Most unusually I have not been stumbling through the never-ending forests of the Back Lists.
This year I have been on the limitless steppes of Kindle-land, catching e-books on my Kindle Fire, close to launch day.
My rudimentary stats reveal that I’ve read around 100 books in 2023, the majority being e-books. It needs to be said that most e-books are relatively short – sometimes novella length, which can be read in a day.
I’ve all but abandoned hard cover books due to the teeny-tiny print. I’ve tried a couple of Large Print books from the Library, which were readable from the vision point of view, but alas! the Public Library stock is tiny, and the selection limited. So: back to Kindle-land.
For the first time, I’ve read a number of series this year. Between the indefatigable Joffe Books who appear to have an infinite stock of (mainly) British Whodunnits, and Kindle who offer a vast choice of cozy crime, romance and paranormal offerings, I have succumbed. With varying degrees of success. The three most enjoyable series I read this year were:
Kim M Watt – Gobbelino London: cozy paranormal mystery. Any book offering talking cats has me from page 1.
Ellery Addams – the Miracle Spring Series – female friendship, Bibliotherapy and feel-good endings.
Carmen Reid – Annie Valentine, Family, Fashion, Frocks and Fun. A real tonic!
Whilst not falling into the Series category, I found good, light reads in the Indian DiasporaCategory, notably books by Amulya Malladi, Sonali Dev, Namrata Patel among others. Some of the novels were set in India, other in the USA. I’ve always enjoyed Indian novels, and the genre appears increasingly in the e-book world but in lighter mode, as opposed to the heavyweights like Rohinton Mistry and Amitav Ghosh from earlier years.
In past years I’ve followed the Booker Prize.This year, not so much. Any on-line Booker novel is one hell of a price, so out of my reach. But after my last Booker defeat with Olga Tokarczuk, (The Books of Jacob: all that mud! all that religion!) I think I may be done with Booker novels.
For what its worth, here are my annual nominations:
BEST READ OF THE YEAR – When I’m Gone, Look for me in the East – Quan Barry.
Highly Original Buddhist themed novel set in Mongolia
4 FIRST RATE NOVELS – The Diver’s Clothes Lie Empty – Vendela Vida – unpredictable – contemporary
The Perfect Golden Circle – Benjamin Myers – British contemporary – quirky, original
Eyrie – Tim Winton – Australian contemporary – visceral
West with Giraffes – Lynda Rutledge -American road trip with ecological message
BEST BIOGRAPHY Terry Pratchett: A life with Footnotes – Rob Wilkins
BEST HUMOUR MrMonk is Miserable – Lee Goldberg. The agonies of a germophobe confronted with Paris. Laugh out loud read (e-bk)
An honourable mention: Simon Brett’s Mrs Pargeter series – tongue in cheek British humour (e-bks)
BEST MEMOIR Kept: An American Househusband in India – Gregory E Buford. Good humoured account of culture clash (e-bk)
So there we have it, I wonder what your top reads were ?
Finally:A special thanks to Book Jotter, who continues to provide an invaluable comprehensive weekly review over the bookish world.
We all have daydreams about a new, idyllic life – a sophisticated apartment in New York? owning a Game Farm? Living a green, sustainable life and escaping our rushed, digital world?Twopeople turned a daydream into reality: Sabina Ostrowska and husband Robert Ryan were living the Expat life in theglitzy, materialistic UAE, where Consumerism is King, but life as expat academics lost its charm after 8 years, and the dream of a simple rustic life in Spain grew more and more alluring.After many years of watching TV program Grand Design anchored by Kevin McLeod who always displays boundless confidence regarding owner/builder projects, they were inspired to buya rustic farm cottage in Andalusia, situated on an olive farm, near the small town of Montefrio .They planned to renovate and upscale the cottage to provide a rustic holiday retreat, and a future income. I wonder if Kevin McLeod has read Sabina’s account of their project? He & his TV programme have a lot to answer for!Book 1, The Crinkle Crankle Wall relates the difficulties, dramas, toil and travails of emigrating to Spain, dealing with Spanish bureaucracy (a nightmare), especially when you don’t speak Spanish; experiencing the harsh Andalusian winter weather, living in terrible conditions on what was more of a building site than anything else;lack of water on their property …. The misery goes on and on, but Sabina and Robert gamely press on and Book 1 ends with her brave declaration that despite everything, their new lifeis what they want.Book 2, A Hoopoe on the Nispero Tree continues in much the same vein. Sabina give a good humoured and very candid account of their ignorance and incompetence in building matters; their haphazardway of living and tackling tasks; their initial almost complete lack of Spanish …. Luckily for the couple, their farming neighbours were helpful and supportive despite the language barriers. Another godsend were YouTube Tutorials which proved to be invaluable.At the ending of Book 2,lack of money is hampering their desire for full time farm living. What to do? Book3, Olive Leaf Tea awaits, and I’m looking forward to reading it.
