#75 Leviathan, by Paul Auster (Faber and Faber Limited)

It cost me about £13 more than it should have done, but I suppose Paul Auster’s latest, Leviathan, was worth it!

My monetary issues came courtesy of a library fine. Unfortunately, I took out Leviathan around three months ago, but immediately ‘lost’ it. I renewed it online four times – the wonders of the modern library system, about which I promise I will write at some point this year – but then my computer broke, I was busy at work, I forgot about it and [feel free to add any of your own excuses here].

Thankfully, it turned up, not least because it meant I could pay my fines (my other books were overdue by this stage as well) - but not before I actually managed to read the book!

I was hooked from the start, Thankfully, Wikipedia provides the opening lines:

“Six days ago, a man blew himself up by the side of a road in northern Wisconsin. There were no witnesses, but it appears that he was sitting on the grass next to his parked car when the bomb he was building accidentally went off. According to the forensic reports that have just been published, the man was killed instantly. His body burst into dozens of small pieces, and fragments of his corpse were found as far as 50 feet away from the site of the explosion.”

The subsequent tale, then, is of how events came to pass, pieced together by a struggling author who also relates how he is in a position to tell the story of his best friend. But while things start as a typical ‘thriller’, it’s not long before Auster is subverting the genre to introduce his typical existentialist ideas.

The usual themes are present; isolationism, the interconnectedness of things and the changing nature of identity, but this is combined with a story which compels you to keep turning the pages.

If I was being hyper critical, there were one or two coincidences, which Dickens-like become important plot devices which I could have done without, but there’s no denying that Auster consistently provides entertaining, yet intelligent and thoughtful, fare.

So, rating time:

#75 Leviathan, by Paul Auster (Faber and Faber Limited) - 8/10

Next up: The Observations, by Jane Harris (Faber and Faber Limited)

Click here for the full list of books so far, and their rating

#74 Pied Piper, By Nevil Shute (Vintage)

Given Nevil Shute is my new favourite author as a result of this book challenge, I had high hopes of Pied Piper. That my perhaps unrealistic expectations were not quite realised was a shame, but that’s not to say that I didn’t enjoy it.

It’s another ‘love story’ set during the war, and as seems usual in Shute’s stories, the love is a little more complicated than you might expect; not so much between man and woman as between elderly man and the children he is trying to escort to safety, not to mention the love the women who accompanies him has for his late son.

In contrast to Requiem For a Wren and A Town Like Alice, I never felt fully engaged with the main character, whose idyllic fishing trip in France quickly turns into a battle for survival after the Germans invade and he tries to flee back to England, taking numerous children under his protection en route.

As usual, Shute’s main characters are imbued with hope and good intentions in the face of life-threatening circumstances, so the reader is really ‘living’ their experiences and wants them to survive, to achieve their goals. But it remains believable, so setbacks - even deaths - are common, and are made all the more effective and affecting.

The other thing I like about Shute is his ability to tell a simple tale simply. The occasional flashback aside, there are very few gimmicky tricks and cleverness, and the sparse language he uses concentrates your attention on the story.

Unfortunately, I didn’t find Pied Piper’s story quite as moving and powerful as his afore-mentioned novels - but they were truly excellent, so it’s really picking holes in another fine book.

So, rating time:

#74 Pied Piper, By Nevil Shute (Vintage) - 8/10

Next up: Leviathan, by Paul Auster (Faber and Faber Limited)

Click here for the full list of books so far, and their rating

#73 The Highest Tide, by Jim Lynch (Bloomsbury Publishing)

[Puts on American film trailor voiceover deep voice] "In a world where the tide is rising, one boy has the power to alert his fellow man to the dangers to the planet..."

But this isn’t a film (although the adaptation cannot be too far away), and while The Highest Tide is a fairly charming tale of a small boy alive to the problems caused by the changing environmental nature of the world, with a particular focus on marine life, it doesn’t quite hit home.

There is a lot to like. The 13-year-old main character Miles is very believable, as knowledgeable about the sea as he is unworldly wise in all other matters, and such is the influence of the sea and its teeming life, it becomes a character in the book on its own merit.

