The Serindan house was not only the biggest in Plessis, but the highest perched. It was islanded among ascending and descending terraces, and theThe Serindan house was not only the biggest in Plessis, but the highest perched. It was islanded among ascending and descending terraces, and the balustrades were adorned with posturing graces and marble nymphs. Beyond their elegant barrier, the forest began: a huge wilderness of tangled ceibas and balisiers and tree-ferns that only halted a slanting six miles beyond at the jagged crater of the Salpetrière. The day had ended in a flaunting sunset so apocalyptic – a Last Judgement, an apotheosis, an assumption, one could have thought – that each falling ray seemed a ladder for the descending Paraclete, and Berthe almost expected to see long-shafted trumpets advance along the slanting beams from the gold and crimson clouds. Then it suddenly died away into night. The volcano had been burning for the last week or so with unaccustomed vigour. Now it hung in the dark like a bright red torch, prompting the island wiseacres, mindful of the terrible eruptions that had coincided over a century ago with the fall of the Bastille to shake their heads. But such renewals of activity and such gloomy presages recurred every few years. Each minor overflow of lava, heralded invariably by showers of ashes and an overpowering heat, was always halted by those intervening canyons known as "les chaudières" - a grey desert region of fumeroles and volcanic gas and half fossilised trees. “Ga’dez Salpetwière!” the negroes said joyfully to each other; “li pas faché”, li fait bomba pou’ Ma’di Gwas, comme nous”, and the carnival drums beat vigorously all over the town. There had been not a drop of rain for many days – a rare event even in this dry season – and the trade winds had ceased altogether. The heat was appalling.
Now what do you look for in the blurb of a book? Presumably, unless you are eclectic of course, you will stay within your own genre? Is it the title that intrigues you or the cover? A known author? A review on the blurb by an unknown author that unexpectedly appeals to your psyche?
Well I consider myself an eclectic reader. I love biographies, travel books, fiction, reference books and dictionaries but I like to be a wildcard from time to time as it appeals to my adventurous and curious side.
This book for me has three things in its favour:
Firstly, the title: Now what is the significance of the violins? Surely there has to be some mention of it in this one hundred and thirty nine page novella? Mentioned rather vaguely a couple of times yes and then a few pages from the end of the book, it is explained and my, did it bring tears to my eyes.
Secondly, well the cover showed a painting by the English painter John Craxton of a volcano, with smoke billowing out from it (I don’t think that they are flames), with a port at the bottom and many people cavorting around. There are several palm trees to the right and a schooner can also be seen. It is sunset. John Craxton was sometimes called a neo-Romantic artist but he preferred to be known as a “kind of Arcadian”. Plus there is a tiny review added under the title by Simon Winchester which succinctly states: This little masterpiece is a perfect tour de force, with which I agree wholeheartedly.
Finally, the fact that this book was written by Patrick Leigh Fermor, He was widely regarded as Britain's greatest living travel writer during his lifetime. I was interested to read in a bio on him that he was a good friend of one of my favourite authors, Lawrence Durrell; truly a case of what goes around comes around. And it then set me wondering if I could obtain a signed first edition of this travel writer’s only novel. Imagine…
The plot actually reads like a romance and I’m certainly not of that inclination but when you have an acclaimed travel writer, whose descriptive prose is heavenly and then to match it with unsurpassed fiction, well you have it all in my opinion.
Basically, it is the story of a French impoverished aristocrat called Berthe de Rennes, who is recounting the story of her youth there in the early twentieth century to a young Englishman, who she met on an Aegean island one summer. I should mention that Berthe was now a woman of seventy and still a remarkable individual.
In the 1890’s she was offered the position, which she readily accepted, as governess to the children of distant cousins of hers, the Serindans, and spent six years living on the fictitious island of Saint Jacques in the Caribbean. The Count and his wife were a charming couple, as were the children, but it soon becomes apparent that this is a tale of romantic intrigue and decadence amongst the descendants of slaves and a fading French aristocracy.
But there are delightful quirky instances studded throughout this novella: the untranslated French sentences; the fact that the local Creole population, including the Serindans, could not pronounce the “R” in the words; the ash from the volcano known as white snow; a stumbling block proving to be an armadillo, to quote just a few.