That one-man writing factory, Alexander McCall Smith has done it again. The novel The Second Worst Restaurant in France is packed with memorable characters, and oozes charm, both Gallic and Scottish. Food writer Paul Stuart, is invited by his Remarkable Cousin Chloe to join her for a two month summer stay in a small French village. Paul is struggling to produce his next book, an ill-advised attempt to write the Philosophy of Food. His work is initially hampered by his girlfriend’s two Siamese cats, so a getaway to the quiet French countryside seems idea. Until … but I won’t spoil the fun. Cousin Chloe is an absolute gem: eccentric, vivacious, magnetic (five former husbands would you believe? Paul can’t decide if she’s for real or a fabulist). Chloe is one of McCall Smith’s best characters to date.
And yes, the restaurant in the title is truly dreadful, and plays its part in the unfolding dramatic antics. I loved every page.
FICTION
The Second Worst Restaurant in France – Alexander McCall Smith. E-bk A late-winter tonic. Filled with fun, philosophy, the French, food, and reflection on marriage and life. And a plot that cavorts along. A wonderful read.
The Scent of a Garden – Namrata Patel. E-bk A career in the French perfume industry, life in Paris or connecting with family, friends and teen sweetheart in Napa Valley, CA? Grannies and mother pushed Asha into the perfume industry, but Covid robbed her of her phenomenal sense of smell. Forcing Asha to finally choose between dynastic plans for her life, and her heart. An unusual premise and setting, both worked well for me. Enjoyable.
The Wish List – Sophia Money-Coutts. E-bk. A classy English rom-com, two of three sisters live happily ever after because they get rid of the horrible men in their lives, and sister #3 finds true love. Plenty of comic set pieces, a charming cat called Marmalade; a re-read for me but it worked fine the second time around. A relaxing, fun read.
Jack Reacher: Night School – Lee Child. Large print Library Loan. Jack Reacher, with a little help from his friends, saves the world from a looming deadly jihadist plot. Well written, expertly plotted and paced, but so violent. Such is the nature of thrillers. Which is why I seldom read them. But that said: A real page turner. An exciting read which will satisfy Reacher fans.
And Then There’s Margaret – Carolyn Clarke. E-bk. If you’re working towards being the Mother-in-Law from Hell, then this novel is the essential handbook. Newly widowed Margaret continues, and escalates, her WWIII assault on her hapless daughter-in-law. Domestic drama in spades. A salutary read. My late m-i-l was delightful; what a lucky escape I had!
Tuk-tuk for Two: An escape to India – Adam Fletcher. E-bk. Memoir/travel. Adam meets Evelyn in a bar, and agrees to partner her in a 1 000km race in India, over 5 days, in a tuk-tuk. Unsurprisingly, adventure and an immersive-wall-to-wall India up close and personal journey ensues. I loved that part of the story, but 30% of the tale shared AF’s angst and insecurities – enough already. But an enjoyable read, & I’m reading another of his titles in his Weird Travels series.
I meant to write this in June, but hey! It’s winter and the idea froze in my brain …
What’s happened in my reading world thus far?
An awful lot of e-books, because I joined Kindle Unlimited and found myself up to my eyebrows in cozy mysteries. Some were pretty good, most were okay, and a few were dreadful. But they suited my troublesome eyesight.
So many print books have teen tiny print that defeats me. That’s the problem with buying books online, frequently they turn out to be unreadable, due to the print size. So: no more online purchases for me.
