A month ago I gave birth to a daughter - at 8lb 15oz and 54cm, a not so very little person! She is delightful and now that I am extracting the matchsticks keeping my eyes open and properly enjoying her, it is much more of a pleasure. I intend to indoctrinate her in the art of reading as soon as possible; in the meantime she is in staring-intently-at-everything mode.

This experience has of course made me reflect somewhat on motherhood, so I revisited J.M.Coetzee's fabulous BOYHOOD. As a memoir rather than autobiography it is of course not entirely clear how much is truth and how much fictionalized, but what I recalled starkly was the boy Coetzee's relationship with his parents, and particularly with his mother:

Her blinding, overwhelming, self-sacrificial love, for both him and his brother but for him in particular, disturbs him. He wishes she did not love him so much. She loves him absolutely, therefore he must love her absolutely: that is the logic she compels upon him. Never will he be able to pay back all the love she pours out upon him. The thought of a lifetime bowed under a debt of love baffles and infuriates him to the point where he will not kiss her, refuses to be touched by her. When she turns away in silent hurt, he deliberately hardens his heart against her, refusing to give in (p. 47).

It is as I remember, a strange love-hate relationship on his part, because his love for her is of course also immense and the closing parts of the book recount his defence of his mother and breakdown of his relationship with a father he has come to despise as much as he feels trapped by his mother. All very strange to me, yet fascinating. Whatever happened to love as a gift, rather than obligation?

Perhaps it is a boy thing. Cornflower is hosting a reading group and a recent title selected there, William Maxwell's THEY CAME LIKE SWALLOWS, had this wonderful passage which made me laugh:

When Bunny was very small he used to wake in the night sometimes with a parched throat and call for a drink of water. Then he would hear stumbling and lurching, and the sound of water running in the bathroom. The side of a glass struck his teeth. He drank thirstily and fell back into sleep.... Until one night across the intervening darkness, from the room directly across the hall, a voice said, Oh, get it yourself! For the first time in his life Bunny was made aware of the fact that he had a father. And thoroughly shocked, he did as he was told. (pp.15-16)

Are little boys really so mother-centric, and should one assume that contrast little girls are equally father-centric? I can't tell you just yet, but perhaps I will learn something of that in the coming years with a determined little person in the house.

One of the cousins visited recently and presented me with an entire leaning tower of books to add to my TBR pile. They are on semi-permanent loan (which is just as well as I am not entirely sure when I'll get around to reading them all!), and as he is moving house with a new job, I don't think he wants them back any time soon. His Sri Lankan heritage has influenced his reading tastes in just the same way as I lean towards the African, and it is a range of titles I wouldn't necessarily have picked up otherwise, so that's quite fun really:

ARRANGED MARRIAGE by Chitra Banerjee Divakaruni

The possibility of change, of starting anew, in this stunningly beautiful and poignant collection of short stories, is at once terrifying and filled with promise. For those Indian-born women living new lives in America, independence is a mixed blessing. It means walking the tightrope between old treasured beliefs and surprising newfound desires, and understanding the emotions which that conflict brings. Together these stories create a tapestry of existence as colourful, as delicate and as enduring as the finest silk sari.

The film of her novel The Mistress of Spices, was not particularly well received if I recall...

DIFFICULT DAUGHTERS by Manju Kapur

Set around the time of Partition and written with absorbing intelligence and sympathy, Difficult Daughters is the story of a woman torn between family duty, the desire for education, and illicit love. Virmati, a young woman born in Amritsar into an austere and high-minded household, falls in love with a neighbour, the Professor—a man who is already married.

With a setting at the time of Partition, this seems highly topical. I might start with this one.

THE NAMESAKE by Jhumpa Lahiri

'When her grandmother learned of Ashima's pregnancy, she was particularly thrilled at the prospect of naming the family's first sahib. And so Ashima and Ashoke have agreed to put off the decision of what to name the baby until a letter comes…'

For now, the label on his hospital cot reads simply BABY BOY GANGULI. But as time passes and still no letter arrives from India, American bureaucracy takes over and demands that 'baby boy Ganguli' be given a name. In a panic, his father decides to nickname him 'Gogol' – after his favourite writer.

I made the mistake of looking at print reviews when this was released. Results were mixed and I've been too terrified to read it ever since. I adored her Pullitzer Prize-winning INTERPRETER OF MALADIES and don't want to be disappointed - isn't that crazy?!

LADIES COUPE by Anita Nair

Meet Akhilandeshwari, Akhila for short: forty-five and single, an income tax clerk and a woman who has never been allowed to live her own life—always the daughter, the sister, the aunt, the provider. Until the day she gets herself a one-way ticket to the seaside town of Kanyakumari, gloriously alone for the first time in her life and determined to break free of all that her conservative Tamil brahmin life has bound her to.

Have you read any of these? And if so, where should I start?

I've joined Amanda's Summer Reading Challenge (thanks for pointing me in that direction Danielle) largely because it is a challenge with no rules and no specific genres. This works well for me in that I want to read anyway, and it focuses my reading a bit over the summer months.

I wandered around my bookshelves and pulled a few books off that I’ve been meaning to read for a while. The result is a bit of a strange mix, but I’m looking forward to them. Since the challenge lasts two months, I thought it would be realistic for me to select a book a week (bearing in mind that I’ll be reading other African titles alongside this selection!). So, here are my choices in alphabetical order:

ALLOTTED TIME - Robin Shelton
The subtitle reads "twelve months, two blokes, one shed, no idea" which just about says it all really! Here's hoping it inspires my own vegetable growing efforts (don't talk to me about slugs).

THE BLUE TAXI - N.S. Koenings
I've never heard of this author before, but the book is set in East Africa (cover blurb doesn't say where). I always find it interesting to compare how Africans write about our own countries and how outsiders write about them.

EXTRA VIRGIN - Annie Hawes
"amongst the olive groves of liguria" is lent to me by a friend and so obviously needs a bit of prioritization in order to read and return it. The proliferation of books on settling in Italy as a foreigner is amazing, but I seem to enjoy most of them.

JANGO - William Nicholson
Second in the Noble Warriors Trilogy. I've loved his books for teenagers and look forward to this immensely. If you haven't read him yet, start with his Wind on Fire series, beginning with THE WIND SINGER.

PITCHING MY TENT - Anita Diamant
I adored THE RED TENT and enjoyed (but less so) GOOD HARBOR. This is a collection of Diamant's essays. If I get it done before my folks arrive in June, my mum can take it home with her - good incentive.