The media circus which descends on his home after he makes a series of incredible discoveries, and how he deals with the reporters and the attention, is nicely observed, and his relationships with his friends, the aquarium owners to whom he sells his discoveries and his confused former babysitter, with whom he is infatuated, provide plenty of chuckles. But the novel takes a wrong step when a cult, and therefore religion, is introduced after he starts to make prophesies - aided by a ‘psychic’ friend – which start to come true.

It was a diversion that I could have done without, but that minor negative plus a downbeat ending meant I finished the book less enthusiastic about it than I was halfway through.

So, rating time:

#73 The Highest Tide, by Jim Lynch (Bloomsbury Publishing)- 7/10

Next up: Pied Piper, By Nevil Shute (Vintage)

Click here for the full list of books so far, and their rating

#72 Money, by Martin Amis (Vintage)

He’s often called the finest English writer of his generation, and Money is supposed one of his best works, so I was looking forward to reading my first Martin Amis book.

That said, I wasn’t coming into it without any preconceptions. You can’t read a newspaper – particularly the literary sections – without your eyes alighting on yet more accusations that Amis is ‘misogynistic’, so I was interested to see whether his words lived up to the hype. Of course, I was also interested to know whether he was any good...

I came away largely disappointed, in both respects. There’s no denying Amis is a fine writer, but I can’t say I enjoyed Money, a tale of excess in all pursuits, from financial matters to fast food and sex. The narrator and anti-heroic main character is so unsympathetic that you really don’t care what happens to him, even as he tries to extricate himself from various messes which are not entirely of his doing.

Then there is Martin Amis himself, a character in his own book, and a writer at that. I’ve really got little patience with writers who indulge in this kind of post-modern self-awareness (the main character is even called John Self, by the way). At its best, it’s tacky and pointless. At its worst, it’s cleverness for cleverness’ sake.

While his prose frequently soars, and there is much to admire in the descriptive assault he makes on readers, there is also a lot of ‘look at me, isn’t my writing clever’ in Money. But while some have criticised the unimaginative plot, I have to say that was the only thing which kept me turning the pages. Loathsome as I found Self, who knows the worth of everything but the value of nothing, I wanted to know the resolution.

On to the accusations of misogyny. Of course, it’s Self who is misogynistic – women are treated abysmally throughout (it’s noticeable that the one ‘happy’ relationship he discovers is instantly screwed up through his weakness) – rather than Amis, but it’s to such an extent, far beyond normal boundaries, that you can see how such questions are asked. And that’s just after reading one book.

This is the second book in a row during my challenge, after The New Confessions, to feature the making of a film which is destined never to be made, or at least in the way its director intended. And I wonder whether it’s a metaphor for this challenge, because I’m falling dangerously behind...

So, rating time:

#72 Money, by Martin Amis (Vintage)- 7/10

Next up: The Highest Tide, by Jim Lynch (Bloomsbury Publishing)

Click here for the full list of books so far, and their rating

#71 The New Confessions, by William Boyd (Penguin Group)

I’ve come to know many characters this year, but none as vivid or as comprehensive as John James Todd, the ‘star’ of William Boyd’s The New Confessions. I say comprehensive because Boyd leaves nothing out in his depiction of a man who finds and loses fame with the same regularity as his friendships.

The scope of the book is extraordinary, ranging from the end of the 19th century through Edinburgh, the First World War, Hollywood and McCarthyism, with Todd all the while making decisions in an effort to prolong his fame and ensure he still ‘matters’ which gradually alienate him from his friends, family, colleagues and ultimately the world.

Todd isn’t a character with which you sympathise, mainly because there is no attempt to shield the reader from the nastier sides of his character. Indeed, he reveals most of it himself. But because he is the heartbeat of the novel, the reader becomes as bound in his adventures as he is himself. You revile him as much as you admire his pursuit of what he deems to be important at whatever stage of his life he has reached, and Boyd’s eye for historical detail brings his world alive, especially the post-war film world of Berlin.
All in all, it’s a real tour de force. My only issue was with its length and its relentlessness. It’s far from an ‘easy read’ and as much as the attention to detail and the setting of events in a historical context magnifies the emotions of the tale, rather than let the reader follow what appears to be a natural course, Boyd ties you to Todd and the narrative to such an extent that you start to resent him, and a story which steadfastly refuses to end.

