Callum McLaughlin's Blog, page 35

Beauty and the Beast | Theatre Review

Show: Beauty and the Beast

Venue: Festival Theatre, Edinburgh

Date: 14th March 2019

Company: Birmingham Royal Ballet

Choreography: David Bintley

Music: Composed by Glenn Buhr, performed by Royal Ballet Sinfonia

Principal dancers: Maureya Lebowitz (Belle), Yasuo Atsuji (The Beast), & Beatrice Parma (Wild Girl)

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Based on the classic story we all know and love, Birmingham Royal Ballet’s take on Beauty and the Beast made for a rich and visually captivating performance. The show really is a feast for the eyes, its greatest strength being the sumptuous costume design, ornate set pieces, and moody lighting; all of which come together to create an atmosphere that feels entirely in-keeping with the story’s fairy tale origins.

Sonically, the show is also a hit. Buhr’s specially composed score is seamlessly performed by the Royal Ballet Sinfonia. Intricate and textured, the music has a timeless, whimsical quality, honouring the extensive history of the narrative. As for injecting something new into proceedings, that’s where the choreography comes in. Though it is playful and original, the heavy leaning towards storytelling over conventional dance means there are a few moments in which the pace drags. When the show hits its stride, however, it’s an arresting experience, the second Act in particular really showing off the quality of the production across all departments.

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Production shots, courtesy of Birmingham Royal Ballet.

Each member of the company did a good job with what they were given, and a couple of the big group routines were excellent. The standout individual performer was undoubtedly Beatrice Parma as the vixen-turned-woman. Her movement fused classical ballet with a strange vulpine quality. Her entire presence on stage was enigmatic and compelling.

Having seen a fair few ballets in my time, I can’t say this one ranks amongst the best, but it’s well worth catching during its UK tour if you have the chance. The recognisable story and approachable presentation make it accessible for enthusiasts and newcomers alike.

Praise Song for the Butterflies by Bernice L. McFadden | Book Review

Praise Song for the Butterflies by Bernice L. McFadden

Published by Jacaranda, 2018

My Rating:

[image error]Rating this book has proven tricky, as there are elements of it that I loved, and elements that I found underwhelming and frustrating. The story follows Abeo, a young West African girl whose family falls on hard times in the 1980s. Her desperate father eventually sacrifices her to a religious shrine, where she endures physical, emotional, and sexual abuse; an ancient practice that was believed to atone for the sins of a family’s ancestors, thus breaking the chain of bad luck for future generations.

I thought the first half of the book was very strong. I quickly became invested in Abeo and her mother, and enjoyed McFadden’s unassuming prose, which is punctuated by moments of beauty. There’s a looming sense of threat as events begin to spiral beyond the characters’ control, and some very effective foreshadowing in a scene which sees the family visit a former prison for Africans who were to be sold into slavery. This introduced one of the book’s greatest thematic threads, in which McFadden draws parallels between events of the past, Abeo’s present, and our current day. It’s no mistake that the book was published now, after all. There are undeniable similarities to events that are playing out across the world today (we’ve all seen the plight of young refugees displaced by war, and the sickening images of migrant children seized by border authorities and placed in cages). The book serves as a powerful wake up call; an eye-opening look at the pattern of human error that echoes throughout time; the way in which we allow children to become collateral damage in the struggles, fears, and instabilities that arise with adult conflict. By educating ourselves about the past, we can better understand our present, and thus strive for better in the future.

Though the concept throws up a lot of potential for sensationalism, mercifully, I felt this was largely avoided. McFadden doesn’t shy away from the horrors that Abeo faces during her time in the shrine, but her somewhat distant, fast-moving narrative approach means we never become too bogged down by the harrowing details. What’s more, the book is always underpinned by a feeling of hope, with moments of kindness, and themes of sisterhood and recovery guiding us through the darkness.

