Book Review: Daughters of Jerusalem by Charlotte Mendelson

Set in the claustrophobic world of 1980s Oxford, Daughters of Jerusalem tells the story of the Lux family and the façade of respectability that crumbles through the course of the novel. It's an hilarious and dark novel that perfectly captures the bitterness of life with vivid characters who jump from the page.

Chief amongst these is the eldest daughter, Eve, who loathes her younger sister with a passion. Phoebe is spoiled and always gets whatever she wants whilst intelligent Eve feels sidelined. As the novel progresses this loathing takes a more sinister turn and Phoebe's machinations against her sister have dire consequences. Mendelson's portrayal of Phoebe's selfishness is exquisite, especially because we've all encountered someone like that in our lives.

Jean Lux's attention to her daughters is diminished by the desire for some excitement in her boring life. Her husband is far more interested in a Lectureship that's threatened by the arrival of an old enemy and her friend, Helena, has a bombshell to drop about the nature of their relationship that impacts the whole family. I really enjoyed the development of that storyline and how it fit into the claustrophobic environment.

Ultimately, Daughters of Jerusalem is so enjoyable because it's so real. It melds the academic life with a dysfunctional family life. It doesn't shy away from showing parents with favourites and how this can affect the children. It's a novel about misunderstandings and things being left unsaid. The final chapters manage to bring everything together without tying it all neatly in a bow and there are some truly satisfying moments in the last third that are just reward for reading - even if the entire book wasn't enjoyable in numerous little ways.

Short Story Publication - Pongo

As I reported last year, I was short-listed in the 2015 Exeter Story Prize. I'm now pleased to tell you that my story, 'Pongo', has been published in their anthology of winning and short-listed entries.

'Pongo' is a bit of a dark story. It takes place on Boxing Day at a fairground but it isn't one of those typically fluffy Christmas stories. I'm quite proud of it and I hope some of you will get the opportunity to read it. When I have success with a short story featuring lesbian characters I'm honestly delighted. That's the bread and butter of my work and I'm grateful it's reaching a general audience as well.

You can buy the anthology from Amazon here.

In addition, please check out Creative Writing Matters who host these annual competitions. They do a lot of good work with writers and are a lovely bunch.

Short Story Publication - Dear Violet

At the end of last year I was delighted to be awarded third prize in the Fabula Press Aestas 2015 competition. My story has now been published as part of their winners' anthology and is available to buy online for just £5.99.

'Dear Violet' is a story that came to me when I heard about a postbox that hadn't been emptied for years and started wondering about what kind of letters could've languished in there. I received some fantastic feedback from the judges and it's really been a pleasure working with the editor getting this story ready for publication so thank you to Fabula Press for that. I haven't had chance to read the other stories yet but there are some interesting titles in there and I'm sure it's going to be excellent.

You can buy the anthology from Amazon here.

Book Review: Wild at Heart: A Life by Suzanne Rodriguez

Natalie Clifford Barney was at the centre of decadent Paris in the opening decades of the 20th century. In this biography, Rodriguez examines the life of a controversial woman, famed more for her scandalous affairs with women and her literary salon than her own literary pursuits.

Barney is one of those subjects it's difficult to like. Rodriquez doesn't flinch away from examining her flighty nature and the selfishness that permeates the book is a bit overwhelming at times. However, it's balanced out by her generous acts and determination to help fellow writers in various ways. It creates something of a contradictory human being and that, of course, rings completely true.

Born into a life of privilege, Natalie Clifford Barney defied expectations by refusing to settle down and marry. Instead, she embarked on a series of intense love affairs with women from an early age. She didn't believe in fidelity, though, which caused problems with some of her more important relationships, In truth, it becomes a bit dizzying and her treatment of some of her partners doesn't portray her in a positive light.

It's easier to be impressed by her literary salon and the spasmodic efforts she put in to championing various writers and artists. The names peppered within this book read like a who's-who of the 20th century artistic scene with Ezra Pound, Rainer Maria Rilke and Ford Madoz Ford popping up. One of the most laudable of Barney's endeavours was to host nights specifically for celebrating women such as Gertrude Stein and Anna Wickham, one of the first attempts to draw attention to the achievements of women when men were getting most of the glory. The most amusing anecdote in the book comes via the retelling of Barney's single, disastrous meeting with Marcel Proust. It's worth reading just for that.

Barney's lack of application to her own literary talents is frustrating. Editing wasn't something she was interested in, meaning that her potential was never fulfilled. For me, anyway, this was one of the things that annoyed me about her and I was left wondering what could've been if she'd been forced to write to earn her living. However, that would've negated a lot of what made Natalie Clifford Barney who she was.