So, rating time:

#71 The New Confessions, by William Boyd (Penguin Group) - 8/10

Next up: Money, by Martin Amis (Vintage)

Click here for the full list of books so far, and their rating

#70 Crossfire, by Dick Francis & Felix Francis (Penguin Group)

Readers may recall that in the dim and distant past – OK, February – I commented on the death of Dick Francis, whose horse-racing books I greatly enjoyed as I was growing up. Unfortunately, as he got older, and following the death of his wife, who reportedly contributed a great deal to his novels, the quality of his books diminished, so it was with some trepidation I approached his final work, Crossfire.

Thankfully, there was little reason to be fearful. It’s far from a Francis classic, but it’s certainly not all bad, and there is enough to keep most readers entertained, even if much of it is incredibly far-fetched.

As is customary in Francis’ books, we’ve got a character with a ‘special’ background, and, sadly, in this day and age, it’s unsurprising to find he is a soldier. And a seriously injured soldier at that. The book is dedicated to ‘grandson and son Williams Francis’, a Lieutenant in the Army Air Corps, so it’s clear the authors didn’t have to travel far to do their research.

The soldier in question returns to his mother’s prestigious stables to discover that she’s being blackmailed, and pretty soon he’s up to eyes in various schemes, plots, tax fiddles and, of course, a beautiful women.

Fans of Francis will see a lot of private detective Sid Halley, one of Francis’ best characters, in Crossfire’s Tom Forsyth. For Halley’s amputated hand, Forsyth is missing a foot, and both endure plenty of pain, are threatened and imprisoned, and show no hesitation in resorting to violence en route to resolving their personal conflict.

Unfortunately, the plot is more nag than thoroughbred, but it retains enough interest to keep you turning the pages, and it’s by no means a bad way for the Francis legacy to bow out.

So, rating time:

#70 Crossfire, by Dick Francis & Felix Francis (Penguin Group) - 6/10

Next up: The New Confessions, by William Boyd (Penguin Group)

Click here for the full list of books so far, and their rating

#69 Sex, Bowls & Rock & Roll, by Alex Marsh (The Friday Project)

Has it really been a month since I last blogged? No matter. While my writing may have stalled slightly, my reading has continued apace, so prepare yourselves for some regular updates this week as I play catch up – on this challenge, on my nemesis and perhaps even on life itself.

We’ll start with a piece of harmless flim-flam. Sex, Bowls & Rock & Roll: How I Swapped My Rock Dreams For Village Greens is, I realised after I had finished reading it, one of those books which has stemmed from a blog (privatesecretdiary.com, apparently).

Unfortunately, in my experience, this is rarely a good thing – although I’m willing to change my mind if I get the right offer. Publishers, you know where to find me!

The blurb on the reverse instructs readers: “You’ll piss yourself laughing, and if you don’t believe us, turn to page 16.” Unfortunately, I neglected to do this before taking the book out of the library. Had I done so, I might have saved myself a medium amount of bother.

To set the scene, there is this bloke who fancies himself as a musician, who moves to Norfolk, where he finds there are very few musicians with which to form a band. So he takes up bowls. With little success. And so Sex, Bowls & Rock & Roll is a knockabout tale about his bowls matches, his general countryside mishaps and everyday life in a small village.

Much as I couldn’t summon much enthusiasm for the book when I was reading it, so I can’t summon much energy to criticise it following its completion. There was the odd humorous line, but it was nowhere near as funny or poignant as it should have been and perhaps took itself to be.

Page 16, by the way, features the author at the dentist. With a knob gag. It’s hardly Voltaire.

So, rating time:

#69 Sex, Bowls & Rock & Roll, by Alex Marsh (The Friday Project) - 6/10

Next up: Crossfire, by Dick Francis & Felix Francis (Penguin Group)

Click here for the full list of books so far, and their rating

The beautiful St Bride's

I’ve said it before, and I’ve no qualms about saying it again: since I’ve started this challenge, all kinds of literary coincidences have attracted my attention.

Take Saturday, when I attended the lovely wedding of the even lovelier Liz and Rufus. I’d never heard of St Bride’s Church, but its location on Fleet Street suggested links to the publishing industry and I wasn’t disappointed. Indeed, it was true delight.