Up until 30 June, I’d read 39 books. I have no reading targets, because I find them limiting and distracting. I firmly believe reading is not a competitive sport. This year I didn’t even set a TBR goal. Instead, I’ve cleared out my shelves by donating unread books to a worthy animal charity, so that seriously trimmed the TBR backlog. A few hardy survivors remain.
In January I had a grand plan to cover the entire year. Every day I would read a few pages from one of these books:
Inspired by my daily reading of Lev Parikian’s charming book Light Rain Sometimes Falls during 2022, a process I enjoyed, I thought : why not continue the process? What a good idea! Except follow-through somehow became derailed. I have no idea where Mason Curry’s Daily Rituals has wandered off to, and I only started reading Mzanzi Zen 2 weeks ago.
A few pages of Anthony Osler’s approach to Zen in daily life is invigorating and restorative. I enjoy anecdotes of life on a remote olive farm in Colesberg, in the Eastern Cape. Osler sprinkles his stories with Zen haikus, Koans, poems, and the black and white photographs speak volumes.
Highlight of the year, thus far, was the Mongolian novel When I’m gone, Look for me in the East by Quan Barry.
I’m looking forward to the current Booker Prize winning novel, Time Shelter by Georgi Gospodinov.
Other than that, a recent discovery that the Mr Monk TV series books are available on Kindle brought a smile to my dial.
I also intend exploring the Large Print section of the Public Library system. Each Library has a small selection of titles, fingers crossed that they are not all Whodunnits and historicals! I live in hope.
I bought The Cloisters because of the Tarot theme*, and also the enthusiastic reviews. But I can’t nominate it as Read of the Month. Why?
I’m still not sure why I hesitate over my verdict. Did I finish the book? Yes. Did the plot move along? Yes. Did it delve into the Tarot? Sort of, from the historical perspective. And to be fair, there’s a detailed guide to the cards, at the end of the book. Do the cards really forecast the future? Or does fate or The Fates, pre-determine our lives. Again, ummm … in the case of the novel, more the dramatis personae rather than The Fates.
Did I relate to the Characters? Ummm … perhaps this is the sticky patch. We’re in the obsessive world of museum collectors, plus the tight little world of professional academics, ambitious, unscrupulous and equally obsessive. Enigmatic, yes. Dangerous, yes. Amoral? Totally. Likeable? No.
The book ending provided two dramatic revelations, hitherto hidden, which explained the motivations behind two of the main characters. Suddenly the story gained perspective and more credibility.
Did I enjoy the book? Again … ummm , not as much as I had hoped.
*I’ve been involved with the Tarot for over 30 years.
The Undomestic Goddess – Sophie Kinsella. This has been a difficult year, and winter is proving to be super-wet and horribly cold; and the disaster-laden news bulletins – Ukraine war – submersible catastrophe – South African politics – don’t help. So light relief is called for and Sophie Kinsella has it down to a tee. A high flying London lawyer bombs out of her career and flees to the country, finding employment as a housekeeper. Apart from the fact that she has zero housekeeping skills and can’t cook, no problem. And there‘s a hunky gardener. Chaos, comedy and romance ensue. A wonderful feel-good read.
FICTION
The Cloisters – Katy Hays. A contemporary mystery novel, set in NYC and the world of museums and academia. A newly discovered Renaissance Tarot deck casts a dark influence.
Mr Monk on the Couch – Lee Goldberg. A spin-off from the TV show, featuring the brilliant, deductive genius, germophobe Adrian Monk. Hugely entertaining crime story. Recommended.
A Cast of Falcons – Sarah Yarwood-Lovett. A Dr Nell Ward Mystery. This is Book 2 in the series and the focus is less on matters ecological and more on whodunnit, and family relationships. Although well written, I didn’t enjoy it as much as Book One.
The Undomestic Goddess – Sophie Kinsella. Rom-com at its best. As a light, feel-good read, this wins the prize.
If ever a book had my name in mile high capitals, this one qualifies: When I’m Gone, Look for me in the East – Quan Barry.