RESTORATION - Rose Tremain
Another loan from Francofinn - I always feel guilty if I've borrowed a book and yet not read it. This one has been gathering dust for some time. More than a year ago I started it, was loving it, then I'm not sure what happened, but I stopped and now I don't remember the plot at all. So, here's to starting over.

SWEETNESS IN THE BELLY - Camilla Gibb
"...an exquisite homage to Islam" apparently. Never read anything by her and suppose I should. The story is split between Thatcher's London and Haile Selassie's Ethiopia - an interesting contrast.

VERA - Elizabeth von Arnim
Von Arnim is someone I've discovered through the blogosphere and been wanting to read for some time. It is usually a case of living in hope that a copy of one of her books will appear in a secondhand bookshop. However, luckily for me, Elaine at Random Jottings has taken pity, and kindly sent me a copy and I'm really looking forward to getting my teeth into this, especially since I found THE ENCHANTED APRIL in the Oxfam bookshop yesterday, and ELIZABETH AND HER GERMAN GARDEN on bookmooch. Yes, I know I said I was only buying African books, just ignore me.

Flu and books do not much mix unless the book complements warmth and fuzzy(headed)ness. Usually this necessitates rereading old favourites, especially children's books (by that I mean young adult, not picture books).

I managed one new adult title, Neil Gaiman's STARDUST. I have read all of Gaiman's graphic novels, which are inspiring and full of genius. His Sandman series contains one of the finest, most sympathetic renderings of Death that I have encountered. Death is a young woman, sister to Morpheus the god of dreams (the Sandman), and she comes to you in whatever form you desire. There is a wonderful episode where the storyline is about something entirely different, but in the background Death as a young, approachable woman begins to play with a little girl in the park; by the end of the story the two of them are walking away hand in hand, the child happily chattering. An unforgettable image.

So STARDUST is my first exploration of Gaiman fiction and I find it light as air and somewhat frothy (think champagne, gloriously insubstantial but delicious). This book is a non-intimidating way in to the world of Gaiman which, in my experience, is usually a whole lot darker, and that can only be a good thing if it attracts legions of new fans. Set in Victorian England (although it could be now, no matter) young Tristran Thorn lives in a village which marks the boundary with Faerie. The men of the village of Wall watch over the border, keeping the peoples of both sides apart. Tristran is infatuated with the lovely Victoria Forester and, in a fit of pique, promises her a falling star. The only problem is that the star falls on the other side of the wall, in Faerie...

How does Tristran get through the guarded wall? Will he find the star? What does he give Victoria? You''ll have to read the book yourself. What I enjoyed (as always, with Gaiman) were the layers behind layers:

A question like 'How big is Faerie?'does not admit of a simple answer. Faerie, after all, is not one land, one principality or dominion. Maps of Faerie are unreliable, and may not be depended upon.
We talk of the Kings and Queens of Faerie as we would speak of the Kings and Queens of England. But Faerie is bigger than England, as it is bigger than the world (for, since the dawn of time, each land that has been forced off the map by explorers and the brave going out and proving it wasn't there has taken refuge in Faerie; so it is now, by the time that we come to write of it, a most huge place indeed, containing every manner of landscape and terrain). Here, truly, there be Dragons. Also gryphons, wyverns, hippogriffs, basilisks, and hydras. There are all manner of more familiar animals as well, cats affectionate and aloof, dogs noble and cowardly, wolves and foxes, eagles and bears (pp. 70-71)

Once upon a time while studying at university (unfortunately I don't remember which course), I read THE TRAVELS OF SIR JOHN MANDEVILLE which astonished with his nonsense disguised at truth. He purported to recount his actual travels around the world in the 1300s and what he found along the way (a free copy can be downloaded from Project Gutenberg). Readers at the time (including Columbus and Da Vinci) would have thought his bizarre tales of encounters with strange beings and wondrous countries had a base in reality. I rather like the idea that Mandeville's wacky world might have retreated into Faerie (and I bet Gaiman would too)!

Gaiman has his own website and keeps a wonderful journal/blog, which I highly recommend - an author very generous with his time.

This autumn STARDUST becomes a movie (see here for a trailer). Great looking cast. Let's hope that the charm of "'Scuse me," said a small and hairy voice in his ear, "but would you mind dreamin' a bit quieter? Your dreams is spillin' over into my dreams..." (p. 82) is not lost in the film. What exactly is a hairy voice, then?

Dover Castle in Kent is one of those really satisfyingly castley castles, if you know what I mean - moats, ramparts, tunnels, hugely thick walls, a fabulous keep...the sort of place one imagines English castles to be when you're small and reading books about England from the other side of the world. This weekend I visited with a friend and we had a whale of a time exploring. Did you know that apparently Henry VIII moved around a lot because of the stench in his castles when everyone was in residence? It looks like Dover used rainwater in the garderobes, however, so it may have been on the cutting edge of lavatory science! The stained glass windows in his castles kept his glass cutters busy - every time he replaced a queen, they had to replace the windows! There are fantastic medieval tunnels with the guns still in place and a tucked away concealed guardroom at the bottom of the moat, with a simple but effective multiple gated entrance slightly easier to defend. You really get a sense of the age of the place down there (the castle was built in the 1180s).

One of the big attractions is that beneath the castle, in the famous white cliffs themselves, are a rabbit warren of tunnels begun in the Napoleonic era but extensively expanded during the twentieth century. The evacuation of Dunkirk was organized from here and you can still see military command equipment and paperwork on display from the period. There was an underground hospital as well, and extraordinary footage shows ships sinking and bombers being shot down off the coast with crew bailing out in parachutes. I was particularly amazed by this because serendipitously, like so many books I read, the latest choice slots right in with this period. Last week on the new books display at the library was K.M. Peyton's most recent offering, which I snaffled up immediately. A choice between a "how to drive" manual and fiction? No contest!

I loved Peyton's Flambards series as a teen - the horses were ok, but what really gripped me were the planes and cars - the excitement of new inventions coming into their own was perfectly described. She had a superb sense of place and time, and I also remember the series being rather angst-ridden and romantic, which is perfect young teenage reading. I haven't read them since, so this recollection is no doubt flawed.