‘The cathedral of Fleet Street’ or ‘church of the press’, as it’s known, was impressive to say the least. Designed by Sir Christopher Wren, the fine steeple became the model for traditional wedding cakes, which was first made by a baker on the nearby Ludgate Hill and was no doubt popularised by the numerous newspapers, magazines and other publications located all around.

According to the informative order of service, the church’s association with printing and publishing dates back to 1500 when Wynken De Worde, an apprentice of William Caxton (reportedly the first man to introduce the printing press to England), brought his press to the parish. He was eventually buried in St Bride’s.

Since then, the likes of John Dryden, John Milton, John Evelyn, Samuel Pepys, Dr Johnson and Charles Dickens have congregated here, and although their days have long gone - as have the newspapers, who have gradually moved away – the historical links with the press remain: it was fascinating to see some of the seats are engraved with the names of assorted individuals and companies associated with printing, from giants such as Lord Beaverbrook to OK! magazine.

The reception was held a short walk away at Stationers Hall, the home of the original Guild of Stationers (booksellers who copied and sold manuscript books and writing materials and limners who decorated and illustrated them). This became The Stationers' Company, which is closely connected with the communication industries that have derived from the original trades of the guild such as printing, packaging, advertising, design, photography, film and video production and print and digital publishing.

All that, and a bloody brilliant wedding, too. A pretty perfect day all on fronts.

#68 The Drought, by JG Ballard (Harper Perennial)

If it’s a dystopian future you’re seeking, look no further than JG Ballard, whose bleak prognoses ensured ‘Ballardian’ would enter the English language. But it would be wrong to consider all of his works wholly depressing.

Novels such as The Drought, which tell of a worldwide shortage of water caused by man’s production of industrial waste, foretell bleakness on an apocalyptic scale. The humans left in this world face incredible hardships and impossible decisions, but despite the horrors, it’s also a tale of survival and adaptation.

I was immediately hooked by The Drought, although I grew more unsure the more I read. The characters were hard to like, I struggled a little with the structure and I was caught by surprise by the leap forward in time after their opening struggle to reach the coast. A dreamlike quality is created for the reader, who stumbles along in the characters’ wake enduring problem after problem and disappointment after setback, and this is curiously disengaging.

That said, Ballard’s use of language and imagery, even symbology, is remarkable. He paints a picture better than most authors – and it’s a beautiful picture regardless of the horrors being portrayed. This is regardless of the fact I regularly needed a dictionary close at hand to get to grips with Ballard’s chosen words.

The Drought therefore becomes a book I admired rather than enjoyed. The sudden violence and psychological trauma provoked an unsettling response. The struggle of the wildly disparate, although surprisingly few, characters to retain their identity is fought as much as they battle for survival - and I felt as though I was struggling alongside them.

It’s not the sort of book you would select for a gentle Sunday evening in front of the Antiques Roadshow, then, but if this challenge is about furthering my literary knowledge as much as finding new authors I like, then books such as The Drought and authors such as JG Ballard are essential reading.

So, rating time:

#68 The Drought, by JG Ballard (Harper Perennial) - 7/10

Next up: The New Confessions, by William Boyd (Penguin Group)

Click here for the full list of books so far, and their rating

A light is Shone on the blog

Behind, as I am, with my reading, I’ve been trying not to spend too much time on these reviews. Where possible, I’ve recently been declining the opportunity to research authors further or find out more about the subject or the themes of the book I’ve just completed so I have more opportunity to wade through the mounting pile of pages which lurk in the corner of my lounge, catching my eye as regularly as an attractive girl in a bar.

But when the author of the book you have just reviewed gets in touch to pay you a compliment and suggest some further reading, it’s hard to say no...

I wrote the other day about how much I enjoyed the links between alcoholism and authors explored within In the Rooms, by Tom Shone. And Tom himself has pointed me in the direction of a more obvious study – an article he wrote for Intelligent Life.

Apparently, ‘Of America’s seven Nobel laureates, five were lushes’ and there is an equally long list in these shores, referencing the likes of Dylan Thomas, Malcolm Lowry, Brendan Behan, Patrick Hamilton, Philip Larkin, and Kingsley Amis.

