#55 The Ruby in her Naval, by Barry Unsworth (Penguin Group)

Recommended by a work colleague of the Wench, Barry Unsworth was another author with whom I was unfamiliar, and I enjoyed The Ruby in her Navel, a tale of courtly intrigue and treason in 12th century Sicily.

It's slightly slow going at times, with webs of deception being woved carefully around the narrator, a Mr Fixit wannabe knight who is both manipulator and manipulated, and who is sidetracked by two very different female attractions. It takes its time to reach a climax, but there are enough twists and turns to keep you reading until the various plots reveal themselves.

There is an eclectic mix of characters, races and religions, with Muslims, Christians, Jews, Latins, Greeks, Saxons, Saracens and Normans all pursuing their own agendas, and Unsworth skilfully relates a world where trust is at a premium and is often misplaced - usually with drastic consequences. Decisions have significant ramifications and, like a game of chess, the one who can predict what will happen five moves further down the line is the one who will emerge triumphant.

One of the things I liked most about The Ruby in her Navel was the prescient tone adopted by Unsworth's narrator. The story is told in hindsight, with frequent "would I only have known that..." and "But more of my father later...", and these hints of what are to come are an extremely effective hook.

I must also mention the book's very first paragraph, which introduces the mystery of Nesrin the dancer, the ruby, a troubadour and the plots which affect kings. It's a fine introduction of what is to come, and the subtleties can be even better appreciated if, once the novel has been completed, you go back to re-read it.

So, rating time:

#55 The Ruby in her Naval, by Barry Unsworth (Penguin Group) - 7/10

Next up: Jelleyman’s Thrown a Wobbly, by Jeff Stelling (Harper Collins)

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

#54 It’s Only a Movie, by Mark Kermode (Random House)

It’s always slightly dangerous reading a book by someone you respect and admire. OK, I’ll say it. I bloody love the ever-opinionated Mark Kermode and the film review programme he does with Simon Mayo on BBC Radio 5 live. Immediately, therefore, my expectations are sky high and, unfortunately, It’s Only a Movie: Reel Life Adventures of a Film Obsessive doesn’t live up to them.

It’s not a bad book, by any stretch of the imagination. While not quite an autobiography (although it does chart his career in the film business), there are plenty of good tales and anecdotes, coupled with a deeper forensic analysis of movie-making.

He may be famed for his rants against stodge of the likes of Marley and Me, Transformers, Pirates of the Caribbean, Michael Bay (I could go on…), but there is much more to Kermode, and some of the book reads like a thoughtful essay on various subjects.

Given his favourite film of all time is The Exorcist – as he mentions at least twice on every show – it’s no surprise that perhaps the best of these dissertations relates how watching that particular film was an other-worldly and ‘genuinely transcendent’ experience for him, and it’s more intelligent fare than some might expect from a ‘film book’.

To his credit, he heaps praise for the radio show’s success on Mayo, and quite rightly, because while the knowledgeable Kermode is the mouthy critic, it’s the broadcaster who quite brilliantly steers the bickering ‘wittertainment’ away from the rocks of self-indulgence and into the minds of the Sony Awards judges.

But back to the book, and my main problem, which is the writing style Kermode deploys: because it’s really very annoying. The concept is fine enough, we’re in his head and he’s imagining someone is making a film of his life, so we’ve got Charles Hawtrey playing Mayo, Julianne Moore playing his wife and the much-loved Jason Isaacs (hello Jason Isaacs), portraying Kermode. Absolutely dandy.

But why oh why did Kermode, or the publisher, or the editor, or whoever, allow the entire book to contain a word in italics - every other line or so - to demonstrate extra emphasis. A quick excerpt is called for:

“…true learning (it seems to me) is all about understanding and appreciating just how much you will never know. For example, at the age of forty-six, I am just starting to realise how vast and unbridgeable are the gaps in my knowledge of the history of cinema, a medium which has only been around for just over a century. Even if I dedicated every waking moment of the next twenty years to studying the art of silent cinema, the growth of Indian cinema, and the bewildering marketing expanse of the ‘Pacific Rim’, I’d still only be scratching the surface.”

Do you see what I mean? I’ll forgive Kermode a lot, but it just seems like bad writing if, by the way you use words and construct sentences, you can’t imply such an emphasis without the use of a different typeface.

So, rating time:

#54 It’s Only a Movie, by Mark Kermode (Random House) - 6/10

Next up: The Ruby in her Naval, by Barry Unsworth (Penguin Group)

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

#53 The Great Gatsby, by F Scott Fitzgerald (Penguin Group)

Remember when I stayed in a hotel room next to one which was famously used by the man who inspired the character of Jay Gatsby in The Great Gatsby (if not, click here)? Good. You’ll therefore also recall I vowed to read F Scott Fitzgerald’s classic as part of this year-long challenge – and I’m glad I did.

There are some similarities between Breakfast at Tiffany’s, the last book I read, and The Great Gatsby. Both are considered to be among the greatest works of American literature, both are set in and around New York, both feature particularly memorable main characters (Holly Golightly and Gatsby respectively) and, in both books, the tale is told by a dispassionate narrator who gradually enters their world and is fascinated by them and their behaviour.

