The single gift

Our latest Christmas present rule was one only, from each person to the other persons, which in our case meant two from me to the other two. I reckoned that putting more than one book into the same wrapping paper could count as one, so I gave the Resident IT Consultant four books. All four were books I wanted to read. I was fairly sure he’d like them too. (But it does kind of deal quite nicely with what I want.)

He started on the one I had expected him to reach for first, and I have to thank the facebook friend who recommended the – to me – unknown E C R Lorac. The next one was by Nicola Upson, another fb recommendation.

I have just finished reading them myself, and it’s interesting how they coincidentally are quite similar. Lorac’s Fell Murder is set in a Lancashire farming community during WWII, and also written at that time. Nicola’s book is brand new but Shot With Crimson is set in 1939, in the countryside near Peterborough.

Nicola’s style is modern, both in plot and language. The Lorac novel is its complete opposite, being a little slow – but not in a bad way – and thoroughly of its time.

Shot With Crimson doesn’t shy away from the seriousness of murder, but I found myself looking at it from my current day view point. In Fell Murder the most shocking thing to the modern reader is how the farming population refuses to speculate when urged to by the police. Because they know that the murderer will be executed, and have no wish to send the wrong neighbour into the arms of death.

You tend to forget this. You know that murder was a capital offence back then, but somehow it’s quite easy to overlook. Because I had this book in such recent memory, I was able to contemplate Nicola’s various suspects differently. Was there someone I would be happier to see die for their crime?

The death of an elderly farmer in Lancashire, with relatively few suspects, is vastly different from Shot With Crimson, which features both Daphne du Maurier, Josephine Tey and Alfred Hitchcock, with the action both in old England, and in Hollywood. (There was also an unexpected mention of George Devine, which I won’t bore you with now.)

I recommend both books, as well as the way I managed to lay my hands on them.

Battling the elements

It rained – a lot – and the Son shone. We were going to Edinburgh, for the Portobello Book Festival, because Son was appearing in an event, Crime Fiction in Translation. Along with three colleagues, admittedly, but it was a first. I think, anyway…

But we live in Scotland where things go wrong with public transport when you want to go places. It rained. Much rain. In their wisdom ScotRail cancelled most of the trains and ran fewer of the ones on ‘our’ line. We decided not to go. And then the Resident IT Consultant wanted to be brave and to represent the family in Portobello, so went for the ten o’clock train which eventually left just before eleven and arrived at its destination a little after when the next one again was due.

I gather it was a good event, and I would expect no less from either Son or Portobello. Participating were Siân Reynolds, Ian Giles, Vineet Lal and Tim Gutteridge, chaired by Duncan Beattie. The room looked very nice too. The Resident IT Consultant felt it was interesting to learn how translators work.

Afterwards he was treated to a third of a slice of cheesecake, before battling his way back home, very slightly faster than in the morning.

Meanwhile Daughter and I stayed dry and did some chores before sitting down with Terry Pratchett’s Hogfather on dvd. We reckoned we’re close enough to Christmas for it to be OK. It was a real treat to see Terry’s cameo, selling a horse.

Might watch again.

Who’s cooking?

Having cause to study Astrid Lindgren’s Vi på Saltkråkan again, Son watched a few episodes with Dodo. I have to assume it was Dodo’s first time.

Which is why her comments are of interest. Me being of the same age as Saltkråkan, and having Son and Daughter growing up with the television series, they will be seeing it much more the way I did.

With immediate access to Daughter, I asked her thoughts on Malin, the 19-year-old [eldest] daughter in the Melkersson family. And that was a surprise. She felt Malin had no real purpose.

Whereas the seven-year-old witchlet needed her screen peers to have a mother figure. Hence Malin acting as mother to her much younger siblings, and making sure their crazy, widowed father doesn’t cause too much havoc. She cleans, and peels potatoes, but also has fun and meets several hopeless, I mean promising, young men.

I was already reading the Famous Five books and I – I am sorry about this – thought it was fine for Anne to look after the domestic aspects of the mysteries, while the other three behaved like boys.

And Dodo. Well, she obviously remarked on the fact that Malin did all the work. She’s a female of the 21st century. I should be too. But when it comes to Saltkråkan I am seven again, and I need for Pelle to have a mother figure. I ‘am’ Tjorven, and I quite need a kind, caring adult female to chat to.

The four older siblings in both families, who must be around twelve, are purely there for adventures. Not peeling potatoes. In fact, I believe I’ve heard that they were meant to be the focus of the series, but no one reckoned on Tjorven. She and her dog took over, and along with them we have the other two younger children, Pelle and Stina.

I believe we also need Mr Melkersson to be single. Not for romantic reasons; simply to be alone and a bit useless. That’s why we also require Malin to bridge the gap. And to peel the potatoes.