Definitely my Book of the Month and a hot contender for Book of the Year. Why? Well, it speaks to my interests, namely Travel and Buddhism. Plus, despite the small print, the chapters were exceedingly short, and therefore it was easy for me to read.
Here’s the publishers’ blurb:
Tasked with finding the reincarnation of a great lama – a spiritual teacher who may have been born anywhere in the vast Mongolian landscape – the young monk Chuluun sets out with his identical twin, Mun, who has rejected the monastic life they once shared. Their relationship will be tested on this journey through their homeland, as each possesses the ability to hear the other’s thoughts.
…Quan Barry carries us across a terrain as unforgiving as it is beautiful and culturally varied. …. The book is a stunningly far-flung examination of our individual struggle to retain our convictions and discover meaning in a fast-changing world, as well as a meditation on accepting what simply is.
The descriptions of Mongolian life and culture are vivid and have the ring of authenticity, plus the book offers much Buddhist teaching and wisdom en route.
As a novel, it is utterly original. I realise it is a niche novel, and I am definitely part of the target audience, but this said, if you’re looking for that elusive something different , then try this novel. And BTW, I’m not lending you my copy, I’m going to re-read it until it disintegrates.
FICTION
The Orpheus Descent – Tom Harper. Ancient Greece juxtaposed with modern Greece. A mysterious object excavated in an archeological dig may be the key to immortality; a thrilling hunt ensues. I could have done with less ancient Greek Philosophy, but nonetheless, an intriguing and exciting read.
The Secret , Book, & Scone Society – Ellery Adams . A cosy mystery, redeemed by a strongsub-theme of Bibliotherapy, earning instant Brownie points from me. Easy read.
The Whispered Word – Ellery Adams. Another addictive cosy mystery; more bibliotherapy, engaging characters. Easy read.
P.S. Due to our pestilential Load Shedding a.k.a Rolling Blackouts, I read a number of cosy mysteries on my Kindle which ranged from the not-bad to the dreadful, but have not listed them. One of the aspects of e-reading I dislike, is that you cannot loan your latest reads out to your friends. But on the plus side, the Kindle screen beams brightly, even through the darkest gloom, so needs must etc.
NON-FICTION
Terry Pratchett. A Life with Footnotes – Rob Wilkins. Terry Pratchett. You don’t have to be a fan of the satirical and funny Discworld novels to enjoy this warm and fascinating portrait of Britain’s No 1 Fantasy writer, he of the black Fedora hat. It’s a comprehensive survey of Sir TP’s life from Day One, to the end in 2015. His writing output was prodigious. Over 50 best sellers, due to the fact his busy brain never stopped working. Neither did his assistant Rob Wilkins – keeping up with TP required stamina – but en route, fun was had by all. I loved every page, every footnote (and there are many) and cannot recommend too highly, as a thoroughly entertaining read. Footnotes notwithstanding.
The Red Skirt Memoirs of an Ex-Nun – Patricil O’Donnell Gibson. A fascinating story about a devout Catholic girl who enters the convent. Very routine for a 1960s Irish-American Catholic family. Well written and sincere. Recommended. (e-bk)
Foreign Correspondence – Geraldine Brooks. A thought-provoking memoir about the writer’s Australian childhood and her childhood penfriends. As an adult, she tracks them down in France, Israel, and America with surprising results. A two-part book – I enjoyed both parts enormously.
DNF: The Reading List – Sara Nisha Adams. Books/libraries/reading – the book ticked all the boxes, but 109 pages in, I was exhausted by the doleful, depressed characters, and re-shelved it in the library. Can’t win ‘em all.
To my relief, the Cape Town Libraries re-opened earlier in the year, as the Covid Pandemic started to wane. I really missed the Public Library during the lockdowns, and my bank balance suffered accordingly, because I was buying books online as a substitute. My bestbuy in 2022 was These Precious Days by Ann Patchett. Essay collections hospitably provide for return visits over the years. As do comic novels: I’ve re-read several of Terry Pratchett’s Discworld fantasy novels and chortled happily, all over again.
Another excellent investment was the 2022 Collins Scrabble Dictionary. My existing copy was published in 2010. And we all know how many new words creep into the compendious English language annually. Over 200 in 2022. How the compilers keep up is an enduring mystery.
