Foreign Language Friday: after the quake by Haruki Murakami

Dear blog,
So.  I wrote a review, finally!  You'll have to forgive me if it sounds badly written.  I am so out of practise, but it will be good to get back into reviewing again. 

Original title: Kami no kodomo-tachi wa mina odoru

Author: Haruki Murakami

Original Language: Japanese

Translated by: Jay Rubin
Summary (from Goodreads): The economy was booming. People had more money than they knew what to do with. And then, the earthquake struck. Komura's wife follows the TV reports from morning to night, without eating or sleeping. The same images appear again and again: flames, smoke, buildings turned to rubble, their inhabitants dead, cracks in the streets, derailments, crashes, collapsed expressways, crushed subways, fires everywhere. Pure hell. Suddenly, a city seems a fragile thing. And life too. Tomorrow anything could happen. For the characters in Murakami's latest short story collection, the Kobe earthquake is an echo from a past they buried long ago. Satsuki has spent 30 years hating one man: a lover who destroyed her chances of having children, and who now lives in Kobe. Did her desire for revenge cause the earthquake? Junpei's estranged parents also live in Kobe. Should he contact them? Miyake left his family in Kobe to make midnight bonfires on a beach hundreds of miles away. Four-year-old Sala has nightmares that the Eathquake man is trying to stuff her inside a little box. Katagiri returns home to find a giant frog in his apartment on a mission to save Tokyo from a massive worm burrowing under the Tokyo Security Trust Bank. "When he gets angry, he causes earthquakes" says Frog. "And right now he is very, very angry."

Review: So, this is a selection of six short stories all set directly after the 1995 Kobe earthquake.  I thought I would review each story one by one.

UFO in Kushiro- I think this is actually my least favourite of the bunch. That's not to say that I disliked it- I did, the same way that I like everything that Haruki Murakami writes, just within certain degrees of liking as opposed to active dislike- but I suppose that I just found it rather ordinary, with all of the trademark aspects of his work that you would expect from his writing.  Look at it this way: as a kind of introduction, a prologue that sets the scene with the things that keep all of the stories in after the quake interlinked: people's lives that are outwardly so ordinary in many aspects, but which are somehow thrown slightly out of balance, and the way that the Kobe earthquake is somehow relevant to their lives.  UFO in Kushiro, to my mind, kind of establishes all of that as a lead-up to the rest of the book.

Landscape with Flatiron- is quite possibly my favourite of the six, and also quite possibly my new favourite Murakami short story.  The surreal and supernatural is something that's often one of the most prominent themes in his writing, but this collection is (apart from Super-Frog Saves Tokyo, which I'll get to in a minute) kind of devoid of all that. Yet Landscape with Flatiron reads as quite dreamlike and surreal in a way that no giant frogs could ever be, with the imagery that it conjures up, the fleeting dialogue, and the way that the story meanders along quietly, like it's hardly there at all.  You hardly notice that it's finished, the way it kind of trails off in an unfinished thought.

All God's Children Can Dance- is best described as...slightly disturbing, or maybe slightly unsettling would be a more accurate description.  There are all kinds of vague underlying themes and undertones to the story, like everything is lurking just underneath the surface.  You wouldn't think it when you first start reading and meet the protagonist- who wakes up alone at home with a hangover- but it's the darkest story of the six, and the deepest, too.  I found the conclusion of this story particularly satisfying: it opened in one place, seemed to go on a slight detour as a kind of intense character study, before concluding in what felt like a full circle.  Though the story was only around twenty pages long, by the end I felt like I knew everything about the main character and the world he inhabited.


Thailand-  Is it possible for a short story to pull you in gradually?  If it is, Thailand did exactly that. I started out thinking, "well, this is an okay story," but then as it kept going I felt myself more and more gradually drawn into it.  All the stories in after the quake are linked in differing ways, but I found the way that this was connected the most interesting; the main character, Satsuki, wonders if her hatred of one man is what caused the earthquake. 

Super-Frog Saves Tokyo- Reminded me a lot of the story The Little Green Monster from the collection The Elephant Vanishes, and was just as much fun. It's as strange and as quirky as it sounds, but always in the most delightful way possible.  A bank employee named Katagiri comes home from work one evening to find a six-foot-tall frog waiting for him in his apartment, and, after the frog has asked Katagiri to close the door behind him and take off his shoes, Frog proceeds to warn Katagiri that they must both work together to "do mortal combat with"...drumroll...a gigantic worm, in order to prevent aforementioned worm from destroying Tokyo.  Every page gets more and more random, but for that I absolutely love it.

Honey Pie- I envy Haruki Murakami for his writing skills so much, and he makes me feel like such a mediocre writer. How are his characters so fully-formed and believable, even when we only stay with them for such a short period of time? I know that this is a highlight of the collection for a lot of people, but I was initially a little confused about where the focus of the story lay.  It started off in one place, with a young girl being told a story by her Uncle Junpei. Then it sort of takes a detour into the lives of Junpei and the girl -Sala's- parents, only it's sort of too long to be a detour and seems to become the central point or idea of the story, before coming back to Sala again at the end.  Still, whatever story the reader wants to get from it- and there are many within it- it remains ultimately heartwarming and hopeful.

In Three Words: surreal, profound, emotive.
Recommended for: everyone!  I think it's a good introduction to Murakami's short stories.
Rating: 4.

Foreign Language Friday: Le Bal by Irène Némirovsky

Dear blog,

This is two novellas put together in one volume, so I'll review each one separately.

Original titles: Le Bal and Les Mouches d'automne, respectively.
Written by: Irène Némirovsky
First published in: French

Translated by: Sandra Smith

Summary (from Goodreads): Le Bal is a penetrating and incisive book set in early twentieth century France. At its heart is the tension between mother and daughter. The nouveau-riche Kampfs, desperate to become members of the social elite, decide to throw a ball to launch themselves into high society. For selfish reasons Mrs. Kampf forbids her teenage daughter, Antoinette, to attend the ball and banishes her to the laundry room. In an unpremeditated fury of revolt and despair, Antoinette takes a swift and horrible revenge. A cruel, funny and tender examination of class differences, Le Bal describes the torments of childhood with rare accuracy.
Also included in this volume is Snow in Autumn, in which Némirovsky pays homage to Chekhov and chronicles the life of a devoted servant following her masters as they flee Revolutionary Moscow and emigrate to a life of hardship in Paris. 

Review: Le Bal- This was definitely my favourite of the two.  Of course, I didn't like Antoinette, I didn't think much of her father, and I didn't like her mother either.  But then I don't think you're meant to like Madame Kampf and her daughter, so much as just read from both their perspectives and observe both of their actions, and see how they clash. 

Although they both strongly disliked one another, they both had a lot of mannerisms in common, and the same desperate desire to be appreciated, loved, to show themselves off to society.   At the same time their thoughts are written in such a subtly tender way, and I think on some level it's possible to sympathise with and relate to every single character, even those who are somewhat minor and don't play too large a role, which is something I love her for; the way portrays family dynamics in such a horribly truthful way.  Her characterisation is absolutely spot on. 

