Fathers and Sons and the Eternal Teenage Revolutionary

Continuing my way through the snowy wastes of Russian literature, which you might imagine as a tedious trudge, but you would be wrong, as it turns into a fairly brisk sleigh ride when you hop on board Ivan Turgenev's Fathers and Sons! (I watched Mad Men last night, and apparently I'm still thinking like an advertising copywriter.)

I fairly romped through it - with only the occasional help of the lovely Wordsworth Classic footnotes - and enjoyed it very much. I am just about to go and do my post-novel-research now - which is when I wander about the internet reading about the author; the setting of the book, its cultural/historical significance and so on - but just before I do, I thought it would be interesting to record a few initial first impressions, that main one being that opinionated young people THROUGHOUT TIME are always a right royal pain in the arse. Young Bazarov, our budding Nihilist, could be any young irritating punk/hippy/scruffy politicised student from any period in history at all.

He's a man fresh out of uni; a man out of time; he's got some big ideas, long hair and he thinks everything is pointless. Absolutely everything - apart from the few things he likes doing: dissecting frogs, being a bit chippy, arguing the toss. Although, to be fair, he's no champagne nihilist (they drink quite a lot of champagne in the book), he sticks to his revolutionary guns even when the smoothly aristocratic Uncle Paul is pointing a real gun at him, in their remarkably civilised duel. *

The structure of the book is play-like - made up of three acts that see Bazarov and his friend Arkady spending time with Arkady's parents, then an interlude with the alluring wealthy widow Madame Odintsova, then a stay with Bazarov's parents. This means we get to examine our young Russian proto-revolutionaries in three different settings, and like most kids back from uni for the hols, they vacillate between enjoying being back in the bosom of the family and trying to prove to their parents how different and clever they are now. God, Mum. You just don't get it, do you? The parents respond in the traditional manner of parents: they disapprove, they worry, they try to understand, they feed their boys up.

My knowledge of Russian history is patchy - but I suspect Bazarov is a fore-runner in terms of his ideology and attitude, and that the social upheavals that came about a little later in Russia were, in part, based on similar beliefs to his. He's an outrider, a social maven - he's like a punk arriving in London in 1950. And, like all revolutionary early-adopters, he finds it hard to gather genuine followers (I think it's probably significant that the only character to want to 'carry on Bazarov's work' is Viktor Sitnikov - clearly a very stupid man, even in translation).

Also, and I know this doesn't mean much when we are talking about over-throwing society and brave new worlds, he really isn't the most likeable of people. He's often rude, dismissive, arrogant, arguing for the sake of arguing. There are times when he is infuriating - he advocates the destruction of pretty much everything, but has no idea of what should go in its place. But isn't that always the way with those revolutionary types? They'll storm your palace and then shuffle about not knowing what to do next, arguing among themselves, getting mud on your best carpets.

But on the other hand, there is a bravery about him, especially towards the end of the book. And I did feel for him when he falls for Madame Odintsova and then gets all annoyed with himself as he hadn't ever factored this thing called "love" into his nihilist equation, bless him.

* The duel is a very funny scene. There is a lot in the book that I found funny. But it's strange, when you read a book that is over a hundred years old, you do suffer a strange sort of 'humour anxiety' because you are aware that you may be laughing at things that weren't meant to be funny. They just appear funny to us, the people of the future. It's funny because it's different. Similarly, you worry that you might be missing some of Turgenev's best gags, because you just don't get the references. And then you feel bad. But not that bad, as I feel pretty sure Turgenev was a fairly sharp guy and the sections that I laugh at now are probably what he intended me to laugh at. I think he knew what he was doing.

Turgenev: A fairly sharp guy

In other Russian literature news, the Archbishop of Canterbury thinks Blair should read Dostoevsky.

