Helena Halme's Blog, page 27

Am I Invisible?

There was a time when I'd give anything for not having men leer at my cleavage. Or at business meetings discussing cash flow or budgets, stare at the odd recalcitrant  nipple, which had managed to penetrate through a bra and a summer blouse.

But these days, to my shame, I actually miss the odd wolf whistle from a bunch of builders, something which used to drive me bonkers.

Now I can happily walk past any amount of building sites with its compulsory bunch of bum-clevaged men. Not one of them will even turn to look at me. 
Which, joking aside, is a relief.

What isn't a relief, however, is having to wait for two or three cars to pass me while standing at a zebra crossing, or being utterly ignored by barmaids in pubs, or being overrun by twenty- and thirty-somethings at entrances to busy tube stations, or in bus queues. It's as if someone had made the decision that I don't matter anymore, that at my age I can't possibly be in a hurry. Or that I can't walk as fast as everyone else. (Which obviously I can).

On the pavement outside our block of flats in North London, I have to literally stop dead when a group of teenagers is heading towards me for them to notice and let me pass. At times when I do this, I wonder if they'll just run over me as if I really have become invisible.

Don't think this development was sudden - I first noticed something was awry, when I took daughter to Paris  a few years ago. At a posh restaurant the Maitre'd opened the door to us, let Daughter through and shut the door on me, leaving me standing outside in the rain (literally). Of course the man was utterly apologetic afterwards; still, at that moment, I could feel the sands shifting.

After this, it just slowly became apparent that I was becoming more and more invisible.
Of course it's liberating in a way. Especially as an author, it's useful to be able to observe people without being noticed; and I am glad I can talk to men normally without there being an instant, 'Fancy a shag?' moment.

I'm not saying that I was so stunning in my youth that people would stop me in the street, no, all I'm saying is that if I walked into a shop, someone asked me if they could help me; if I walked into a restaurant, I'd be served fairly quickly. And, yes, cars at zebra crossings stopped for me.


Anyone else have a similar experience? Or am I just being a Princess?

Two weeks in Provence talking the (Dua)lingo

Oh, how I miss this pool!Our holiday in Southern France already seems like an age ago, although we've only been back in London for just over a month. Lucky for us the weather here turned tropical on our arrival, so it wasn't too much of a shock to the system.

The view This is our second time holidaying in Provence, and I think we are now truly smitten. This time we found a beautiful place nestling below the ruins of the old abandoned village of Vernegues, with four bedrooms, pool, shaded eating out areas and stunning views over the valley. There was a built in BBQ with an outdoor kitchen, and even a wooded area to sit in when the heat got just too much.

Although we did have a terrible start as far as the weather went - there was a storm with quite scary thunder and lightning on the first day, but after that the skies cleared, leaving behind the winds of 'Le Mistral', which too disappeared in a few days.


Some Rose was consumed...Our efforts at brushing up our French with Dualingo made the holiday much more enjoyable - although I'd studied French at school and university, and the Englishman is fluent in the ordering of a pichet of vin rouge, we've long since forgotten how to properly speak French. Dualingo, an online language app, brought some of it back, and we could actually converse with the friendly Madame, a neighbour (so not any other kind of 'Madame'), who looked after the property. When on day one she got stranded with us without an umbrella during the downpour, over a coffee, we found out we'd both married military men, and could exchange notes on how hard and lonely bringing up children without one's husband can be. Madame even taught us one of the expressions we came to rely on during the two week stay, 'C'est le Sud!'. Meaning nothing in the South of France is hurried, or reliable. Needless to say, Madame was not a local.

The Englishman and I on last night of holiday. Uber relaxed...Dualingo is free and can be downloaded here.