The scene where Antoinette is hiding behind the sofa is, by the way,  without a doubt one of the best that I've come across in literature over the last few months.  If this makes sense, reading it from Antoinette's perspective, makes you feel almost kind of guilty.  I don't even know what for... just being, I suppose, being able to identify with some of her thoughts and emotions, and to know that they were messing things up.  For such an outwardly simplistic story, there are a lot of motives that you're left pondering for a long time after you read it.

In three words: Vivacious, insightful, tense.

Rating: 5.

Snow in Autumn- I was pretty surprised at how different this was from Le Bal, which felt lively and sort of fierce in a controlled kind of way.  But the best thing for me to compare Snow in Autumn to is actually snow.  It's so quietly beautiful and sorrowful.  It's told from the perspective of a faithful servant when the wealthy family she works for flees persecution in Russia. Wealth and social standing is another big theme, but it's a total contrast from Le Bal, which is kind of a rags-to-riches story, .  Snow in Autumn is the complete opposite, and the central family are left .  Themes of loss and nostalgia, I've noticed, are also a recurring theme in all the Némirovsky that I've read so far, and she writes it very well. 

But for all its haunting glory, I don't know why, but it felt kind of...incomplete.  The story of their journey from Russia to France was perfectly alright, and the way they initially settled in, but I felt like it could have been a lot longer- maybe even a novel in its own right.  I felt like there were some characters that I would have loved a lot more if I had had more time to get to know them, but I didn't, alas.  Still, it's an entirely beautiful novella in a subtle sort of way, and I highly recommend it.

In three words: Lyrical, sad, haunting.

Rating: 4.

Foreign Language Friday: In The Sea There are Crocodiles by Fabio Geda

Dear Blog,

Original Title: Nel mare ci sono i coccodrilli

Original Language: Italian

Translated by: Howard Curtis

Summary (from Goodreads): One night before putting him to bed, Enaiatollah's mother tells him three things: don't use drugs, don't use weapons, don't steal. The next day he wakes up to find she isn't there. They have fled their village in Ghazni to seek safety outside Afghanistan but his mother has decided to return home to her younger children. Ten-year-old Enaiatollah is left alone in Pakistan to fend for himself. In a book that takes a true story and shapes it into a beautiful piece of fiction, Italian novelist Fabio Geda describes Enaiatollah's remarkable five-year journey from Afghanistan to Italy where he finally managed to claim political asylum aged fifteen. His ordeal took him through Iran, Turkey and Greece, working on building sites in order to pay people-traffickers, and enduring the physical misery of dangerous border crossings squeezed into the false bottoms of lorries or trekking across inhospitable mountains. A series of almost implausible strokes of fortune enabled him to get to Turin, find help from an Italian family and meet Fabio Geda, with whom he became friends. The result of their friendship is this unique book in which Enaiatollah's engaging, moving voice is brilliantly captured by Geda's subtle and simple storytelling. In Geda's hands, Enaiatollah's journey becomes a universal story of stoicism in the face of fear, and the search for a place where life is liveable.

Review:  When I sat down to start reading this book, I wasn't sure how many boxes of tissues I was going to need.  Surprisingly, I didn't need any- the story was told in a very straightforward manner, without  much strong emotion at all.  But although it didn't make me cry, it was still an entirely hard-hitting and harrowing book.  There were some moments now and again that just struck me as particularly horrifying, perhaps because of the unadorned and almost casual way they were described, as if they were nothing exceptional to Enaiatollah.  It reminded me a little of The Book of Everything in that respect; having things just told as they are, without any exaggeration, strong emotions and such put in, makes the events seem entirely shocking.

Enaitollah talks about human trafficking, the extremely hard time police across the Middle East and southern Europe give him and the desperate measures he'll go to in order to go abroad in such a frank way I want to just grab him and trap him in a massive bear hug.  Still, I think that was only because of his experiences; sometimes I wished that there had been more of his own thoughts and emotions included.  Although it's a very direct book, like he's sat right across the table from you telling his story, it would have been nice to have felt what he felt, as well as see what he saw.

In The Sea There are Crocodiles reminds me a lot of the Breadwinner trilogy by Deborah Ellis, which were some of my favourite books a few years ago (I read the whole trilogy in about three days). It's very insightful into the world of illegal immigration, and if I hadn't read this book then I  wouldn't have been aware of how it works in any detail. As well as that, there were things like the places Enaiat worked; for fourteen hours a day in a stone-cutting factory, and running all the errands for a hotel, that reminded me how lucky I am to be able to just babysit once a week and still be able to eat three meals a day, sleep with a roof over my head and get a good education.

Still, it's not entirely without hope, which was a pleasant surprise.  Enaiatollah, once he reaches Italy, recounts how he managed  to (gradually) settle down and live an ordinary life.   Enaiat was so resilient and just kept on going whatever life threw at him.  He did such brave and resilient things aged ten or eleven that, as a teenager, makes me feel hopelessly ditzy and (hypothetically) incapable of surviving in such a harsh world.  His fearlessness and determination to keep going, through five years and six countries, will stay with me for a very long time.

In three words: Insightful, hopeful, direct.
Reccommended for: Armchair travellers.
Rating: 3.

Thank you to Random House for sending me a copy for review.

Foreign Language Friday: The Last Day of a Condemned Man by Victor Hugo

Dear Blog,

I'm sorry I've been gone from the blogging universe from so long.  I was in Devon last week, and since then I've been entirely busy.

A note about The Last Day of a Condemned Man: This book is made up of one novella (id est, the title of the book) and a short story called Claude Gueux. 

Original Title: Le Dernier Jour d'un condamné

Original Language: French
Translated by: Christopher Montcreiff
Summary (from Goodreads): Victor Hugo, the shining light of French Romanticism, was an indefatigable campaigner against the death penalty. This unique anthology of his controversial writings on crime and punishment reveals the author's generosity of spirit and his pity for the condemned. However, as always in Hugo, a degree of endearing self-glorification is never absent. The Last Day of a Condemned Man, while not seeking to minimize its protagonist's responsibility for the murder he has committed, reminds the reader of the mental anguish endured by a man condemned to a cell. Claude Gueux is a documentary account of the martyrdom of a prisoner driven to crime by poverty, and to murder by the casual brutality of a head warder. Also included are Hugo's moving diary entries recording his visits to the prisons of La Roquette and the Conciergerie.
 
Review: So. One of the first things you should know about me is how much I love Victor Hugo. I read Notre-Dame de Paris last November and it was an entirely welcome break from the frenzy that is NaNoWriMo for a few days. 
Yes I am going somewhere with this.  When you're so in love with a book, when you've read it two or three times and highlighted your favourite parts and drawn little pictures it's easy to forget how thrilling it is to read a Victor Hugo book for the first time. Reading The Last Day of a Condemned Man there are some moments where you're just entirely blown away, like, "Oh my God, this man is a freaking amazing writer."  The writing,  the emotions and the tension are just so entirely enthralling, even though the impending death of the unnamed narrator leaves nothing a mystery.  Still, the pacing is pretty perfect and the build-up to his execution is entirely tense.

Both of the stories are something of a social commentary of French society in law in the day. We never really find out what the condemned man has done (there's one implication of a murder, but that's it), and there's next to no deep detail about the crime he committed, his past and his personal life. All we know is that he has a wife and a young child. In some scenarios and books I prefer it when books go into lots of detail about the character's past, but I think it worked really well here. The way you were cut off from the narrator, and there was just you, him and his impending death: he could have done something absolutely awful but it makes no difference to the reader.    Claude Gueux goes into more detail about the functioning  and dynamics of an early nineteenth-century prison, and there's less focus on the emotions.