The Times they are a-predictable

Interesting article in the Times about how Raymond Carver's editor hacked his stories into their Carver-esque shapes - normally chopping out HALF the original text -

http://entertainment.timesonline.co.uk/tol/arts_and_entertainment/the_tls/article6731684.ece

Irritating article in the Times about their new poll on the best 60 books of the last 60 years, in which they have included Stephenie Meyer's vampiric bestseller Twilight - presumably so lots of people will vote for it and then they can run articles about how 'Shock poll reveals that Twilight beats Catcher In The Rye as nation's favourite'.

http://entertainment.timesonline.co.uk/tol/arts_and_entertainment/books/article6735478.ece

Hmph.

A Theory

I developed a (frankly long-winded) theory last night - some time between two and three in the morning - so bear with me. I'm struggling to remember it now, but it seemed important so let's go!

MY THEORY OF CREATIVITY

In order to complete - or even attempt to complete - a creative work you need to reckon with four conflicting things: four conflicting demands; four horsemen of the creative apocolypse, as it were. (Note to self: stop over-using 'as it were' - it's such a cop out.) Me, I think this applies to writing stories, but it could also apply to any old creative act you fancy.

These four things are:

1. You care

2. You don't care

3. They care

4. They don't care

Come with me now as we find out more about what these things are!

1. You care: this is the you that wants people to adore your work; this is the you that wants special prizes and nice reviews; this is the you that thinks that if someone you went to school with fifteen years ago reads your story and hates it then you have failed; this is the you in your work; this is the "you" in your work; this is the you that despises the "you" and the you in your work; this is the you that can't cut any of it out because you love it to death, however awful it is; this is the you that thinks bad reviews are like being stabbed in the heart; this is the you that thinks you should be stabbed in the heart; this is the you that is embarrassed by the fact you even try; this is the you that is mortified by your own limitations, your own expectations; this is the you that wants to be loved; this is the you that wonders how they will write your biography when all your correspondence is email-based; this is the you that believes that you are contributing to a greater understanding of humanity; this is the you that thinks you are brilliant; this is the you that imagines the Richard and Judy interview; this is the you that hopes your mum will like it; this is the you that has spent years on the bloody thing and if it doesn't work, what was the point of you anyway? This is the you that thinks you are nothing. This is the you that worries that you should be using 'who' not 'that'; this is is the you that/who feels bad because you haven't read the Iliad, which means you are probably hopeless and doomed anyway.


2. You don't care: this is the you that takes your life/relationships as starting points for characters/plot/dialogue/anything you can get your hands on; this is the you that in the middle of arguments thinks 'Oh, that's a good line'; this is the you that has your manuscript savaged in workshops and still thinks it's good, whatever they say; this is the you that thinks the rest of them are all idiots anyway; this is the you that reads books and thinks you could have done them better (yeah, watch your back Margaret Atwood); this is the you that will publish the sex scene knowing that your granny will read it; this is the you that knows that you are not in the book even when they say you are; this is the you who believes you are worthy of publication even when all the rejection letters say you aren't; this is the you that will take the criticism and the doubt and the endless revisions and say there is something here, I know there is; this is the you that is willing to be published; this is the you who will lay yourself open and be exposed; this is the you that will take it, all the slings and arrows, and walk away; this is the you who knows that whatever rubbish thing you have written, it's just a preamble for the next great thing, so fuck it, fuck them, fuck them all.


3. They care: these are the readers; these are the people that love books; these are the people who love you; these are the people who want you to succeed, even if you are untalented and your dialogue sucks; these are the people who will be looking for themselves in the characters you create; these are your friends; these are the people who will be offended; these are the people who you musn't let down; these are the people who were looking for a good book but left disappointed; these are the angels in the house; these are the authors you loved; these are the supportive teachers you wanted to please; these are all the singing voices that say Close but no cigar; these are people that you will let down, that will know you could have done better; these are the people who had faith in you; these are the people who say "It's nearly there"; these are the people who don't know what you are doing with your time, when you could be making money, having babies, when you could have a proper career, you could be on the property ladder by now! These are people concerned about your future; these are people who don't understand why you need to be on your own to look at the sky, and these are the people who wanted to love it, they really did, but that section in the middle? With the long bit about the sea? Come on.


