Library Briefs

I've been particularly well organised with my last library haul - I surprise myself sometimes! I've read all four of them, and resisted the temptation to go in and get more every time I passed the building, and kept them altogether on a shelf, and not lost them, or forgotten them, and not kept them too long. I really enjoyed two of my selections, but didn't like the other two at all. I was especially disappointed with Jeanette Winterson's 'The Daylight Gate' because I usually admire her work. Anyway, I've written a brief review on each book, and found it an interesting exercise - it's a while since I've written to length, so I set myself a limit of 300 words for each volume, and only went over on one. 

Recipe for Love, Katie Fforde: You’re always in safe with Katie Fforde. This, as ever, is light, fluffy and very enjoyable.  It owes a lot to reality TV cookery shows, and even more to Jane Eyre, but is none the worse for that. Zoe Harper comes to the rescue when a grumpy, arrogant (but very desirable) man puts his car in a ditch. He turns out to be Gideon Irving, a judge for the cookery competition where our heroine is a contestant... There is an instant attraction between the pair, but misunderstandings must be sorted out before true love can prevail.

The plot moves along at a nice pace and the setting of Somerby House (which can be found in several other Fforde novels) is delightful, as are the recipes dished up for the televised contest, which is part Great British Bake-Off and part Master Chef. The cooks themselves are a nicely balanced mix of people, including Zoe’s room-mate, the splendidly nasty Cher, an airhead who is more interested in fame than food, and will do anything to win.

I could be critical and point out that there is certain similarity in many of Fforde’s plots and characters, but the same could be said for Jane Austen, who I love dearly, so I’m really not complaining – after all, Fforde knows her strengths, and is one of the greatest exponents of the romantic fiction genre. However, despite that, and despite the fact that I like comfort reading and happy endings, I can’t help feeling it might be nice if she ventured into new territory.

The Thoughtful Dresser, Linda Grant: Difficult to know how to describe this.  Definitely not a novel, although it was on the fiction shelves – more a series of reflective essays on the importance of what we wear. There are interviews and historic research alongside Grant’s own thoughts. For many women, it seems, having the right outfit is an empowering and uplifting experience, and it was interesting to learn that for some dispossessed women (like the concentration camp survivor) the acquisition of even one pretty, colourful garment is something really special.

I can quite understand that wearing something nice can make you feel better – having lost weight over the last few months I’m currently working my way through  things I haven’t been able to wear for four years and yes, that makes me feel good.

But Grant’s view of clothes is an alien concept as far as I’m concerned, and I really can’t get that excited about garments, shoes and accessories, let alone the designer names she mentions.

I’ve never believed people should be judged by what they look like or what they wear because it’s who you are as a person that really matters, and I’m much more likely to spend money on a book than something to wear, so I guess I’m the wrong person to appreciate this volume.

The Daylight Gate, Jeanette Winterson: A novel about the Pendle Witches which I picked it up because a) I normally like Jeanette Winterson and b) she presented a fascinating programme about the witches on Radio 4, but I was not at all keen on the book. Winterson throws everything into it – child abuse, a Gunpowder plotter, William Shakespeare, astrologer and occultist Dr John Dee, and a Catholic priest (remember, this was a time when Popish practices were banned, and some scholars now think the ‘coven’ may have been a small congregation of Catholics).

The book is published by Hammer, which should provide a clue that this is a horror story in the tradition of those old films. Magic and the supernatural rub shoulders with religion and the everyday, and some of the action is very nasty indeed, but you wouldn’t expect a story on this topic to be anything but gruesome. However, all those magical elements and the blurring of the margins between fantasy and reality really didn’t work for me. I think I would have preferred less mumbo jumbo and a greater exploration of people’s motives and relationships (but then, of course, it would have been a completely different book).  

Sadly, nothing pleased me about ‘The Daylight Gate’ – even Winterson’s prose seemed to lack its usual power and dexterity. I was disappointed, but I kept comparing the novel with ‘The Crucible’, Arthur Miller’s great play about the Salem Witches. It’s an unfair comparison, since Miller’s work is also an allegory about the political situation in America at the time he was writing, but I couldn’t help myself, and Winterson didn’t match up to this masterpiece.

A Red Herring Without Mustard, Alan Bradley: This was my first encounter with child sleuth Flavia de Luce, and it was absolutely brilliant! If you’ve never read any of the mysteries featuring the 11-year-old prodigy and her trusty steed (a bicycle called Gladys) then I suggest you do so. Immediately, if you please. Flavia is precocious and opinionated (as well as being a genius at chemistry), and I can well understand how irritating her sisters find her. But for all that she’s very engaging and it’s hard to dislike her. Most of the time you (and Flavia) forget she is an 11-year-old girl, until the turns of the plot make you (and her) remember just how young and vulnerable she is. Pitting your wits against the characters in a bid to reveal who dunnit, and why, is one of the great pleasures of any good detective novel – and you can do that no matter how old the investigator is.