While I'm talking about it, Claude Gueux is a short story, and alas it didn't live up to my expectations for two reasons. One: Although I too felt sorry for his plight, his imprisonment and his desperation, which were as excellently portrayed as in TLDOACM, it appeared to me that Claude just wanted his little friend back because he shared his food out with him and without the extra bread he was going to be hungry. Not even starving, just hungry, even. In all his speeches and pleas to the workshop manager, he always seems to mention the food, or lack thereof, first and his friend second. 
The second thing was the ending.  It gradually morphed into a long speech of sorts about the unfairness of prison life and how it could be fixed, the ideal path for improving the prison system in France, and the transformation was pretty gradual until about two pages from the end I was like, "Hang on a minute...this is meant to be about a prisoner..."  And although on one hand you're totally punching the air like, "Yes, Victor! You da MAN!"* it would be kind of nice if we could get on with the story.

Oh, and here's a delightful coincidence  I noticed. Claude Gueux= Age thirty-six. Claude Frollo, my favourite antagonist in literature= age thirty-six.  Claude Gueux= obsessed with the man who gave him his extra food. Claude Frollo= obsessed with a sixteen-year-old truant.  I'm sure Monsier Gueux is the great-great-great-great (etc. etc.) grandson of Dom Claude.

So, to conclude it was an entirely awesome return to Victor Hugo.  Now I'm off to order Ninety-Three and The Man Who Laughs.  (I know, no Les Miserables yet.  It intimidates me.  So many pages...)

In Three Words:  Insightful, fast-paced, enthralling.
Recommended for: people interested in law, human rights, and French literature.
Rating: The Last Day of a Condemned Man: 5, Claude Gueux: 4.
*I should not be talking about one of the most influential writers in French literature like this. 

Foreign Language Friday: We by Yevgeny Zamyatin

Dear Blog,

note: This review is going to have to be way too short and undeserving of such an awesome book. Sorry.

Original Title:  It was originally published in English, then in Czech, but the Russian is Мы/Miy.

Original Language: ^^

Translated by: Natasha Randall
Summary (from Amazon UK): In a glass-enclosed city of absolute straight lines, ruled over by the all-powerful ‘Benefactor’, the citizens of the totalitarian society of OneState live out lives devoid of passion and creativity – until D-503, a mathematician who dreams in numbers, makes a discovery: he has an individual soul. Set in the twenty-sixth century AD, We is the classic dystopian novel and was the inspiration for George Orwell’s 1984. It was suppressed for many years in Russia and remains a resounding cry for individual freedom, yet is also a powerful, exciting and vivid work of science fiction.

Review: So unless you have been hiding in a cave, or the nonfiction section of your library, you are probably away that dystopian fiction in young adult literature is like the new paranormal vampire-werewolf-fallen-angel thing.  With reason.  We fear the unknown, but at the same time it's something entirely, morbidly fascinating.  But recently I've been kind of tired of that, and all these apocalypses have blended into one.  However, the one dystopian novel I've still wanted to read for a long time is We.

  We is like the grandfather of the dystopic, but totally gets the short end of the stick because so many people have read Nineteen Eighty-Four and Brave New World, and seem to believe that's where things got started.  I haven't read either of those yet, so I shouldn't say that We is the most influential book in the genre or anything, because I wouldn't really know. 

It's both at the same time fantastically forward-thinking from something of its time and gloriously kitsch.  It reminds me a lot of the film Metropolis in that respect.  You've got to admire Zamyatin for constructing what was then such a groundbreaking world, which was apparently supposed to be relevant to the political regime in Russia at the time, so it was pretty controversial too.  There's some interesting foresight- id est, Zamyatin foresaw electric toothbrushes.  Yes, ELECTRIC TOOTHBRUSHES.  Therefore Zamyatin wins. 
The book is only about 200 pages or so, but it's surprisingly hard to get through.  The writing style is very, very strange.  It's almost dream-like in a way, and in some parts it seems almost hysterical, and then because of that kind of vagueness, the perception of things feels kind of skewed and unclear.   It's pretty fragmented, as well, and seems to jump around a lot.  This can be kind of irritating if there's some particularly interesting scene, or thought,  and then suddenly the subject changes. 

D-503 was, in a word...a strange character.  The emotional journey he went through in the book was pretty similar to that of the characters in other dystopic novels I've read; at the beginning of the book his belief in his society is totally unwavering and almost darkly amusing, but then he falls and love with someone who doesn't buy into the society, and is then entirely confused.  But I think the way that confusion of feeling love, that emotion which D-503 had never really encountered before, was fantastically portrayed. 

I-330 was a pretty interesting character; I wish there had been more to her, or that there had been a better picture of her personality, if such a thing exists in the One State.  I knew she was supposed to be mysterious and beautiful and intelligent; that was it.  There was so much focus on the emotion, and the scenario, and the confusion when the two collided, that things like descriptions seemed almost disregarded.    I quite liked O, too, bit in a pitying sort of way. I think she meant well, but in the entirely unindividual manner of the One State, and hence when D-503 was presented with the Exciting World Outside the state, he had to kind of abandon her.  Their relationship was pretty interesting, too; were they in love? Weren't they?  They would get together for the designated hour in which they could lower the blinds in their glass houses and...you know... anyway, good on her for appearing now and again to try and get D-503 back, even though it was pretty futile.

So, I'm glad I read it.  Though it isn't entirely flawless, you have to admit it is pretty damn awesome for being so subtly influential.

In three words: under-rated, clever, convincing.
Recommended for: all fans of science fiction. 
Rating: 3.5. 

Foreign Language Friday: The Elephant Vanishes by Haruki Murakami

Dear Blog,

another anthology review, even though because it's so late here it's almost Foreign Language Saturday.

Original Language: Japanese
Translated by: Alfred Birnbaum and Jay Rubin
Summary (from Goodreads): When a man's favourite elephant vanishes, the balance of his whole life is subtly upset; a couple's midnight hunger pangs drive them to hold up a McDonald's; a woman finds she is irresistible to a small green monster that burrows through her front garden; an insomniac wife wakes up to a twilight world of semi-consciousness in which anything seems possible - even death. In every one of the stories that make up The Elephant Vanishes, Murakami makes a determined assault on the normal. He has a deadpan genius for dislocating realities to uncover the surreal in the everyday, the extraordinary in the ordinary.

The Wind-up Bird And Tuesday's Women- turned out later on, much revised, to be the beginning to The Wind-up Bird Chronicle, which I haven't read yet.  However, it certainly is a winning idea for a book, and certainly a strong opening to an anthology like this. 
The thing I like most about Haruki Murakami is the way that he manages to make the most ordinary, everyday things absolutely unputdownable reading. The narrator's cat disappears. If this was any other author, you'd be like, "It's okay, he'll turn up when he's hungry."  But in Murakami's writing you're like "Oh noes!  The cat!  He has to be found!"  Not just because of the writing style, but just because you care about the characters so much, you need the subtle balance to their lives to be restored now. 