4. They don't care: these are the people who see your book on a stand and pass it by; these are the millions who don't care what you do or why; these are the people who forgot that they even read it; these are the people who don't want to read it; these are the people with Sky Plus and a box set of The Wire; these are the people who would never consider the weirdness of the phrase 'box set'; these are the people who would never sit at their computer distracted from what they are writing becuase they are saying 'box set box set box set' over and over again; these are the people you want to attract with a bright, shiny front cover; these are the people you just want to buy it even if they don't read it; these are the people who want to know if you have a 'human interest angle'; these are the people who say there wasn't much plot; these are the people you most want; these are most people; these are the people with important jobs; these are the people who save the world; these are the people who say 'So what's it about?'; these are the people who believe they have a novel in them; these are the people who never have time to read novels; these are the people who work the printing presses, watching all those millions of words fly past them; these are the people who cheerfully pulp; these are the people that think in numbers, in print runs, in profit margins, in saleability; these are the people who are already published; these are the people you ask to sign your copy of their book; these are the people who when you say 'Please sign my book' you actually mean 'Please adopt me magical famous author and make them publish my books too because when you look at me now you see something special, don't you DBC Pierre? DON'T YOU DBC PIERRE?'; these are the people who hear that all the time; these are the people who are going home to write their own books, to do their own work, because they care and they don't care; these are the people you want to stab in the heart.

There endeth my theory.


Left to right: the inside of my head

Crime, Punishment, Modernity, Spiders

As part of my on-going attempts to read all the books I should have read, I finished Dostoevsky's Crime and Punishment recently - which was really great (of course it was - why am I always surprised when 'classic literature' turns out to be classic for a reason? *) but also, such a wonderfully weird book. And weird now - lord only knows how weird it was back then.

CRIME AND PUNISHMENT SPOILERS ALERT.

I think I found it weird because it seems like a very modern book, but it was written nearly 150 years ago. So while the language/setting/interests of the book are out of my time, there is much about it that seemed peculiarly familiar - like the backwards structure, in that it starts with someone murdering two people and the book is mainly about going back over why he did it (if you want a modern example, this is very The Usual Suspects).

To add to the modernity/weirdness, there's also the unreliable main character; the switching from close-up third person out to big-screen third person - and the confusing dream/fever scenes, which means that you the reader (like our murderer hero Rodion Romanovich Raskolnikov - love those Russian names **) don't really know how much other characters know about him and the terrible things he's done, so everything remains blurred and hazardous - which only increases the tension as you go through the book.

It is brilliantly gripping, for a book in which you already know who the murderer is. And, by putting you in Rodya's shoes, Dostoevsky makes sure you never feel terribly appalled by the murders (at least, I didn't) - which puts you in a peculiarly complicitous position.

(Similarly, I read a very good biography of Patricia Highsmith recently - and it was suggested that her books gained their power by easing the reader into identifying with their murderous anti-heroes, such as Tom Ripley, seen below, as played by the very talented Matt Damon.)

Crime and Punishment is also quite filmic, in a way - before Rodya even gets to his murders, Dostoevsky has him meet a random man in a random bar who tells him a long story about his life and, as the reader, you're thinking 'What is this for? I have to go to work soon,' - but it becomes important later on. You could imagine that happening in a film (random chat in bar before murder) but it is strange in a novel. As a reader, you wonder why he had him have the conversation before hand as it doesn't appear to add/detract from his motivation to kill.