In the end, Rodriguez manages an intimate yet unflinching portrait of a flawed woman of privilege. The portrayals of American high society and Parisian life are evocative of a lost age and, overall, this is an excellent biography of a woman who, nevertheless, I couldn't bring myself to like.

Book Review: The Complete Package by Ann Roberts

The Complete Package tells the story of Lenny Barclay, mayor of a sleepy Colorado mountain town, who hasn't been able to pick herself up following the death of her partner. Estranged from her son and having let her business go to pieces, nothing seems to touch her any more. When a corporate planner, Sloane, arrives intent on changing the face of the town forever and buying her business, Lenny gets a bit of her bite back, but it turns into far more than a professional battle.

As a romantic read, this one ticks most of the boxes. Lenny and Sloane develop an entirely realistic antagonistic relationship and both are difficult to like at times. There are some genuinely funny moments - for instance, the log incident - and it builds to a satisfying romantic resolution that doesn't dodge the issues of the two characters. Equally, the use of location in this novel is superb. The landscape is integral to both the plot and Lenny's characterisation and it's definitely another character in itself, maybe the most important one. Something else I liked was the twist towards the end, entirely in keeping with Sloane's character.

However, there were aspects of this one I didn't like and they're probably more personal preferences than anything else. I'm not a fan of giving animals viewpoint chapters in the middle of adult novels and those chapters took me out of the narrative a little. Similarly, some of the sex scenes might've been indicative of character but they took time away from other things in the book I found more important.

Ultimately, The Complete Package, is a nice, easy read that deals with universal themes of grief and greed. It might build to a expected conclusion but it's nice getting there. For all the emphasis on Lenny in the narrative, though, it's Sloane who's stuck with me since I finished this book.

Book Review: The Secret Diaries of Miss Anne Lister ed. Helena Whitbread

This is a book that's been on my shelf for quite some time and what put me off reading it was the bitty nature of it. I suspected that, whether I was enjoying it or not, this would be a book that would slow down my reading schedule and I wasn't wrong. However, I'm certainly glad I got round to it in the end.

Anne Lister lived at Shibden Hall in Halifax in the early 1800s and kept a diary for most of her life. The diaries in this volume span the years 1816-1824 and document her everyday existence in Yorkshire - along with her same-sex relationships and attractions. Anything that Lister wrote in her famous 'code' are separated from the rest of the text by italics, making it easier to keep up with when she's discussing her sexual relationships with, and desires towards, women.

Certain parts of these diaries can feel quite mundane but perhaps that's the attraction. They provide a fascinating description of life as a well-off woman and the daily trials of life. However, Lister was certainly a unique woman in many ways, making her diaries an interesting juxtaposition to similar surviving documents of the era. I enjoyed reading the domestic passages, although parts do get a little repetitive - a peril of such a lengthy set of diaries.

Lister was a snob and this comes through very clearly in her writing. Her use of the term 'vulgar' gets old quite quickly, losing some of its effect by the end of the book! Alternately, I felt sympathy for her isolation, given her intelligence and sexuality, and exasperation at the way she behaved to those who wanted to be friendly with her.

These diaries are expertly edited by Helena Whitbread, including just enough contextual information without overloading the book. While the main interest may lie in Lister's descriptions of her lesbian relationships, the rest of the diaries are equally as compelling - if at times incredibly exasperating.

This book was read as part of the 'TBR' reading challenge, details here.

Book Review: Rubyfruit Jungle by Rita Mae Brown

First published in 1973, Rubyfruit Jungle is a bawdy romp through one woman's childhood, adolescence and early adulthood as she explores her sexuality and tries to find her place in America without making any compromises. Molly Bolt is the adoptive daughter of a poor couple, a disappointment to her mother, and aware of her sexuality from an early age. This leads to problem after problem but Molly refuses to fit into any mould - she doesn't want a relationship or to settle down, she just wants to get on with her life.

I had mixed feelings about this one. I probably wouldn't have read it if it hadn't been for the reading group I'm a part of and Molly's philosophy isn't really one I'd ever subscribe to. As a critique of contemporary views it works quite well with homophobia and attitudes towards sexuality in general thoroughly examined. However, I did start to lose track of who everyone was as Molly flitted from one relationship to the next. In that sense it's a very episodic narrative, though I appreciated the loop around at the end that grounded me a little more as a reader.

It's an easy read that whooshes along quite rapidly. It's also evocative, particularly the childhood sections before Molly's conquests started to blur for me. While I doubt I'll be rereading it, I'm at least glad I came across it and thanks to my reading group for that.