It’s absorbing stuff and, by proxy, it’s also a real insight into the production of In the Rooms. This article was clearly made possible from the research Shone conducted before writing In the Rooms and it’s interesting to see details which made it into the book (perhaps most obviously when alcoholic writer Douglas Kelsey refers to newly sober Raymond Carver regularly inviting him to play bingo) and the huge amount which merely contributed to the feel of his novel.

Tom’s own blog Taking Barack to the Movies (covering ‘politics, pop, books, movies’) is equally interesting – although it has cost me precious hours in my quest to complete this 100-book challenge...

More positively, Tom’s kind comments at last bring to an end an area of this challenge where the Friend of the Wench, was one up on me, my rival having previously been honoured with the author of a reviewed book getting in touch with him.

Solely in the interests of competition, therefore, and completely self-indulgently, I feel I should point out that Shone is a former deputy literary editor of the Sunday Times. He presumably knows a bit about half-decent writing, then, and he ‘loves’ my blog. Have that Friend of the Wench!

#67 Wodehouse at the Wicket, edited by Murray Hedgecock (Hutchinson)

I like PG Wodehouse. I like cricket. So Wodehouse at the Wicket, a study into the impact the sport had on the great British novelist, and his writing, plus a selection of articles, was pretty much right up my street. Or aiming right at my stumps, if you prefer a bit of cricketing parlance.

As a newish Wodehouse convert, I must admit that I wasn’t aware that cricket featured so heavily in his work, but thinking back to Psmith Journalist, main character Psmith was only in New York to accompany a friend of his on a cricket tour.

Among the revelations which stood out was that famous butler Jeeves was named after Warwickshire cricketer Percy Jeeves, who was renowned for his gentlemanly ways. The short cricket-based articles with which Wodehouse was able to start his writing career were entertaining, too.

Overall, the Murray Hedgecock-edited tome is mildly diverting rather than enthralling, however. It’s well researched, and there are some great insights, particularly into Wodehouse the schoolboy cricketer, but it’s a little too insubstantial, although not insignificant, to really impress.

So, rating time:

#67 Wodehouse at the Wicket, edited by Murray Hedgecock (Hutchinson) - 6/10

Next up: The Drought, by JG Ballard (Harper Perennial)

Click here for the full list of books so far, and their rating

#66 In the Rooms, by Tom Shone (Windmill Books)

This might not be the most celebrated or well-known novel I’ve read this year (it was an impulse pick-up at the library), but it was certainly among the most enjoyable, for a number of reasons.

A lot of In the Rooms (a phrase used to describe help meetings of alcoholics or drug users) dovetails nicely with this challenge – not that I’m an alcoholic or anything. Its main character is a literary agent, Patrick Miller, who has moved to New York and comes across a legendary reclusive author and finds the only way he can approach him is at an Alcoholics Anonymous meeting. So he has to pretend he’s an alcoholic.

I deliberately didn’t add the phrase ‘with hilarious consequences’ to the end of that last sentence, but there are some very funny moments, mostly involving the characters he encounters at the meetings, as Miller finds himself slipping further and further into his deception and is unable to extricate himself from the lies he has told.

It’s a merry little tale. But where it chimes with this blog is in the book’s underlying close look at the relationship between authors and alcohol, and whether the likes of Raymond Carver, Elmore Leonard and Charles Bukowski wrote better drunk or sober.

Add in some insight into the workings of publishers, writers and literary agents, and guest appearances by the likes of Bret Easton Ellis and Jay McInerney, and it has the feel of real ‘writers’ book. I really enjoyed it.

So, rating time:

#66 In the Rooms, by Tom Shone (Windmill Books) - 8/10

Next up: Wodehouse at the Wicket, edited by Murray Hedgecock (Hutchinson)

Click here for the full list of books so far, and their rating

#65 Adventures on the High Teas, by Stuart Maconie (Ebury Press)

The ‘in search of…’ whimsical travel book has become increasingly popular in recent years, as best evidenced by the likes of Bill Bryson and 100 Books in a Year favourite Charlie Connelly, and the genre travels all the way to Tony Hawks and his trotting around countries trying to fulfil bizarre bets.

