if you now don't. Two copies of "Founder Member "?

    It's odd that you should mention Blake Edwards, since I was thinking this:


    AMBER NINE John Gardner

    The third Boysie Oakes story, and it has taken me till now to notice something that should have been obvious from the start. Boysie is an incompetent spy, who somehow manages to stumble through his missions on blind luck. The opposition think he is clever and dangerous, which is reinforced by their agents failing and sometimes dying when they try to kill him. He has a love/hate relationship with his boss, and beautiful women can't keep their hands off him.

    It's basically the Pink Panther, with Boysie being Clouseau, especially "Strikes Again" and "Revenge Of". Of course Gardner was writing these years before those movies, and Boysie doesn't much resemble the early Clouseau.


    MADRIGAL John Gardner

    Book four and a drastic overhaul. This is a very Deighton influenced story which I don't want to say more about than that. The comedy has almost gone and Boysie is much more competent. I'm wondering if Gardner felt he had gone as far as he could go with the comedy angle and decided a change of gear was necessary. Perhaps he hadn’t even originally put Boysie in the story but his publishers insisted?

  • Shady TreeShady Tree London, UKPosts: 3,028MI6 Agent
    edited January 25

    I'm sure I shall enjoy these. I'm lukewarm about some of Gardner's Bond novels but Oakes was Gardner's own creation and I expect Gardner will have brought to the Oakes series a younger writer's energy at a time when the espionage genre and Bond were in their prime. Anyway, part of the pleasure for me is simply in handling 60s first edition hardbacks - books acquired cheaply enough, in these cases, for me not to have any qualms about physically picking them up to read. I have two copies of 'Founder Member' because I first ordered it as a single book then shortly afterwards came across a generously priced job lot which included it too.

    Thanks for the insights on the Oakes/ Pink Panther similarities. On Jack Cardiff's 1965 'The Liquidator' movie and its possible influence on the offbeat Bond of the early 70s, I've noticed some parallels apart from the obvious business of casting Jill St John (and hiring Shirley Bassey again). Take 'The Liquidator''s cheerful assassin Griffen (Eric Sykes), for example: the bizarre killings by DAF's Wint and Kidd (or even by LALD's "Whose funeral is it?" sidewalk assassin) maybe owe something to the idea of Griffen's comic (yet somehow disturbing) series of murders, which include a woman criminal victim - as much as to Fleming. Then there's a scene where Oakes and Miss St John are spied travelling apart from each other on the same flight (and I must say, she seems quite attractive...). The pointedly acerbic, eye-rolling M of DAF through to TMWTGG (i.e. in Mankiewicz's Bonds) may owe something to Trevor Howard's crusty, ill-tempered Mostyn persona. And Oakes has to conceal the 'company' girl he's entertaining at his luxury pad when Mostyn comes calling - a situation paralleled by the mildly farcical business at Bond's mod apartment in LALD when Bond has to hide the missing Italian agent, Miss Caruso, from an unusually home-visiting M. I'm only part way through 'The Liquidator' movie, so will be on the lookout for any other possible influences on the Mankiewicz/Hamilton Bond.

    In general, Cardiff's film does seem ahead of its time by a few years on the strength of its black comedy in mooting an unsanctioned conspiracy at the heart of the British establishment to perform extra-judicial killings. On a nod and a wink, Mostyn's Chief persuades Mostyn to use deniable, quasi-fascist methods. I'm guessing this is a direct import from Gardner's novel - i.e. worrying the 'licence to kill' agenda which Fleming had presented as a given - but, at least in popular cinema, that kind of cynical humour would be more to the fore in the late 60s and early 70s, at a time when the Vietnam War was seriously troubling the public consciousness and occasioning parodic shifts or ideological implosions in mainstream genres.

    Edit: I've now seen the rest of 'The Liquidator' movie. After the introduction of Sheriek, and then Quadrant, there's lots of action to enjoy. Rod Taylor carries it all off rather well, keeping a comic perspective, and the supporting cast are all solid. There's not much substance to it, really, beyond a fun romp.

    Critics and material I don't need. I haven't changed my act in 53 years.
  • Sir MilesSir Miles The Wrong Side Of The WardrobePosts: 28,176Chief of Staff

    I’ve only read three of those….Madrigal, The Garden of Weapons & Flamingo…🤔

    YNWA 97
  • BarbelBarbel ScotlandPosts: 38,411Chief of Staff

    @Shady Tree Lots of points of resemblance there. Wouldn't Trevor Howard have been a great M? No harm ever to the wonderful Bernard Lee, of course.

    @Sir Miles I was deliberately vague re "MADRIGAL" above. Perhaps oncr Shady has read it the three of us could discuss it?

  • CoolHandBondCoolHandBond Mactan IslandPosts: 7,611MI6 Agent

    Thank you for posting your collection @Shady Tree they look great, I love seeing pictures of book collections 😁 there’s many hours of happy reading there!

    Yeah, well, sometimes nothin' can be a real cool hand.
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