The new Peyton, BLUE SKIES AND GUNFIRE, is set in the Second World War at the time of the Dunkirk evacuation, and having just seen the footage at Dover when I started the book this weekend, I had vivid images of aerial bombing raids in my head as I read. Josie is evacuated from London to stay with relatives in the country. Hormonal and stroppy, it is a life-changing experience for her. She has moved near an airbase and by the end of the book we have discovered, through Peyton's plot-driven descriptions, something of the dreadful realities of the lives of fighter and bomber crew at that time.

Yesterday's Sunday Times (another coincidence) carried a review by Michael Burleigh of a new book out on on RAF Bomber Command (BOMBER BOYS: Fighting Back 1940-1945 by Patrick Bishop). Burleigh writes: "The statistics are sobering. Between September 1939 and May 1945, RAF Bomber Command lost 47,268 men, killed on operations, with a further 8,305 killed in training missions. Almost half of the 125,000 men who volunteered for this service did not survive: a rate of attrition considerably higher than that suffered by officers in the first world war." If you cannot quite picture what this means, the review notes:

The odds were against the bomber boys. In 1942, fewer than half of all heavy-bomber crews would survive the 30 sorties of their first tour and one in five would make it through the second. In 1943, only one in six could expect to survive one tour and one in 40 a second. A Canadian airman kept a book, listing names and odds. "Do you know, Bill, you're on the chop list tonight?" When asked to stop, he objected:"We know some of us are not going to return."

H.E. Bates's FAIR STOOD THE WIND FOR FRANCE begins with an eerie description of flying back towards England following a mission, and the thoughts in the pilot's head as the wounded plane limps and then crashes. Bearing in mind that Bates himself flew during the war, this description is no doubt creepily accurate. In BLUE SKIES AND GUNFIRE Josie dates a young man, but then falls in love with his brother, a fighter pilot. While one might be forgiven for thinking the result would be a fairly predictable read, it isn't. For one thing, Peyton's own experience (she was aged ten to sixteen over the course of the war years) shines through. The plot delivers a real kicker at the end, which has you re-evaluating human nature (I won't say more). This is teen fiction of the highest order, especially for those who like historical novels, and I thoroughly enjoyed it.

It seems appropriate to finish this post with an extract (apologies for the length, but I think it is charming) from Peyton's wonderful Author's Note at the start of the book, as her experience colours the book throughout. She writes:

I lived on the outskirts of London and saw much of the Battle of Britain in the sky above. I was on a train going to school which was machine-gunned, and had to shelter under trees a few times out in the country from a Spitfire, flying very low, shooting up a Messerschmitt, or vice versa. I was not evacuated until the time of the doodlebugs, when I went to an aunt in Birmingham after school broke up for the summer holidays. The doodlebugs were terrifying, but I actually enjoyed the excitement of the rest of it. We were not bombed out, luckily, although we had all our windows blown in, and my school was very knocked about. In winter we had lessons wearing all our outdoor clothes, including gloves for there were no windows and no heating. We all had terrible chillblains.
So this book, although fictitious, is written with a lot of true things in it. I did have a very romantic, innocent affair with a man ten years older than myself who was wireless operator/gunner in a bomber. He flew on raids over Germany night after night and was shot down once, parachuting into the sea. He was very lucky to stay alive. His brother, a pilot, was killed. He proposed to me under the cherry blossom in Kew Gardens. I have never forgotten him.

Thanks to the friendly people over at Chatto & Windus, I have been reading my way through Xiaolu Guo's A CONCISE CHINESE-ENGLISH DICTIONARY FOR LOVERS, recently longlisted for this year's Orange Prize. I'm not convinced that this book will make the shortlist, but that's not to say that it isn't an interesting and thought-provoking read. If I have one criticism of the title, it felt almost as though there were two books in one, struggling to get out. On the one hand a hilarious book about discovering a new language and culture, in the vein of David Sedaris' ME TALK PRETTY ONE DAY, and on the other hand a darker almost more seedy novel. Interestingly, while the first half had me entranced and laughing out loud, it is the feel of the second half which has remained with me. So although I can't say I enjoyed the second half, it has lingered on, giving me pause for thought.

There's nothing like an outsider to comment on mainstream society and Guo's character "Z" (no-one can be bothered to pronounce her name) is a delightful prism through which to view British eccentricities, while reflecting back on her own ("The day when I arrived to the West, I suddenly realized I am a Chinese"). The novel is laid out with each chapter the definition of a new word, and Z's English improves exponentially over the course of the book, as do her criticisms of the new society around her, her confused feelings for her lover, and fears about returning home to China - this really works. Half way through the book Z comments in the midst of a hilarious moment, "Your friends look at us three Orientals, like look at three panda escape from bamboo forest." There is an underlying pain here amidst the hilarity, and she gets this spot on.

Like Tsitsi Dangarembga, Guo looks set to produce a wonderfully varied output of both film and literature (her film HOW IS YOUR FISH TODAY has just won Grand Prix du Jury at the International Women's Film Festival in France). She is writing about the widespread phenomenon of the immigrant experience, the outsider looking in, and she does this without sounding worthy or patronizing.

As I regularly blog about my struggles learning Tamil, you know the angst I go through grappling bemusedly with linguistic challenges. This is the strong point of Guo's book. She is utterly believable in her portrayal of baffled language learner. Here is a taster:

proper adj real or genuine; suited to a particular purpose; correct in behaviour; excessively moral

Today my first time taking taxi. How I find important place with bus and tube? Is impossibility. Tube map is like plate of noodles. Bus route is in-understandable. In my home town everyone take cheap taxi, but in London is very expensive and taxi is like the Loyal family look down to me.
Driver say: 'Please shut the door properly!'
I already shut the door, but taxi don't moving.
Driver shout me again: 'Shut the door properly! in a concisely manner.
I am bit scared. I not understanding what is this 'properly'.
'I beg your pardon?' I ask. 'What is properly?'
'Shut the door properly!' Taxi driver turns around his big head and neck nearly break because of anger.
'But what is "properly", Sir?' I so frightened that I not daring ask it once more again.
Driver coming out from taxi, and walking to door. I think he going to kill me.
He opens door again, smashing it back to me hardly.
'Properly!' he shout. (pp.16-17)

The IMPAC/Dublin Literary Award 2007 shortlist has been announced, whittled down from 138 novels (12 in translation) nominated by 169 libraries from around the world:

ARTHUR & GEORGE by Julian Barnes
A LONG LONG WAY by Sebastian Barry
SLOW MAN by J.M. Coetzee
EXTREMELY LOUD & INCREDIBLY CLOSE by Jonathan Safran Foer
THE SHORT DAY DYING by Peter Hobbs
NO COUNTRY FOR OLD MEN by Cormac McCarthy
OUT STEALING HORSES by Per Petterson
SHALIMAR THE CLOWN by Salman Rushdie

Oh lordy - as usual I haven't read any of them, although the Coetzee, Hobbs and Rushdie are in my "To Be Read" pile!