The novel opens as Flavia accidently sets fire to a gypsy’s tent at the village fete. Hours later she discovers the old gypsy lying barely alive in a pool of blood in her caravan, which is parked up on the de Luce family’s land. Then Flavia finds a body suspended in the fountain. Are the attack and the murder connected? And is there a link to a child who disappeared? And what about the Hobblers, a strange religious sect who are convinced the Kingdom of God lies a few feet above the ground? And why do the de Luces’ antique fire dogs vanish and reappear – in three different places?

Inspector Hewitt and his team of policemen are called in to solve the crimes but, needless to say, it’s Flavia who finds the answers. As you might expect from the title, red herrings abound, and there’s a strange, fishy smell that keeps cropping up. If you like taut, psychological crime thrillers then this is not for you. But if you like your crime novels to be ‘cosy’ and rather quirky then I’m sure you will enjoy this.

True Love and a Happy Ending

When Hetty Longden arrives at her boyfriend's cottage and finds him in bed with another woman she rips up the embroidered antique sheet which covers the couple, and drives into his expensive Porsche, wrecking her own car in the process. Heart-broken, she abandons job and flat, and retreats to her parents' home. But her mother, determined not to let Hetty wallow in self pity, packs her off to house sit for great-uncle Samuel.

The house in question is a beautiful old mansion, falling into decay after years of neglect. There is no money for repairs, and Connor, the heir to the property - whom Hetty hates even before she meets him - wants to turn his inheritance into a theme park. So Hetty unites the villagers and sets out to save the building and its surrounding land. And the scene is set for conflict and misunderstanding, before the inevitable, highly satisfying happy ending.

Stately Pursuits is classic Katie Fforde and is thoroughly enjoyable. As I've said before, some people turn their noses up at her work, and are very dismissive of romantic fiction, but I think they are missing out. Like Maeve Binchy, Fforde is a great story teller, and has a warmth and compassion that shines through. Her heroines, including Hetty, are feisty, independent, intelligent women, who don't always recognise true love when they stumble across it, but are always credibly drawn, and the host of minor characters are also entirely believable. And it's the relationships between characters that is one of Katie Fforde's great strengths. She writes well, with wit, humour and intelligence, and creates tightly constructed plots that keep you glued to the page (well, I can never put them down, and I'm sure there are many readers who feel the same way).

It could be argued that there's a certain similarity in plots: girl meets boy, there's some kind of misunderstanding (or else they hate each other on sight), there are various problems to be overcome, and eventually they get it together and, one hopes, live happily ever after. And what's so wrong with that? After all, when you think about it, the love lives of Elizabeth Bennett, Margaret Hale, Molly Gibson and Jane Eyre all follow a similar pattern!

There's no shock of language here, and no experimentation with the format of the novel, so I dare say Fforde wouldn't win approval from a Man Booker judge. But there are times when you want something familiar that's light and comforting, something that you don't have to analyse, or think too deeply about.

Oh dear, I seem to have ended up writing a general piece about Katie Fforde, rather than a specific review of this book, but it was a lovely read, and was very funny in places – I loved the account of poor Hetty trying to get to grips with the antiquated kitchen, and the way we can see that she and Connor are meant for each other, even though she refuses to acknowledge the attraction she feels. And, despite the 'stately' setting, it's very down to earth, and Hetty is so likeable, and so willing to set to and turn her hand to anything as she fights to keep the house alive, that you can't fail to be charmed by the story. I know it's a fairy tale, but I've always had a weakness for fair tales, and this is no exception.

This particular edition, published by Penguin in 1998, is another of those Katie Fforde books with a proper painted cover picture, which I always snap up when I see them because they are so much more pleasing than those modern pastel fronts which scream 'chick-lit' at you and seem to be a uniform design. Illustrations on the older versions of Fforde's novels are much more individual and, I think, much more suited to her work. The cover on this book was painted by Jean-Paul Tibbles, who is known for his beautifully detailed portraits.

Love, Housework and Happy Endings

My 1996 Penguin edition of The Rose
Revived, with its lovely cover painted
by Pamela Kay

There are those who dismiss Katie Fforde because she is a writer of romantic fiction, but all I can say is, they don’t know what they’re missing. And I’m not going to describe her as a guilty pleasure because firstly, it’s such a contradiction in terms, and secondly, one should never, ever feel guilty about reading. If you enjoy a book, that’s fine, no matter who the author is, or what the genre. And the same applies in reverse: just remember there’s no rule which stops you hating a book, even if it is written by a highly acclaimed modern novelist, or a great classic author.