I remained steadfast to my two main Bookish Vows i.e. not to enter reading challenges, and to firmly close books that I’m not enjoying. The acronym DNF does not bother me one smidgeon!
This was the year I abandoned Goodreads. It’s time consuming, I don’t like their restrictive star system and their year-end stats never coincide with mine. But, in fairness, I must admit GR helped me find followers when I launched my book blog, The Booksmith.
I’ve re-read some old favourites on my shelves – otherwise, why am I keeping them? “Fiction was invented the day Jonah arrived home and told his wife that he was three days late because he had been swallowed by a whale,” opinedGabriel García Márquez, which reminds me, I want to re-read One Hundred Years of Solitude; I read the book when it first debuted, which is a long time ago. I frequently see the title on lists, you know, 100 Best Books Ever, and the like.
I keep eyeing two very battered collections of W S Somerset Maugham’s stories and perhaps they should feature top of my 2023 Targets list. This year I’ve read very few short story collections. I’ve read Essays, but few shorts or novellas.
I didn’t keep track of my book buying this year, but inspired by Bookish Beck’s meticulousrecord keeping, I did keep track of other stats. For example: up to mid-December 2022, I read 85 Books, 33 of which were written by men and the remaining 52 by women . Not that I was hellbent on reading female writers, it just turned out that way. Let it be noted that women wrote outstanding non-fiction as well as entertaining fiction.
I’ve always seen myself as an intrepid explorer of the Backlist Territories, but to my surprise, scanning my primitive stats, I see that 32 of this year’s reads were published during the two year period 2020 / 2022. Just under a third, so it seems I didn’t spend all my time in the Backlist undergrowth this year.
Fellow Book Bloggers have provided pleasure, entertainment and introductions to marvelous books, for which I thank you. A special thanks to Book Jotter, who provides a comprehensive weekly review over the bookish world.
All things being equal, I intend to continue reading and book blogging in 2023, and I wish you heaps of gift wrapped books over the Festive Season, plus a peaceful, healthy New Year.
I’ve enjoyed my reading year, and looking forward to further exploration of the Backlist Territories in 2023. Plus the occasional foray into Lit Prize territory like the Booker, the Caine Prize, the Sunday Times Lit Awards etc.
I have written a detailed account of my 2022 reading year in another post, which will appear later in December.
And so to the Hits of 2022. I no longer list my reading debacles, which I list in my monthly reviews under the DNF tag. I’d rather focus on the triumphs.
What were your favourite reads?
MY FAVOURITE
Tomb of Sand – Geetanjali Shree (translator – Daisy Rockford) Indian novel
THE REST OF THE BEST
The Goldfinch – Donna Tartt – contemporary novel
10 minutes 38 Seconds in this Strange World – Elif Shafak
The House of Rust – Khadija Abdalla Bajaber – Kenyan fantasy
Lanny – Max Porter – fantasy
The Music of Bees – Eileen Garvin – contemporary novel
BEST TRANSLATED NOVEL 2022
Tomb of Sand – Geetanjali Shree (translator – Daisy Rockford) Indian novel
Doris was completely, utterly and forever, in love with books; with reading the printed word. As a precocious 5 year old she suddenly made the connection between the black marks on the page and words, and that was it, the magic of reading struck powerfully, and for life.
Of course during her 60 years Doris experienced other loves – briefly for her husband and cautiously for her children, but her one abiding love and passion that did not fade over the years was for books, and the happy past time of reading. People would have been amazed to discover how passionately Doris felt about books, because Doris effectively camouflaged herself as the archetypal Little Old Lady, and faded discreetly and quietly into the background. It just made life simpler.
The arrival of gray hair, a little stoop to the posture, and a few extra kilograms aided the process of becoming virtually invisible; and when she was visible, it appeared that the Little Old Lady persona swamped any other impressions. She was philosophical about her official Little Old Lady status and in many ways it quite suited her. A little hesitation here, a little flutter or quaver there, certainly oiled the wheels and made things easier.
She was therefore surprised and flattered when Anne, a fellow volunteer at the local library asked whether Doris would like to join their Book Club.