In 1963 when this was filmed, I suspect none of us were all that aware. We were sold the set-up and we were satisfied. Since I have remained seven years old all this time, I am still satisfied.

Baby, it’s cold out there

‘Do you even know what that is?’ Daughter asked as I read out loud from the television guide, suggesting that Saturday afternoon we could have watched Ice Station Zebra.

Would I suggest something without knowing; without meaning it?

I swiftly informed her about the film, whose novel it was based on and that the Alistair MacLean book was far superior. But the film would still have been worth watching. Again. Can only have seen it three or four times.

This was confirmed by friends on social media, who did actually watch yesterday, and I felt I had sort of missed out. Even if I can watch later. But I’m glad that at least people my age are still enjoying these ancient adventure thrillers. And there was nothing wrong with Where Eagles Dare, which both Offspring have watched.

I probably won’t reread the MacLeans. Although the reason I gave up at whatever point, must have had more to do with me moving on as the books moved in a different direction. I suspect I favour the WWII and Cold War stories.

And if I may say so, one good side to the lack of new programmes and films has been that there is so much old stuff offered again. Things that would usually have been hidden away in the middle of the night if it ever came to light again. I like seeing films again.

Again.

In your arms only

When asked – and sometimes even when not asked – about what makes the Edinburgh International Book Festival so special, or who you might meet there, I have often borrowed the tale below to describe what could happen.

But it’s never as good as when the someone who was there tells it. And since Julie Bertagna put it on Twitter, I feel it’s out there, in public.

It’s a lovely way of remembering Sean Connery. And what a lucky man he was, to have Julie in his arms!

Besides, rugs are a nuisance…

Bookwitch bites #147

Sigh. It’s time to stay at home again. I mean, more so than the last two (?) months. We didn’t exactly go to town during this time, but went out a little bit. Even considered going out for a meal, but on careful consideration couldn’t really face it. We can cook. Or we can order delivery of either pizza or Indian. Not much else the three of us agree on, foodwise.

So we will heed this t-shirt advice again. We started back in March or April, but haven’t got to the end yet. And there is more Mandalorian to look forward to, with the baby Yoda.

This post will be full of borrowings and stealings.

Having said that, I am obviously heading straight to the Lowry theatre. Not really, but for someone who no longer pays too much attention to theatre news from the place I no longer live near, my eye was caught by the press release about the Nightingale Court, so I read on a bit. The Lowry is to host several court rooms so that trials that have lagged behind for too long this year, can start taking place. This means the theatre receives some welcome revenue, and the jury members get to sit in comfort in theatre boxes; one each. (I could almost be tempted…)

Temptation can go both ways. I’ve heard from a reliable (cough) source that Camilla Läckberg’s recent novel has a lot of sex in it. Don’t know if this is good or bad. But according to e-newsletter Boktugg, lots of people dislike Camilla. It can be hard feeling happy about someone else’s immense success. Suffering from the green monster isn’t much fun. One day I might read one of Camilla’s books, if only to irritate the person who told me so many bad and, I suspect untruthful, things about her.

So what do you know about volcanoes? Do you have a gut feeling for where you might find them? That is if you don’t actually know about eruptions or remember where some of them took place. I was intrigued when reading in the Observer that someone had been stranded by an ash cloud after a Finnish volcano stopped flights. I tried to imagine those pine trees going flying as the volcano volcanoed. I know the Nordic countries are ‘all the same’. But doesn’t Iceland stand out at least a little bit if we’re going volcanic?

And finally some nice normality. This week, the day before the renewed lockdown, Theresa Breslin came to town. She was here to sign books at the Tinkerbell Emporium, which is where we last saw her, just over a year ago. (Theresa is the one on the right!)

It would have been even lovelier if I’d been able to pop over to say hello…

Fowl Film

We saved the Artemis Fowl film until we no longer felt needy. Back in May we really wanted to watch it, having already waited a year or so, and then feeling better for knowing it would be available on television, well, Disney+, with no requirement for getting to a cinema. And we kept putting it off. Son and Dodo jumped in almost on the first day, but were restrained in their judgement of it.

Let me first say it’s not Artemis Fowl, even if the name suggests it. But this happens with many books when they move to the big screen. What matters is that it’s a good, enjoyable film. That’s not what this is.

The next step is to try and decide if you’d understand what was going on if you’d never read the books. We don’t think you would. We’re not sure anyone knows what’s going on.

None of the characters are anything like what Eoin Colfer makes us believe they are. Commander Root is most like himself, despite being a woman played by Judi Dench. The others? No. The cruel, scheming Artemis is a babyish boy, wanting his daddy back. Holly Short is not dreadful, I suppose, but she’s not Holly. And Trouble is a girl.