In truth, it’s hard to compete with Holly Golightly the character, but F Scott Fitzgerald has arguably created a better story in The Great Gatsby, the tale of a wealthy enigma who hosts the greatest parties ever held, but who doesn’t enjoy them himself and barely even knows any of the guests. For all the parties, the grand gestures and the frivolity, there is a sadness and melancholy within the pages as Gatsby attempts to reconnect with a long lost love. This is also demonstrated by the unhappiness of most of the characters, who are having affairs, arguing or struggling to get on in life.

Having grown to know Gatsby, and then grown to like him despite his clearly murky past, the denouement comes as a shock, but continues the sad theme and lament to lost love. If it’s a happy ending you’re after, look elsewhere, but if you prefer rewarding reads, look no further.

Oh, and you can read what the Friend of the Wench (whose copy I borrowed, incidentally) made of it all here.

So, rating time:

#53 The Great Gatsby, by F Scott Fitzgerald (Penguin Group) - 8/10

Next up: It’s Only a Movie, by Mark Kermode (Random House)

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

#52 Breakfast at Tiffany’s, by Truman Capote (Penguin Books)

When I was younger, one of the slang phrases of the time, to denote that something was good, was ‘top banana’. This common usage (which eventually led to a children’s quiz programme on TV-am in the late 1980s and early 1990s) prompted a number of fruit-based derivatives, such as ‘fit as a raspberry’ – I never said they had to make any sense.

So what’s all this got to do with Breakfast at Tiffany’s? Well, imagine my surprise when I saw that a writer as illustrious as Truman Capote had used that very ‘top banana’ phrase midway through his classic novella of the mysterious Holly Golightly and her seductive ways. I was so baffled, I looked the phrase up, and it turns out it stems from Vaudeville shows, where whomever was top of the bill was said to be ‘top banana’. In turn, this led to the name of a Broadway play in the 1950s – around the same time as Breakfast at Tiffany’s was written.

But I digress. Breakfast at Tiffany’s is said to be one of the great stories, but I think it’s true to say that people now might think first of the film, starring Audrey Hepburn, than the novel which formed its inspiration. And that would be a shame, because for all the iconic Hepburn’s loveliness, your imagination always surpasses what your eyes can see, and there is much to wonder at within Capote’s pages.

The story apparently prompted Norman Mailer to tell Capote that he ‘wouldn’t change two words’ in the entire novella, and, while I wouldn’t be so bold as to make a similar statement (not that anyone would take notice anyway), it’s evident that it’s a real work of art.

In Golightly, literature has a glamorous figure who revels in daredevil behaviour – stealing boyfriends, consorting with the mafia, inveigling money out of rich men and with a frequent flagrant disregard for friend’s feelings – but manages to inspire in the reader sympathy and likeability. It’s a real triumph, and as Capote gradually reveals the tale, and you learn more about her, you become as hooked on how things will unfold as Katie Price is on maintaining her media profile. And that’s probably the only time you’ll see Jordan compared to Audrey Hepburn.

Breakfast at Tiffany’s is a real delight. Even the wench read it, and I agree with her verdict – ‘darker than I thought it would be’. But there is also a lightness of mood, created by Capote’s lightness of prose, that captivates you until the moment she disappears…

Read the review by the Friend of the Wench here.

So, rating time:

#52 Breakfast at Tiffany’s, by Truman Capote (Penguin Books) - 9/10

Next up: The Great Gatsby, by F Scott Fitzgerald (Penguin Group)

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

Just as an aside, those who are following my progress may have noticed that, after a bit of a rocky spell, I’m firing all literary cylinders at the moment and firmly pushing myself back into the frame to complete this challenge. Indeed, not that I’m getting cocky or anything, but after finishing Breakfast at Tiffany’s, I knocked off three more short stories by Capote which were included at the end of the edition I had. Just for fun, you understand.

I’m not going to give full reviews of them, not least because I’m not counting them for the purposes of this challenge, but I have to say that A Christmas Memory is among the best things I’ve read this year, and House of Flowers and A Diamond Guitar weren’t too far behind.

#51 Starter For Ten, by David Nicholls (Hodder Paperbacks)

To paraphrase Humphrey Bogart, of all the books in all the world, the Friend of the Wench and I both chose the same one. I trust readers will believe me when I say that there was nothing premeditated about our selection of David Nicholls’ One Day – after all, I don’t think I’ve spoken to him for about a month.

But I suppose it goes to show that coincidences do happen, and our contrasting reviews (you can read his blog here) at least proves there is still plenty of room for diversity in our respective challenges.

Until we get to my book 51, that is, which is one that the Friend of the Wench has already reviewed, and was in fact the one I was looking for when I came across One Day. Apologies if it’s all getting a bit incestuous.