“ I know how much you love your thrillers and whodunits, and most of our club just love them too – you’ll have a ball,” she said cheerily.
So Doris joined the Southern Suburbs Book Club happily ignorant that she been approached in desperation to make up the numbers.
“ Just as a temporary measure, she’s a quiet old duck, but very reliable and she does love her thrillers,” Ann breezily told the club.
Doris felt as if she died and gone to heaven. The Club had an enormous collection of books, packed into plastic crates and carted round to members’ houses for the monthly meetings. Oh the joy of reading all the latest thrillers, whodunnits, best sellers, family sagas, prize winning novels, biographies and travel books, and occasionally chick lit micro novels .Doris felt like the proverbial kid in that candy store, the alcoholic let loose at a bachelor stag party. Doris was ecstatic.
A year passed by and suddenly the honeymoon was over. Doris began to notice how careless the other woman were with the books, treating them roughly, returning them dog eared or with coffee-mug stained jackets; losing them altogether or keeping them way beyond the loan period .
In Doris’s eyes this cavalier attitude to books was criminal, outrageous behaviour, heinous beyond belief or acceptance. However, she paid her Subs and returned her books religiously. She sat quietly and unobtrusively at Book Club meetings, neatly in old lady mode slowly sipping her glass of white wine, only one for me thank you dear , and watched the raucous antics of the ladies. She was surprised to discover that many of the members regarded the Book Club as an excuse to have a night out, away from husband, home and kids, to relax in a friendly female atmosphere helped along with a few bottles of wine.
Certainly all the Book Club members could be classified as readers, but as book lovers ? No definitely not, rated on Doris’ scale of passionate obsession. The eleven other members scored minus five points on a scale of 10, with one or two exceptions of course, but on the whole, lamentable.
Doris brooded moodily. In private of course, because archetypal Little Old Ladies are not supposed to harbour dark, moody, broody thoughts. No of course not, perish the thought! The night Betty spilled a glass of red wine over the newest Jonathan Kellerman in a tipsy fit of giggling was the night that Doris decided that enough was enough.
As a child Doris existed on a solid diet of her father’s Crime Book Club selection of thrillers and late 1940s private eye novels: Peter Cheney, Dorothy L Sayers, Agatha Christie – undisputed queen of the genre – Edgar Wallace, Ellery Queen, the names flicked through her head in a satisfying, familiar roll call.
Other children filled their school days with the jolly hockey sticks activities of the Enid Blyton books but not Doris, who roared through these tame escapades and quickly discarded them in favour of the exciting, risqué adult world of car chases, hangovers, chain smoking detectives wearing raincoats, armed with pistols, alternating with the polite,sophisticated Society of Europe in the 1930s – sports cars, cocktails, foxtrots, backless evening dresses, aristocratic sleuths; and always, always, MURDER as the solution to all of life’s little problems, financial, personal or romantic. It seemed the perfectly reasonable solution to the book-despoiling Betties of this world . Anybody who treated books in such a disrespectful way definitely had it coming to them, thought Doris . It would solve the Betty problem and then of course there was the odious Susan, but, one thing at a time, Doris chided herself . Softly, softly catchee monkeee, she murmured to herself, and carefully, carefully plot and plan, no good solving the Betty problem and getting oneself all tangled up . No, no!
“Betty dear”, she murmured hesitantly,” I wonder if I could ask you – I know how busy you are – but I did wonder …” and out came the request for Betty to help Doris with her volunteer duty at the library, next Tuesday afternoon .
“It’s just two hours, from two until four, and the lady who usually helps, is in hospital having her hip replaced, and it’s a bit much for me on my own … “ .Doris’s request tailed off uncertainly .
Betty thought, shame, all those heavy books to cart around, it probably is a bit much for her ,“ OK, I’ll make a plan – see you at the library on Tuesday “.