The Second Bakery Attack- Is about (in my opinion) the most badass married couple in literature, who how after suddenly becoming ravenously hungry in the middle of the night, decide to hold up a MacDonalds in order to break a curse set on the husband. On one hand, taking a step back and saying to yourself "Hang on.  What are they doing..?"  it's quite hilarious, but on the other you can't help but take it seriously as you read it.

 The Kangaroo Communiqué-  I don't really have very much to say about this one.  One thing I do know; it was weird.  Even for this anthology. It didn't really make sense, it was shrouded in mystery; the narration sort of jumped about from one place to another. 


On Seeing the 100% Perfect Girl One Beautiful April Morning-is only five or six pages long, but one of my favourites nonetheless.  It's short and sweet and the sort of thing that puts a smile on your face when you've finished, and seems to make your whole day brighter for having read it.  Even though you know it's just a story, it's utterly enchanting. It's kind of like a fairy-tale.  

Sleep-Would have been another favourite, had it not been for the ending, which seemed to let down what would have otherwise been a truly, truly fantastic story.  The ending was very sudden and didn't really seem to fit with the rest of the story, which left me kind of disappointed.  However, up to that point it was unputdownable.  I'm something of an insomniac, but not...not in the creepy sinister way of this story.  It gave me chills.

The Fall of the Roman Empire, The 1881 Indian Uprising, Hitler's Invasion of Poland, And The Realm of Raging Winds-  Was another short one, and all the better for it. For all its length, it was pretty incredible in the way that it managed to weave in time and space to such a short piece. The writing style is beautiful; so clear and precise.   "I let out a short, maybe 30% sigh."    "The things on the line were all aflutter, whipping out loud, dry cracks, streaming their crazed comet trails off into space."

Lederhosen- Was a bizarre story; a woman goes to Germany, tries to buy some Lederhosen for her husband and then ends up divorcing him.    It was kind of "Oh.  Okay."  No real explanation is given for why she does this; the mind boggles.   But this is Haruki Murakami, dear blog, and if anything slightly out of the ordinary happens, you just nod and accept it.  Because thou shalt not question the master.

Barn Burning - Was quite a delightful escapade through the Japanese countryside, in which the narrator meets a young man who likes to burn barns out in the country.  It was around this point in the book that it started to strike me how similar the main characters are in all these short stories.  They're about thirty or so; they smoke, they drink, they listen to music.  Is that it?  Surely there's more to them than that.  Admittedly it's pretty hard to write full personalities with just twenty or thirty pages to play with; but they seem to be the same characters over and over, in different situations but with the same basic mold.

The Little Green Monster - This is a weird comparison, but The Little Green Monster reminds me somewhat of Andy Riley's Bunny Suicide books;  It's quite sweet in a mean sort of way, having you both laughing and going "aaw, no!  The poor rabbit/little green monster!"  at the same time.  So you do feel kind of guilty when you've finished it for finding the undersized verdant  lusus naturae's infatuation with the narrator amusing.  But you do anyway. 

A Family Affair- Was quite a "normal" story compared to some of the others; just the story of a brother, a sister and the sister's new boyfriend, whose name is Noboro Watanabe, a character who seems to appear in a fair few of the stories in the book.  There doesn't seem to be a link between all these people with the same name; they just are.

A Window- Is a beautiful story about letters, a part-time job and hamburger steaks; all are linked.  It's another short one that's quite similar to On Seeing the 100% Perfect Girl.

TV People -  Is bizarrely apathetic.  A man is sat in his living room late one night when suddenly little people appear in his apartment and set up a television.  Mysteriously when it's turned on, the television doesn't show any channels, and then the aforementioned TV People turn up at his office to install a similar television, which nobody else seems to notice.  It's...just so weird.  The narrator never mentions the TV people to anyone, nor do they mention them to him.  He just sits there and watches them go about their business...it makes no sense. But then, I don't think it's meant to.

A Slow Boat to China- Is absolutely beautiful.  It's poetic in a way that none of the other short stories are; it seems calm and flowing; like the narrator is stood still while the rest of the world keeps going. 

The Dancing Dwarf - Imagine that The Little Mermaid and Stephen King had a baby. The Dancing Dwarf is the result, some sort of fairy tale set in a different world which gets darker and darker with every page, until the ending which is slightly horrific and entirely disgusting. 
 

The Last Lawn of the Afternoon- Another...strange one, in which when you think about it not an awful lot happens.  Outwardly, it seems like another one of the more "normal" stories, but on another there are still a lot of questions that feel like they need answering.

The Silence- Is quite touching and powerful in a simplistic sort of way.   I've read a couple of reviews that have mentioned how this could be seen as quite political, referring to the way that herd culture works in Japan.  I hadn't really thought about this the first time I read it; so I suppose in that respect it's one of those books that works on many different levels.

The Elephant Vanishes- Seems to pretty sum up the whole book; how surreal every story is, the quirkiness behind the every day. It's like the disappearance of the elephant represents everything else about the other short stories in the book; situations or relationships that have vanished, or could have been but aren't, if that makes any sense.

In Three Words: sufficient Murakami awesomeness.  

Recommended for: fans. 

Rating: 3.5

Foreign Language Friday: four manga mini-reviews

Dear blog,

So I'm entirely aware that I've been awful at blogging lately. But for one thing I haven't really had time to sit down and write a review, and for another I think I've only read two YA novels so far this month.
I fail at being a YA reader, even though that's what I am. Most of the time.
Anyway. Here I am.
So for Foreign Language Friday this week I thought I might do something a little different. I've read a lot of manga recently, so I thought that I could sum some of them up in a couple of paragraphs.

50 Rules for Teenagers, volume 1

written by: Na-Ye Ri

original language: Korean

Rating: four

50 Rules For Teenagers is in a lot of ways a very ordinary sort of book. Mi-Roo, the main character, is like pretty much any other fifteen-year-old. Among other things she deals with her irritating twin brother, taking care of the house with her mother almost always away on business, assisting her crazy manga-ka sister, starting high school, and the required catty classmates. Mi-Roo is also the perfect protagonist. She's quite snarky and such, but so hardworking and thoughtful you can't help but be instantly on her side.

Maybe that's why it's such a great read; it's so familiar and, I guess, kind of comforting in that sense. Minimal intelligent thinking is required, and you can just sit back and go along with the story in all its quiet, everyday awesome.
One small, persnickety thing, because I myself am small and persnickety: I'm not so keen on the cover. That's her brother that Mi-Roo looks like she wants to eat.

Fruits Basket, volume 5

written by: Natsuki Takaya

original language: Japanese

Rating: 5

Fruits Basket never fails to rock the shojo manga world. Things are really getting going now, in the fifth volume following Tohru Honda's life staying with the cursed Sohma family, who transform into an animal of the Chinese zodiac when hugged by a member of the opposite sex. Kisa appears on the scene, though mute and troubled by her past, and there are some mysterious connections made between Kisa and Yuki's past; apparently he knows what she's going through. The plot thickens.

I am one of the multitude of fangirls of this series. With reason, I might say. With sufficient romance, three-dimensional, complex characters with interesting pasts, humorous best friends, what's not to like? The fact that the volumes aren't longer, I guess. Anyway, Natsuki Takaya seems to really hit the nail on the head when it comes to writing about people, and emotions, and the past and the present. She has all aspects of humanity covered, including- and maybe most importantly- their flaws.

