Reading

harvest mouse on a fat ball

Once upon a time, I used to work in a public library and had access to zillions of books. I read the reviews and put in requests (which were free back then) and read all sorts of novels on the basis that they sounded interesting. It was the best and probably the only perk of librarianship!

I would not hesitate to admit that my reading matter was eclectic when I was in my early twenties. I barely covered the classics because I thought they would always be around and I could get to them later. Something more interesting was always just coming up on the horizon. I didn’t mind foreign countries. Mishima, Han Suyin and Lin Yutang made a big impression and taught me something of the Far East; Mary O’Hara taught me about Wyoming, and Evan Hunter’s Mothers and Daughters taught me about America. I devoured stories set in India and Iran, Tunisia and Greece, but rarely books set in England except for Jilly Cooper’s Riders which made me hoot with laughter. I learned a lot about cardiology from Slaughter’s fiction, though the medical stuff is no doubt outdated now. Lyall Watson introduced me to Supernature, and I’ve read the first part of Dawkins The Selfish Gene, and always intend to read the rest. Touching the Void had me cringing but I finished it, and names like Rendell, James, Dexter have never appeared on my reading lists. I made an exception for Ian Rankin, mostly because I adored the character of Rebus in the Ken Stott tv series.

Now, my tastes are different. I avoid books set in foreign countries. It is easier to learn about them through film and tv. I like books that have a slightly scary element, like those of S J Bolton, but I shy away from vampires and shapeshifters and the like. I’m too lazy to learn their worlds and rules, and the same goes for science fiction though I used to read lots of it. Dorothy Dunnett’s novels changed my taste in historicals, and I’ve been on the lookout for something as good ever since first reading her. Sansom is good, and so is Shirley Mackay. The more I think of the books I've read, I realise how much pleasure reading has given me.

Thoughts on Entertainment

Our last view of France was not one to endear itself in the memory banks. It rains there, too!

This is the St Malo ferry off-loading, viewed from our car as we waited to drive aboard. But we do have some good memories, not least some of the meals we enjoyed at Lou Peyrol. See the artistic leaping tiger prawns below...

My post yesterday seemed to catch the interest and I'm glad so many people added their views to mine. The answer to the question of continuing success seems to be that readers go off the boil as easily as authors.

Added to that, certain topics (aka backgrounds to stories) resonate more with some people than others. I have to admit that I have no urge now to read a story set in a very foreign setting, because I have no background knowledge of the land or its people and the story would float in a sort of bubble. I read Lin Yutang’s Peony as a teenager, Mishima’s books, and some set in Persia at a time when the Shah was facing Khomeni, but they were rarities at the time. Now so many foreign locations and stories flood the bookshelves. I’ve tried Hossain’s Thousand Suns and gave up because although the writing was enjoyable, the subject matter was grim. Accuse me of hiding my head in the sand if you like, but I don’t want to read grim and gritty last thing at night before I sleep, otherwise my dreams are horrendous. I am aware that such things go on; but I don’t need the detail in the form of literature.

TV’s going the same way. Last night I tried The Deep. Perhaps fortunately, I missed the first two episodes while I was away, and at the end of an hour watching the video, felt that I’d wasted my time. So little story, and that preposterous, dragged out over an hour with much weeping and wailing to allow the actors to emote. If we have to have female Captains then I’d prefer those who didn’t break down in tears when faced with a difficult decision.

I caught up with Identity and found that weird, too. Keeley Hawes doesn’t so much act as turn her wonderful face to the best angle for the camera, and I do wish she stop wearing such skin tight skirts. Dive – it began with a young girl’s training session in the diving pool. I watched the first twenty minutes and gave up when she got home after a two hour session to find that not only had her father moved out of the family home, but her mother’s new man had moved in and was helping with the washing up. This is entertainment? Not in my book.