Betsy duly arrived at the library and Doris was flutteringly grateful for the help. “Cup of tea, dear? “ Doris inquired, “ shall I put the kettle on”, and then: “ Betty, I can hear the kettle boiling, would you mind? You’ll have to turn it off at the plug, it’s an old one, not an automatic, “ and obliging Betty groped her way into the dark corner housing the tea-making equipment, failed to see the cunning puddle of water in which she stood, didn’t notice the crafty removal of the earth wire in the kettle plug; the electricity sizzling up the wires did her no good at all: DOA at the emergency unit in Groot Schuur Hospital .
Poor old Doris, quite shattered . and what an awful accident, was the Book Club verdict. Doris, heavily in Little Old Lady mode, deliberately missed the club meeting after Betty’s sad accident, and when she did appear, she looked paler than usual (careful application of face powder two shades lighter the normal, did the trick) and seemed very subdued.
Shame, must have been a terrible shock, said the Book Club.
Then Fate played right into Doris’s hands: the odious, careless, non- book returning Susan unexpectedly had a stroke and was rushed to hospital . Susan was stricken the day before the monthly club meeting, and Anne breathlessly reported that Susan was in Our Lady of Fatima hospital, run by the nuns, up in Oranjezicht .
Now it so happened that Doris had spent time in the hospital the previous year, having her gallbladder removed. Such dear, sweet nuns, she remembered rosily, such devoted nurses . Quite like the old days and such a quaint old building . Originally it been a large convent but when new novices declined to a thin trickle, the nuns decided to convert the building into a modest hospital in order to financially sustain their dwindling community . Yes it was an old building, she reflected . Hmmm.
so, Good Samaritan Doris visited Susan the next day, bearing a small pot plant, and fussing over the bed covers, and exclaiming over the life- support machine that ticked and bleeped next to the bed and assisted Susan’s very paralyzed body to breathe.
Doris didn’t stay long . “ I don’t want to tire you out, dear, and I do want to go and say hello to that nice sister Francis, she was so good to me last year. Bye, dear, I’ll come again tomorrow.”
Doris headed briskly for the Ladies cloak room, making a short detour down a small passage to check that her memory of the floor plan was correct. Yes indeed it was, there on the wall was the electrical distribution board . Who would have thought that marriage to an electrician would prove so useful so many years down the track, mused Doris, as she whisked into a nearby supply room to find a broom with a sufficiently long handle to push up the mains switch . Having switched off the power it took just another quick whisk into Susan’s room to turn off the life support machine at the wall plug.
This time Doris didn’t stop to say goodbye to Susan, seemed pointless really. The corridors were filled with nurses and nuns scurrying distractedly to and fro in search of the cause of the power failure and when the power was finally restored, everybody assumed that all was well with Susan and her life support machine, but alas, this assumption proved false and the dear, sweet nuns didn’t notice that the wall plug was switched off . Accidents happen, even in the best regulated hospitals.
Book Club meetings for the next couple of months were much quieter and better ordered with the removal of Betty and Susan. Doris attended happily, now secure in a neatly ordered club until somebody suggested that maybe they should look for two new members? The rising price of books and the two missing monthly subscriptions were causing a bit of financial strain. Two new members were recruited and Doris anxiously watched their behaviour, their demeanor, their attitude towards books. Christine was a librarian, quiet, bookish and a fan of travel books and biographies. She’d do mused Doris, a real book lover.
She wasn’t so sure about Pam, though. Pam loved her wine and offered an inexhaustible supply of dirty jokes . She only borrowed one book a month and didn’t appear to particularly enjoy reading . It transpired she was married to a very ambitious eye surgeon, who was hell bent on making his first million by the age of 35 . Enough said .
In December Pam spilled a bottle – a whole bottle – of wine over a stack of 10 books. Well! Doris’s lips tightened. This wouldn’t do at all.
Doris was still working as a volunteer at the local library, and being very careful in the kitchen, with the old kettle. Honestly, you’d think that they would have bought a new one after that awful accident, wouldn’t you?
“ I don’t know what we do without Doris, a real book lover and such a worker,” said the librarian and, “ Do be careful when you leave the library Doris, those trucks come over the bridge at a hell of a speed. Last week one of those big breweries’ trucks came over the rise at the bridge too fast, and very nearly ran over old Mr van Tonder, you know him Doris? Old man with a stick? “
Yes, Doris knew old Mr van Tonder . He’d had such a lucky escape, hadn’t he? Hmmm.