The Living and the Dead in Winsford by Håkan Nesser – a review

The Living and the Dead in Winsford is a novel with a slowly building tension, which only gives up on the last pages of this genius psychological thriller. 
Maria Holinek has decided to spend the winter in a remote Exmoor cottage, with the single ambition to outlive her dog, Castor. Although she tells the locals she’s Maria Anderson, a Swedish author seeking the seclusion of Exmoor to write her latest novel, we soon discover that she's in fact a well known TV personality in Sweden, and that she's hiding a terrible secret. 
In truth Maria should now be in Morocco, having fled Sweden under a cloud with her equally famous, or even infamous, literary professor husband, Martin. 
Once in Morocco, Martin plans to write an explosive novel, which will reveal the truth behind dark events within his commune of writers a decade before. But the couple never make it to Morocco. 
As the late autumn in Darne Cottage, the old stone dwelling she's renting together with her dog, turns into a unforgiving Exmoor winter, Maria begins to feel less and less protected by her anonymity and remote location. The long walks along the wild, desolate moors no longer calm her nerves, but the opposite; the moors begin to scare her. The secret she hides, and the secrets of Martin's exploits in Morocco, increasingly and persistently continue to disturb Maria, and she feels more and more vulnerable to both the forces of the Exmoor winter, and the people in her past.
On top of her own inner demons, other strange goings on haunt Maria. Is she being followed by stranger in a car? Has her terrible secret been discovered? Trying to keep her terror at bay, she befriends the nearest neighbour, an Englishman called Mark Britton who lives a few miles away in an equally lonely location. Mark Britton has a perfectly innocent reason to have settled where he is, but is he really as nice and as uncomplicated as he seems to be?  Nesser is a veritable godfather of Nordic Noir fiction. His series crime novels featuring the life-weary Detective van Veeteren have sold over 10 million copies in 25 countries. This, Nesser's latest novel, is a result of some time spent in the UK, and as the post script reveals he has personal experience of the harshness of a winter spent on a remote part of Exmoor. The impeccable research certainly shows in the descriptions of the long, muddy walks along the moors, where Maria often gets lost, and as a reader you feel a real fear for her safety.

Even though I personally have a real penchant for Nordic Noir, and particularly Nesser, I think this brilliant psychological thriller is well worth a read even if you're new to Scandinavian fiction. 
The Living and the Dead in Winsfordby Håkan NesserPublished by MantleHardback copy £14.99(Amazon £10.30/Kindle copy £5.99)

Ch - ch - ch - ch - changes

I've always loved David Bowie, and this up-beat song about the inevitability of change seems once again relevant to me when I'm handing over the reins of Finn-Guild to a new, freshly recruited Managing Director. Luckily I’ll have a soft landing as I’ll still be editing the Finnish/British cultural charity's magazine until further notice; but my main aim is to spend more time with my own literary pursuits.
So you can expect much more regular blog posts here on my blog about books, about writing and about life in London in general. 
In September I'll start a new series of blogs on Advice for New Writers. Lots of people who want to write but know nothing about the process of writing or publishing ask me for advice, and often I really don't know where to start. There's so much information that you need in different stages of a writer's life. This particular series was inspired by a young would-be author who recently came to me for advice. I think I completely overwhelmed her with tips and suggestions, so I decided to chop them up into more manageable chunks. I hope you'll enjoy this series, and will recommend them to any friends who are interested in becoming an Indie Author.
Of course my main aim will be to write more novels - the sequel to The Englishman is first on the list, and I will attempt to get it ready before Christmas (I know, it's been a long time coming...). I'm really excited about this book, and will let you have a sneak peek very soon.  
Of course I’m going to miss Finn-Guild and all the friends I've made during my time with the charity terribly – I’ve enjoyed my time with the Finnish and British Expat communities immensely. But, as the man sings, 'Turn and Face the Change'. I'm certainly looking forward to my new life as an author entrepreneur. 

When the Doves Disappeared by Sofi Oksanen - book review

Once again Sofi Oksanen excels in making the recent tragic history of Estonia and its people into an engaging and riveting read. 
In her previous, much acclaimed novel, Purge, the story follows three generations of women, while in When the Doves Disappeared, we trace the fates of two male cousins, each of whom deals very differently with their lives marred by war, the Red Army’s invasion, the brief but devastating period of German rule, and eventually the Soviet era.

Roland is a passionate freedom fighter, desperate for an independent Estonia. His younger cousin, Edgar, however, is more pragmatic and easily aligns himself with whoever is in power, without much thought to principles. Edgar’s wife Juudit too, is a survivor, but she has more difficulty in escaping her Estonian conscience, or Roland, who is often at hand to remind her.
The story is told from the point of view of the three main characters, Roland, Edgar and Juudit, and is set during two particularly violent periods in Estonian history; 1941 under Communist and Nazi rule, and 1963 when the Soviet Union increased its stranglehold of the small Baltic nation.