I can never resist memes which "require" me to spend time browsing my bookshelves and so, following in the footsteps of Stephanie over at So Many Books, here are my selections for "10 books I would read right now if I didn’t already have a bunch of other books going" (the requirement being that I already own all of these):

Stephen Bates A CHURCH AT WAR: ANGLICANS AND HOMOSEXUALITY
I am a practising anglican (episcopalian, for you americans out there), so am constantly frustrated by, and grappling with, the big issues of the day faced by the church as an institution. In England the two largest are the issue of women clergy (far from resolved) and gay clergy (in some sort of don't-even-go-there administrative wasteland). I won't get into a long discussion here, but for me the more crucial overriding issue is "where is God in this?" I mean, is God really bothered? And I have to think not. A great priest is a great priest, whether gay, straight, female, male, black, white or brown. Let's get on with it. Stephen Bates is The Guardian's religious affairs and royal correspondent. I like his interesting press commentary, and am curious to see what he has to say.

John Boyne THE BOY IN THE STRIPED PYJAMAS
I recommended Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie's PURPLE HIBISCUS to a friend who, gratifyingly, loved it so much she's been recommending it to everyone she knows. In return she recommended this Boyne to me. It looks like it might be shattering.

Michael Dirda AN OPEN BOOK
When I lived in Washington D.C. some years back, I would religiously read the lovely Dirda; he became a staple - one of those folks whose latest despatch I'd look forward to, thinking there'd be something in there for me (even if I never got around to reading it!)

Cynthia Enloe THE CURIOUS FEMINIST
Cynthia Enloe is one of those pioneering types in the field of international relations, in that she tried to place women front and centre. Bearing in mind that women are very often excised from the study of government, politics and international relations (other than as victims) this was a refreshing approach.

John McGahern THAT THEY MAY FACE THE RISING SUN
Kimbofo over at Reading Matters has a reading group, and this was their previous selection. Appropriately, I even bought my copy in Ireland, but I've yet to begin it (story of my life). Ireland is where we holiday most, and I have a real soft spot for the country.

Beverley Naidoo THE OTHER SIDE OF TRUTH
Beverley Naidoo is a talented children/teen writer. I met her several times when running the bookshop up in London and I have to say that she epitomizes the image of the hardworking writer - I was always very impressed with her work ethic and friendly approachability when confronted by fans. I haven't read this one of hers.

Pepetela JAIME BUNDA, SECRET AGENT
Aflame Books is a new independent publisher, focussing on translating into English books from Africa, Latin America and the Middle East originally published in another language. This is the first of their titles I've picked up and I'm looking forward to it very much (I loved Pepetela's THE RETURN OF THE WATER SPIRIT). If you enjoy Gabriel Garcia Marquez, you'll probably like Pepetela.

Elif Shafak THE FLEA PALACE
Both Orhan Pamuk and Elif Shafak have had a rather difficult time in Turkey lately because of their work.

R.C. Sherriff THE HOPKINS MANUSCRIPT
One of my favourite books is John Wyndham's THE DAY OF THE TRIFFIDS, which has so much contemporary resonance, despite being written in 1951. THE HOPKINS MANUSCRIPT, I get the impression, has similar overtones. And it is a Persephone title.

Niall Williams AS IT IS IN HEAVEN
The dove grey one over at dovegreyreader scribbles raved so much about Williams (and then he left her equally charming messages) that I succumbed - I trust her judgement, so am sure this will be good; also, did I mention I have a soft spot for Ireland?!

Naturally, it is highly unlikely I'll read any of these soon but one can live in hope...now go and rummage through your shelves, what would you read if you could?

Back in November, Michelle over at Overdue Books issued a "From the Stacks Challenge" which I happily signed up for (which compulsive reader does not have books on their shelves yet to be picked up and read?!). What with all the travels, I've still to blog about all the gems I hoofed my way through as a result, but you can see my first post about the challenge here as a refresher, and a sampler from THE MAKING OF A MARCHIONESS by Frances Hodgson Burnett which I was thoroughly enjoying at the time. So, thanks to Michelle for spurring me on to read this book.

It turns out that we owe more to Elaine over at Random Jottings of a Book and Opera Lover than just thanks for a wonderfully entertaining blog. Persephone Books' Nicola Beauman takes suggestions from the public in terms of what they may publish, and it is Elaine who drew her attention to both THE MAKING OF A MARCHIONESS (divine) and the forthcoming Hodgson Burnett title THE SHUTTLE out in April (can't wait!).

Now it turns out that THE MAKING OF A MARCHIONESS will be broadcast over the next two weekends (oh joy!). Persephone describes it as "a two-part Classic serial starring Miriam Margolyes and Charles Dance on BBC Radio 4 on the Sunday before Easter (April 1st) and on Easter Sunday itself (April 8th) from 3-4 pm". Elaine has discovered a link for listening online for those of you outside the UK (archived for 7 days only, so you'll have to be quick about it) http://www.bbc.co.uk/radio4/arts/openbook/openbook_20070325.shtml.

Here's a taster:

She had not lived in a world where marriage was a thing of romance, and, for that matter, neither had Agatha.It was nice if a girl liked the man who married her, but if he was a well-behaved, agreeable person, of good means, it was natural that she would end by liking him sufficiently, and to be provided for comfortably or luxuriously for life, and not left upon one's own hands, or one's parents', was a thing to be thankful for in any case. (p.42)

Some dramas on the trip back. We had begun our descent into Paris when the plane banked (incredibly) steeply upwards - a near miss with another passenger jet in the fog.

Upon landing, my supposedly seamless transfer to a London-bound flight was scuppered as Heathrow was temporarily closed because of fog. The first available flight out was a mere seven hours later. As a South African I need a visa to exit the airport, so instead of turning the disaster into a lovely jaunt around Paris for the day I was forced to enjoy the pleasures of the departure lounge. As I had not expected this delightful interlude, I had no euros with me - the nearest cash withdrawal machines were all outside of the departures lounge, but to use them I would need a visa. Aaargh! To their credit the airline provided me with one drink and one snack which I appreciated, but seemed slightly measly twelve hours later when I finally reached home - an abundant supply of coffee would have been highly appreciated!