Book Review: The Paying Guests by Sarah Waters

Sarah Waters's sixth novel returns to the complexities of historical lesbian romance, set this time in the years following the Great War. While some people complained that her last novel The Little Stranger didn't have any lesbian characters, I rather enjoyed it. However, I did appreciate the intricacies of The Paying Guests and I put off reading it for quite some time to prolong the pleasure. I always remember one comment on Fingersmith saying that there are some books you envy people for not having read yet - I think this is another one from Waters.

Frances Wray and her widowed mother are forced to take in lodgers when their once-majestic home on Champion Hill becomes unaffordable. These 'paying guests' are Lilian and Leonard Barber, injecting life into the house that Frances and Mrs Wray find difficult to deal with. Against expectations, Frances and Lilian strike up a friendship. This, however, leads to complications which, in turn, leads to something so unexpected that I almost put the book down to applaud before going back to marvel at the foreshadowing.

To say I enjoyed this book would be an understatement and I don't want to say too much about it. What I will say is that the atmosphere built in this novel teeters on the right side of claustrophobic and the characterisation is brilliant, from the protagonists down to the incidentals. The Paying Guests is a sumptuous novel and, yes, I do envy those yet to read it.

This book was read as part of the 'Women' reading challenge, details here.

Book Review: Inseparable: Desire Between Women in Literature by Emma Donoghue

This fascinating non-fiction book examines the representation of desire between woman in literature in six section: 'Travesties', 'Inseparables', 'Rivals', 'Monsters', 'Detection' and 'Out'. While it's full of detail and so will please any scholars interested in the subject, Inseparable is also an easy, sometimes amusing, read for non-academics. Donoghue infuses her non-fiction analysis with the same edge of humour that I enjoy so much in her fiction. Though, for me, this subject could never be dry and boring, she ensures it isn't so.

The 'Travesties' section looks at cross-dressing within texts from 990 onwards, including brief discussions on Shakespeare, Margaret Cavendish and Theophile Gautier amongst others. It examines the recurring depictions of 'The Female Bridegroom' and 'The Male Amazon' in a chapter that looks at the causes and consequences of cross-dressing and its heyday in the drama of the seventeeth century.

'Inseparables' begins with the Biblical account of Ruth and Naomi and covers the representation of love based on similarity. As this is one of my areas of interest, I perhaps found this chapter the most interesting, particularly the discussion on Charlotte Bronte's Shirley. It also highlighted some works I want to read, both for pleasure and study - as every chapter did.

'Rivals' is a fascinating analysis of what happens when a woman and man compete for the same love. It starts with Sappho and goes through Shakespeare, Richardson and some rather brilliant-sounding French texts before moving on to discuss what happens when the rivalry bubbles over. It examined some texts I was already familiar with, such as The Rainbow and The Fox, but, again, the ones I found most intriguing were the ones I've yet to read, most notably The Bostonians.

Perhaps the chapter on 'Monsters' contains the themes most familiar to observers of fiction about desire between women. It's interesting to see the texts these stereotypes stemmed from then we take a short tour through Dickens, Hardy and others. This is quite an uncomfortable chapter, though I particularly liked the section on ghost stories.

The fifth chapter on 'Detection' provided me with plenty of books I want to read somewhere down the line. Again, desire between women is a theme pretty familiar to readers of the crime genre and it looks at writers including Ruth Rendell, Agatha Christie and P.D. James. Given my sensation fiction roots, I was also pleased to see a discussion of The Woman in White in this chapter followed by an examination of two novels by Sarah Waters.

'Out', the final chapter, looks at the 'awakening' motif in texts from George Moore onwards. It's a nice shift in tone from the other chapters, looking at declared love instead of coded texts, but it also highlights the complexities of modern life. There's a section here on 'first love' which covers several texts I was already familiar with and, once more, a number of works mentioned in this chapter are now begging to be read.

Ultimately, Emma Donoghue has written a book that is both informative and fascinating. Her subject knowledge is exemplary and her style engaging. I've already referred back to Inseparable for academic work and I have no doubt I'll be doing that again fairly frequently. Highly recommended!

Yet Another Lesbian Television Tragedy

As I prepared to watch the series finale of Call the Midwife yesterday I already expected something bad to happen to the lesbian couple. A couple of months ago I doubt I would've been so pessimistic, but since then we've had a pregnant lesbian mown down by a car the day after her wedding in Last Tango in Halifax so I've been watching Call the Midwife with a deep sense of foreboding. It turned out to be justified, since Delia Busby was knocked off a bike just as she was preparing to move in with her secret girlfriend Patsy Mount. Delia woke up in hospital with amnesia and is going back to Wales with her mum to recover. Is there something in the guidance for Sunday night BBC television that insists lesbians have to be killed or maimed by the end of a series? It's certainly not a phenomenon contained to the BBC though, or British television. Sure, there are some exceptions but, examined in context, these two storylines are particularly frustrating.