The second half of the book focusses on the notion of facing up to the shame of our past, further enhancing the book’s thematic resonance. It moves very quickly, however. There are significant time jumps; important characters come and go without notice; and some of the book’s potential emotional development isn’t capitalised on. There is also a particular plot point that I felt was handled poorly; the one moment in which McFadden tipped into gratuitous suffering. It’s not the plot point itself that I took issue with. It felt inevitable, and made sense from a narrative perspective, but it could have been done in a way that was circumstantially in-keeping with the rest of the story, and no less tragic for it. Instead, it unfolded in a way that was entirely avoidable, making it feel needlessly cruel on the author’s part.

The book’s opening scene is bold, shocking, and instantly hooked me in. By contrast, I found the closing scene weak and clichéd. That, in essence, sums up my prevailing attitude towards the book as a whole. It starts strong, and has a lot of potential, but whilst its heart is in the right place, and it sets out to impart a commendable message, I found the execution left me wanting.

Overall, I’m glad this was longlisted for the Women’s Prize. I hadn’t heard of it before, and likely wouldn’t have picked it up otherwise, but I truly admire what McFadden was trying to say – even if the way she said it was a little clumsy at times.

***

You can pick up a copy of Praise Song for the Butterflies from Book Depository by clicking here. If you’ve already read it, I’d love to hear your thoughts!

My Sister, the Serial Killer by Oyinkan Braithwaite | Book Review

My Sister, the Serial Killer by Oyinkan Braithwaite

Published by Doubleday, 2018

My rating:

[image error]Put simply, this sort-of-thriller is a fun, fast read, with a pleasing dash of the macabre. The story opens with Korede, whose sister, Ayoola, has come to her for help. Help, that is, getting rid of her boyfriend’s body. Though Ayoola claims she killed him in self-defence, this is the third of her partners to die under suspicious circumstances. Familial love pushes Korede to act, but her evidently dangerous sister soon sets her sights on the man she secretly harbours feelings for. With someone she cares about at risk of becoming her sister’s next victim, the strength of her loyalty is put to the test.

People who pick this up expecting a full-blown thriller will likely be left disappointed. The shocks, twists, and core element of mystery that normally underpin the genre are more-or-less absent here. Instead, this serves much better as a character study of two fascinating women, exploring the limits of sisterhood, the duty of family, what it takes to make a murderer, and if such a crime can ever be justified.

The prose itself is very simple, but it propels the story forward at a gripping pace. I also really liked the way social media was implemented into the story. Its inclusion can feel forced in many contemporary reads, but here it felt natural, and allowed Braithwaite to bring a satirical edge to the narrative. In a similar vein, it has to be said that she implements a couple of tropes, but she does so in an often blackly funny way, once again adding a touch of wit, and allowing for some social commentary; particularly with regards to the weight society puts on physical beauty.

In terms of emotional development, things could definitely have delved deeper, but I absolutely flew through the book, and I can easily see it being one of the most accessible and commercially popular offerings from the Women’s Prize longlist.

***

You can pick up a copy of My Sister, the Serial Killer from Book Depository by clicking here. If you’ve already read it, I’d love to hear your thoughts!

The Dreamers by Karen Thompson Walker | Book Review

The Dreamers by Karen Thompson Walker

Published by Scribner UK, 2019

My rating:

[image error]The Dreamers is a remarkably assured novel that is as gripping as it is intellectually stimulating. The plot focuses on a small US college town that is quarantined after the outbreak of a strange virus. Sufferers fall into a deep, uninterrupted slumber; their brains recording unusually high levels of activity. Though they can be kept alive intravenously, the scale of the epidemic makes it increasingly difficult for the remaining medical staff to meet their needs, before they too succumb to the sleep sickness.

Karen Thompson Walker’s prose is understated yet brilliant. There’s a gentle, almost hypnotic feel to the book as a whole; a dreamy quality that is a perfect match for the narrative’s tone and content. She also manages to create a tangible sense of mounting tension as the virus spreads throughout the town; a quiet claustrophobia that is accented by some real gut-punch moments.

I really appreciate that we get to follow the epidemic from its inception. Many dystopian or speculative stories drop us in at the deep end, society already decimated. Here, we experience the slow, creeping sense of fear along with the characters, as the gravity of the situation gradually becomes clear. This makes it feel all the more plausible and unsettling.