Doris cornered Pam at the next Book Club meeting, very smartly, before Pam got stuck into the wine. “ Pam, “ she said cosily “I’ve been meaning to ask you, I know busy you are, but I was just wondering whether you could help me out next week at our local library, my usual helper has gone to Hermanus for two week. Do you think you……? “
Oh dear.
I
THE END
If you enjoyed the story, perhaps you would consider making a small donation by way of an amazon.com gift voucher? Due to the negative exchange rate between our currencies, it is too expensive for me to keep my Kindle running. For details, kindly email me on nyassa@telkomsa.net
October’s top Read was The Goldfinch by Donna Tartt.
Her new book, The Goldfinch, is her most ambitious undertaking. “The process was different in that it was three places—Park Avenue, Las Vegas, and Amsterdam—that dictated the story, and it takes place over a much longer span of time,” Tartt says. The Goldfinch follows 14-year-old Theo Decker as he oscillates between high society and the seedy underbelly of the antiques and art world’s black market.
In the novel Theo takes possession of the painting The Goldfinch after a terrorist attack at the Metropolitan Museum of Art kills his mother and sets his life on a traumatic course. Essentially it’s a coming of age story, but wonderfully executed.
She credits 19th-century novels with teaching her how to write, and she lists Dickens, Stevenson, Conrad, Wodehouse, and Nabokov among her favourite authors. Her literary influencers shine throughout the book. I was constantly delighted by the rounded characters, the immersive nature of the action and the general satisfying flavour of the read.
The book won the Pulitzer Prize in 2014. As usual, I’m stumbling around in the Backlist Territory, and I’m so glad I finally got around to reading this novel.
At this point in the year, the novel will definitely feature in my Top Five of 2022.
FICTION
The Goldfinch – Donna Tartt. A magnificent novel. A literary thriller, involving the theft of a 17th century Dutch masterpiece, the deep friendship of two (semi)orphaned boys, Theo and Boris, the transition to adulthood and a satisfying ending. Not to be missed.
Shipwrecks – Akira Yoshimura. A short, spare novel about the harsh life of a community of Japanese fisher folk during the medieval period. They live on the edge of starvation and so take whatever bounty the sea and O-fune-sama a folkloric female deity, might send them i.e. wrecked merchant ships. They take certain practical measures to assist the process. Reading the Introduction by David Mitchell is essential. He describes the novel as ‘austere’, and it is. Nonetheless, recommended as a slice out of a very different type of life.
The Fire Portrait – Barbara Mutch. Francesstruggles in early life to pursue a career as an artist, against familial and social disapproval; after several romantic disappointments, she settles for a marriage of convenience, marries Julian, who is a shy school teacher and 15 years her senior. Her married life starts with a move to a small, remote Karoo town. At this point the novel gains more depth, and describes the complexities and nuances of South African life in the 1940s, the lingering aftermath of the Boer War, the Afrikaner Nazi sympathizers, the birth of the Nationalist Party and apartheid. The ending is surprisingly powerful and complex. Initially an easy read, but progressively more demanding. Recommended
The Perplexing Theft of the Jewel in the Crown – Vaseem Khan. A re-read, but still vastly enjoyable, maybe because one of the characters is a baby elephant? An old-school whodunnit, set in Bombay, filled with charming and truly villainous characters, no shades of grey here. Thoroughly enjoyable.
Island on the Edge of the World – Deborah Rodriguez. The Haitian setting is very much part of the story : a vibrant, colourful, chaotic, destroyed, disaster-ridden island. Four women in search of a missing baby. Dishonest pastor and adoption agency, Voodou priestess, American psychic, – hold on to your hats! My first Haitian based read …. Interesting to say the least, and accustomed to Third World living conditions as I am, along the way, I still exclaimed: OMG!
What’s Left of Me is Yours – Stephanie Scott. Debut love story/crime set in modern-day Tokyo, inspired by a true crime. A young woman’s search for the truth about her mother’s life, and her murder. Impeccably researched, well written but the characters did not speak to me. If you enjoy Japanese stories, this book is for you.
THE BOOKSMITH 