First, a little lesson from my viewing history. One of the first lesbian storylines I became invested in was from the now-defunct British soap Family Affairs in 2002. It followed Kelly's love for her married friend Karen and her willingness to become a surrogate mother for her. Long story short - Karen fell in love with Kelly, they were caught out after the baby was born, they tried to make a go of it and, accidentally, Karen's ex pushed Kelly down the stairs. Lesbian storyline ended in the morgue and Karen reconciled with her ex.

Fast forward to 2015. Any suggestion that Kate's death in Last Tango in Halifax was necessary to propel the narrative and to fix a family rift between Caroline and her mother is a ridiculous defence. It meant that not only did we lose a lesbian (and a black lesbian at that) but the casual homophobia and racism peppered throughout the dialogue was never challenged. At the end of the series, while everyone else celebrated her step-sister's wedding, Caroline sat outside with baby Flora chatting to the ghost of her dead wife while, quite literally, covered in manure.

As for Call the Midwife... Well, I was prepared for this storyline to progress badly. However, the way I expected it to go was completely in-keeping with the challenges of the era: I thought homophobia and the pressures of a secret relationship would get to Patsy and Delia. That would've been sad, yes, but comprehensible. However, a road accident and amnesia feels just like a deliberate attack on the lesbian characters. The heterosexual couples in this series faced difficulties, yes, but they were based on deeper issues than chance: Shelagh and Patrick Turner had a few ups and down regarding their workloads but came through it as a strong couple; Chummy and Peter lived separately for a while to aid the health of their son but were solid throughout; Fred and Violet overcame shyness and family objections to marry by the end of the series; and Trixie and Tom were drawn apart by differing expectations and her drinking. All very human problems but the lesbian couple? Car crash and amnesia. It doesn't fit, does it?

When you watch the end of a series and your one consolation for the lesbian characters is 'at least you're not dead' then you know there's a pretty serious problem of representation, usually reliant on tropes. These shows were written independently of each other so how do you explain two such disasters in two months?

I suppose Call the Midwife could salvage this storyline in the next series. I might be convinced by a continuation where Delia slowly regains her memory and falls in love with Patsy all over again. But is that likely? I don't know. I'll just have to cross everything. In the meantime, the first couple of months of 2015 had been lousy for lesbian representation on popular programmes. Exactly what has changed from 2002?

My Favourite Books of 2014

When I look back at 2014, books aren't really the aspect that sticks out, which is a terrible shame. I haven't read that many - at least not as many as I feel I should've - so this list was actually very easy to compile. I think it's certainly eclectic anyway. My complete book review list for 2014 can be found here.

Jill by Amy Dillwyn

This delightful romp was something I picked up in Gay's the Word in London and turned out to be my spontaneous book purchase of the year. This is a funny book that alters tone later on and proves to be memorable for several reasons. My full review can be found here. 

The Siege of Krishnapur by J.G. Farrell

As the last book I read in 2014, this is obviously fresh in my memory but, from the moment I started it, there was no question it would make this list. Funny, grotesque, realistic, haunting: pick almost any word of praise and you can apply it to this novel. My full review can be found here. 

The Orphan Choir by Sophie Hannah

I'm not normally one for scary books but, as Hannah is one of the few authors I make sure to buy, I thought I'd give it a go. I was very impressed with the build-up and the haunting ending that stayed with me for weeks afterwards. I'd revisit it but I'm worried about being unsettled again. My full review can be found here. 

Die a Dry Death by Greta van der Rol

Speaking of unsettling, this one fits that category as well. Based on a true story of a shipwreck, it is both painful to read and utterly riveting. Again, it stayed with me for a while and, though not a book to take lightly, it's certainly one worth reading. My full review can be found here. 

Persuasion by Jane Austen

Although I'll admit that the exposition at the beginning of this one irritated me a little, the rest of the novel more than made up for it. Filled with Austen's witty dialogue and sneaky examinations of life, this is possibly my favourite Austen to date. My full review can be found here. 

Book Review: Love Alters ed. Emma Donoghue

Love Alters: Lesbian Stories, previously released as The Mammoth Book of Lesbian Short Stories, includes 29 stories split into the categories of 'Child's Play', 'Present Tense', 'Family Values', 'Past Times' and 'Possibilities'. These rough categories allow for some distinction as you go through the book but, really, the stories are generally wildly different to each other. It draws together authors from across the world with some brilliant stories, both heartbreaking and humorous, which analyse the finer points of life. The overarching banner may be 'lesbian short stories' but there's far more to this collection than that.