There's also the fact that before the murders, you aren't ever told that Rodya is thinking of murder - you are given all the mixed up contents of his head, but you don't know why he is so mixed up or why he keeps arguing with himself - and then suddenly he is in a room beating people to death. It's such a brave opening to a book - and such a weird opening to a book - because it relies so much on everything that comes after the murders and doesn't, at any point, say 'Rodya was thinking about killing someone'.

As an aside, I keep finding texts that would - in my opinion - be shredded in creative writing workshops and this might be one of them. We - the Group - would say 'But what is Rodya so anxious about in this opening sequence? We need to know! We need a hook!' But there isn't one. Another failed text would be the opening of Titus Groan by Mervyn Peake, a book I loved as a teenager (I wrote my A-level extended essay about it) and have just started to re-read, and the start is fodder for a million blood-hungry creative writing students - a long, meandering descriptive passage that goes on for hours.

Getting back to Crime and Punishment, it's a bit like The Secret History by Donna Tartt - the tension (and it is a very gripping book) comes not from 'who murdered who' but from 'we know murdered this person - when we will be found out?'.

Here's a picture of Dostoevsky while we continue on our way:



Another thing: Rodya is a strange main character. Perhaps it's because I saw Hamlet recently, but he seemed very Hamletty to me. Likeable in parts, but an infuriatingly over-self-conscious student in parts. He over-analyses everything he does, at every point.

I suspect that this trait is probably what made the book so revolutionary in its time - the depiction of the interior workings of the main character's mind (although having had a fairly piecemeal education that didn't include Russian literature, I can't say that with much authority). That said, being privy to the inner workings of Rodya's mind is very engaging, although I did feel the same way I felt when I went to see (DAVID TENNANT AS) Hamlet, that I wished he should just shut up and get on with it. But then he would sometimes have - as Hamlet does - a moment of genuine beautiful insight, and you would forgive him. It's quite teenage isn't it? A whole load of moaning and then something interesting. But maybe that's what our interior monologues would sound like, if aired in public. A whole load of moaning and then something interesting.

Anyway, one of my favourite moments was when Rodya was talking to his sister's roguish suitor Svidrigaïlov - and they are debating whether there is life after death and Svidrigaïlov says 'but what if it's just spiders?' - which made me laugh out loud on a train.

Oooh - hang on - I have found it on the net (here - http://www.bartleby.com/318/41.html but don't go reading it all there without reading the book first).

Svidrigaïlov has just confessed that he believes he has seen ghosts and Rodya (Raskolnikov) says...

“You should go to a doctor.”

“I know I am not well, without your telling me, though I don’t know what’s wrong; I believe I am five times as strong as you are. I didn’t ask you whether you believe that ghosts are seen, but whether you believe that they exist.”

“No, I won’t believe it!” Raskolnikov cried, with positive anger.

"What do people generally say?” muttered Svidrigaïlov, as though speaking to himself, looking aside and bowing his head. “They say, ‘You are ill, so what appears to you is only unreal fantasy.’ But that’s not strictly logical. I agree that ghosts only appear to the sick, but that only proves that they are unable to appear except to the sick, not that they don’t exist.”

“Nothing of the sort,” Raskolnikov insisted irritably.

“No? You don’t think so?” Svidrigaïlov went on, looking at him deliberately. “But what do you say to this argument (help me with it): ghosts are as it were shreds and fragments of other worlds, the beginning of them. A man in health has, of course, no reason to see them, because he is above all a man of this earth and is bound for the sake of completeness and order to live only in this life. But as soon as one is ill, as soon as the normal earthly order of the organism is broken, one begins to realise the possibility of another world; and the more seriously ill one is, the closer becomes one’s contact with that other world, so that as soon as the man dies he steps straight into that world. I thought of that long ago. If you believe in a future life, you could believe in that, too.”

“I don’t believe in a future life,” said Raskolnikov.

Svidrigaïlov sat lost in thought.

“And what if there are only spiders there, or something of that sort,” he said suddenly.

“He is a madman,” thought Raskolnikov.