But this novel isn't merely a story of tragedy brought on by war and oppression, but also a tale of love, sexual identity and the secrets that haunt Roland, Juudit and Edgar. 
The heart-warming description of Edgar’s attempts to please his various masters is squirm-making; while the infatuation and passion Juudit feels in the height of her doomed love-affair is heart-breaking; and the seemingly mysterious and futile loss Roland suffers makes you wish you were reading a comic novel. However, the twists and turns of this brilliant book make you read on – and when you've finished, you wish you could read When the Doves Disappeared again.
This review will also appear in the next issue of Horisontti, the Finn-Guild magazine.

Want to hear me speak in Finnish?

I was asked some time ago to do an interview for the School of Slavonic and East European Studies at University College London. Afterwards, I promptly forgot about it, until today when I came across the email exchange about the Language Trail project.

I don't usually like listening to myself (and here I go on a bit), because I sound like a high-pitched girl rather than a grown-up woman. So I was surprised how deep my voice seemed here. Perhaps it's the language - Finnish is spoken a few octaves lower than English? Or perhaps this is just another sign of old age. (Probably the latter. Oh my).

Whatever the case, here is the whole interview, where I talk in Finnish about my work at Finn-Guild, about how I came to be in England, and about my novel, The Englishman.

Moomins on the Riviera out in UK cinemas tomorrow!

I wrote about this wonderful new animated Moomintrolls film (here), when it was featured in the London Film Festival last autumn. At that time the film only got two showings here in the UK, but now at last it'll be on general release from tomorrow onwards.

So if you are a Moomin fan, or just fancy a feel-good film about life, love and family, go and see this fantastic film. Its funny, its heartbreaking and beautifully hand-drawn, whilst still being faithful to Tove Jansson's original artwork.

Time Out gives the film 4 stars, and The Guardian too is waxing lyrical about this Finnish/French production.

Cold Pressed by J J Marsh

Cold Pressed by J.J. Marsh
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

Another competent DI Stubbs tale set in a warm country. This time the calm and clever female detective investigates the deaths of women of a certain age onboard a luxury cruise liner criss-crossing the Greek archipelago. As a pure gesture of political goodwill, Beatrice Stubbs, a well-respected Scotland Yard detective, is called in by the Greek authorities to investigate the death of a British eighty-year-old woman, who's fallen off a cliff at a beauty spot in Santorini. Everyone thinks it's a case of death by natural causes, until Beatrice and her young Greek counterpart, DI Stephanakis, start investigating.

Cold Pressed reminded me of Agatha Cristies' novel, Death on the Nile. The novel has the same quality of the luxurious surroundings hiding a raw desire to murder. The author here also has the same eye to detail, some of which turn out to be false and some not so. JJ Marsh keeps the readers guessing right to the moment when the killer(s) is (are) revealed.

But as well as a story about nasty happenings on a luxury cruiser, Cold Pressed is, just as the other Di Stubbs novels, about the complicated personal lives of the two detectives. We learn of the self-doubts of the young, newly promoted, Detective Nikos Stephanakis, and are given very interesting revelations into Beatrice's mind, and her relationship with Matthew, her long-term partner.

I read this book in two days flat, so all I now need is the next Beatrice Stubbs book, please Ms Marsh!



View all my reviews

Finnish Tango is the Dance Therapy for the Soul

You may be surprised that in my view, out of all the Nordic people, we Finns are the most passionate.  That strong emotion is a Finnish national characteristic may be a little known fact also because, as a people, we are most apt at hiding our passion – until we hear a tango piece.
If you’re in a dance restaurant, or at a summer dance in Finland, you’ll notice that the floor will be empty until the first tango is played. We Finns love moving along to this slow, staccato beat. With serious, concentrated faces, you’ll see the couples move swiftly, and expertly, along the floor. The Finnish tango is danced with close contact in the pelvis, upper thighs, and the upper body, with frequent dips and rotations. In the Finnish tango feet stay close to the floor, with no kicks as in the Argentine tango. The lyrics in the Finnish tango are important, as is the accordion, which has a prominent place in the score.
The Finnish Tango emerged at the same time as the country gained its independence. Nobody seems to know who brought the first tango music into the country around 1910, but by the 1930’s Finnish musicians started writing their own tango pieces, and after the Second World War, tango became the most popular form of music in the country.
Perhaps it’s the slow, but persistent, rhythm in a tango, which appeals to the Finnish sense of deep melancholy. This basic sense of drama is also reflected in the lyrics of the tangos. The most popular themes are love and sorrow, or longing for something unattainable, such as a warm, far-flung country, or one’s homestead – a distant land of happiness. Tango is not a light-hearted business in Finland.