There are two stories that stick in my mind. The first, 'Self-Deliverance' by Elise D'Haene, is a checklist compiled by a dying man, Teddy, and his two friends, Alf and Ginnie. Meandering back and forth, D'Haene creates a story that's both rooted in the immediate problem yet tells you all you need to know about the characters. The second story, 'Did'ja Ever Hear of a Goolieguy?' by Anne Cameron follows a woman fleeing from her suffocating life with her partner who travels back home. Part myth, part reality, this one really struck me for reasons I can't define. Perhaps it was only that everything the narrator experiences is a thought-provoking metaphor for something else.

The 'Past Times' section throws up some interesting work. 'The Catherine Trilogy' by Ingrid MacDonald, the longest piece in the book, follows the life of a woman who passes her life as a man in 18th century Europe. I was hooked by the first part, endured the second and enjoyed the third, though I see the need for all of them. Also in this section was 'The Burning Times' by Sara Maitland, a potent tale of jealousy in the time of witchcraft trials, Emma Donoghue's 'The Tale of the Kiss' which tells of another 'witch' in a cave and the captivating 'The Woman Who Loved the Moon', a story that defies simple analysis.

Of course, there were stories in this collection that didn't take my fancy as much but I found something in most of them to appreciate. For example, Madelyn Arnold's 'See You in the Movies', about a woman going on a trip with her new partner and kids, made me laugh out loud while Dorothy Allison's 'River of Names' is a haunting look at the tragedies around one woman which she tries to share with her partner. Finally, one of the early stories 'Pamelump' is similarly thought-provoking, as it examines a girl and her disabled friend, utilising the simplicity of children to analyse very adult notions.

Ultimately, I really enjoyed this collection. I don't think anybody would love all of these eclectic stories but that just means there's something in it for everyone.

Book Review: Jill by Amy Dillwyn

First published in 1884, Jill tells the story of a well-bred heroine who hates her home life and so decides to venture out into the world and get by working for a living. After learning about her childhood and her father's second marriage, we follow her through her first position as a day-governess then she manages to land a job with a distant relative, Kitty Mervyn, who wants a travelling maid. Although generally a self-centred person, Kitty brings out an affection in Jill that surprises her. For a brief time, the supposed class barriers between them fall away but the friendly relations can't last and events are soon taken out of Jill's control by malevolent forces.

The only way I can describe this book is that it's a complete and utter romp. Suspend your disbelief and jump in. Jill is a compelling character, from the way she organises her escape from home to her escapades on Corsica with Kitty. She conveys things to the reader with a strong sense of humour and her interactions with other characters are laced with sarcasm and insight. I particularly enjoyed her dealings with her first employer, a neurotic woman who is dreadfully worried about contamination and disease. Jill skilfully handles her in a scene that is both satisfying and beautiful to read. The book is essentially made up of episodes and I'd imagine it would be a good book to read aloud with many decent break points. I especially love how Jill lambastes the conventions of romance and sensation early in the book and then Dillwyn goes on to make use of them in a very tongue-in-cheek way. The sense of a connection between the reader and Jill/the reader and the author is strong in this book.

It's not all light-hearted though. The tone shifts abruptly towards the end of the book when Jill is involved in an accident which leads to a profound change in her outlook. Because the rest of the book has been so much like a romp, it's difficult to accept the gear shift, especially considering what it leads to. However, on reflection, the scenes are made all the more potent by what has come before and they are certainly memorable.

Jill is a book with many strands. The affection Jill feels for Kitty is an important aspect, governing her behaviour at times but I didn't get a full sense of why she felt so strongly for her until the Corsica incidents. It also deals with issues of class and gender as Jill passes as a maid and is promptly pursued by a valet who doesn't want to take 'no' for an answer. In a light-hearted way, it raises some interesting questions, some of which I suppose are as valid today as they were 130 years ago. Jill concludes one chapter with this which struck a chord with me on first reading and does so again now: 'Yet I myself told lies unhesitatingly whenever I found them convenient; so what right had I to complain of other people for doing the same?' This book doesn't read much like a Victorian novel and perhaps that's why I enjoyed it so much.

Book Review: Valentine Grey by Sandi Toksvig

Valentine Grey tells the story of a girl who has been raised in India but returns to England for a visit and is forced to stay when her father dies. She moves in with her father's brother, Charles, and his wife, Caroline, but struggles to adapt. When Reggie, her cousin, comes home she finally has someone on her wavelength but Uncle Charles wants his son to volunteer for the Boer War. Reggie is gay and knows full well he wouldn't survive the battlefield and, besides, he wants to stay with his actor lover, Frank so Valentine secretly goes in his place.