Adventures on the High Teas: In Search of Middle England is another one of these, then, with author, broadcaster and comedian Stuart Maconie setting out to discover what exactly makes Middle England what it is. And what that phrase means exactly. Because different people have different views, ranging from the perception and connotations linked to the Daily Mail to the world of Brief Encounter and Mike Oldfield.

There’s a lot to like about High Teas. Maconie makes for an amusing raconteur and the places he visits, such as Knutsford, Tunbridge Wells and Meriden – the exact centre of the country (ish) - are well selected. There’s some fine historical information and lots of anecdotes and encounters en route.

Perhaps it was a too long, however. I was growing a bit weary by the end and could have done with 50 or so fewer pages or more humour to sustain me the more pages I turned. I enjoyed it, but it didn’t set my heart racing.

So, rating time:

#65 Adventures on the High Teas, by Stuart Maconie (Ebury Press) - 6/10

Next up: In the Rooms, by Tom Shone (Windmill Books)

Click here for the full list of books so far, and their rating

#64 The Big Sleep, by Raymond Chandler (Penguin Group)

Finally, I opened the book. It was dark; the only street lamp outside flickered and briefly threw up shadows into the alleyways opposite. The alleyways which produced all kinds of late-night sounds, from screams of joy to screams of pain. But that was the last thing on my mind. Across the room, the wench smouldered as she coolly observed me in the half-light. I always did like a red-haired woman. But first, I had to read this book.

As the above hopefully proves, it’s not difficult to write in the style of Raymond Chandler. But it’s difficult to do it well…

The Big Sleep is the Big Daddy of crime books, inspiring countless film noirs, shady cops, femme fatales and PIs like the uncompromising Philip Marlowe. All too often, those who pave the way for a genre tend to have their work forgotten; it’s easy to argue that Chandler is more respected for his legacy than the books he actually wrote. So it’s good to go back and be reassured that the work itself is of such a good quality.

The Big Sleep has all the elements you’d expect. Sex, violence, double-crossing, naked women, seductions, deaths, gun-shots, conspiracies, gambling and a plot which twists and turns more than Marlowe in search of a drink.

Chandler’s greatest gift is his turn of phrase. Descriptions are quickly dealt with but paint a vivid picture and in the reader’s mind a shady world is carefully constructed full of stakeouts, hurried conversations and damning conclusions: “Whoever had done it had meant business. Dead men are heavier than broken hearts.”

So, rating time:

#64 The Big Sleep, by Raymond Chandler (Penguin Group) - 8/10

Next up: Adventures on the High Teas, by Stuart Maconie (Ebury Press)

Click here for the full list of books so far, and their rating

#63 Requiem for a Wren, by Neville Shute (Vintage)

Fresh from the brilliant A Town Like Alice, I rushed to read more of Neville Shute’s work and it was a decision which paid dividends.

Requiem for a Wren is another World War love story, albeit a simpler tale of a man trying to discover more about the life of his deceased brother’s girlfriend while also investigating the apparent suicide of a maid at his parents’ house.

But the elegant way the story unfolds and draws you into the lives of the main characters, and the ramifications that events which occurred in the dim and distant past have on the present, makes the book a real delight.

Writing this brief review a few weeks after completing it, and having read another five books since, it’s hard to recollect exactly what I like about Shute’s work. His style is very simple yet effective, he returns to subjects on which he has a lot of knowledge, such as Australia and the war, his female characters are particularly interesting, even if dead, and his romances remain strong despite some pretty impossible situations. Put it all together and it’s a literary love affair.

So, rating time:

#63 Requiem for a Wren, by Neville Shute (Vintage) - 9/10

Next up: The Big Sleep, by Raymond Chandler (Penguin Group)

Click here for the full list of books so far, and their rating

Hurling yourself into the Hurricane

I’ve got a bit of blogging catching up to do, but I must first remark on the death of snooker player Alex Higgins, which passed me by to some extent. I was aware it had happened, but it didn’t really sink in until I watched a documentary on BBC2 the other day.

I only mention it in the context of this blog because the biography of Higgins written by Bill Borrows, which I read a few years ago, contains one of the best opening chapters you’re ever likely to read.