“We always imagine eternity as something beyond our conception, something vast, vast! But why must it be vast? Instead of all that, what if it’s one little room, like a bath house in the country, black and grimy and spiders in every corner, and that’s all eternity is? I sometimes fancy it like that.”

I love that section.

Another thing - the person who wrote the introduction to my Wordsworth Classics edition said the ending of Crime and Punishment was 'unsatisfactory' in that we skip rapidly through Rodya's prison time and come out at the end with God and love - and it's love from a reformed child prostitute! Is there any better kind? And I can see his point.

That said, I did like that there was a happy-ish ending, though in my heart of hearts I know it is unrealistic. And despite the fact I always rail against the idea that every story should end with Happy Love, I didn't mind it in this case. As long as Rodya really made it up to Sonya, then okay. I could believe it. Even if I am not always convinced by child-prostitute-turned-angel stories. And the truth of the story would probably be that Rodya died in prison. I do think that is what happened but I like the alternative ending. If that makes sense.

In conclusion, it was marvellous. You should read it too.

* Classic books that turn out to be great: Madame Bovary! I will write about this book soon, but it is so much better and so much funnier than I thought it would be.

** A quick note on Russian names. My Wordsworth Classics copy of Crime and Punishment had a very handy list of the characters and all their various names, which was really useful, because not only does everyone have three names but they also have nicknames too. Parties must be a nightmare in Russia!

Wordsworth Classics also got points from me from stating at the top of their introductions that you shouldn't read the introductions till you'd read the books, which I liked, because I have on several occasions read introductions that gave away plots and such. They also got points for being three for £5 in The Works.

The Letters; Laugharne; Little Ladies

Heavens, it's been too long hasn't it? Apologies. And apologies in advance for the piecemeal, skittish, patchwork entry that will follow.

First up, my friend Fiona has published her first novel....




It's called The Letters and it is published by Snowbooks, who - for a small publishing company - have done a fantastic job of getting it into every bookshop I go in. It's also a very good book. I hesitate to use those potentially damning words chick lit, but as they seem to typically encompass books that are about relationships/women/family matters, they could apply here - but only in the sense that they could also be applied to Carol Shields or Anita Shreve. It's very smart chick lit, if it's chick lit at all, with an extremely engaging central character, Violet, and a brilliant twist I did not see coming. And it made me cry.

It can be a bit awkward when people you know publish books because you often feel obliged to praise them - but I can quite happily praise this one, because Fiona's a very talented writer and I enjoyed it very much. Go buy it, love it and feel good about yourselves for supporting a small and feisty publisher. It's actually the first of three novels that Fiona will be having published by Snowbooks (how impressive is that!) so if you get started on this one, you can be in at the beginning and that's where we all want to be, right?



What else? Well, I went to the Laugharne Weekend Festival, which was tremendous. Laugharne is one of my very favourite places in the world, so to have three days of stalking authors and drinking lager and general fun based right there in starless and bible black Laugharne was terrific.


Unfortunately, all of my best stories from the weekend are potentially libellous, but what I can say, without fear of legal action, is that Dan Rhodes and DBC Pierre were extremely funny; Patrick McCabe has the best voice for reading ever; that Niall Griffiths is a very nice man with very good stories about lions; that Denis Kehoe and Trevor Byrne are complete sweethearts, and The Green Room does the best burgers in town. And if you do go to The Green Room, have the Scilian white wine. It's a Lascari Grillo 2006, according to the cafe website. Bloody lush, it is.



I think what I liked most about the festival was that, because Laugharne is so small, you kept bumping into people and recognising faces, so by the end of the weekend you felt you knew everyone there. It also meant that you could be at the bar in The Three Mariners and some Booker Prize winning author or popular radio DJ or former member of The Clash would be right next to you. And because it's Laugharne, nobody really paid them undue attention. It's how festivals ought to be, really.