In the latter part of the book, there's an interesting subplot involving Hanajima and Yuki's fan club, which I thought was highly amusing seeing as Hanajima and Arisa are among my favourite characters, and some sufficient comic relief seeing as parts of the rest of the story were so dark.
So. Bring it on, volume 6.

Hinadori Girl, volume 1

written by: Mari Matsuzawa

original language: Japanese

rating: 3

Yoshiki's father is away working all the time, mostly on the moon. Back at home, living with his little sister Akira, Yoshiki is repairing one of his long-dormant projects; Sally 001, a robot maid. But when brought to life, Sally seems entirely incapable of doing any work, and her main skill in live is being cute and naïve to the world, including the villains who continuously try and snatch Sally away. However, despite the fact that Sally is in peril, Akira gets increasingly jealous because Sally is taking up so much of her brother's time.

The whole concept is like something from Tomorrow's World. You know; "By the year 2000 we'll be taking frequent trips to the moon and robots will be doing all our work for us."
Alas, although the plot line was entirely charming, I didn't like Hinadori Girl as much as I would have if, say, it had been longer. The whole thing felt very rushed; no sooner had Sally been brought to life than she was being stolen, so it seemed, so I never felt like I could really really relate to the characters, or really warm to them in general. Sally herself wasn't in fact as much of a central character as I thought she was going to be; the story mostly focused on Yoshiki and Akira and their strange sibling rivalry/love.
Well, I've got a copy of volume 2 from the library, so we'll see if things improve, and I'm interested to see where things are going to go.

Strawberry Marshmallow, Volume 5

written by: Barasui

original language: Japanese

Rating: 5

After volume 3, which was a little "eh", (But then "eh" in Strawberry Marshmallow terms is actually "hey, it's pretty good I suppose" in other-literature terms) with volumes four and five Strawberry Marshmallow is back on top form, with more escapades from the most kawaii posse known to mankind. Nobue, Chika, Miu, Matsuri and Ana are back for more hilarity. Among other things, Matsuri's kitten hat makes a comeback, Miu and Chika wonder how close they really are, and their everyday lives are narrated through Japanese proverbs, all with the humour, characteristics and artwork that make me love this series so much (volume 6 is out in Japan, but my best friend Google tells me it may be a while before it's released in English). Be warned: as with the other Strawberry Marshmallow volumes, there are a lot of jokes that involve the Japanese language, pop culture and such, particularly in this volume, in which the girls study English and discover the meanings of their names. Thankfully here and there there are little notes that explain some of the jokes and references, which makes things a little easier and less "awkward for the American reader." Yeah, I know I quote that a lot nowadays. But it's...so relevant. I can't resist. /sarcasm/ I'm not mocking anyone. Well, perhaps I am, but I can't even remember who now.

So. There you go. Signing off.

Foreign Language Friday: Jezebel by Irène Némirovsky

Dear Blog,

I know I haven't done a Foreign Language Friday post in a while.   I haven't really done any kind of post in a while, I suppose, seeing as I've read so little recently.

Name: Jezebel (original title the same)

Written by: Irène Némirovsky
First published in: French
Translated by: Sandra Smith
Summary (from Goodreads): In a French courtroom, the trial of a woman is taking place. Gladys Eysenach is no longer young, but she is still beautiful, elegant, cold. She is accused of shooting dead her much-younger lover. As the witnesses take the stand and the case unfolds, Gladys relives fragments of her past: her childhood, her absent father, her marriage, her turbulent relationship with her daughter, her decline, and then the final irrevocable act.
With the depth of insight and pitiless compassion we have come to expect from the author of Suite Française, Irène Némirovsky shows us the soul of a desperate woman obsessed with her lost youth.

Review: Do not be deceived by this the UK cover, which would lead you to believe this is yet another historical-romance novel of no real worth. That, dear blog, is not so. Jezebel is deep, dark and moving stuff about obsession, possession, mothers, daughters, love and most importantly, youth.


It's very cleverly written. The story opens with something vaguely resembling a prologue, at about forty pages, in which the witness describe the evening Gladys killed her lover and her motives. That part of the story draws to a close with Gladys being sentenced to a mere 5 years in prison, at which point you're about 40 pages in and like, "wait, what are the other 160-odd pages for?" then? Well, the rest of the book chronicles her life from young womanhood leading up to the night where she committed her crime.

The thing I love most about this genius little novel is by far the characterisation. Not one character falls flat; each one is as human and individual as the next. It's narrated in the third person, which can more often than not make the characters seem more distant and hard to relate to. But the way that Gladys in particular is written, I think it works for the best because it means that the reader doesn't feel what Gladys feels, or think what she thinks, so much as observe it and then try and make your own judgement on her actions and her obsession with remaining young. She's like a character out of a fantasy novel or a fairy tale or something; a creepy old (yes, yes, Gladys is old) hag who wants eternal life and is willing to mess up everyone elses' lives in order to get it. She's cold and controlled, yet passionate at the same time, sophisticated yet shallow. The nature of the book is quite similar to Gladys herself in that respect: like an old black-and-white film with rich characters who have affairs and will do anything to keep their social standing, even though they're crumbling and they don't realise it. There's a lot of gossip and paranoia, and paranoia about gossip.

Némirovsky is totally ruthless in the way that she portrays age and women and what happens when one meets the other, with no sympathy for Gladys' actions. With reason I guess. As an example of the way, one of my favourite quotes from the book; "She had reached that age when women no longer change: they simply decompose." As I read that I was like, "Yes! Irène, you've done it."

There was a lot of talk going round when Jezebel was first published about how much influence and/or inspiration came from Irène's mother, who I suppose must have treated her the way that Gladys did for Marie-Thèrése. In which case, I can see why it was written.
The scenes between Gladys and her daughter were both my favourites and the ones that I loathed most in the book; they were I suppose more than they were infuriating or darkly fascinating into such a world, they were saddening.  In the dialogues between mother and daughter were the moments when I hated Gladys the most.  But it was ultimately, I suppose, the kind of loathing that comes from pity.  Of course I felt sorry for her; not because she was getting old and falling from grace, but because she was so selfish and caught in such a trap. 

Some stories that strip the human soul so bare can just result in being bleak and depressing without anything else to it.  But Irène Némirovsky pulls it off so well, and makes it more of a why-dunnit than a who-dunnit, I can safely say that Jezebel is one of my favourite books reviewed for Foreign Language Friday so far.

In Three Words: dark, sophisticated, fascinating.
Recommended for: women.
Rating: 5.

Foreign Language Friday: Notre-Dame de Paris by Victor Hugo

Dear Blog,

Be warned: this is a very, very long review. I don't actually expect anyone to get to the end of it.

Name: Notre-Dame de Paris (or The Hunchback of Notre Dame) 

Written by: Victor Hugo
First published in: French
Translated by: John Sturrock
Summary (from Goodreads):  In the vaulted Gothic towers of Notre-Dame lives Quasimodo, the hunchbacked bellringer. Mocked and shunned for his appearance, he is pitied only by Esmeralda, a beautiful gypsy dancer to whom he becomes completely devoted. Esmeralda, however, has also attracted the attention of the sinister archdeacon Claude Frollo, and when she rejects his lecherous approaches, Frollo hatches a plot to destroy her that only Quasimodo can prevent. Victor Hugo's sensational, evocative novel brings life to the medieval Paris he loved, and mourns its passing in one of the greatest historical romances of the nineteenth century.