I make no apologies for liking Starter For Ten, though, even if many would probably consider it a slightly more childish novel than Nicholls’ One Day. To some extent, they share a common theme, in that both books use university life as a starting point for life experience and personal growth (it sounds like I’m attending a careers interview…), but while One Day seems, to me at least, to be trying a bit too hard, Starter for Ten is more natural and therefore funnier and more touching.

Ostensibly about a shy boy’s pursuit of knowledge and a place in his university’s University Challenge team, it’s more about the trials and tribulations of growing up, and there were a few cringeworthy occasions when I had to momentarily put the book down rather than read what I knew was coming next, as the main character put his foot in it yet again.

You could argue the characters are simplistic and stereotypical, and probably put up a strong argument at that, but unlike One Day, there was a pervading sense of charm that allowed this to be easily forgiven in pursuit of the next chuckle.

It’s not a masterpiece, far from it, but it’s likeable, good spirited and warm at heart, and you could do a lot worse - if only because you're likely to learn something at the same time. Oh, and you can read what the Friend of the Wench made of Starter for Ten here.

So, rating time:

#51 Starter For Ten, by David Nicholls (Hodder Paperbacks) - 7/10

Next up: Breakfast at Tiffany’s, by Truman Capote (Penguin Books)

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

#50 Acts of Violence, by Ryan David Jahn (Macmillan)

I’ve made it to 50 – and you know you haven’t read the most riveting book when the landmark itself is probably more remarkable than the novel which made the achievement possible.

There’s something missing from Acts of Violence, by Ryan David Jahn. The premise, the murder of a woman while her neighbours are too self-absorbed or distracted to do anything about it, is interesting enough, and the reader gradually pieces the story together as the focus flits from one character to the next. But the disparate strands don’t fully come together to create a whole.

Clichés abound. One neighbour has been drafted but is worrying about leaving his sick mother, another couple are experiencing swinging for the first time, a woman has found out her husband has been having an affair, another man is having his first homosexual experience and yet another couple are in potential trouble with the law. Did Jahn miss anything?

It’s by no means terrible, and there are some good dark ideas but it’s not carried off with anything like enough élan to grab your attention.

So, rating time:

#50 Acts of Violence, by Ryan David Jahn (Macmillan) - 5/10

Next up: Starter For Ten, by David Nicholls (Hodder Paperbacks)

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

#49 Thank You for the Days, by Mark Radcliffe (Simon and Schuster)

Autobiographies and biographies have been few and far between during this challenge, and although Thank You for the Days, by DJ Mark Radcliffe isn’t quite one of those, it’s definitely in that ballpark. Rather than follow the formulaic route of discussing his upbringing - and revisiting all those sentimental childhood episodes which bore most readers of autobiographies – Radcliffe has wisely opted to reminisce about a series of notable moments during his first 50 years.

So we have The Day I Took Bros into a Goods Yard, The Day I Introduced David Bowie on Stage and The Day I Heard That John Peel Had Died, and it works pretty well, all told. In the introduction, Radcliffe himself points out that a good deal of his life story isn’t even interesting to him, so ‘there’s no reason why anyone else should want to hear about it all’.

The collected snapshots do provide a fairly rounded picture, however, and Thank You for the Days is much like the self-deprecating Radcliffe himself, hugely knowledgeable about music, pretty funny at times, occasionally insightful and regularly entertaining.

I have a few criticisms. Some of it is overly sentimental and some of the comic asides are a bit obvious when written down but, equally, there are also some real hits, such as the time when Mark and colleague Lard upset Kylie Minogue by asking an unscripted question at a screening An Audience with… and the inside story of his sacking from the Radio 1 Breakfast Show.

So, rating time:

#49 Thank You for the Days, by Mark Radcliffe (Simon and Schuster) - 6/10

Next up: Acts of Violence, by Ryan David Jahn (Macmillan)

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

#48 One Day, by David Nicholls (Hodder and Stoughton)

I was looking for a different book by David Nicholls (Starter for Ten) when I came across One Day, and, after reading the blurb, remembered that I had once heard Simon Mayo discussing it on the book review slot of his old BBC Radio 5 live show. Which is about all the impetus I need when it comes to selecting my next book.

Without pre-empting the whole rating business, One Day perfectly passable fare and I can’t dispute it provided some enjoyment. However, I must take issue with the incredible number of ‘book of the year!” testimonials from critics and other authors which adorn the cover and opening few pages, sample quote: “Every reader will fall in love with it. And every writer will wish they had written it.” (Tony Parsons, by the way)

There are some things to like about One Day, which explores and follows the relationship between Em and Dex, two students who sleep together on their graduation night, over the following 20 years. Crucially, the author just dips into their lives on one day per year, the anniversary of that first encounter, so you have to pick up whatever else has happened in their lives on the other 364 days. As devices go, it’s not bad, and it’s to its credit that it doesn’t feel like it overstays its welcome.

However, I can’t agree with Nick Hornby when he says One Day is ‘brilliant on the details of the last couple of decades of British cultural and political life’. No, it’s not. Parts of the novel feel like Nicholls has Googled a timeline for each year and just chucked in a couple of references to significant events so the reader can place themselves in the story to provide some additional colour. Oh, New Labour have just won the election (I remember that!) so it must be 1997; look, the lead character is presenting a late-night ‘largin it’ television show and dating a lad’s mag babe so it must be the late 1990s.