Your typical biography goes back to the roots of its subject, examines their relationship with their parents, their early days, their education and how all these things and more have combined to create the person they are today and influenced their career in whatever field they’ve excelled – or not, as it increasingly appears to be in these days where fame seems to be the be all and end all.

Borrows’ book – The Hurricane (Atlantic Books) – has all of this, but not until after the first chapter (and an equally revelatory preface), where the author simply relates his experiences trying to meet and interview Higgins as part of what both parties were hoping would become a working relationship.

It’s an incredibly moving depiction of what life is like in Higgins’ world, by turns funny and sad (often at the same time), and tells you more about Higgins than any biography or documentary.

Indeed, such is its lure than I’ve just re-read the preface and opening chapter (Four ‘fucks’ and a ‘prick’ in the opening six lines), even though I’ve still got dozens of other – new - books to read before Big Ben tolls on December 31st. Must focus!

Print deadline approaches

Four months to go, and 38 books to read. I thought it was about time for a catch-up on this 100-book challenge enterprise now that the two-thirds mark has passed, in terms of the year at least.

Yes, I’m slightly behind schedule by about four books (approximately 12 days). But on the bright side I’m once more ahead of the Friend of the Wench – and that’s all that really matters…

Of course it’s not. It’s about enjoying literary excellence, or lamenting its absence, and after my latest visit to the library (of which I will write at some point this year) I have now lined up my next nine books for the coming month or so.

I’ve also got a list of around 50 books which have been recommended to me by various parties, for which I’m very grateful, and I’m trying to work my way through these as best I can. These range from Margaret Atwood to John Wyndham via Aldous Huxley, JG Ballard and Brady Udall.

At this stage of the year, it’s getting to the point where I have to prioritise, however. I wanted to read the entire Armistead Maupin Tales of the City series, but have only read the first so far (and enjoyed it). Do I really want to use up three or four of my remaining 38 just to complete the set.

And what about the likes of personal favourites Paul Auster, PG Wodehouse and George Pelecanos? I’ve read a number of their works already this year – shouldn’t I use the remaining time to seek new authors? After all, without this challenge, I might not have found them.

It’s a lot to ponder, but I can’t take too long to think about such decisions. After all, there’s more reading to be done.

#62 Men from the Boys, by Tony Parsons (HarperCollins)

Although perfectly passable and reasonably entertaining, I wasn’t completely absorbed by Tony Parsons’ Men from the Boys, the tale of a man trying to keep his family intact in face of the numerous setbacks, complications and jealousies which affect daily life, while rediscovering his own late father in the shape of an old family friend.

There were some chuckles along the way, and Parson writes with an easy-going style, but other writers of similar ilk do it better. If it’s the complex mix of sadness, pathos and laughter you’re looking for, try Nick Hornby or (a slightly less obvious suggestion) even Jonathan Tropper, the writer of one of my favourite books of recent years: How to Talk to a Widower.

There are some nice moments, particularly in the central relationships between father and son and father and old dying soldier and his friend. But things always go downhill when the women enter the story. It’s a bit of a shame, because Man and Boy, the predecessor to this novel, is far superior.

So, rating time:

#62 Men from the Boys, by Tony Parsons (HarperCollins) - 6/10

Next up: Requiem for a Wren, by Neville Shute (Vintage)

Click here for the full list of books so far, and their rating

#61 My Booky Wook, by Russell Brand (Hodder & Stoughton)

Talking of clever (see previous blog), we come to Russell Brand’s autobiography, My Booky Wook.

As a comedian, film star, television presenter, author, boyfriend of Katy Perry, ‘Shagger of the Year’ (copyright The Sun), self-harmer, recovering drug addict and sex addict, I think everyone must have an opinion on Brand. But even those who cannot stand Brand must acknowledge his talent.

My Booky Wook is a paradox: an easy difficult read. His writing style is familiar to those used to his stage delivery, full of archaic grammar and regular usage of ‘were’ instead of ‘was’, but it’s a pacy tale full of funny stories which helps you race through it. Unfortunately, many of the stories concern his own abject humiliation, which means you spend as much time cringing at his latest self-inflicted embarrassment as laughing at the humorous way the tales are told.