Review: It's a tricky business being a bookworm and/or book blogger. Because you read a lot.  Well duh, I can hear you say, what else would you be blogging about if you were a book blogger?  but let me finish.  It's hard because you read a lot; and you want to talk about the books that you read, but talking about them cuts into your reading time. And seeing as you read so much, your chances of coming across awesome books are pretty high.  But then there are so many good books, you set the bar higher for books that when you've finished them make you go whoooooah holy snood* that was awesome.
Anyway.  I can safely say that Notre-Dame de Paris (or The Hunchback of Notre-Dame), is one of those Holy-Snood-This-Is-Awesome novels.

Victor Hugo is my hero for many reasons, but one being; he wrote the book in four months.  Yes, around 200,000 words in four months.  That's like doing NaNoWriMo four times over. So I look up to him for being able to pull off such a feat, and he's probably the first person I'd say if someone asked me the question, "If you could invite any authors to a dinner party, dead or living, who would you invite?" he would be on the VIP list.
In the midst of my novel-writing frenzy that was November, this was one of the few books that I actually stopped hammering away at my laptop for in order to read.  What's not to like, and what does it miss?  Nothing.

I had better warn you; it's a painfully difficult book to get in to. Practically nothing really gets going until 170 pages in or so; a lot of it being banter between various minor characters and the escapades of Gringoire, a bumbling philosopher who's nice enough at first until his comings and goings seem to get slightly irrelevant, and then you're like, "okay, thanks Gringoire, but you really should get going now."  A similar character is Jehan Frollo, brother of the infamous Dom Claude (who I'll get to later).  But Jehan was highly amusing, and his arrogance and foolishness was actually what amused me so much.  As the plot progressed he became a welcome distraction from all the darkness was occurring, until his demise.  Which was actually to me a bigger loss than any of the other characters in the multitude of those who died, because despite his flaws and however annoyed he made everyone else, he was like a sudden pause of rain in a thunderstorm.

Another, and probably the main, thing that stands in the way of actually getting to what's otherwise known as the good part are some of the descriptions.  They go on for chapters, I kid you not.  The descriptions are utterly beautiful, it's true, but after 20 pages describing the cathedral your mind starts to wonder.  Some whole chapters could easily be skipped, unless if like me you get consumed by guilt for skipping things out, especially if you're one of those people who endeavours to finish books, because that's hugely hypocritical (strangely I have no problem with giving books up if I don't enjoy them- I just dislike skipping passages out).  Perhaps I should have taken the fact that I was contemplating skipping out a few passages as a sign that I should have given up, but I didn't want to.  Especially seeing as the rest of it was so compelling. 

And about the plot, the relevant parts themselves- well,  it was well worth it. I would say that the plot was fast-paced, but that would be lying, so I won't.  Instead I'll say; persevere.  Get past those unneeded dialogues, those descriptions that go on for pages, and in short you have a story that's so dark, and so fascinating, and so incredible, when you've finished you're asking yourself why you had ever contemplated giving it up. It's romantic in a twisted sort of way, and both disturbed and disturbing.
Mostly because of the characters. 

Who should I start with?  Well, Quasimodo I suppose, seeing as he seems to be made out to be the protagonist.  He wasn't as central to the story as I had expected; but he was still a good character.  The only word I could really use to describe him would be...interesting.  I had a lot of misconceptions about him; so he was largely a complete surprise.  I wasn't sure what to make of him, even by the end; did I root for him (yes)? Did I pity his devotion to Esmeralda, or admire it (not sure)?  And speaking of Esmeralda, she was another surprise.  Only sixteen, so she wasn't all that different from any other teenage girl in the fact that after a while what was supposedly heartbreaking naïveté just actually seemed to be a pathetic yet inescapable form of lovesickness.  My general attitude towards her was; "Yeah, I hate that you should be the object of Frollo's desire, and I really want you to escape his lecherous clutches, but honestly?  Please get over Phoebus, and then I'd like you a lot more." 
Oh, how I hated Phoebus.  What did she see in him? In this respect Notre-Dame is no different from some contemporary teen novel.  It's like The Truth About Forever and Living Dead Girl and a baby (You're probably all, "The Truth About Forever, what the heck?"  But seriously:  Phoebus=Wes). Also that would be some messed up pregnancy, with Notre-Dame being almost 200 years older; but this is all hypothetical. 

I said I would get back to Dom Claude Frollo earlier and now I will, because I'm saving my favourite character for last.  And why is such a character my favourite? I have a thing for misunderstood, tormented villains for one.  But also, and mostly, because he has so many different dimensions.  He's the most three-dimensional, well-developed character that I've come across in months. He doesn't come into the book, properly, for over a hundred pages.  And when he does it's two chapters that basically describe his childhood and such.  He's a fascinating character from the start, and it's interesting to watch him change; how his first attraction towards Esmeralda gets bent out of shape into a terrifying obsession .  He's weak, but you fear him.  He's sinister, but you pity him.  He's tormented, but you understand him. 
Yet his demise was hugely satisfying.

So I wonder if I must seem slightly geeky for writing such a hysterically enthusiastic review about a classic that often gets overlooked because it's commonly associated with an animated film.  But, really?  I hope I've done it justice.  And Kudos if you got the end of this review.   

In three words: fascinating, incredible, loooong.
Recommended for: everyone who doesn't mind a challenge.
Rating: 5.  OF COURSE.

*Yes, I have been watching a little too much Vlogbrothers lately.

Foreign Language Friday: Dance Dance Dance by Haruki Murakami

Dear blog,
Because I haven't done a Foreign Language Friday, and Dance Dance Dance is one of those adult books that's so good I just have to review it.

Name: Dance Dance Dance (originally published as Dansu Dansu Dansu)
Written by: Haruki Murakami
First published in: Japanese
Translated by: Alfred Birnbaum
Summary (from Goodreads): In this propulsive novel by the author of Hard-Boiled Wonderland and the End of the World and The Elephant Vanishes, one of the most idiosyncratically brilliant writers at work in any language fuses science fiction, the hard-boiled thriller, and white-hot satire into a new element of the literary periodic table.

As he searches for a mysteriously vanished girlfriend, Haruki Murakami's protagonist plunges into a wind tunnel of sexual violence and metaphysical dread in which he collides with call girls; plays chaperone to a lovely teenaged psychic; and receives cryptic instructions from a shabby but oracular Sheep Man. Dance Dance Dance is a tense, poignant, and often hilarious ride through the cultural Cuisinart that is contemporary Japan, a place where everything that is not up for sale is up for grabs.

Review:  If you like Japanese fiction then it's kind of undoubted that you will have heard of Haruki Murakami, the hugely popular author of The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle, Kafka on the Shore and other such novels.  He left the country after the huge success of his most popular novel, Norwegian Wood, when he became a national celebrity.  Most amusingly, the head of a newspaper claimed that "Haruki Murakami has escaped from Japan!"   This is enough to make me want to read his work.