Luckily I always travel with books. I worked on my Tamil, with papers spread around me on the floor (comfortable carpet they have there!), finished Xiaolu Guo's A CONCISE CHINESE-ENGLISH DICTIONARY FOR LOVERS and began Ronnie Govender's SONG OF THE ATMAN.

Exhausting, but will have to drag myself off to London in a couple of hours - Tamil class; I have missed the last three weeks with my trip to South Africa, so this evening's tutorial looms terrifyingly.

Last month The Independent published a special feature, "Art of Africa: the 50 greatest cultural figures shaping a continent." The great Senegalese musician Baaba Maal served on the panel deciding the lineup and contributed an accompanying piece on artistic endeavours on the continent. I particularly enjoyed some of the things he had to say about music:

"In Podor in Senegal, the place where I grew up, everyone is an artist because art in Africa is not a commercial enterprise but is part of life itself.

Let me explain. When I was young, I used to watch the fishermen by the banks of the Senegal river. They were working close to the desert in intense heat, and whenever they stopped working they would start to sing. In Podor, people sing naturally about their experiences, their lives and their relationships. It is not just musicians and singers who perform. Everybody has a part to play - even children are allowed to join in if they have the inspiration. It doesn't matter if your voice is not the finest; everyone is involved.

Musicians are respected, but only in the context that the music itself belongs to the community - not to the person who is playing an instrument or singing a song. Those instruments have been developed over many years, while the songs themselves are inspired by the people as a whole rather than by any individual."

This concept of communal ownership over many aspects of living is fairly common throughout the continent and it is interesting to hear it expressed here with regard to music. Maal himself is a gifted musician and great live performer. He has a well-designed and informative website with music to listen to while you're reading it. If you are in the UK at the time, he will be playing WOMAD in July.

The "Top 50" list itself is varied and interesting and drew my attention to individuals I had never heard of, particularly in the fields of architecture and fashion. For the full list and the Maal piece click here. In summary, the writers chosen are:

Oga Steve Abah, Playwright (Nigeria)
Chinua Achebe, Author (Nigeria)
Ama Ata Aidoo, Playwright (Ghana)
Ayi Kwei Armah, Author (Ghana)
Biyi Bandele, Author (Nigeria)
Lueen Conning, Playwright (South Africa)
Tsitsi Dangarembga, Author (Zimbabwe)
Athol Fugard, Playwright (South Africa)
Delia Jarrett-Macauley, Author (Sierra Leone)
Ousmane Sembene, Film-maker (Senegal)
Wole Soyinka, Dramatist, Novelist, Poet (Nigeria)
Ngugi wa Thiong'o, Author (Kenya)
Binyavanga Wainaina, Author (Kenya)

A curious selection and, as always, dominated by men. Having said that, most of them deserve to be represented here. I am surprised to find J.M. Coetzee missing. Ama Ata Aidoo is also an author, Biyi Bandele a prolific playwright, Tsitsi Dangarembga primarily a film-maker, and Ousmane Sembene an author. So the description given to Soyinka as "dramatist, novelist, poet" could really be assigned to most of them, which is precisely why they are so influential as writers and do deserve to be here.

Of course, it is easy to find fault with any list but I must say I am miffed by the exclusion of a writer I consider to be a great shining star - Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie. I do feel that the British slant of the judges let them down here. Delia Jarrett-Macauley is a wonderful writer and well-deserved the Orwell Prize for MOSES, CITIZEN & ME, but if I am going to be a pedant, she is British of Sierra Leonean descent. Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie is Nigerian and lives in Nigeria. I would have to exclude Jarrett-Macauley on the grounds that she is British. I am a real fan of Jarrett-Macauley and happen to think she will continue to produce great work in the future and is certainly a writer to watch, but I think she herself would be surprised to find her name on this list. Any thoughts?

Ireland was fantastic! I realize I have become semi-addicted to blogging, however, when it felt slightly strange not to connect with everyone of a morning! Didn't last too long - so much to see and do.

As I mentioned in my last post, I read to the Giri in the car. This is a longstanding tradition in my family as my mother would read to all of us on cross-country trips (actually she read to us every night at home too, so guess where my book addiction stems from?!) I suppose it made sense to transfer the story to the car, and it just never occurred to me as a child that one might not be able to read while moving. It wasn't until I was a teenager that I realized such a thing as car sickness existed. The giri suffers from motion sickness, but all things work out - he drives, I read.

In recent years we've wended our way through (among others) Susan Cooper's THE DARK IS RISING, John Wyndham's THE DAY OF THE TRIFFIDS, Michelle Magorian's GOODNIGHT MISTER TOM, Alexander McCall Smith's THE NO. 1 LADIES' DETECTIVE AGENCY series (we've read the first four together), J.K. Rowling's HARRY POTTER series (again, the first four), R.K. Narayan's SWAMI AND FRIENDS, John Buchan's THE THIRTY-NINE STEPS, and Tolkien's LORD OF THE RINGS trilogy (actually, the latter was read not only in the car but on transatlantic flights to and from Sydney - don't worry, we had five seats to ourselves, we're not THAT annoying - and finally made it into bedtime reading at home, because it was so exciting!).

Most recently we've completed the Philip Pullman HIS DARK MATERIALS trilogy, and Ann over at Patternings asks what I thought, so here goes. I recommend them, with reservations. Firstly, they are not (in my opinion) children's books, which is how they were originally packaged - teen yes, adult yes, but not children. Pullman writes well and convincingly of worlds alongside worlds - the multiverses so much under discussion in the world of physics these days. In the real world some scientists argue for the existence of multiverses with fractional differences. Could the big bang have been caused by some of these worlds crashing together accidentally? Very interesting concepts, and which most of us spend very little time thinking about. What Pullman has done is take this concept of multiverses as a given and convincingly described and explored them. What if just through this gap there is another world, almost exactly the same as yours - similar streets and names and people, even graffitti, but it is not the same...

The first in the trilogy, NORTHERN LIGHTS (published in the USA with the title THE GOLDEN COMPASS; I'm never sure why they do this changing titles thing), is a triumph. Exciting, well-written, with a fantastic young female protagonist. Lyra is both vulnerable and hard as nails. In her world every person has a visible daemon (pronounced "demon") in animal form. They are deeply personal and cannot be seperated from the human to whom they belong (being essentially souls). Lyra uncovers a dastardly plot to sever children from their demons to produce...what? I won't spoil the plot for you, but suffice to say this book has a real corker of a cliff-hanger ending. If I'd read the books as they were written, I'd have been huffing and puffing until the next in the series came out, instead I just went roaring out to the shops!