He mentions in the book that his greatest asset has been to use his own disgrace and degradation to make people laugh, and it’s a winning combination, although the depths to which Brand has sunk often make reading which is uncomfortable at best, painful at worst. Even lighter tales, such as being locked out a flat naked, turn nasty when in the course of the ensuing he spits in the face of his girlfriend.

This isn’t a book for those interested in celebrity spotting. The likes of Jimmy Carr, David Walliams, Steve Coogan, Tess Daly and a few others get mentions, but Brand would rather talk about the lessons he learned from someone who relapsed in the same drug treatment centre as him as the hookers, the conquests and his own career.

It may have a daft title, but My Booky Wook is one of the most revealing and honest books I’ve read for a long time. Whether you come away liking Brand any more after the reading the book is for you to decide (you’ve got to admire the Big Brother reference I slipped in at the end there…).

So, rating time:

#61 My Booky Wook, by Russell Brand (Hodder & Stoughton) - 8/10

Next up: Men from the Boys, by Tony Parsons (HarperCollins)

Click here for the full list of books so far, and their rating

#60 Ella Minnow Pea, by Mark Dunn (Methuen)

In my eyes (and I appreciate this is both a sweeping and simplistic generalisation), there are two types of people in the world. Those who do things. And those who have the ideas. Of course, there is nothing wrong with being either – but the important thing is to know yourself and how you fit into the world.

I would place myself in the former category. I’m the kind of thing of person who gets things done, for whom a small amount of perseverance goes a long way, but who struggles to come up with initial ideas. In a work capacity, I like to work with people who have lots of ideas; some of them I might not like very much, only for one gem to make it all worthwhile.

Indeed, I had this very conversation with the Friend of the Wench, who I bumped into in a non-cyber way t’other day (and is currently level with me on 60 books for the year), when I gave him a short preview of the very review you’re currently reading, because it was he who had recommended to me Mark Dunn’s Ella Minnow Pea. Yes, there is a book review coming along at some point…

The example I gave him of my philosophy was this: my whole 100-book challenge and writing this blog was his idea, I stole it shamelessly from him, and yet I do it better. I think he knew I was joking.

The point of the preamble is that Ella Minnow Pea, the phonetic pronunciation of LMNOP (more of which later) stems from a really clever idea. On a fictional island, the man who worked out that the phrase ‘the quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog’ - a pangram (from the Greek pan gramma or ‘every letter’) phrase which features every letter of the alphabet - is treated with such reverence that when letters from a memorial featuring the sentence become broken one-by-one, they are henceforth struck from the language, one-by-one.

The story is told is a series of letters between family members, which become increasingly difficult to read as the government bans the letters which keep falling off the roof. So the book itself becomes a study into how language is used to communicate, what liberties can be taken with the written word and how much words can be altered yet retain their original meaning. LMNOP are the last letters which remain at the end, by the way.

Alongside all this, the book explores all sorts of wider themes such as the freedom of speech and the impact of living under a totalitarian regime. So, it really is clever, and in many ways, you can tell it’s been written by someone better known as a playright. But here’s the rub: is too clever?

Some would argue that such a thing isn’t possible, especially in a modern world where everything seems to be being dumbed down, where the fact that a film studio has spent millions upon millions of pounds on making an ‘intelligent summer blockbuster’ (Inception, in case you’re wondering) produced as many column inches as reviews and praise of the film itself. And they’d have a bloody good point.

I don’t believe it’s possible to claim that Dunn hasn’t carried the idea through effectively, either, but I always worry when I come away from a piece of culture, be it a book, theatre or film, thinking about how clever it was, rather than about the great characterisation or the wonderful emotional impact it had on me.

I wasn’t a great fan of the letter-writing concept (although, obviously, I can’t come up with a better way Dunn could have done it, so to speak), and I must admit I don’t envy the job of the editor who must have read the book a thousand times to check no ‘banned letters’ crept into the later chapters.

That said, there is plenty to enjoy. After all, who could fail to raise a smile at a school, that bastion of education, being described as a ‘learny-place’ because the letter writer is no longer allowed to use the letter ‘h’.

So, rating time:

#60 Ella Minnow Pea, by Mark Dunn (Methuen) - 8/10

Next up: My Booky Wook, by Russell Brand (Hodder & Stoughton)

Click here for the full list of books so far, and their rating