The story is told from the perspective of various characters, who weave in and out of each other’s lives in small but impactful ways. This allows Thompson Walker to explore the prevailing humanity, and the simple moments of domesticity that prevail, even in times of great distress.

The book is, in many ways, about the beauty and wonder of life itself. This means there is a slight element of the ‘having-kids-is-incredible-and-you-just-aren’t-whole-until-you’ve-done-it-yourself’ attitude in a couple of the characters’ sections. It’s never too heavy handed, and it makes sense given those particular characters’ circumstances, but it’s a thematic trope that can feel a little exclusionary. This was the only small gripe holding me back from a five-star rating.

That said, I love how contemplative the book is despite its immense readability. At face value, it may well serve as an engrossing, character-driven story with a lot of heart, but there is a deceptive amount of thematic nuance running beneath the surface. This includes thought-provoking commentary on the abstract nature of time; how certain patterns echo throughout the past, present, and future, and the possibility of parallel or even cyclical realities. There is also an inherent interest in the mystery of dreams; a beautiful reminder of how little we yet understand about the complexity of the human brain.

And whilst I was left feeling wholly satisfied in terms of the narrative, the author doesn’t feel the need to hand us all the answers with regards to these bigger issues. As such, it’s a book that is sure to spark conversation, and one I’d love to see more people read.

***

You can pick up a copy of The Dreamers from Book Depository by clicking here. If you’ve already read it, I’d love to hear your thoughts!

Milkman by Anna Burns | Book Review

Milkman by Anna Burns

Published by Faber & Faber, 2018

My rating:

[image error]My main takeaway from Milkman is renewed interest in the line between appreciation and enjoyment when it comes to reading. Well-conceived and skilfully constructed, Anna Burns’ Booker winning novel is undoubtedly a perceptive and valuable piece of literature, but I can’t pretend that always made for a particularly pleasant reading experience.

The plot is thin at best, but what we do get concerns a young woman attempting to navigate the traps of daily life during the Troubles. Attracting the attention and harassment of an undesirable man known only as ‘Milkman’, she too becomes undesirable by association; the focus of rumour and vilification within her community. The story itself takes a backseat, however, the book propelled far more by its singular narrative voice, and its evocation of a society ruled by institutionalised oppression, violence, and division.

I greatly admired Milkman for its themes and overall tone, and was impressed by its contemplative, intersectional look at how toxic hearsay can be within a community, with Burns taking into account wider societal issues including gender, class, religion, and sexuality; all with a tinge of absurdist black humour, and a backdrop of looming danger.

Stylistically, I really liked the omission of character names. Sometimes, this can feel like an unnecessary gimmick, but in this instance, it was used to great effect. Characters repeatedly have their sense of identity taken from them, their truth warped by lies and scandal. Our names are the biggest markers of our individuality, and so, to me, stripping them away reflected the notion of a stolen sense of control over your own life. On another level, it establishes the idea that these characters are every-people; interchangeable with those in many communities across Ireland at this time, when experiences of violence were the norm. It also draws a parallel with the level of suppression the characters are subject to. When association with virtually anything could get you into trouble with ‘the other side’, thoughts, words, hopes, feelings, and opinions had to be omitted or hidden. Burns riffs on this idea of self-censorship, her characters living under such a strict regime, and so afraid of standing out, that even the potential connotations of a name have become hazardous.

For all that, the stream-of-consciousness style can be very frustrating. With little plot to grasp onto in the first place, its circular narrative and repeated tangents can make the book feel overly long, and needlessly verbose. For me, its merits made the effort worthwhile. It’s the kind of book I’m glad to have read, but which I’d be hesitant to recommend widely. In the hands of the right reader (those with an interest in Irish history, and voice-driven studies of an insular community), it offers an intelligent, shrewdly observant, and original reading experience that captures the atmosphere of a society simmering with tension, and tearing itself apart from the inside out.