The second in the trilogy, THE SUBTLE KNIFE, really develops the multiverse concept. Will, who lives in a parallel Oxford to Lyra's Oxford (like our world - no visible daemons), flees in panic and accidentally makes his way through a rip between worlds, where he meets Lyra. My favourite character, a vast armourplated bear king, features in this book too, along with witches, angels, God, and all manner of strange and entirely believable creatures. I liked this book, especially the concepts explored which held the warp and weave of the story together.

Unfortunately, I do feel Pullman goes off the rails a bit by the last book, THE AMBER SPYGLASS. It feels a little bit like being repeatedly thumped over the head by a heavy Bible - except that it is not the Bible, but Pullman, attempting to argue what a waste of time Christianity is. I have no problem at all with him challenging religion, religious practice and blind faith, but what emerges is a stereotypical bashing, rather simplified in argument. I would have loved a nuanced attack! Instead, where the other two books in the series were driven by the story (and what a wonderful story!), the third falls somewhat flat because the story takes a backseat to Pullman trying to MAKE.BASH.HIS.BASH.POINT.BASH. Such a shame.

Despite my criticisms, do read these if you haven't already. A word of caution - you must read them in the correct order for the story to make sense. NORTHERN LIGHTS/THE GOLDEN COMPASS is wonderful. And even in the last book, the world/s which Pullman creates are fantastic and consistently believable - worth reading for that alone. And you never know, you may adore all three titles, the great thing about reading being how different all our tastes are. For those of you who have already read these, what were your reactions?

It is distinctly eerie - every book I'm reading at the moment appears to have variations on the same theme (quite accidental I assure you!). I commented previously on the "ordinary lives of women" theme; have a look at this:

'Now, there is Agatha Slade, poor girl! She's of a kind I know by heart. With birth and beauty she is perfectly helpless. Her people are poor enough to be entitled to aid from the Charity Organisation, and they have had the indecency to present themselves with six daughters - six! All with delicate skins and delicate little noses and heavenly eyes. Most men can't afford them, and they can't afford most men. As soon as Agatha begins to go off a little, she will have to step aside, if she has not married. The others must be allowed their chance...But Agatha has not had any special offer, and I know both she and her mother are a little frightened. Alix must come out next season, and they can't afford frocks for two. Agatha will have to be sent to their place in Ireland, and to be sent to Castle Clare is almost like being sent to the Bastille. She'll never get out alive. She'll have to stay there and see herself grow thin instead of slim, and colourless instead of fair. Her little nose will grow sharp, and she will lose her hair by degrees.' (p.31)

This delectation is from THE MAKING OF A MARCHIONESS by Frances Hodgson Burnett (yes, she of THE SECRET GARDEN fame!). Originally published in 1901, republished by Persephone in 2001. Isn't it extraordinary how women's lives in the west (regardless of class) have changed in the past century?

Michelle over at Overdue Books has issued a From the Stacks reading challenge that fits right in with my current moans and groans about my TBR (To Be Read) pile teetering, crashing, and burning! With a time frame of November 1st to January 30th, her instructions read:

If you are anything like me your stack of purchased to-be-read books is teetering over. So for this challenge we would be reading 5 books that we have already purchased, have been meaning to get to, have been sitting on the nightstand and haven't read before. No going out and buying new books. No getting sidetracked by the lure of the holiday bookstore displays.

Definitely yes from me; I have so many books I keep meaning to get to and just don't, for no apparent reason. Can anyone explain the strange compulsion to acquire more books when there are enough in the house already to keep one going for years anyway?! I could run a lending library from here!

My chosen titles in no particular order are:
The Story of Lucy Gault - William Trevor
Lent to me by a friend a year ago, and I still haven't read it - it's now or never!
Desperate Spring - Fettouma Touati
Nearly as bad - another friend lent me this six months ago - I simply must.
The Making of a Marchioness - Frances Hodgson Burnett
Because I love Persephone Books; need there be another reason?!
The Book of Not - Tsitsi Dangarembga
It is glaring reproachfully at me.
Half of a Yellow Sun - Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie
The glare off this one is positively blistering! I so loved her first and am expecting great things.

Perhaps, come February, the Valentine's Day challenge will be to read 5 more books off my TBR pile - will I ever get through all of them?!

Just back from beautiful Brussels. I need a moment to collect thoughts before I start blogging about it, but will post something soon (with as little as possible about the dreaded c word!).

I've been catching up with what I've missed on all your blogs. Inspired by Danielle over at A Work in Progress, Dorothy at Of Books and Bicycles, and Ex Libris here's the latest meme, "guess what I'm reading" :

1. Grab the nearest book.
2. Open the book to page 123.
3. Find the fifth sentence.
4. Post the text of the next 4 sentences on your blog along with these instructions.
5. Don't you dare dig for that "cool" or "intellectual" book in your closet! I know you were thinking about it! Just pick up whatever is closest.

It was plain that her indignation was very genuine, and that her mind was as perfectly focused upon the facts as any one could wish-more so, by a long way, than Aunt Celia's mind, which seemed to be timidly circling, with a morbid pleasure, in these unpleasant shades. She and her mother would take the situation in hand, visit Cyril, and see the whole thing through.

"We must realize Cyril's point of view first," she said, speaking directly to her mother, as if to a contemporary, but before the words were out of her mouth, there was more confusion outside, and Cousin Caroline, Mrs. Hilbery's maiden cousin entered the room. Although she was by birth an Alardyce, and Aunt Celia a Hilbery, the complexities of the family relationship were such that each was at once first and second cousin to each other, and thus aunt and cousin to the culprit Cyril, so that his misbehaviour was almost as much Cousin Caroline's affair as Aunt Celia's.

I hadn't realized - until I had to type them in - how long this author's sentences are! So, any guesses as to what I'm reading (and enjoying, to my great surprise!)? My list of "Currently Reading" is to the right of the page, if you need any hints...

Danny Rhodes has a lot to answer for! The problem with going to book launches when you've sworn off buying books (temporarily of course) is that you land up buying more books (go on, twist my arm, why don't you?!).