If it’s love you’re looking for, you’ve come to the right place. There is unrequited love and requited love, coupled with cheap flings and affairs, but aspects of the two main characters are so determinedly unlikeable that you don’t really care about their relationship or whether they will find love. Bad boy Dex is particularly hard work; after he’s spent so long being thoroughly unpleasant to Em, does Nicholls really believe we want Em, whiny though she often is, to end up with him?

All that said, there were some poignant and endearing moments. I cried, of course. I didn’t see the final twist coming. I laughed a few times. It’s like an unchallenging Hollywood rom-com, probably starring Jennifer Aniston – you know what to expect, it’s going to pass the time and be moderately entertaining, but it won’t change your life and you’ll have forgotten it tomorrow. Which is why these reviews need to be written quickly...

Oh, and a quick hello to Guilty Feat, a fellow Wire watcher (so obviously someone of particularly distinguished taste) who has kindly pointed me the way of his own review of One Day. We agree, we disagree, but I enjoyed reading his opinion.

So, rating time:

#48 One Day, by David Nicholls (Hodder and Stoughton) - 6/10

Next up: Thank You for the Days, by Mark Radcliffe (Simon and Schuster)

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

#47 Psmith, Journalist, by PG Wodehouse (Century Hutchinson Limited)

Regret wasn’t a feeling I was expecting after embarking on this challenge. Enjoyment yes, interest definitely, maybe a bit of boredom, but certainly not regret – yet that was my overwhelming emotion after finishing Psmith, Journalist, my second PG Wodehouse book.

I should clarify. It’s not regret at having read this particular novel, but rather a sense of guilt that I waited this long into my life to tackle any of Wodehouse’s celebrated oeuvre. Which, so far, is brilliant.

In the front of my copy of Psmith, Journalist, there is a list of all of PG Wodehouse’s books. Excluding autobiographies, there are 92 in total and the way I’m feeling at the moment, little would make me happier than reading the complete works over the 12 months and adding on another eight books by other authors to complete the century and my challenge.

It’s not possible, of course. Not only did I read 40-odd books before picking up my first Wodehouse novel, Pearls, Girls and Monty Bodkin, I’m also limited to some extent by what’s available in the library. That and the fact that I’m trying to read new authors – and who knows what other wonders are out there – means my eye must occasionally wander away from the shelf of Ws. But I hope that illustrates just how eagerly I’m devouring his work.

The books themselves sound insubstantial. Psmith, Journalist tells the tale of an Englishman in New York, who alters the direction of a cosy weekly newspaper into a hard-hitting tabloid taking on social issues and attracting the attention of local gangs, but Wodehouse is so witty and his use of language so deft that it’s a real joy.

When I visit the library (about which I promise I’ll write more another time), I take out about nine or 10 books at a time, and I then try to sort them into some kind of order to ensure a bit of variety and that I don’t have to read two similar books back-to-back, and so forth. This month, it was a real struggle not to throw the system (if not the books) out of the window and read the Wodehouse straight away, and I can give no higher praise.

So, rating time:

#47 Psmith, Journalist, by PG Wodehouse (Century Hutchinson Limited) - 9/10

Next up: One Day, by David Nicholls (Hodder and Stoughton)

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

#46 Breaking Dawn, by Stephenie Meyer (Atom)

702 pages. Much like Harry Potter, as the popularity of the Twilight series has grown, so has the length of the books, and (alas for the purposes of this challenge) the last by Stephenie Meyer, Breaking Dawn, is the longest yet. So it’s absolutely bizarre that nothing really happens.

Oh, there are a few incidents. This is the book where Bella becomes a vampire, an event which has been so foretold in the previous three instalments there’s no fear of a spoiler there, but there are a few other twists which might keep the most avid fans fleetingly entertained.

That won’t be the case for anyone else, though. I’m all for building up a bit of tension and suspense, but Meyer never comes up with any sort of climax, merely a situation which fizzles out just when things look like getting dangerous – or what some might consider to be interesting.

A review of Meyer’s next work, the novella The Second Life of Bree Tanner which I happened to notice, points out the problems with the Twilight series better than I can, chiefly that the whole world the author has created, featuring hugely powerful vampires and shape-shifter-like werewolves, is incredibly sanitised.

This is a book when the heroine’s greatest power when she turns into a fearless vampire is to be, well, normal. It might be a great message to send out to young girls, who will form the majority of the book’s readership, but it doesn’t make it readable.

Other will no doubt quibble at the quality of prose, the meandering plot, the length, of time, it takes, for anything, to happen, but one final point if I may? Meyer also experiments with the structure of the book (you get a chapter by Bella, and then one with Jacob, for example), but you can tell things are running out of steam when she contrives to introduce a whole series of new vampires with special powers, seemingly for the only reason that the original ones seem a bit boring now.

