On Taking the BBC Book Quiz

Several of my Facebook friends have posted BBC's quiz on how many books one has read from its 100-item list. Well, naturally I could not resist this challenge. And I did quite well, with a score of 78. But I found myself feeling a little miffed that, given what an obsessive reader I am, my English major background, and the many years I have been reading, my score was not still higher. The reason I give myself for this is that some of the books on the list, despite BBC's imprimatur, are not classics, and are not even highly esteemed by critics and reviewers; they are popular but not necessarily of high literary quality. Of the 22 books I hadn't read, I would say half of them were books that I have never wanted to read, or thought important to read. I realize this may sound judgmental and/or defensive, but I wish the list were more consistent. I have to remind myself that, like so much on the Internet, this list is fallible and subjective, probably made up on the spur of the moment, and does not claim to be the definitive list of the best books of all time. I also remind myself to quash the competitive part of me that wants to have the best score in this area, an area where I do think of myself as strong: being well-read. So, dear readers, please forgive the self-indulgence of this post -- my true confession for the day!

"Clever Girl," by Tessa Hadley

How I admire and savor the ultra-competent, beautifully etched writing of certain contemporary English and Irish women writers. Their writing is cool and controlled, yet somehow gets at the essence of both daily life and the larger themes in life. These writers include Anne Enright, Penelope Lively, and Emma Donoghue (now living in Canada), among others. And Tessa Hadley! Hadley’s books include the novels “Accidents in the Home,” “The Master Bedroom,” and “The London Train,” as well as the story collection “Married Love,” all of which I have read, enjoyed, and stood slightly in awe of. Hadley also often publishes stories in The New Yorker. I have just finished reading her new novel, “Clever Girl” (Harper, 2013), and it is as good as her earlier work, maybe better. It tells the story of one young woman growing up in England in the late 1950s and onward. The novel provides snapshots of Stella’s life at various critical points. She lives, she loves, she aspires, she struggles, she works, she tries alternative lifestyles, she has children, she loses loved ones to flight or death, she goes through crises and self-doubt, and she settles into her life. She, like so many young women, plans to live a life very different from and much more exciting than her mother’s, yet somehow ends up reproducing many aspects of that life. But she does so with her own twists and turns, and her participation in her own time in history. In a sense there is nothing unusual about her life, but that is the point, I think. Each of us is, like Stella, both ordinary and extraordinary. Hadley perfectly captures this woman’s thoughts, feelings, and experiences, as well as the changes in England during the second half of the 20th century. Her writing is impeccable. Part of the pleasure of reading Hadley is knowing you are in such good hands that you can trust her wherever she goes in her writing.

"The Yellow Eyes of Crocodiles," by Katherine Pancol

Three of the back cover blurbs of the French novel “The Yellow Eyes of Crocodiles” use the word “delicious.” One says the novel is “delicious, tender, funny, heartwarming”; another describes it as a “delicious treat”; the third calls it “a satisfying Cinderella story… Delicious!” No, this novel by Katherine Pancol (Penguin, 2013, originally published in French 2006) is not, as so many novels these days are, about food, menus, meals, cooking. The word “delicious” here indicates a sort of light, enjoyable read. To further quote the blurbs: The author is “France’s most irresistible writer”; “There is a gorgeous and invigorating zip and sparkle to the writing”; and it is “touching, entertaining, and vibrant.” I don’t usually quote blurbs in my posts, but I think these give you the flavor (no pun intended) of this novel. Despite those blurbs, there is a bit of a serious side to the novel (only a bit): One theme is family dynamics and their sometimes difficult aspects. The main plot line is that the central character, Josephine, a scholar whose marriage has recently broken up, agrees to her richer sister Iris’ proposal that Josephine write a novel about the 12th Century (her field of research); Josephine will receive the profits but Iris’s name will be on the novel and she will receive the credit. This in fact happens, but Josephine eventually regrets the arrangement. And of course it is harder to keep this secret than Iris initially thinks. Meanwhile there are several other plot strands, some highly unlikely, involving the sisters’ mother, stepfather, husbands, lovers, children, and friends. The writing (in this translated version, and I assume in the original French) is fine, and the novel is structured well and moves along briskly. There is always something new happening at every turn. Many of the characters are outlined in too-broad strokes, and many are not particularly likable, but that is OK. Overall “The Yellow Eyes of Crocodiles” is a fluffy confection well executed, and thus a good read.