Anyway, I digress. Fforde’s The Rose Revived is the final book in my loosely themed ‘housework’ quartet, and it may not be ‘great literature’, but it is very enjoyable. Desperate for cash, and emotionally fragile, May, Harriet and Sally meet when they find work at Quality Cleaners, but quickly discover their boss (‘Slimeball’) has conned them, so they set up business on their own, despite their lack of experience.

The only member of the trio who knows anything about housework is single-mother Harriet, brought up by her repressive grandparents, who not only refuse to let her pursue a career as an artist, but are also denying her access to her 10-year-old son at the boarding school they pay for. Sally, obsessed with her looks and weight, is an aspiring actress, whose relationship with her controlling boyfriend is on the rocks, while May, the chief  protagonist,  is an independent feminist, who bought her boyfriend’s share in their narrowboat home(the Rose Revived) when he left – then realised he had not paid the mooring fees.


Her efforts to keep her home are a key feature in the novel, and at one stage it provides a refuge for May's two friends (as well as Sally's bags of clothes), and having once lived on a boat myself I know Fforde's descriptions are spot-on, and am aware of just how cramped space can be, how precious the onboard water is, and how friendly the boating community are. 

Traditional canal boat paintings of roses, from
www.chester canalheritagetrust.co.uk

As their friendship flourishes, they all discover talents they never knew they had and, of course, they each meet a man... There is Leo, the artist with past, who lives in some squalor in a flat which Harriet cleans; Sally falls hopelessly in love with cash-strapped farmer James, and May  spars with Hugh, a hot-shot lawyer who is the brother of the head of Harriet’s son’s boarding school, and a friend of one of her clients.

The course of true love, as in all romantic tales, does not run smoothly, and there are  bumpy rides all round before misunderstandings are ironed out ready for the obligatory happy ending.  Each girl (they are in their mid-twenties, and I should refer to them as women, which is politically correct, but girls is much more apt) ends up with the partner and lifestyle that is right for them (even if it takes them a while to realise this), enabling them to fulfill their potential, and become the person they were always meant to be, developing their skills, and establishing relationships on equal terms.

I took this picture of boats reflected in the canal
at Birmingham's Gas Street Basin last month, and
I'm sure there are similarities with London's canals. 

They all find their niche, which in some ways, I think, echoes the themes in my last 'housework' book, The Home-Maker. The story is told with wit and humour, and is nicely constructed, with just the right amount of dramatic tension. Fforde is an intelligent writer, who creates sympathetic characters, well-drawn settings, and a credible plot that romps along at a nice pace. This particular edition, published by Penguin in 1996, has a great cover – a reproduction of a proper painting, Hannah with Teacup, by Pamela Kay, which gives it a feeling of gravitas lacked by modern editions with their branded wishy-washy pastel images. 

Light, Frothy, and very Enjoyable!

Shy, well-read Laura Horsley faces unemployment when the book shop she works in closes down, but she is persuaded to help run a literary festival at a stately home in the country and is expected to entice famously reclusive Irish author Dermot Flynn out of his self-imposed isolation to attend the event. There you have the general gist of Love Letters, by Katie Fforde, but there’s more to it than that for this is a comedy of errors and misunderstandings in which Laura learns about life and love as she discovers emotions and feelings for herself, rather than acquiring knowledge through the pages of her favourite novels.

She’s an engaging heroine, whose quiet, self-contained manner contrasts with the other characters. There is Grant, her gay colleague, who is determined to make Laura live a little; feisty, uninhibited Monica, the singer in an all-girl swing trio, and Eleanora Huckleby, the outrageous, flamboyant agent. Then, of course, there is the charismatic Dermot Flynn himself, and a host of minor characters, including some snobby book group ladies who are very dismissive of Laura and her views - until they realise she has actually met the famous Irish author.

The characters are well drawn, the settings are credible and the story moves along at a cracking pace as girl meets boy, girl runs away, boy finds girl, and everyone lives happily ever after in the tradition of all good fairytales. It’s light, frothy, and very enjoyable, but there are other issues here: Laura – and some of the other characters – must decide whether to take a risk on the future, or stick with the comfort and safety of what they know.  And there are more serious problems to be considered, like unemployment, independent book shops’  struggle for survival, and the difficulty of preserving historic homes for the future.

Above all, Love Letters is well written. Romantic fiction has a bad name, and ‘serious’ bibliophiles are usually very dismissive of the genre, so all I can say is read Katie Fforde and see if she changes your mind ... please!