Back in March, the Friend of the Wench took umbrage at my middle-of-the-road rating for the third Twilight book, Eclipse. I don’t foresee any such problems with this review…

So, rating time:

#46 Breaking Dawn, by Stephenie Meyer (Atom) - 4/10

Next up: Psmith, Journalist, by PG Wodehouse (Century Hutchinson Limited)

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

A challenging enterprise

It’s six months since I started this year-long challenge, and I’ve come up five books short at the halfway mark. It doesn’t sound like much, but it’s actually around a fortnight behind schedule and, despite a big effort in June while I was on holiday, I’m starting to get a little concerned about reaching my target come the year end.

That said, I could have made things easier on myself. I have deliberately been selecting some difficult books, and I’m not exaggerating when I say that I reckon I could have read around 10 standard-length ‘thriller’ books in the same time it took me to summon the energy to get through David Peace’s Tokyo Year Zero and Occupied City.

But that would be missing the point of the challenge, which is to read authors and books I might have otherwise ignored, and I feel better for the decisions I’ve taken. Even the one to finish Divorced and Deadly.

Earlier this month, the Friend of the Wench, with whom I have a bit of a ‘friendly’ competition going on (I’ve added the quotation marks because he thinks it’s a lot more friendly than I do), wrote eloquently about the nature of the challenges upon which we have embarked, about writing his own blog, and the enjoyment he’s taken from speaking to others about the challenge and literature in general.

Despite our differences, I couldn’t agree more. The irregular conversations between the two of us, my pride at his acknowledging a book I recommended to him is his favourite of the first six months, chatting to the Old Boy about Graham Greene in a New York bar while watching the US being knocked out the World Cup, kindly being bought books for my birthday by friends, finally following up on recommendations of authors from years ago, revisiting a library (about which I’ll write later), and making connections between everyday life and literature which I might otherwise have overlooked have been real highlights so far this year.

I was therefore unsurprised (although initially a little bewildered) when earlier this week I received a flood of emails from a work colleague of the Wench, an avid reader, recommending around two pages’ worth of her all-time favourite books and the best ones she has read this year. With passionate readers, you come to expect that sort of thing...

I hope all of the above has been conveyed by this blog, and I reached a decision earlier this week to actively tell people about these pages. That’s not to say it’s been a secret, but I didn’t start the challenge or the blog to seek attention and it’s largely been a personal undertaking for no one else’s pleasure but mine.

The other factor was a modicum of self-doubt whether I would have the time to carry on throughout the year. But while on holiday the Wench told me I was being foolish not to let people know about it because they might be interested, so, if you’re reading this, now you know. I hope it provides at least some fleeting fascination.

The Friend of the Wench (if he’s finished boasting about reaching 50 books ahead of schedule – and ahead of me!) is inviting people to take up their own challenge in the final six months – a 50-book challenge, if you will. Again, I couldn’t agree more – I hope it brings others as much enjoyment as I’ve had in the first six months.

#45 Shutter Island, by Dennis Lehane (Harper Collins)

Shutter Island is what I’d call a ‘superior’ thriller. On the one hand, it’s a relatively easy-to-read, well-plotted suspense novel, but there is a little bit more about it than the books which normally clog up the bestseller lists.

Typically, to contradict this theory, this was a New York Times bestseller, but that just goes to show that a lot of people recognised its quality. Indeed, Martin Scorcese directed the ‘major motion picture’ adaptation which has recently been released in UK cinemas (Gone Baby Gone and Mystic River are other films of Dennis Lehane books, I’ve since discovered).

To be honest, and to continue a bit of a theme on these pages this year, I first came across Lehane’s name in his role as a writer on The Wire (the best television show of all time etc…). George Pelecanos, another renowned American author who has similarly contributed to the HBO drama, has provided numerous highlights in my challenge this year, so I thought it was about time I gave Lehane a try – and I was pleased I did.

The story concerns a US marshal who is conducting an investigation into the disappearance of a criminally insane patient on a remote island, where nothing is quite as it seems (if you can imagine the ubiquitous film voiceover guy saying exactly that phrase). Not only is it well written with believable characters, there is enough suspense and plenty of twists and turns to keep readers occupied.

Rather pleasingly, even if I do say so myself, I worked out the novel’s central conceit about halfway through, but this in no way spoiled my enjoyment, and even after that there were plenty of surprises. So, really good, but not great.

So, rating time:

#45 Shutter Island, by Dennis Lehane (Harper Collins) - 8/10

Next up: Breaking Dawn, by Stephenie Meyer (Atom)

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

#44 Occupied City, by David Peace (Faber and Faber Limited)

I was planning to read Tokyo Year Zero and Occupied City, the second novel in David Peace's Tokyo trilogy, back to back, but found myself so drained by the first instalment that I needed some light relief - a role PG Wodehouse fulfilled perfectly.

I enjoyed Occupied City more than Tokyo Year Zero, but many of the comments I made in that review apply once more. There is significantly less repetition, less use of the stylised prose which Peace favours, in favour of interwoven sentences which see entire chapters use italics and CAPITAL LETTERS to convey three disparate strands. As before, it's extremely complex and hard to follow, and the overall effect is that the mind focuses on the sensory impact of the words more than the story itself.