I was surprised how much Toksvig crammed into this book. Not only do we get a proper picture of Valentine's attempts to acclimatise to London life but the war itself is vividly evoked, from the journey over there to the actual battles themselves. Nevertheless, the reader isn't overwhelmed with detail. Toksvig is economical and it seems to be the best approach.

Valentine is an excellent protagonist and certainly one who develops over time. Her reasons for going to war are much more complex than I thought they would be and the relationships with her fellow soldiers are intriguing for the layers to them as they obviously believe she's a man. There are several scenes of pure horror, not just related to battle, and one loathsome character who lingers long after you put the book down. The plot goes to places I didn't anticipate, showing various facets to war and dealing far more in reality than idealism.

Something that also surprised me was that Toksvig kept one foot in London with Reggie and Frank. This created an entirely different strand of the novel that I wasn't expecting and worked as a good contrast at times, though at others being in battle seemed preferable. Reggie's characterisation - and his fears - were both real and imagined and I think I actually preferred him to Valentine most of the time, possibly because Valentine was having to pretend to be someone else throughout.

While I won't spoil it, the novel builds to a good yet melancholy conclusion. The lessons I took from the final pages could easily have been lessons from the last fifteen years in the modern world.

Book Review: Intersection by Nancy Ann Healy

Intersection tells the story of Alex Toles, an FBI agent assigned to protect Congressman Chris O'Brien's ex-wife and son following the delivery of some suspicious letters. Alex soon learns that there is much more going on than meets the eye and becomes embroiled in political conspiracies. Added to her problems is the fact that she has quickly fallen for Cassidy O'Brien, making her desire to protect Cassidy and her son Dylan as much personal as professional.

The plot of this novel works really well. It's intriguing, fast-moving and with enough twists and turns to keep the reader interested. Healy has certainly mastered the use of cliffhangers, employing them to great effect throughout. She's also adept at cryptic dialogue, forcing you occasionally to struggle to keep up with what's going on. Some of the twists were expected, some weren't, and she often manages to build suspense by giving the reader knowledge the protagonist doesn't have. The cliffhanger at the end of the book to lead into a sequel is fine because the main tension of the book, the danger posed to Cassidy by a stalker, has been rectified. All that works well.

Similarly, the characterisation of Alex and Cassidy is excellent, although the love story is a little rushed at the beginning. They are different enough to spark off each other and I came away from the book thinking of them as real people. Dylan, the young son, is also well-drawn, not coming across as a cardboard cut-out the way some children in fiction do. Possibly my favourite character, though, is Cassidy's mother, Rose, simply because she's so grounded and practical.

All that said, I did have a few issues with the composition of the book. There's an intermittent problem where the tags after speech are wrongly capitalised (eg, 'Yes,' He said.) which is distracting. Equally, there's a little too much 'the agent', 'the teacher' identification throughout which was unnecessary and could easily have been remedied. Healy needs to keep a tighter grip on her prose, checking for repetitions within sentences and ditching some of the more obvious clichés.

I don't mean these to be criticisms so much as helpful observations. As I said above, I enjoyed the book as a whole - it kept me hooked despite the problems with the composition. I would like to see Healy improve and I will certainly be reading the sequel when it's released.

Book Review: Till Human Voices Wake Us by Patti Davis

Till Human Voices Wake Us is essentially an intimate novel about grief and finding ways to endure it. Isabelle Berendon loses her son in the opening pages when he drowns in their swimming pool. The narrative flashes forward to reveal that within a few months she's fallen in love with, and moved in with, her sister-in-law, Iris. The rest of the book deals with the events following Nathan's death and the future after she has moved in with Iris and taken her step-daughter, Margaret, with her, including the emergence of another grief lying in wait around the corner.

I can't say I enjoyed this book, but that wasn't really the point. This is a brutally honest novel that examines parental grief in a minute way. It's also about finding the love to help you through such a situation, although the gender of the person Isabelle finds solace in is incidental. As such, it can seem to take a back seat. That was one of the few things that disappointed me about the novel - I didn't think it explained the relationship alteration between Isabelle and Iris in as much detail as it possibly have.

That's not to say that it wasn't an absorbing read. It's written in a very lucid style, plunging into the past whenever necessary. It demonstrates how grief impedes on even the easiest activities and how your present is directly influenced by your past. Apart from her relationships with her husband, dead son and stepdaughter, we also learn about her criminal father and the effect that had on her mother. The flashbacks are always impeccably handled, though some of them were too curtailed for my liking.