***

If you fancy giving Milkman a go, you can pick up a copy by clicking here. If you’ve already read it, I’d love to hear your thoughts!

February Wrap Up

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The books I read in February

Another month, another wrap up. Throughout February I finished 11 books, bringing my total for the year so far up to 21. Here are some brief thoughts on each of them. If you’d like to know more, simply click on a title and it will take you to my full review.

How Much the Heart Can Hold by various

[ ] A mixed bag of stories by eight different authors, each one focussing on a different kind of love (unrequited, familial, obsessive, etc.). It was a worthwhile read, but I found most stronger in concept than execution.

Mary, Who Wrote Frankenstein by Linda Bailey, illustrated by Júlia Sardà

[ ] A short and accessible biography of Mary Shelley, suitable for any age. The real highlight here is the gorgeous artwork, which is suitably gothic and enchanting.

House of Glass by Susan Fletcher

[ ] At once a haunting, gothic mystery, and a poignant piece of historical fiction about the destructive power of hearsay. The heroine is fantastically well realised, the setting utterly transporting, and the writing rich and evocative. I was completely enthralled.

The Best Awful by Carrie Fisher

[ ] Fisher’s debut novel is a raw and candid exploration of a mental breakdown; life with bipolar; and the struggles of recovery. Suzanne is a complex, frustrating, and endearing heroine you can’t help but root for.

Mary Ventura and the Ninth Kingdom by Sylvia Plath

[ ] Short but very effective, this allegorical tale is about finding the will to live; to defy a seemingly unavoidable fate. Plath creates a number of beautiful images, and a tone of quiet menace that I really enjoyed.

Justine by Alice Thompson

[ ] A strange and hallucinogenic look at the destructive power of obsession; the pursuit of physical beauty; and women as dehumanized objects of desire. It’s full of literary references and intricate layers of thematic depth.

Furiously Happy by Jenny Lawson

[ ] When this quasi-memoir focuses on the realities of life with mental health struggles, it is relatable and hugely worthwhile. For me, however, it was too bogged down by forced humour and extraneous tangents.

Murder at the Vicarage by Agatha Christie

[ ] Another highly readable yet deceptively intricate yarn from the queen of mystery. The reveal was as surprising and satisfying as I’ve come to expect, but there was also some very well executed social commentary, and wry humour.

Miss Brill by Katherine Mansfield

[ ] Three understated yet shrewdly observant short stories that capture moments of loneliness and painful realisation. This made for a nice introduction to Mansfield’s work.

Enduring Love by Ian McEwan

[ ] A psychological literary thriller that is as thematically engaging as it is compulsively readable. I loved its look at obsession, psychosis, coping with trauma, and a relationship stretched to breaking point.

The House on the Strand by Daphne du Maurier

[ ] A unique blend of sci-fi and du Maurier’s gothic prowess. This was a great romp, with some very effective allegory about the perils of living a double life, and the struggles of addiction.

***

There we have it! If any of the books I mentioned caught your eye, you can find them with free shipping over on Book Depository. If you’ve already read any, I’d love to hear your thoughts on them below.

My favourite read of the month was House of Glass. What was yours?

The House on the Strand by Daphne du Maurier | Book Review

The House on the Strand by Daphne du Maurier

Published by Virago, 2003 (first published in 1969)

My rating:

[image error]It’s such a nice feeling to return to a favourite author after a while, and to instantly be reminded why you fell in love with their work in the first place. From the very first paragraph of this book, I was transported once again by du Maurier’s lush, descriptive prose. It captures such a wonderful sense of time, place, and atmosphere, and is just a delight to read.

Initially, the story feels like a radical departure for du Maurier, given that this is ostensibly a book about time travel. And whilst it does stand out as unique amongst her work for that reason, rest assured that the hallmarks of her style (grand settings, gothic undertones, interesting characters, a touch of the sinister, and an air of mystery) are all still present. It’s also worth pointing out that her take on the time travel trope is fascinating and wholly unique in its own right.