Dance Dance Dance is, largely, a very confusing book. It's wildly chaotic, some characters and setting appearing for know apparent reason, and seemingly the un-named narrator already knows about.  The Dolphin Hotel, for instance.  Did I miss something there?  For a lot of the book I was expecting some sort of flashback to sort of explain everything, but largely most of it remained unexplained, and kind of threw the reader in at the deep end.  Kiki, for instance.  She was one of the most important characters in the book, but it was like, "this is Kiki, a high-class prostitute  that the narrator was once in love with.  She's disappeared".  Still, I think it was this air of mystery about her that made her so intriguing.  Who was she?  Why did she vanish?

Ditto the Sheep Man. The man who apparently ties everything together and connects thoughts and people.  He serves as a switchboard of sorts. Amusingly, the sheep man stars on the German cover , (the German title translates as Dance with the Sheep Man) although in the book he is actually described as an old man wrapped in some sheepskin, I prefer the idea of a sheep wearing human clothes.  Who wouldn't?  Anyway, I love the Sheep Man mostly for his whole "Yougottadance. Aslongasthemusicplays. Yougotta dance. Don'teventhinkwhy" speech, which is to my mind the Japanese "She was not an adventure. She was not a fine and precious thing. She was a girl." It's one of those quotes that there are about three different versions of in the Goodreads Quotes section.  With reason, I suppose.

And there are, of course, a multitude of other exciting characters: Yuki, a psychic thirteen-year-old and one of my favourite characters in the book for her frankness, Yumiyoshi, a constantly uptight hotel receptionist, and Gotanda, a divorced actor so handsome he's forever doomed to play dentists or teachers in teen romance movies. Oh, and look out for Yuki's father, Hiraku Makimura.  Stare at his name long enough and you'll get it.

The narrator is un-named throughout the book.  Still, his first-person voice seems very direct, as if he's speaking right to the reader, and how could you not root for him as he traverses across the far side of the world from Tokyo to Hokkaido to Hawai'i in his attempt to see how everything ties together?  He's humorous, realistic and quietly observant of the chaotic advanced capitalism of 1980s Japan, but more than anything he's just an ordinary divorced thirty-something trying to hold everything together.  His voice is realistic, slightly cynical and darkly humorous; it's very believable, mostly because he is nothing special. Until, that is, the string of encounters that throw him, the sheep-man and the other main characters together in the mysterious hotel room.  Still, aside from that obvious fact he is totally, 100%, undeniably ordinary.

And the plot itself is well-paced. I don't read mystery novels very often, mostly because I can't stand all the tension of the unanswered questions.  Maybe it's just me being unfortunate and reading the wrong stuff, but in the mystery novels I read the secrets either all get answered all at once in one big, life-changing scene or else they ask more questions than they answer (*cough* A Series of Unfortune Events *coughcough*).  But Dance Dance Dance is very engaging in how the author strings the reader along in a paperchase of murder, mystery and humour, slowly revealing things bit by bit.

The ending.  Hmm.  The ending, the ending, the ending.  I can't tell whether or not I liked it, actually.  One one hand it seemed like a nice enough stopping point, but it's clear that the narrator's search doesn't end there, and that he could spend his whole life traversing the globe trying to find answers to the multitude of questions left unanswered at the end of the book.  On the other hand, it was a little disappointing that the ending was so inconclusive.  Also, the penultimate scene in the book got on my nerves somewhat, because it seemed kind of "and then Harry woke up in the cupboard under the stairs and it was all a dream".  Let me say before you rip your hair out and scream "Oh my word she hasjust given away the ending", let me assure you that it was not all a dream.  However, mostly because so much of the book seems to surreal, I call into question how much of it was actually real (the obvious answer being none of it because it's fiction), and how much of it was just a figment of the narrator's imagination. The mind boggles, but such is the brilliantness, such is the author's writing that you have to doubt what really happens and what doesn't.

In three words: chaotic, surreal, engaging.
Reccomended for: Murakami fans old and new.
Rating: 5.

Foreign Language Friday: Monkey

Dear Blog,

Foreign Language Friday again.  The last one for a few weeks, I think, so I have time to read and/or gather more awesome novels in translation.  Last night I realised that if I do it every week then I might run out of books.  Eeek! 

Worry not.  It shall return in a while.  And sorry this entry's so short.

Name: Monkey (originally published as Xī Yóu Jì, Journey to the West)

Written by: Wu Cheng'en

First published in: Chinese.  Chinese script, I mean.

Translated by: Arthur Waley

Summary (from Goodreads): Probably the most popular book in the history of the Far East, this classic combination of picaresque novel and folk epic mixes satire, allegory, and history into a rollicking tale. It is the story of the rougish Monkey and his encounters with major and minor spirits, gods, demigods, demons, ogres, monsters, and fairies. This translation, by the distinguished scholar Arthur Waley, is the first accurate English version; it makes available to the Western reader a faithful reproduction of the spirit and meaning of the original.

Review: I actually found this on the manga shelf in the teenage section of my local library. I guess because the edition I read (pictured) looks rather oriental and kung fu-ish.

When my father saw I'd borrowed this from the library he quite interested that this was the novel that the Japanese TV programme of the same name had been based on, then proceeded to ramble about how he used to watch it.   But, yes, this is that book.

The translation is excellent. Seriously, I can't praise it highly enough.  It must be pretty tricky to translate such an epic novel from 16th-century Chinese, but Arthur Waley does it excellently. He abridges it in a different style from previous editions/translations, instead omitting whole irrelevant chapters as opposed to cutting out chunks of the dialogue.  And with over 100 chapters in the original work, I guess it needs it. 

It'd be interesting to read the original version to compare, I think.  If I ever learn Mandarin and/or to read Chinese, that is.  Until then, I'll just presume that it must have been hard work, and Waley did it well. 

It's pretty hard to believe that this is an abridged version.  At over 350 pages, with really really small  text, Monkey takes work. It's the sort of book where you need to be reading another novel at the same time that doesn't consume so much time or take so much effort.

And, still, despite the abridgement, in some parts it's painfully slow.  Tripitaka, Monkey, Sandy and Pigsy don't actually set out on their quest until a good 120 pages in or so, the first 90 just telling the story of how Monkey got all his powers, was imprisoned under the mountain and so on.  Lots of the book is made up of individual episodes and, in the case of lots of them, you wouldn't miss much if you had skipped it.  I did at one point try and skip forward a few chapters, but then was consumed by guilt and went back and read them (I can never skip parts of books or I feel like I'm cheating). 

Despite the epic length, it's an interesting read and much more light-hearted than I thought it would be.  It's full of jokes, puns, kick-ass fantasy fight scenes of the sort I've not read in ages, wit, and such.  It's also quite satirical, with heaven and hell being governed by a similar method to the (then) Chinese court. It seems both quite religious without having huge elements of religion in it, if that makes any sense. 

Monkey is, as the title suggests, the star of the show.  He's one of those characters you watch rather than feel for, but entertaining nonetheless in his arrogance and the fact that he never seems to really learn from all the a

However.  Pigsy, Sandy and Tripitaka got on my nerves a little.  Pigsy and Sandy both seemed very two-dimensional, and Tripitaka instead of being the hero seemed a little weak and easy to give up.   I wanted to shake him now and  again and exclaim, "come on, Tripitaka!   You can do it!  Don't leave it all to your primate friend!"  The series of monks and courtiers were slightly confusing, especially as some of them only  came into the story once or twice and yet still had their own stories to tell.  Which makes things pretty confusing in places.