For the non-Brits amongst you, an ASBO is an Anti-Social Behaviour Order, defined by the Crime and Disorder Act 1998 as "a civil order made against a person who has been shown to have engaged in conduct which caused or was likely to cause alarm, harassment or distress to one or more persons not of the same household as him or herself and where an ASBO is necessary to protect relevant persons from further anti-social acts by the Defendant." See Wikipedia for more details. Quite popular with those in authority in the UK of late, with endless debates ongoing as to their efficacy.

Danny's book ASBOVILLE deals with this thorny issue. I will review it once I've actually read it, although you can have a look at what dovegreyreader thought in the meantime. The launch went very well - a good turnout, and Danny created an excellent discussion of current issues for young people, resulting in some articulate and thoughtprovoking responses from teenagers and teachers in the audience.

And well, because it was held at Wottakkers, there was a "3-for2" promotion wasn't there. Danny's book was of course part of the promotion, so I was "forced" to examine the other possibilities. To my surprise I found ones I actually wanted! So I left with Paul Auster's THE BROOKLYN FOLLIES (one of my favourite authors, don't know why this is not on my shelf yet) and Kate Grenville's THE SECRET RIVER (so many favourable reviews of this in the blogosphere of late; also there's the Giri's Australian connection. I shall read it aloud to him).

Bang goes any hope of restraining myself...

A posting over at Patternings has me reflecting on becoming sidetracked while looking at books - this is an all too familiar pastime for me. I especially liked part of a quotation she gives from Anne Michael's Fugitive Pieces (an excellent book, if you haven't yet read it):

I would be distracted by marginalia, slips of paper tucked between pages, scraps of bills used as markers...

I had the wonderful experience recently of finding in our local Oxfam bookshop the entire African Writers' Series from Heinemann, now largely out of print. A couple of years ago Heinemann was bought out by Reed and the AWS was discontinued, causing a rippling grumble in the world of African bookselling. Those titles they have stock of in the warehouse are still in print, but most of the others have been declared out of print, although there was some talk last year of print on demand bringing them back into stock. A case in point is Ayi Kwei Armah's The Healers, declared out of print by Heinemann, yet we sold 200 copies of it in less than six months in our small shop. But I suppose that's the point, publishers want to sell thousands not hundreds for a book to make business-sense.

Anyway, back to the point - the collection I bought from Oxfam were clearly from one collector (mostly remarkably well preserved first editions from the 60s and 70s). This person had obviously followed news about the respective African writers, and the books had tucked into them newspaper clippings - a report on a fresh-faced Chinua Achebe visiting "Rhodesia"; press releases; statements calling for a writer's freedom - eg. an announcement on Jack Mapanje's imprisonment; and what I loved most, photographs! The collector had clearly met some of the writers and photographed them at their desks or in study - charming photos of a young Francis Bebey, among others. Marvellous stuff.

Waking to a weight on my foot took me back momentarily to childhood when my cat would snuggle into bed. This morning the sensation was accompanied by my husband's very sleepy but nevertheless horrified "is that a cat?!" It was one of the "marauding kitties" again, who seem to appear all too frequently on this blog! Not quite sure how the cat got in, but the only spot was a small gap in the window which he must have slunk through. I lay there for a bit (it was 5am) without moving, but remembering that his humans last week complained of fleas he'd brought in, suddenly galvanized me. Amazingly, he was still purring as I threw him out.

Thanks to kimbofo at Reading Matters for drawing my attention to the latest official "best books" list: the Observer's poll for "best British, Irish or Commonwealth novel from 1980 to 2005." Their full list is available here, but suffice to say the top ten are:

1.Disgrace (1999) JM Coetzee

2.Money (1984) Martin Amis

Joint 3rd. Earthly Powers (1980) Anthony Burgess
Atonement (2001) Ian McEwan
The Blue Flower (1995) Penelope Fitzgerald
The Unconsoled (1995) Kazuo Ishiguro
Midnight's Children (1981) Salman Rushdie

Joint 8th. The Remains of the Day (1989) Kazuo Ishiguro
Amongst Women (1990) John McGahern
That They May Face the Rising Sun (2001) John McGahern

Of course, the trouble with lists is that we both love and hate them. There's always someone who has been left off, or should never have been added in the first place. With this list I am very happy with some of the selections. Kimbofo asks is Coetzee that good? (there are three other titles of his which were also nominated) and I say a wholehearted yes! Coetzee is a thoughtful, evocative writer, who leads us into uncomfortable territory. He wrote about race issues at a time in South Africa when very few did, and in the post-apartheid dispensation he has quietly (or disquietingly) moved on with new subjects where other South African writers are finding it harder to write about a post-apartheid experience with any clarity. At the same time, his books are universal in scope. I really enjoyed DISGRACE. We read it in our book group and found that it is so very well written, painful in some conclusions about the new South Africa, and the central character is odious, yet still one wants to know what happens to him; his daughter is a woman we all wanted to shake until her teeth rattled. I argue this is an aspect of good writing - that despite disliking a character in the extreme, the writer manages to make the reader care about him/her.

I am surprised by how many writers had multiple titles nominated, yet others are missing entirely. Other than Coetzee, the only other African nomination is Buchi Emecheta's GWENDOLEN, (called THE FAMILY in the US edition) which I find a very odd choice. Of course like all readers out there I can rattle off ten other titles, I think should have appeared, and I do think the African contingent have been sorely underrepresented, but I'm fairly prosaic about these things. . .

How on earth did J.K. Rowling appear on this list, do tell?!

Virginia Woolf is haunting me. I have never liked her work - it seemed impossible to enjoy it somehow, and so much of what I tend to read is for escapism. One can hardly slip into her world and find a comfortable spot, or so I thought. I did manage to successfully deal with THREE GUINEAS when I was at university, but that was as far as I could go. Oh, and I was quite absorbed by Michael Cunningham's THE HOURS.

However, Susan Hill has decided to convert all of us ignoramuses, and is running a course for anyone who has never got on with Woolf. I recommend it: no credit, no grades, just guided reading at your own pace with a bit of an online chat with other readers. On Susan Hill's blog, click the BOOKS AND READING option on the left hand side of the main page, WOOLF FOR DUMMIES will appear beneath it. We've started with a chapter of Lyndall Gordon's VIRGINIA WOOLF: A WRITER'S LIFE for background reading and to place her writing in context; now we are reading her very first book THE VOYAGE OUT. I am pleasantly surprised - not quite what I was expecting. I borrowed my edition from the library. While their catalogue listed it as on the shelf, I couldn't find it. When I asked, the librarian disappeared off into the bowels somewhere (where the public is not allowed to enter) and came back with a nice sturdy 1975 Hogarth Press hardback edition. Of course now I want to know what else is down there . . .