At the Mardi Gras ball, it all happens here and the drama, so superbly written, begins to gradually unfold and from this point on I found I couldn’t wait to turn to the next page. Then lepers came into the equation, which rather took me aback. But then being as contrary as ever, when I arrived at the penultimate page I had no desire to turn it as I wished to continue savouring this work.
The only negative aspect of this book that I can comment on is that it is far too short!
Nevertheless, when I read the final sentence of this remarkable gem of a book, a feeling of elation swept over me. I had never believed in miracles before but now I know they exist. I don't exaggerate either I can assure you. I had finished my fourth perfect novel within a month, the other three being those by the inimitable John Williams.
If I had not read MJ’s excellent review (https://www.goodreads.com/review/show...), I would never have purchased this book as firstly, I had never heard of the author and secondly, this didn’t sound like my type of book at all. That’s the “problem” with Goodreads; there is too much choice and I seem to be continuously stumbling across new authors.
All one can possibly do in my case is to compare my purchase with a rather prized sweet in the sweet shop and to buy it on a whim. A bit of a hit and miss scenario. Sometimes it works and sometimes it doesn’t. Luckily I chose wisely this time.
Well I started reading this novel last night and I was completely frustrated with the first twenty-five pages. I was not enjoying it at all. It seemed all too vague in content and I was about to abandon it when I decided to give it another try. I don’t know if it was seeing the incredible beauty of the sun setting over the Pyrenean mountain range or what but I somehow seemed to see this book in a different light. I had seen the light and that’s for sure.
I’ve always loved the quote below by William Faulkner and it sprang to mind when I began to re-read this book.
Read, read, read. Read everything—trash, classics, good and bad, and see how they do it. Just like a carpenter who works as an apprentice and studies the most. Read! You’ll absorb it. Then write. If it is good, you’ll find out. If it’s not, throw it out the window.
Yes I did initially think this book was bad and I had indeed been sorely tempted to throw it out of the window but what a dreadful mistake that would have been.
How can I even attempt to write this review? I feel I need to though because such beauty, sorrow and poignancy are portrayed in this multi-layered book and everyone needs to know about it.
I was nevertheless taken aback with the first paragraph:
Woooooooo- hooooooo what a fall what a soar what a plummet what a dash into dark into light what a plunge what a glide thud crash what a drop what a rush what a swoop what a fright what a mad hushed skirl what a smash mush mash-up broken and gashed what a heart in my mouth what an end. What a life. What a time. What I felt. Then. Gone.
Now this doesn’t sound very thrilling but persevere because you, the reader, are going to have the time of your life!
Well once again I encounter that remarkable "wretched stream-of-consciousness" that I'm not really a great lover of (Virginia Woolf immediately springing to mind) but somehow it worked very well here. I must confess that I felt like a voyeur travelling in a somewhat sleepy fashion at times through the book but it is an enthralling work.
The plot, if you can call it such, is based on five woman, who are either based/visiting the Global Hotel or outside and literally too.
Nineteen year old Sara Wilby has just started work at the Global Hotel as a chambermaid and dies in a rather unfortunate way there. Her dead teenage narrator is “floating around” and slowly losing her earthly ties. She is forgetting vocabulary and wants to find out how she fell before it is all too late. She knows this “thing” fell to the ground and killed her and as a result she attempts to have conversations with Sara down in the grave.
There are six sections in the book covering various time periods and four other women are gradually drawn into the equation and their lives are all examined in detail: Clare, Sara’s sister, who cries a lot and wants to find out how this accident happened; Else, a vagrant really, who lives outside the hotel but gets invited in for the night by the receptionist Lise and Penny, a journalist who’s on the outlook for a scoop.
All of the sections overlap and Ali Smith has done such a wonderful job here.
Drat, I really hate it when I love a work so much because then I cannot get the natural flow of the wording. I had the same problem with Lawrence Durrell and The Alexandria Quartet, my favourite book.
Nevertheless, I gave it my best shot!
Do read this book. No wonder it was shortlisted for the Booker Prize and the Orange Prize for Fiction 2001. ...more
A major error was pointed out by several GReaders for which I thank them and as a consequence I rewrote the review. I felt that my previous review A major error was pointed out by several GReaders for which I thank them and as a consequence I rewrote the review. I felt that my previous review did not do justice to the book.