Till Human Voices Wake Us is not a fast-moving book. The plot is very simple and the narrative voice is strong throughout. There is, however, a mystery that pulls at you from the opening pages and the resolution genuinely surprised me. The other characters perhaps aren't as strong as Isabelle but this is her story and it doesn't pretend to be anything else.

Overall, an exceptional examination of grief and love. Some slight niggles but, ultimately, a very heartfelt novel.

Bomb Girls Cancellation (Spoilers)

Bear with me. I don't usually get militant when shows I love are cancelled but, having watched the Bomb Girls S2 finale, in the knowledge that it may be the last time I see those characters, I bypassed upset and got angry. For those unfamiliar with the show, it tells the story of a group of women in a munitions factory in Toronto during World War II. It concluded its second series this week but last week it was announced that it's been cancelled. They have said there'll be a two-hour television movie next year to wrap up loose ends but, one, fans don't entirely believe them and, two, this deserves another series and not a tie-up movie.

I wrote in my email to Global as soon as I learned about the prospect of cancellation: Bomb Girls has a global appeal. It's a well-written show centred around women, and some very interesting women at that. It's sad that in 2013 this should still feel like a novelty but it does! To encounter four leading characters as different as Betty, Kate, Gladys and Lorna was wonderful for me and all credit to the writing team and the actors for that. I stand by those words. But not only is it a programme about strong women, it's about an important aspect of the war that hasn't been delved into properly. It's gold and that's why fans have come out fighting to save it.

I have to admit, like many fans there is one particular character I'm eager to save: Betty McRae. Like all of them, she is complex and brilliantly acted but her storyline over the two series has undoubtedly appealed to - and probably helped - lots of women all around the globe. Ali Liebert has been outstanding in every scene, but she shone especially in the finale. And all I can think at the moment is that it can't end like that. I mean, they've left Betty languishing in prison covering for the woman she loves. Yes, I predicted such a thing happening but that's only because I know these characters and I love these characters.

I've chuckled with these characters, I've been haunted by them. There's an industrial accident in series one that was one of the most traumatic scenes I've ever watched and I still think about it. Nor did the writers shy away from showing the repercussions of that accident in some of the most touching scenes I've seen on television in years. That's another thing I love about this team - they don't forget a thing because they know the viewer won't. Betty McRae fans found that out the hard way in the finale.

There are suggestions that the television network didn't treat the show right, budging it around the schedules in an effort to lower the ratings. And, some cynics have said, that the reason they have promised a movie is so that no other Canadian network picks the show up. THIS IS THE WRONG WAY TO TREAT YOUR AUDIENCES.

Bomb Girls still has potential. It has an outstanding cast and an outstanding production team. It's been nominated for awards and, as this fan backlash has demonstrated, it is intensely popular where people have heard of it. Below is the petition and some further reading. Signing the petition will only take a moment and there is a precedent in Canada for these type of campaigns working. So, please, donate a minute of your time and you'll have my eternal gratitude. 

Gladys and Lorna quoted Churchill on El Alamein in the final moments of the series finale: "Now this is not the end. It is not even the beginning of the end, but it is, perhaps, the end of the beginning." Every Bomb Girls fan is hoping this proves prophetic. 

Petition

Toronto Standard Article

The Globe and Mail Article

Huffington Post Article 

Book Review: Olivia by Dorothy Strachey

This book is something between a long short story and a novella at just over a hundred pages. First published in 1949 (but written years earlier), it's a semi-autobiographical piece based on the author's time at a school in France in the late nineteenth century. It depicts adolescent over-emotion as new student, Olivia, finds herself becoming infatuated with Mlle Julie. She is the latest in a sequence of cracks in the relationship between Mlle Julie and Mlle Cara, a relationship destined for tragedy.

Submerged in the viewpoint of the title character, we're given only her standpoint on events coupled with things she learns from conversation. However, that allows the reader to infer a lot about the relationships depicted, examining them from a more adult point of view. While it may feel that nothing actually happens between Olivia and Mlle Julie, the undercurrent of emotion on Olivia's side is certainly strong and, again, it's important to pay attention to what isn't said as much as what is. The tone of the book is naturally quite stifled by the nineteenth-century setting (and the time it was actually published) and my Vintage edition includes quite a bit of untranslated French which can prove frustrating.

It's difficult to say much about this without ruining the small book. It's worth a read and won't take you very long but be prepared to dig inside the words for the truth.