One of the most revered Finnish tangos, and the one I remember from my childhood is Finnish classic is Satumaa; (Wonderland), sung by Reijo Taipale. This is a tale about a paradise far away, so unattainable that the singer feels he’s a bird with clipped wings. Another tango, Metsäkukkia (Forest flowers) sung by Olavi Virta, is a song about a lost summer and lost love, rediscovered in the spring. Whereas Kotkan Ruusu (Rose of Kotka), sang by Eino Gron, tells the tale of a woman of the night, told with the most passionate words allowable in the 1950’s, when the song was written. Its beat is such that I’d defy anyone listening to it, not to immediately want to get up and dance – or at least tap a foot.
Although the most popular tangos were written in the 1950’s, they were constantly played on the radio when I was growing up in central Finland. As a child, I’d watch my parents and other grown-ups crowd the dance floor when a popular Finnish tango was played at family parties.  My first boyfriend was a passionate tango dancer and taught me the steps, although I think you’d be pressed to find a Finn even today who doesn’t know how to dance a tango.
Many of the tango songs have also been re-recorded many times, and new tangos have been written. Some, such as Kotkan Ruusu, or Suyyspihlajan Alla (Under the Mountain Ash tree) sung by Arja Saijonmaa, became popular in Sweden amongst the large Finnish ex-pat population in the 1970’s and 80’s.
Even today, the Finnish tango, as popular music and dance, is thriving, although it’s no longer the chart-topping music of the post-war era. There’s a hugely popular competition, Tangomarkkinat (Tango Market), started in the mid-eighties and held in the central town of Seinäjoki, where a Tango Queen and King are crowned each summer. The 2015 Tango Market is a five-day affair on 8-12 July, with tango lessons, tango karaoke, concerts and most important of all the tango competition final.
The event attracts more than 100,000 visitors (out of 5 million residents) and the winners of the song competition become instant celebrities in Finland, and often have successful long-term careers in the music business.
So, if you’re near a dance floor in Finland this summer, have a go and get some therapy for the soul!
Information on the Seinäjoki Tango Market can be found at www.tangomarkkinat.fi

This article will also appear in the Summer 2015 edition of the CoScan Magazine.

Dagmar: My favourite Swedish Fashion Label

I found Dagmar last year when I saw this skirt on the naughty-but-nice Net-a-Porter site. Its green camouflage pattern is really flattering, and the zips on the side make it a little more fun than a normal pencil skirt would be. It's also very stretchy, so even on 'fat days' I can fit into it. I've worn the skirt so many times now that I think a lot of people think its sewn onto to me; still it doesn't show any signs of wear and tear. Plus it can just be shucked into the washing machine time and time again.

Here I am wearing my Dagmar skirt, posing with the Moomin troll.This is why I like a lot of Swedish brands; even H&M - which after all is a value fashion brand - makes items that last a lot longer than their British or Spanish counterparts. I''m not naming any names, but you know that irritation when  a t-shirt turns bobbly or stretched after just one wear and wash. Or when the label tells you that a simple skirt of shirt needs dry cleaning - or worse still - the label says 'Do not wash'. What is that all about?

Swedish House of  Dagmar is a quirky label, designed by three Swedish sisters. Tall, blonde and beautiful, I'd have to hate them, would they not produce such fun an wearable clothes.

The three beautiful and talented sisters
 behind the Dagmar labelOne of their most important fans is the Swedish Crown Princess Victoria, so once again I'm wearing clothes favoured by Royalty. I must be getting old.

Princess Victoria wearing a Dagmar dress.