Mulch Diggums is a sort of Hagrid, a large dwarf hoping to grow smaller. I quite liked his mouth, actually. That worked well, as did his rear end. Having Mrs Fowl dead is a bit of a drawback, should you want her to give birth to Artemis’s brothers later on. And was there really no spare piece of tinfoil to cover Foaly’s head with?

I understand that you can change stuff; that you will need to, but to rewrite the whole thing? I can’t even work out if this was to cover just the first book, or if enough of the next ones was in here that we can move directly to book four. Because there will be a sequel, won’t there?

Afterwards Daughter spent a fair length of time telling us what she thought of the film. I’m, well, I’ll let you draw your own conclusions.

but I would love a talking horse!

I read Sunday’s Observer’s New Review with rising levels of panic and and a feeling that I really didn’t want to.

I didn’t want to anything. There were films recommended. Television programmes. All the kinds of things that reviewers review, in fact. Books, even.

They didn’t leave me cold, as they might once. I just didn’t want to read or watch or listen to any of that. It sort of confirmed that while this ghastly situation continues – and it does; we are not out of it yet – it is preventing me from doing most of the things I’d normally be doing.

Until I came to the page about Kit de Waal, whom I saw – heard – in Edinburgh (was it last year? No, it was two years ago) and liked very much. She said good stuff. But towards the end she says ‘as soon as you introduce a talking horse … I’m just not interested.’

I mean, that’s fine. Kit doesn’t need to like talking horses. In fact, what she wants in books are things that can happen in real life. That’s totally fine.

But I can’t help feeling that a talking horse would cheer me up.

They Called Us Enemy

Not being a trekkie I didn’t know who George Takei was when his interesting snippets turned up on social media. I simply liked them.

Now I have read his graphic, well, I suppose, autobiography, from WWII onwards, about the interning – imprisonment – of American citizens of Japanese background after Pearl Harbour. It is a great book about this atrocious and shameful history. (The only thing I knew about this before came from watching the film I’ll Remember April some years ago.)

George was four when his family were more or less removed from their beds in Los Angeles in the middle of the night, and taken on a long journey to Arkansas at the other end of the country, where they were to stay for most of the war.

I have deep admiration for George’s father, who worked hard, kept the peace and made himself useful to his fellow ‘prisoners’ for the duration of this wrongful treatment. His behaviour also meant that this whole period seemed like an adventure to George, and possibly as almost normal to his two younger siblings.

Through George’s later fame, some of this unfair treatment has reached more people than might otherwise have been possible.

And I was reminded of what I read on Normblog some years ago; something which made me want to cry again. But mostly good crying. In a world of many really very bad people, and leaders, there are good ones too.

(Almost as an afterthought, I have to comment on how easy it was to read this graphic novel. They aren’t always, but this one worked perfectly.)

The Hate You Give

You can probably work out why I am reposting this film review from March last year here, and now:

“Recently I have been mentioning Angie Thomas a bit over on Bookwitch. Before Saturday’s EIBF event with her, I wanted to read her books, and ended up reading the second one and watching the film of the first book on DVD. I thought this would be efficient use of my time. One problem now is that I liked the film so much that I might need to read the book too.

Having read On the Come Up, I felt that The Hate U Give exactly mirrored Angie’s writing. I almost sat there nodding my head in agreement with everything, as though I was reading the book. Knowing how most films are not exactly like the novels they are based on, I should probably treat the film with a little pinch of salt. And then read the book.

A refreshingly black film, I was aware that I don’t know much at all. I’ve no experience of the lives the characters lead, and it was often hard to hear what they were saying. But that’s me, not them. Just as fans of the books like the fact that the characters speak like them, that goes for the film as well.

The Carter family live in a poor, black neighbourhood, but ambition for their children means that all three are sent to the mostly white school further away. As the main character Starr says, she’s another person when she’s at school. She has to be. And Starr does it so well that none of her friends have an inkling what her real life is like.

Starr is with a childhood friend when he is shot and killed by the police. Her whole life changes. She doesn’t know what to do or whose advice she should take, but eventually she realises she needs to stand up for her friend and do ‘the right thing.’

It’s a bleak situation, handled very well. As Angie said, she needs triumph to balance the trauma, so it’s not all negative. But to stay true to what so many black people face every day, this feels like a hopeless situation. You shouldn’t have to spend every day in fear of what the police will do if they ‘notice’ you. Except this is reality for millions in America.

Starr’s family are not perfect, but they work together. Her dad has been in jail, and her mum is another strong mother, just like Bri’s in On the Come Up. There are friends, neighbours, an uncle, even the local crooks.

I rather wish they had not made Starr’s white boyfriend* look like a Republican senator-to-be, but other than that this film was pretty perfect. It’s certainly an eye-opener. The question is whether those who need to see it, will.

(Photo © Erika Doss)

*I understand that the original actor was dropped because he made racist remarks. That proves how necessary books and films like this one are.”