Magnus Lane is a chemical researcher. On the quiet, he has been experimenting with a strange potion that seems to send the drinker’s mind back to the 14th century. Able to act only as a silent observer, however, the person’s body is left behind, the two moving in tandem across the span of time. It seems Lane has cracked the secret to moving between parallel timelines. And so, he enlists his long-time friend, Richard, to serve as a guinea pig. But as Richard gets increasingly involved in the lives of those he observes in the past, and addicted to the high of the potion itself, the line between the two times begins to blur, leading to potentially devastating consequences.

The thing I enjoyed most about this was how successfully it draws parallels with the struggles of addiction. Richard becomes more and more dependant on the potion, despite the obvious danger involved, and the increasingly debilitating physical and mental side effects. With each exposure, the dose required is higher, and though he promises each time will be his last, he is repeatedly drawn back in, no matter the trouble it causes him or those around him. This was cleverly done, and very effective.

There is also some commentary on the risks of trying to live a double life. Unhappy in his marriage, the trips into the past serve as a form of escape for Richard, who becomes emotionally attached to the people he observes, particularly the beautiful Isolda. The more he is drawn into the high-stakes drama of the 14th century, however, the duller his own life seems. His wife, Vita, suspects these absences are a sign of infidelity. With Richard finding it increasingly difficult to keep the two halves of his existence apart, the pressure begins to take its toll on both his body and mind.

I will say, since Richard is unable to directly interact with those in the past, there is an inherent sense of detachment where those characters are concerned. As such, it did take me a while to get to grips with who everyone was, and to feel any kind of investment in them. Though these sections are evocative, I was always far more interested in Richard’s struggles, and his attempts to deal with the fallout of the experiments back in the present day.

That said, the book was still a damn good romp throughout, with some skilfully implemented allegory. I mustn’t leave it so long until I pick up another du Maurier.

***

You can pick up a copy of The House on the Strand from Book Depository by clicking here. If you’ve already read it, I’d love to hear your thoughts!

Enduring Love by Ian McEwan | Book Review

Enduring Love by Ian McEwan

Published by Vintage, 2016 (first published in 1997)

My rating:

[image error]Enduring Love is a psychological literary thriller, in the truest sense of the words. The skill that evidently went into crafting this book is phenomenal; its balance of page-turning tension, eloquent prose, and thought-provoking thematic nuance so exact it’s like a masterclass of the genre.

The plot follows Joe Rose. Whilst enjoying a picnic with his wife, Clarissa, they become involved in a freak accident that ends in tragedy. Jed Parry, a fellow witness to the incident, becomes instantly and inexplicably obsessed with Joe from that moment. He begins to stalk him, testing Joe’s mental stamina, calling into question his rational outlook on life, and threatening to tear apart his relationship with Clarissa; all the while convincing him that Jed poses a serious threat to their safety.

What’s interesting from the off is the undercurrent of science versus religion. Our protagonist is a freelance scientific journalist. By contrast, his stalker is a religious fanatic, adamant that God has willed them together, and determined to convert Joe to the same line of thought. The dichotomy between Joe’s meticulous and rational approach to life, and Jed’s blind, overwhelming faith is stark, and serves as a major source of conflict and uncomfortable tension between the two. There’s also undoubtedly a note of critique in the way Joe’s harassment is handled, with the police uninterested given the initial lack of physical violence.

It becomes increasingly clear throughout the narrative that Joe is struggling to accept the role he played in the tragic event that began his ordeal, and to make peace with his sense of survivor’s guilt. As such, coping with trauma is another notable theme. It’s also true, however, that we can’t necessarily trust Joe as a narrator. He is telling us his story in first-person, after the fact, analysing events even as he describes them. Given that he frequently muses on the unreliability of memory, and how often people question his version of events with regards to his interactions with Jed, McEwan is clear that we shouldn’t necessarily take everything he says as gospel. This adds another interesting dynamic to the reading experience, and is represented well by this passage, which also shows McEwan’s prose at the height of its power:

‘No one could agree on anything. We lived in a mist of half-shared, unreliable perception, and our sense data came warped by a prism of desire and belief, which tilted our memories too. We saw and remembered in our own favour and we persuaded ourselves along the way. Pitiless objectivity, especially about ourselves, was always a doomed social strategy. We’re descended from the indignant, passionate tellers of half truths who in order to convince others, simultaneously convinced themselves. Over generations success had winnowed us out, and with success came our defect, carved deep in the genes like ruts in a cart track – when it didn’t suit us, we couldn’t agree on what was in front of us.’