Woolf has been dogging my steps in other ways too: Emma Barnes at Snowbooks has kindly sent me a copy of THE LONDON SCENE, a very prettily produced collection of Woolf's short essays. Should complement the Hill selection nicely, thank you Emma.

Not only that, but an interesting collaborative project is developing on the other side of the pond, with bloggers invited to set up a wiki where anyone can add footnotes and textnotes to a piece of literature. The test piece is Virginia Woolf's KEW GARDENS. Take a look at Dorothy's blog.

Susan has said not to read anything else so as to avoid preconceptions about Woolf. As always, I flipped through the book reviews this weekend and in the Sunday Times CULTURE what do I find, but a review by John Carey of Victoria Glendinning's LEONARD WOOLF: A Life. This paragraph caught my eye:

Bloomsbury was excited too. Virginia’s brother Adrian Stephen, who met Leonard when he came home on leave in 1911, reported that “he was very amusing about Ceylon. His descriptions of hanging were very interesting”. Glendinning thinks that, rather as Othello’s tall tales of travel captivated Desdemona, so Leonard’s adventures stirred Virginia. “He has ruled India, hung black men,” she gushed. All the same, it is hard to see why she married him. She felt “no more than a rock” when he kissed her, and his Jewishness was distasteful: “I do not like the Jewish voice. I do not like the Jewish laugh.” Taken to see Leonard’s mother, she wrote maliciously about “Jews in Putney”, mocking their clothes, food and manners. Anti-semitism was a Stephen-family thing. Adrian did comic Jewish imitations, and Virginia expressed horror at the prospect of sharing a room with “22 Jews and Jewesses” — Leonard’s family. “It’ll be as hot as a monkey house.”

She sounds the most odious creature. So Susan, you have your work cut out for you in trying to convince me otherwise.

In the meantime I have been totally lacking in self control and added to my "To Be Read" pile with a new haul of recently released African titles:
ALLAH IS NOT OBLIGED - Ahmadou Kourouma
THE BOOK OF NOT - Tsitsi Dangarembga
HALF OF A YELLOW SUN - Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie
SLEEPWALKING LAND - Mia Couto
Fabulous!

Like all incurably addicted readers, keeping a handle on my "To Be Read" pile is always a challenge. Lately mine has taken to galloping away from me about the house. This has not been helped by the fact that we gave away our biggest bookshelf (via Freecycle, that wonderful site). The bookshelf had two extensions to the main section, which we had to take off when we moved to this house three years ago. Unfortunately, the new study just cannot contain a bookshelf of this scope, so for ages I've had books double-parked on every shelf. Finally, we've accepted defeat and have asked a carpenter to build us a new unit especially for the space. In the meantime, since the original bookshelf is now gone, we have mountains of books piled in the study and laundry. Ultimately, of course, a new shelf will not really solve the problem that I have too many books! The eternal dilemma. . .

Recently, instead of having one or two books on the go, I've had five or six. . . or ten (I keep finding juicy sounding titles on other people's blogs, plus there's my "work" reading for the book I'm writing). I've decided this is probably too many as I am in danger of losing the atmosphere and character of each story. Yesterday I finished two love stories (don't groan, it is more encouraging than it sounds).

I picked up Peter Millar's FINDING HOPE AGAIN: Journeying Through Sorrow and Beyond from a second-hand sale last month as I was moseying home. Those of you who read this blog regularly will know that I had a big feeling sad blip last month when I wasn't coping too well with the loss of our baby. This book fell into my lap at a highly opportune moment. A good half of the book is about finding hope in other people and situations - I found this the weakest aspect but, to be fair, possibly because I wasn't in the mood. But Millar's reflections on finding his wife dying on their bathroom floor, struggling through the days, weeks, months, years that followed is really moving. It is, essentially, one long love song to his wife, to whom he was married for twenty-seven years. I suspect that you won't enjoy it if you are not practicing some sort of faith, as this is how Millar makes sense of his world. I found the sections on grief particularly strong, and helpful to me at this time.

On a lighter note, MARIANA by Monica Dickens started off slowly, but finally succeeded in running away with me (I stopped reading all the other distractions for a bit and just focussed on her for a day). Written in 1940, set in immediately pre-WW2 England, the period detail is superb. Dickens captures the agonies of teenage feelings perfectly (attachment to family homes, holidays and full of adolescent angst). There are some really funny moments:

In spite of the fact that she paraphrased 'Much have I travelled in the realms of gold' as 'I have made several expeditions to the gold-mine district,' and had to write a French essay on trees without knowing the word for leaf, Mary passed the entrance examination for St. Martin's High School.
She cried when she left Manton House, not because she minded, but because it was the thing to do. Miss Cardew kissed her in the hothouse temperature of the study and told her always to remember the School motto: 'Faint not nor fear,' to which Mary only just stopped herself from replying automatically: 'Half-time is near, then comes the biscuits and ginger beer.' (p.91)

A really sweet poignancy crops up from time to time. For example, I liked:

'Look here, it will be three minutes in a sec. and I haven't got any more money - I'm in a box.'
'Does it smell?'
'Yes. But that's not the point. I haven't said what I wanted to.'
'What, darling?'
'Pip, pip, pip,' said the telephone.
'I love you.' His voice was cut off and Mary went out of the box and walked through the corridor lounge, smiling a foolish, secret smile to herself. All along the gauntlet of armchairs, from behind the camouflage of knitting-needles and library books, peered the old eyes that never missed a thing. (p.331)

There are some exquisitely foreboding moments about the impending war, like this one from Mary's honeymoon:

When was it that it had first begun to matter when The Times came three days late? When had they first begun to puzzle out the news in the Roma, to try and get Daventry on the proprietor's wireless, crackling through storms in the Alps? Mary had not been bothering about the world. Her only worry up till now had been whether or not her shoulders were going to peel. From one day to another it seemed there was a crisis, and the English people in the hotel actually spoke to one another. . . It seemed impossible to think that anything really was the matter, when the sea off the Amalfi Coast was bluer than it had ever been, and the purple bougainvillaea was draped like a panoply over the terrace wall. (pp.368-369)

There is a slightly dreary period in the middle when not much happens (which is the point, and I hasten to add does not equate to dreary writing, rather beautifully paced contrast), but fills out into quite a fast pace - a wonderfully enjoyable read overall.