"Rebecca," by Daphne du Maurier

Oh, Rebecca! What a hold you have on our imaginations! I last read the huge bestseller suspense/romance/slightly gothic novel “Rebecca” (Doubleday, 1938), by the romantically named English author (and it is her real name) Daphne du Maurier, perhaps 40 years ago. There was also a classic, very popular movie, directed by Hitchcock, based on the novel. Recently, reviews of a new novel (“Alena,” by Rachel Pastan) loosely based on “Rebecca,” prompted me to re-read the original. (I plan to read the new novel too, and will likely post on it here as well.) This classic novel holds up quite well. Granted, the level of suspense and goth-ness seems tame by today’s standards (but that is fine with me!). And true, the novel is consistently overwritten. For example, there are far too many portentous hints of terrible events to come, foreboding sentences such as (I paraphrase these here from many examples) “I felt a chill, as if something terrible was about to happen,” or “I knew then that nothing would ever be the same after this.” It is also overwritten in terms of its frequent redundant sentences and phrases, such as (again, paraphrased) “I felt all alone, as if I were the only one in the world; no one else was there for me; no one would help me; maybe no one ever would.” But despite these faults, this novel is still compelling, even gripping, and I truly enjoyed re-reading it. The nameless narrator, the pretty but shy and a bit mousy second wife of Maxim de Winter, goes to his magnificent country home/estate, Manderley, after their marriage, and finds that the ghostly presence of his first wife, Rebecca, pervades the house and surroundings. There are many mysterious events and cryptic comments, and the narrator feels she cannot escape the shadow of her beautiful and apparently perfect predecessor. One false but perhaps necessary note is that the narrator is amazingly dense about putting together the various clues about Rebecca’s true character and about the events of her life and death. Mostly this new young wife is intimidated and even, at one point, close to a mental breakdown. The evil housekeeper, Mrs. Danvers, who was a fierce supporter of Rebecca, seems intent on destroying the second wife. But when her husband encounters difficulties, the new Mrs. de Winter seems to mature and gain in confidence; she becomes strong on his behalf. To say much more would be to spoil the suspense of the novel. I am glad that I re-read this classic novel of romance and suspense, one that has influenced generations of other writers and filmmakers.

"My Life in Middlemarch," by Rebecca Mead

Not to sound like a fangirl, because this is a serious feeling about a serious book, but…I love, love, love this book! In “My Life in Middlemarch” (Crown, 2014), Rebecca Mead writes about her lifelong connection to, guidance by, and love of the incomparable George Eliot novel. Many have called “Middlemarch” the greatest novel in English, and Virginia Woolf famously stated that it was “one of the few English books written for grown-up people.” Mead’s book is a blend of biography (of Eliot); analysis of “Middlemarch,” its settings and characters and themes; and description of the ways in which the novel has spoken to her and even intersected with events of her life over the years. Mead writes on the critical role that great novels can play in readers’ lives, as “Middlemarch” has played in hers. She states that reading is “an urgent, crucial dimension of life itself. There are books that comprehend us as much as we understand them…There are books that grow with the reader as the reader grows….This kind of book becomes part of our own experience….” (p. 16). This quotation illustrates Mead’s belief, which I share, that different readings of a great novel at different stages of one’s life provide different experiences, different understandings. Just for one small example: of course Mead identifies with Dorothea Brooke, but she also focuses on how, on later readings of "Middlemarch" in later life, she realizes the strength and importance of Mary’s and Fred’s romance and marriage. She even shows some sympathy for Mr. Casaubon. And speaking of marriage, Mead believes that this novel is one of the most brilliantly insightful ones on the topic of marriage and its inner workings. When researching this book (and it was intensive research), Mead, an American writer originally from England herself, travels to places Eliot lived and wrote, and reads documents in various archives in England and in the U.S. She is in awe as she looks at and touches Eliot’s original manuscripts, in Eliot’s own handwriting, as well as letters to, from, and about the great novelist. Mead is a thoughtful, engaging writer, and I found her book highly informative, original, and compelling. I too love and admire “Middlemarch,” I have read it several times over the years, and I have written about it here and elsewhere. But Mead showed me new aspects of Eliot’s, and the novel’s, greatness and humanity.

"That Part Was True," by Deborah McKinlay

Some of the ingredients of the novel “That Part Was True” (Grand Central Publishing, 2014), by Deborah McKinlay, are awfully familiar. It is epistolary: an American writer, Jackson Cooper, and a British fan, Eve Petworth, carry on a correspondence across the ocean. They each find solace in the correspondence and their growing knowledge of each other’s lives. They also share a love of food and cooking, and they exchange recipes, often those with sentimental associations such as “my grandmother’s recipe for…”. (Novels with food themes are popular these days.) A positive point is that the characters are “grown-ups,” in their forties. Between them they have various issues with family members, significant others, illness, anxiety, writer’s block, and more. There is some desultory discussion of their possibly meeting in Paris, with a hint of mystery about whether their epistolary friendship could turn into romance; I won’t reveal whether the meeting or the romance happen. The novel has a somewhat ambiguous surprise ending. This slim novel, as I have indicated, draws a little too heavily on some rather tired topics and approaches; nevertheless, it is written with a light touch, and is an enjoyable, not too taxing read.

"Starting Over: Stories," by Elizabeth Spencer

Elizabeth Spencer, at the age of 92, has just -- a decade after the last book she published -- published a new collection of short stories, "Starting Over" (Liveright/Norton, 2014). I am in awe of this great Southern writer, and her producing these wonderful stories at this stage in her life is impressive and inspiring. Her stories are as good as ever, both down-to-earth and haunting. She writes of marriages, love affairs, small towns, mysteries, secrets, and misunderstandings. But most of all she writes about the tangled relationships within families. Spencer understands both the frailties and the resilience of her characters. Her stories are set in the South, and are evocative of that geography and ethos, but they resonate far beyond as well.