One more thing - after I got DBC Pierre to sign my book, he said goodbye to me by saying: "I'll see you in the streets." This has now become my sign-off line du jour. Also - interesting fact - DBC signs books with his real name, Peter Finlay. At least, I hope that's what it says because it's either that or he's written 'Little Lady'. It's quite hard to make out.

What else? Books I have read and enjoyed this month would include Stuart: A Life Backwards by Alexander Masters, which was so heart-breakingly good everyone should read it, and Immortality by Milan Kundera, which was quite magical actually. I felt like I became fractionally wiser simply by reading it, and I suspect I have only understood a very tiny percentage of it. That's not to say it's difficult or overly complicated. In fact, like most very clever things, it seems extremely simple. It's just beautiful. I don't know how he does it.

A book I read this month that was faintly disappointing would be The Post-Birthday World by Lionel Shriver. Aside from the clunky title, this book badly needed an editor. I think Shriver is a absolutely fantastic writer and We Need To Talk About Kevin is a thing of magnificent genius, but the follow-up just didn't work for me (and not only me). It was mainly due to the character of Ramsey and his wayward accent, I think, but also because of the strange interludes where I was told about London as if it was a foreign country - strange factual titbits like how much it costs to use a phone box there and the difficulties of travelling via the Tube. Maybe this is because it was meant for an American audience, I don't know, but there were a few too many times when I thought 'Why are you telling me this?'. I wasn't entirely convinced by the real life snooker players who popped up in the novel either - that was slightly peculiar.

On the plus side, the 'Sliding Doors' concept (the main character Irina's life is told twice: once, as if she stays with her long-term boyfriend, the popcorn loving Lawrence, and then again, as if she left him for the roguish snooker pro Ramsey) was an interesting idea - although, looking back, I'm not really sure what it added to the novel - and I was hooked enough to read it to the end. So not all bad. Worth a go I think.

Actually, another thing that irked me was the cover. It's like they were trying to girly up Lionel Shriver. Lionel! The most un-girly of authors. Compare and contrast:

The Post-Birthday World.



Here we see a mirrored image of a pleasant little lady, musing in the light from a spring garden, caught between catching up on her correspondence and waiting for a gentleman caller. It's wistful, romantic, a bit fey, a bit quivering, a bit Rosamund Pilcher. This cover says: Are you looking for love? Are you? Can any one of us find the man of their dreams? Really and truly? Oh sigh.


We Need To Talk About Kevin.



This cover says: This book will scare the living bejaysus out of you. And you'll like it.

What happened publishers? Why'd you girly up Lionel? I liked the old one better. Bring back Lionel Shriver, that's what I say. No more little ladies. Let's start a campaign.

One more thing: I am sure that at some point I have read a book where the narrative splits, Post-Birthday World style. I think it was about a competitive swimmer and in one story we hear what happens to her after she wins an important race and in the other we hear what happens when she comes second. I remember thinking it was amazing, but I have no idea what that book was, what it was called or who it was by. Anyone?

To finish, a quote from Charlotte Perkins Gilman, just because I like it:

“The first duty of a human being is to assume the right functional relationship to society - more briefly, to find your real job, and do it.”

When the night has come and the land is dark

No time to do a proper Christmassy message/entry, which may in fact be a Christmas blessing - blessings upon you all! - but I do have time to post this, which can be seen as a secular blessing, of a sort, I suppose. And it is just a very cool thing.

Hope you all have a lovely Christmas and a fabulous New Year

To Survive The Loudest Sound And Nothing

What’s better – discovering a great new book or discovering a great new album? I’ll tell you what: discovering one of each in the same week. First of all, the album – I’m still only on my third listen, but To Survive by Joan As Policewoman is already up there with Fleet Foxes and Martha Wainwright as a strong contender for my most favourite album of the year.