How much is genuine harassment, and how much is self-projected victimhood, brought on to distract from latent guilt? This is the question central to Joe’s development as a character, our perception of him, and his interactions with those around him.

My only real criticism came at the end, where there is a brief section presented as an academic psychology essay, using the events of the novel as a case study. Though this is interestingly meta, given Joe’s line of work, I did find it a somewhat dry note to end on, and I can’t say it added much from a narrative standpoint.

That said, I thought this was an excellent book. I was gripped from the off by its almost unbearably drawn out recounting of the accident. This in itself was a stroke of tonal genius, perfectly capturing the sense of a horrific event playing out as though in slow motion. From there on, its look at psychosis; a relationship pushed to breaking point; and a man’s attempts to process a traumatising ordeal was utterly compelling. It reaffirmed for me how much I can enjoy McEwan’s work, and fuelled a desire to explore more of his back catalogue.

***

You can pick up a copy of Enduring Love from Book Depository by clicking here. If you’ve already read it, I’d love to hear your thoughts!

Agatha Christie and Katherine Mansfield | Two Mini Reviews

Here are some brief thoughts on a couple of recent reads that didn’t necessitate full posts of their own, but which I enjoyed reading nonetheless.

***

Murder at the Vicarage by Agatha Christie

Published by Harper, 2016 (first published in 1930)

My rating:

[image error]Another thoroughly readable yet deceptively intricate yarn from the queen of mystery. This one captures the gossip fuelled nature of life in small, rural towns with characteristically wry humour and whip-sharp dialogue. I also enjoyed the brief though interesting commentary on society’s dismissiveness of older people’s worth, and the psychology of criminals (with characters questioning whether illicit behaviour is learned or inherited; free choice or an affliction of the mind).

With Christie always one step ahead, and everything planned out with meticulous care, she managed once again to bring her many plot threads together in a satisfactory and surprising way.

You can pick up a copy of Murder at the Vicarage by clicking here.

***

Miss Brill by Katherine Mansfield

Published by Penguin, 2015 (first published in 1922)

My rating:

[image error]One of Penguin’s Little Black Classics, this slim volume brings together three short stories by Katherine Mansfield, who is often considered a master of the form. The selected stories compliment each other well in both theme and tone. Each captures a character’s sense of loneliness and longing, and a quiet moment of realisation which sees their illusion of contentment shattered. There’s a couple who realise they have drifted apart; a woman who spends her Sundays people watching in the park; and a man who craves his wife’s exclusive attention.

They’re definitely understated, but shrewdly observant. And though there’s nothing earth shattering about them, they are united by an effective air of melancholy, and some lovely prose. It made for a nice taster of Mansfield’s style, and I would certainly be open to trying more of her work.

You can pick up the full collection the stories were taken from by clicking here.

***

Have you read either of these? If so, I’d love to hear your thoughts.

Favourite Book Quotes Tag

I was kindly tagged by Rachel (who you should definitely be following) to do the Favourite Book Quotes Tag.

Rules:

1. Mention the creator of the tag (Celine @Celinelingg).

2. Mention the blogger who tagged you.

3. List down 5 of your favourite book quotes along with the reasons.

4. Spread the love and tag some people to participate and connect! (There’s no limit in number, so have some fun and just tag!).

Being tagged for this made me realise how bad I actually am at keeping track of quotes I love, which is a shame. That said, here is a random selection of a few that have stayed with me, in no particular order. There are 6, because I had already picked them out before I realised we were supposed to choose 5, and I couldn’t decide which one to cut!