I was looking forward to us growing old together. Me and you, growing old and dying together.
Douglas, who in their right mind would look forward to that?
Now that is indeed a strong statement and how would you, as a spouse/partner, relate to that when your fifty-four year old husband, healthy, an academic and certainly not infirm makes that statement.
I confess that I have never heard of this author at all. I was in Stansted Airport, London about ten days ago and I hate this airport with a passion. Why? It’s the security as it takes forever. So arriving three hours in advance after staying at the Radisson at the airport when they ripped me off with a Caesar salad and a glass of white wine, the waiter actually wanted a gratuity, I was not in the mood for any nonsense. People, people everywhere. Living in rural France for nearly fourteen years, the idea of all these individuals being so close to me, so many different languages drove me to despair. Keep away from me! I like my space and my privacy.
So W. H. Smith to the rescue. Well to me it was like entering into a sweet shop. Normally I don’t find anything in there that I like but there was certainly choice on that particular day. I’m a book addict and there is no getting away from it. I only wanted one book and ended up with six. But “US” by David Nicholls caught my attention for several reasons. Firstly, it was the title, then the colour red on the cover, the fact that book was longlisted (why not shortlisted?) for the Man Booker Prize 2014, and I have a very good friend who is called Douglas but finally it was the blurb that clinched it for me!
The novel is skillfully crafted and structured showing the current situation in relation to Connie’s and Douglas’ marriage and alternating with the twenty-first century version of the Grand Tour.
With backdrops of England, France, Italy and Spain, the reader is taken through a kaleidoscopic narrative which is stunning. The descriptions of Paris and Florence with their art were also exceptional.
Whenever I read a book and finally put it down, I always return to the part that leaves a lasting impression on me and this is when Douglas is in Barcelona and meets a smack of jellyfish (I had no idea what you call a group of jellyfish and this appears to be the appropriate definition – I guess they do “smack” in a way) whilst swimming in the sea. There are quite disastrous consequences here but gripping reading…
The novel is witty, humorous, soul-searching with tear-jerking sections, in fact a tragicomedy. Certain passages were indeed quite sad but I ended up laughing for some obscure reason.
Just imagine, you are a middle aged man who has always loved his wife from the day he met her but regrettably for him, he did become a trifle complacent as seen in the book but he was totally unaware of this at the time.
Their son Albie (also known as the “Egg”). Now, you tell me. Why would you call your son Egg? That’s completely beyond me but then Egg plays a vital part in the breakdown of a marriage. Connie, to all intents a purposes does love her husband Douglas. I know that opposites supposedly attract but Connie being an arty type, who can indulge in light drugs is such an opposite to Douglas, a biochemist but then love works in wondrous ways as we all know and they marry, much to Douglas’ amazement.
The problem is the wretched son, Albie, who is planning to go to university to study photography and what follows is a wife who finally states that with the departure of their son to university, she will also leave Douglas after the three of them return from their planned Grand Tour. No date is given but the strain of all of this makes Douglas determined to maintain his relationship with his wife. But will he succeed?
This is the most amazing odyssey of a man who wants to retain the love of his son and wife. It is truly wonderful, multi-faceted and I loved it. As for the ending? I was in a way disappointed but then… Well it’s for you the reader to find out.
The novel is witty, humorous, soul-searching with tear-jerking sections, in fact a tragicomedy. Certain passages were quite sad but I ended up laughing for some obscure reason.
An absolutely wonderful book! Please read it! You will be, I’m convinced, as entranced as I was.
An excellent book by Hamsun! He does some rather scary things, especially with his beloved dog...
I'm cheating I know but I will quote the blurb on theAn excellent book by Hamsun! He does some rather scary things, especially with his beloved dog...
I'm cheating I know but I will quote the blurb on the book here as is far better than I could manage.
"Set in a dense, wild forest on the Norwegian seacoast, PAN is the intense, passionate chronicle of a doomed and all-consuming love affair. Lieutenant Thomas Glahn, a man possessed by the magnificence of sea, sky and forest, spends dream-like days hunting and fishing - until he encounters the beautiful Edvarda. At first their passionate affair mirrors the supreme ecstasy of the Nordland summer. But when Edvarda spurns him, Glahn becomes a frenzied, desperate thing ... and the lovers' idyl turns to tragedy."...more
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