So, well, overall I'm not sure.  It was certainly hard work, but there were moments of amusingness that made it worth it, sort of. 

In Three Words: entertaining, insightful,  loooooong.

Reccomended for:   People with time on their hands.

Rating: 2.5  Take it or leave it.  If you leave it, oh well, but if you take it and persevere, you'll be rewarded.

Foreign Language Friday: Bonjour Tristesse

Dear Blog,

for once, a review I'm not writing in the middle of the night.  That makes a change. 

Name: Bonjour Tristesse (originally published with the same title)

Written by: Françoise Sagan
Originally Published in: French
Translated by: Irene Ash
Summary (from Goodreads): Set against the translucent beauty of France in summer, Bonjour Tristesse is a bittersweet tale narrated by Cécile, a seventeen-year-old girl on the brink of womanhood, whose meddling in her father's love life leads to tragic consequences. Freed from boarding school, Cécile lives in unchecked enjoyment with her youngish, widowed father -- an affectionate rogue, dissolute and promiscuous. Having accepted the constantly changing women in his life, Cécile pursues a sexual conquest of her own with a "tall and almost beautiful" law student. Then, a new woman appears in her father's life. Feeling threatened but empowered, Cécile sets in motion a devastating plan that claims a surprising victim. Deceptively simple in structure, Bonjour Tristesse is a complex and beautifully composed portrait of casual amorality and a young woman's desperate attempt to understand and control the world around her.

Review: I reserved this at the library after hearing that the author had written it aged eighteen after failing her exams.  Writers with such interesting stories interest me.  Often, I find, books with interesting authors are just published because of that, and then the books are terrible, but despite this I keep reading books with interesting and unique reasons for existence.
Anyway.  It's the shortest book that I've read since forever, so when it turned up at  the library I was all, "meh." I started reading it anyway, and how glad I am that I did. I was completely sucked in and had fleeting, unimportant things like rehearsals for shows and such gotten in the way then I'd have read the whole thing in one sitting.  Which in truth wouldn't be hard because it was so short, but anyway.

One of the reasons that Cécile, the protagonist, loathes her father's future wife so much is that she stands in the way of the fleeting, careless life that she shares with her father.  They're both quite happy driving around Paris in fast cars and going out every night and having flings (Raymond and Cécile's attitude towards unmarried sex made this pretty controversial back in 1954).  The spare yet vivid writing style fits their lives perfectly, and works well for the atmosphere that is the French Riviera at the height of summer. 

Cécile is both innocent yet an old head on young shoulders who doesn't want to be treated like a child.  I think Sagan's youth works well in that sense-they say write what you know, which is why Cécile is a believable character you're not sure whether you should love or hate (she's both a bit of a brat and a thoughtful sort of person.  Maybe both at once): one of those characters that you observe rather than live with.   It's interesting to watch her change throughout the book, despite how short it is; at the start she's a spoiled girl, and by the end she's a woman. Although it may be disguised by all that goes on in the book, she's really no different from any other teenage girl. 

Love is the main element of the book. I couldn't help but feel that with most of the drama set around Anne and Raymond, Cécile's relationship with a 26-year-old named Cyril.  It's mentioned a couple of times, but it's rushed and almost as if as soon as she meets him and they go sailing together, they're kissing and making love in the woods.  The focus is much more on the relationships between the adults in the book, and how Cécile
tries, and to a certain extent succeeds (but not the way you expect) to change everything.

And the ending? It was sad, but in truth, I sort of saw it coming.  It's not really that hard to work out that a book such as Bonjour Tristesse will have such a conclusion. Still, it was dramatic and wrapped things up nicely tragically, leaving few questions unanswered. 

In Three Words: sophisticated, dark, clever.
Reccomended for: every teenager- it's one of those books that will leave you slightly wiser and more aware of the world.
Rating: 4.5.  It's more than a mere beach read.

Foreign Language Friday: Heidi by Johanna Spyri

Dear Blog,

because it's a classic.  And sorry it's such a short review, but it's the middle of the night in England (I can't sleep), and so I'm not in my best review-writing mindset.

Name: Name: Heidi (originally Heidis Lehr- und Wanderjahre)

Written by: Johanna Spyri

Originally Published in: German

Translated by: it depends which edition you get.  Some translations are excellent, while some aren't so great.

Summary (from Goodreads): Johanna Spyri's classic story of a young orphan sent to live with her grumpy grandfather in the Swiss Alps is retold in it's entirety in this beautifully bound hardcover edition. Heidi has charmed and intrigued readers since it's original publication in 1880. Much more than a children's story, the narrative is also a lesson on the precarious nature of freedom, a luxury too often taken for granted. Heidi almost loses her liberty as she is ripped away from the tranquility of the mountains to tend to a sick cousin in the city. Happily, all's well that ends well, and the reader is left with only warm, fuzzy thoughts. Spyrii's story will never grow wearisome.

Review: Heidi is, I think, the sort of read meant for two types of people- children under ten or eleven, and adults who read it when they were younger and are re-reading it in a nostalgic sort of way.  I am neither, but if I don't read it now, I'll probably never read it -I can't be a nostalgic adult reading it if I didn't read it as a kid. Hence, it is now or never. 

I had better say this before anything else: If you like disturbing books where everybody dies, then Heidi is definitely not for you.  Heidi is full of happy people, beautiful scenery, and happy people surrounded by beautiful scenery.  Nobody dies, and the height of sadness and/or depressing things is when  Heidi is homesick and then the doctor decides that it's best for her to be sent home again.  So if you're looking for death and gore and depressing things, you may as well not bother reading Heidi.  However, if you're in need of cheering up or you've just read too much depressing fiction, then you should. It's the sort of sugary-sweet book which leaves you all warm and smiley.

It's quite hard to describe the writing style.  It's quite straightforward-clearly written for kids- but at the same time full of descriptions.  The best way to put this is by saying that the descriptions are very simplistic, I guess.    The plot is much the same- it plods along in a quietly paced sort of way.

Heidi was the Pollyanna-esque little person that I expected her to be, and held few surprises.  I thought she was utterly charming anyway, and the sort of main character that I come across now and again and wish was my little sister (other recent ideal little-sister-protagonists include Mei in An Ocean Apart and Yotsuba in the Yotsubato manga series).  It made me quite happy that considering the book was set over three years or so, her dialogue matured as the book went on (it gets on my nerves when a book is set over a long period of time and the characters' voice never changes).

Clara was nice enough, but unlike Heidi, she didn't change.  And she didn't really act like she was 12/13, either.  I guess that characters in books need some big event or something to change them and for them to develop into more three-dimensional people.  Which Heidi lacked, alas.  

One thing I wasn't too keen on was the element of religion.  This is probably just because I'm not a Christian, but I wasn't expecting so much of it.  There's lots of prayer, redemption and morality.  Clara's Grandmamma teaches Heidi to trust in God, pray every night, and that everything will turn out okay if she does.  And when everything does, she puts it down to that fact.   I have nothing against religion-if Heidi and her companions  are Christians, that's fine with me-but as I was reading it, it just felt...hmm. I don't know if any other non-religious-type people might feel the same way.

In Three Words: sweet yet dissappointing.

Recommended for: 6-10 year olds, mostly, or adults who read it as a child.
Rating: 2.  Alas.