Rereading my review of Tokyo Year Zero, it struck me that I should have given an example of the complicated sentence structure Peace commonly uses, so here's a quick excerpt, taken completely at random, from Occupied City:

"Beneath the Black Gate, in its upper chamber, in the candle-light, no plague-light; white light, hospital-white, laboratory-white, then grey, an overcast-skin-grey then open vein blue, blue and now green, a culture-grown-green then yellow, yellow, thick-caught-spittle-yellow, streaked sticking-string-red, then black;
black-black, drop-drop, black-black
step-step, in the plague-light
drop-drop, step-step,
in the plague-
light-"

And there's just short of 300 pages of that (which is less than Tokyo Year Zero, admittedly).

The plot is also better, by the way. We've moved on a couple of years in post-Second World War occupied Tokyo and now police are investigating a bank robbery in which 12 people were murdered (poisoned). As usual, it's based on a true story and an author's note later reveals an appeal to clear the supposedly guilty party's name continues to this day, posthumously.

Interestingly, Peace has borrowed the Rashomon format, whereby the same event is revisited and retold by several different protaganists, shedding new light on events in the process. This is set against another investigation being carried out into Japan's biological warfare operation.

Each chapter is different. We are treated to the transcript of a detective's notebook, the recollections of a journalist, the testimony of a survivor and ultimately an account by the man who confessed to the crime. It's hugely varied and powerful, and if you want a book to really challenge you, start here.

So, rating time:

#44 Occupied City, by David Peace (Faber and Faber Limited) - 7/10

Next up: Shutter Island, by Dennis Lehane (Harper Collins)

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

#43 Pearls, Girls and Monty Bodkin, by PG Wodehouse (Penguin Books)

Another novelist I'd never read before was PG Wodehouse, and it's taken me around four years to take the advice of TC (who also recommended Paul Auster, by the way), although I overlooked his suggestion that I begin with the classic Jeeves and Wooster series. After completing the book, the main question I was wondering was ‘why had it taken me so long’?

I read Pearls, Girls and Monty Bodkin while stuck at an airport for around five hours waiting for the plane upon which I was due to fly to be fixed, and I can honestly say that this book was the only reason I managed to maintain my patience.

Thoroughly enjoyable, with lots of neat post-modern asides from the writer to the reader, Pearls, Girls and Monty Bodkin is not only funny, its chaotic and convoluted plot meanders this way and that as the reader sympathises with the main character and his efforts to first prove himself worthy of marriage and then try to escape from his engagement – with added criminals, movie moguls, private detectives, nightclubs and the obligatory (in a Wodehouse novel, apparently) large country house.

Set in a world in which butlers and the like are the norm, I have to admit I was thoroughly charmed.

So, rating time:

#43 Pearls, Girls and Monty Bodkin, by PG Wodehouse (Penguin Books) - 9/10

Next up: Occupied City, by David Peace (Faber and Faber Limited)

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

#42 Tokyo Year Zero, by David Peace (Faber and Faber Limited)

If you like your books easy to read, steer clear of David Peace's latest series, which starts with Tokyo Year Zero. The author of The Damned United, a wonderful novel, has a very distinctive style, whereby the reader hears the interior monologue of characters' thoughts and much more as well as the interaction between characters.

Peace is all about rhythm and cadence, building a foreboding atmosphere using a staccato and truncated sentence structure which is a continuous and intense assault on the senses, much like the 'ton-ton-ton' with which Peace conveys the constant noise of the rebuilding of post-war Tokyo, a city occupied by the 'Victors' or Americans.

As usual, Peace's novel is based on fact, a police investigation into the death of young Japanese women amid the murky background of a city coming to terms with its surrender and loss of face. It's a gripping tale, with intrigue around every destroyed street, but someone really needs to tell Peace that less is more.

With Brian Clough, the central figure of The Damned United, Peace's stream of invective is perfectly suited, as is his unique prose, but it's less effective on this occasion. At its worst, the relentless repetition and broken and interrupted sentences, the verbal tics and poetic tricks, can appear infantile, and while that completely misses the point of the writer's craft, there is so much of it that it gets in the way of the story.

I'm a big fan of films no longer than 90 or 100 minutes (there are too many self-indulgent directors making unnecessary epics) and the same applies here - with a bit of judicious editing, perhaps as much as 50 or so pages merely containing repetition could be cut without losing anything of the claustrophobic atmosphere. It's obviously intended to be an uncomfortable read, but I can't help wondering whether it had to be quite so tough.

So, rating time:

#42 Tokyo Year Zero, by David Peace (Faber and Faber Limited) - 6/10

Next up: Pearls, Girls and Monty Bodkin, by PG Wodehouse (Penguin Books)

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

#41 The Beautiful Game: A Wag's Tale, by Claire Challis and Fabulous (Headline Review)

After my scathing review of Divorced and Deadly, the Friend of the Wench joked that I should read more 'bad books'. As ever, I'm happy to oblige...