It’s hard to describe an album – especially one that is still growing on you – but these are my impressions so far:

1. Joan is not one for an obvious verse-chorus-verse singalong; these songs meander and crawl and slide about the place and sections overlap and there are occasional moments of complete beauty and then they move on. It’s a bit like jazz in that way. Piano-based jazz. A lot of swaying about in a minor key.

2. It’s really cleanly produced, it has a very pleasing overall sound – especially on the more intimate songs, where it’s like she’s sitting next to you, singing right in your ear.

3. It reminds me a little bit of Billie Holiday – she has a similarly throaty quality to her voice. Perhaps oddly, it also reminds me of those early 70s Van Morrison records – like Moondance – where you have a singer upfront, then a band, then a brass section and then an orchestral section too. Lots of lush (as in luxuriant not as in 'it's gert lush, that') instrumentation behind the main voice. And all of it really well done, especially the brass.

4. Perhaps even more oddly, there are moments that also remind me of great soul groups that have fabulous backing singers – The Pips behind Gladys Knight, for example. Only the backing singers on To Survive are a mixed group of men and women (as far as I can tell) which actually reminded me of the New Power Generation! The backing singing is awesome though – really tight and syncopated. Especially on the song Magpies, which is brilliant.

5. It’s not a party album; it’s a red wine and candles on a winter’s night album. It may, in fact, be my Christmas album.


Next up, the book: The Loudest Sound and Nothing by Clare Wigfall. This a collection of short stories that I urge you to go out and buy immediately. Again, I’m still thinking about these stories – and I have lent my copy of the book to my mum so I don’t have it to hand - but my first (sketchy, piecemeal) impressions would be:

1. Oooooh. You are Good. A good writer, I think, is like a good actor or a good singer. You know fairly quickly whether you can relax and enjoy it, or whether you are going to be on the edge of your seat worrying about whether they might go wrong or start crying. You are in safe hands here. Clare Wigfall’s voice (voices, to be precise) is very believable, very confident, and she gets straight to the heart of the story with no faffing around, and that’s a very hard thing to do.

2. I am also incredibly impressed by someone who can create convincing mini-worlds not only in a variety of places (France, America, England, some strange Celtic island) but also in a variety of historical settings. To be able to pull that off, and to jump us between those places as we go from story to story, without ever losing us, is the fictional equivalent of a magician’s trick. I have no idea how you do it.

3. I need someone else to read these stories so I can discuss my THEORIES about them – and goodness knows I love a good theory. I need to talk about the missing babies story – and I need to talk about the significance of the photocopied picture in A Return Ticket to Epsom, I really need to talk about that. I have my own theory (after a good hour pondering it on a train) but I also wondered what it might mean to someone who didn’t recognise the picture in question – which I did.

4. I want to talk about the girl at the café in Spain: why she’s there and what he says. I want to talk about Tara and her aunt Enid. I want to talk about the woman in Hero I Have Lost (possibly my favourite story along with A Return Ticket to Epsom); I want to talk about her incredible use of words and the fact that the whole story - and a fascinating snippet of a hidden world – is conveyed through just one conversation. And I want to discuss what happened at Highgate.

5. I also want to talk about how incredibly clever someone is to think of choosing the character in Hero I Have Lost – a socialite around the time of the First World War, rather than a solider in the trenches for example – as their narrator. She is an unobvious choice – and just like the ocularist in The Ocularist's Wife, she gives us a glimpse behind the scenes of an historical event. So clever! So confident!

6. Also - the bees? And the cow? What happened with the bees and the cow?!

7. Clare Wigfall’s also great at leaving out just enough information for us to be intrigued by the stories, but not so much that it becomes irritating. One of my pet hates are short stories in which so much has been taken out that the story has become just a bare skeleton of sub-text, which the author stands next to going ‘Ah HA. Now you’re wondering.’ She trusts the reader enought to let them go off on their little mental journeys but doesn't withold information pointlessly.

I will think more on these things, but both are excellent and both would look good on your Christmas lists.