"Mlle Julie, then, and Mlle Cara (so Signorina told me) had lived together for about fifteen years. They were both young, beautiful and gifted when they first met and decided to become partners in starting a girls' school. It was Julie who had the capital, the influential friends, the energy, the intellect, the commanding personality. It was Cara who had the charm that gained fond mothers' hearts and the qualifications that made the enterprise possible. She had passed all the necessary examinations, and Julie none. They had begun in a small way, but had soon become surprisingly successful, increased their numbers, widened their circle, moved into a larger house, built a library and a music-room. They were something of an institution among a certain set of Parisian intellectuals. Julie was the daughter of a well-known man of letters; her father's friends had been distinguished and at his death had continued their friendship for his brilliant daughter. Julie was eminently sociable and Cara's caressing, cooing manners softened her abruptness and sweetened her epigrams; together they made their drawing-room an attractive place with the added charm of the jeunes filles who flitted in and out of it, ministering cakes and coffee to the guests. They were a model couple, deeply attached, tenderly devoted, the gifts of each supplementing the deficiencies of the other. They were admired and loved. They were happy." (p52)

Classic Film Review: Victim (1961)

This is truly a ground-breaking film for the simple fact that it is reportedly the first English language film to use the word 'homosexual'. It stars Dirk Bogarde as married barrister Meville Farr who becomes embroiled in a blackmail case after a young man Barrett (Peter McEnery) commits suicide when he believes pictures of him and Farr together are going to be exposed. The beginning of the film concentrates on Barrett's escape from the police and Farr's wilful ignorance of his attempts to contact him, believing that Barrett is trying to blackmail him. This mistake compounds the guilt Farr feels on hearing of Barrett's suicide and he is determined to unmask the blackmailer and seek out other victims.

It feels as though the preamble (Barrett's escape) goes on a little longer than necessary but it does introduce the main characters and suspects. After that, it settles down nicely to become a very tense film, full of hidden meanings and lives. First amongst these is Farr himself and relationship with his wife Laura (Sylvia Syms). Perhaps my main criticism of this film is Syms's performance. A combination of poor dialogue (the dialogue suited the male characters but not her) and a restrained acting style which felt wrong in the situation, served to make her distinctly unmemorable in this film. I can only assume the role didn't suit her because I was more than impressed by her performance in Conspiracy of Hearts (1960).

Dirk Bogarde outshines himself as Melville Farr. He is a successful man with a happy home life who has tried to reject the desires which have plagued him. He has been completely honest with his wife but is prepared to sacrifice both her and his career to do the right thing. There are also some stellar performances from the rest of the cast, particularly John Barrie as the detective dealing with the blackmail case and Norman Bird as Harold. Special mention has to go to Mavis Villiers who plays Madge, an easy-going model who seems to be friends with half of the gay crowd in London and is perfectly comfortable with it. It's a shame to discover she starred in comparatively few films.

This is a dark film with some excellent performances throughout. While I think the scenes between Farr and his wife could've been better, I have few gripes with the rest of this film.

Book Review: Trumpet by Jackie Kay

The premise of Trumpet fascinated me when I picked it up in the bookshop. Joss Moody, famous jazz trumpeter, has revealed a huge secret on his death - he was actually a woman living as a man. His wife, Millie, has taken herself off to a village in Scotland to get away from the prying eyes and gossips but their adopted son, Colman, is left in London to deal with the fallout.

I really enjoyed the first few chapters of this. The first lengthy chapter is told from Millie's perspective, flicking back and forth between the present and past as she struggles with her grief. It's a poignant portrait of sorrow and love, serving to remind the reader that things aren't always black and white. Interspersed with the 'real' narrative are chapters that look at proceedings from people who deal with the aftermath of the lie - the doctor, the funeral director, the registrar. I liked those three chapters and I liked Millie's chapters. What I disliked, however, were the chapters that focused on Colman, Sophie the journalist who has talked him into a book, and the small bitty chapters that look at people on the periphery of Moody's life. I understand that Kay wanted to portray how the lie affected everybody associated with Moody but the result is a little too disjointed for my tastes. That said, none of the chapters are badly-written and all are evocative in one way or another.

Colman, though, is a thoroughly irritating character. In all honesty, his masturbation scene was certainly something I could've lived without reading. He's not just being an idiot due to the lie, both he and his mother freely admit to themselves that he's been that way all his life. His pact with journalist Sophie seems completely in character for him. As for Sophie herself, I think she was caught between being a stereotypical journalist (the implications of which are even more repugnant now than they were in 1998) and Kay trying to portray her as something more. I honestly don't think the exposition regarding Sophie was necessary and the chapters in her viewpoint felt a little redundant. 

As you can tell, I had mixed feelings about this one. Very well-written, very human and very descriptive. Kay's poetic tendencies certainly shine through in the prose. However, my enjoyment was marred by the difficulty in keeping up with where you were in each chapter. I'd still recommend it, though, mainly for the sensitive treatment of the subject matter.