My god, The Beautiful Game: A Wag's Tale is dreadful. The World Cup is in full flow at present, and I thought it would be fun, particularly while on holiday, to read a throwaway 'beach book' upon which I wouldn't have to expend much thought. After all, I'd just finished an Oscar Wilde novel.

How foolish I was. On a superficial level, you can laugh at - and come close to enjoying - the Beautiful Game: A Wag's Tale, but every sentence you read feels like your brain cells are being stripped away. Put that on the front cover.

Supposedly the inside story of life as a WAG (wife and girlfriend) of a Premier League footballer, The Beautiful Game is no expose. Written with the help of Fabulous ('the pseudonym of an ex-WAG', so we're told), who is presumably on hand to bring some insight and reality to the proceedings, it's a tale of excess on every page. From the series of escapades by a bunch of young men with plenty of fame and money, to their partners who fill their time with lunching, shopping, partying and moaning about their menfolk, no one comes out of it with any credit.

My over-riding feeling at the end of the book was one of boredom. Who cares? If people behave as this book alleges (and I've no doubt little imagination was required), and those closest to them are unable to criticise their behaviour because they are so dependent on them (for money, for the lifestyle to which they have become accustomed), in the end, who really cares?

That would be the end of this review were it not for a frankly unbelievable introduction, part of which follows: "The Beautiful Game is a fictional account of the lives of four imaginary WAGs, and all the characters in the story are wholly fictitious. No character, football club or event should be understood to refer to any real person, football club or incident and any similarities to any living person is (sic) entirely coincidental."

This is simply ridiculous. If you're going to write a so-called expose, at least have the bollocks (sorry) to follow it through. I mean, just to give one example, if the story regarding dogging isn't 'inspired' by Stan Collymore, John Terry can have the Wench's phone number with my blessing...

Furthermore (and I can't let this pass), everything you need to know about the book is evident from the acknowledgements of author Claire Challis, who, while thanking her agent and editor, gushes: "I think we can safely say we've got speed-novelling down to a fine art. High five!"

In my eyes, this is no reason for jubilation or self-congratulation, and in support of this position I offer just one example. Early on, the word 'career' appears in a sentence which makes absolutely no sense - unless the word was meant to be area (and I gave this matter more thought than I gave the rest of the book). I can only think that maybe it was misheard when some notes were being typed up - and everyone was so busy 'speed-novelling' they didn't notice…

So, rating time:

#41 The Beautiful Game, by Claire Challis and Fabulous (Headline Review) - 3/10

Next up: Tokyo Year Zero, by David Peace (Faber and Faber Limited)

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#40 The Picture of Dorian Gray, by Oscar Wilde (Vintage)

It may have been his only novel, but The Picture of Dorian Gray is, as Irvine Welsh writes in an introduction to the copy I read, only rivalled by The Importance of Being Earnest in Wildean fame. I have to admit I finished the novel slightly disappointed, however.

The concept is wonderful. Dorian Gray has such youthful beauty, when he sees this through the eyes of a painter for whom he has posed, he prays that he will be granted eternal youth and that his image in the painting will age - and show the physical consequences of his life's decisions - instead of his own visage.

Gray's descent into decadence, prompted in part by a frivolous friend who has no idea of the ramifications of his devil-may-care attitude and its effect on Gray, is deftly handled. The murder of the painter is as shocking as it should be. Gray's deceit, his need to hide away the painting but keep checking whether there have been any changes, his narcissism, his self-indulgent behaviour balanced against his guilt and fear that some of those he has wronged may seek revenge, is powerful. And the end, which comes quite suddenly, is a neat resolution.

Wilde wrote Dorian Gray five years before he was sent to Reading Gaol for 'gross indecency' and the language Wilde uses throughout, particularly when describing Gray, is very homoerotic (although there aren't actually any homosexual acts). Having recently been reading some Bret Easton Ellis, I also noted some common themes, with Wilde keen to reference items a la mode, as Ellis does in his novels, notably American Psycho.

Much to appreciate then, but, for wont of a better word, there was plenty of waffle as well (and I know that's almost a blasphemous statement when directed at Wilde). Tremendously witty in parts, the to and fro of discussion between Lord Henry Wotton and artist Basil Hallward and Gray in particular can be hard to follow and is occasionally obtuse. Much of it seems like badinage for badinage's sake, and while some comments hit the right note, others are discordant. I enjoyed it, but not as much as I thought I would.

So, rating time:

#40 The Picture of Dorian Gray, by Oscar Wilde (Vintage) - 7/10

Next up: The Beautiful Game, by Claire Challis and Fabulous (Headline Review)

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#39 A Thousand Splendid Suns, by Khaled Hosseini (Bloomsbury)

I cry a lot. Particularly at films and books, but anything can set me off. It's all a bit strange: real-life situations which most people would consider to be emotionally moving, whether they should prompt tears of sadness or of joy, barely register in my consciousness, but make-believe events can reduce me to floods of tears.

I'm not ashamed of this, and - if you'll forgive the continuing confession - I'm happy to admit that there is no quality control within my tear ducts. Just off the top of my head, I cried during Marley and Me, which is a truly awful film (I've not read the book), and I sobbed uncontrollably for 90-odd minutes when recently watching Hachi (another film featuring a dog) on the plane over to the United States - everyone else on the plane must have thought I was a nutcase.

All of which is a long introduction into the issue which most puzzled me when assessing A Thousand Splendid Suns, by Khaled Hosseini. It's a very good book, which tells a harrowing tale of two Afghan women who suffer untold pain and indignity, but find some sort of common ground in the face of huge oppression, both within their families and their country. It's very well written and extremely moving - but two thirds of the way through, I couldn't help myself wondering why I wasn't crying.

Ultimately, the tears did start to roll as the denoument approached and the ultimate sacrifice was made by one of the women, but for all the fascinating storytelling of the two women's lives and the insight into how Afghanistan has become the country it has over decades of foreign interference and infighting among its natives, I couldn't ignore this lack of emotional response and connection to the book on my part, especially given the litany of suffering, ranging from physical to psychological violence, throughout.

I should mention a couple of things I liked a lot. Hosseini's manner of hinting what is come ("The next time Mariam signed her name to a document, 27 years later, a mullah would again be present") is a neat device, and I also liked the shifting predominant focus between the stories of the two women.

Very good, then, but not great, although it has encouraged me to look up Hosseini's other Afghan novel, the bestseller The Kite Runner, which predates A Thousand Splendid Suns.

So, rating time:

#39 A Thousand Splendid Suns, by Khaled Hosseini (Bloomsbury) - 8/10

Next up: The Picture of Dorian Gray, by Oscar Wilde (Vintage)

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Great references, old sport

I'm getting through a few books while on holiday, and everywhere I go I see literary references and reminders. Some are more obvious than others, though, such as the plaque on the door of the hotel room adjacent to the one which housed the Wench and I.

We stayed at the Mansfield Hotel, and, according to the plaque, room 1004 (or the Fitzgerald Apartment) is where the inspiration for a great novel once stayed.

The plaque reads: "The wealthy and mysterious Max Von Gerlach, F Scott Fitzgerald's friend and the inspiration for the character Jay Gatsby in The Great Gatsby, lived out his last days in the Mansfield Hotel in the 1950s. It was Von Gerlach's phrase 'old sport' that would become Jay Gatsby's signature expression."

I haven't read The Great Gatsby, but that there is as good a reason as any to add it to the list...

Just down the block (see how easy I've slipped into Americanisms) is the Algonquin Hotel, which has had a huge influence over the years. Indeed, in the 1920s, the Rose Room was home to America's best-known luncheon club, the Round Table, which hosted such literary lights as Alexander Woollcott, Franklin P Adams, Dorothy Parker and Harold Ross. All were involved in the founding of the New Yorker, and a back door of the hotel gave access to the magazine's first headquarters.

#38 Divorced and Deadly, by Josephine Cox (Harper Collins)

Where to start with Divorced and Deadly, the book I accepted as part of a blind challenge by my local library? How about the fact that I wish I hadn't walked into the library that day. Indeed, I would rather it had turned out to be a Mills and Boon.

The point of this year-long challenge isn't to badmouth books and authors - not least because I'm no Charlie Brooker, who would be much better able to give this novel the thorough kicking it deserves - but it's difficult to ignore something as unremittingly awful as Divorced and Deadly.

The blurb says the book is 'packed with hair-raising escapades and laugh-out loud moments'. I'm sorry, but it's really not. There is also the information that Cox started writing Divorced and Deadly on her website, as a series of 'hilarious' (her words, definitely not mine) real-life incidents which happened to real people, in real situations and so on. The publishers 'in their wisdom' (again, her words) then decided it should be lengthened into a book...

On a list of bad decisions, that one's up there with Cheryl Tweedy deciding Ashley Cole was suitable husband material. Indeed, like the latter's autobiography, this is an affront to literature, and it got to the stage where I seriously considered prying my eyes out rather than continuing to read such rubbish.

If a character named Dickie Manse brains-in-his-pants (and that's how he's referred to throughout) raises the slightest giggle, you may find something to briefly like within this book. If you find it childish, as I did, you'll want to move on as quickly as possible.

For a supposed comedic tale, the characters are so unlikeable it's painful. The 'escapades' mentioned earlier are incredibly infantile and any glimmer of a mildly amusing situation is magnified and extended to such a degree that renders it pointless and insulting to the reader. It's like making an hour-long documentary analysing a knob joke (which actually sounds like a whole lot more fun now I've written it down).

I completed it because I had to, rather than because I wanted to. And although I'll give any author some credit for actually managing to get a book published, after two 9/10 books in succession, this was a crashing, dismal and abject failure.

So, rating time:

#38 Divorced and Deadly, by Josephine Cox (Harper Collins) - 2/10

Next up: A Thousand Splendid Suns, by Khaled Hosseini (Bloomsbury)

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