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JIM HENSON: THE BIOGRAPHY by BRIAN JAY JONES

Encapsulate the book in one sentence?
Exhaustive and wonderfully detailed biography of a man who built an empire out of doodles and hand puppets and silly voices.
When did I buy it? Where and why did I buy it?
Borrowed from Manchester City Library.  One of those books you’d be tempted to buy in hardback, but it’s such a relief and a pleasure to find it in the library. It’s published by Virgin (2013), with thin pages and a very poor number of illustrations and photos, given the subject.
What’s your verdict?
It’s a brilliant biography, about someone I’ve always wanted to know more about, and to understand a little. It always seemed to me that Henson would be a wonderful, creatively generous man, and so it seems he was. We really get to find out all the good stuff from his family, closest colleagues and friends � they all talk brilliantly about him. Also, he left such a wonderful amount of stuff � finished work on film and tape and in notebooks and journals � we get a fantastically complete sense of this disarmingly idealistic man.
Did you finish it? Did it work for you?
The book lets us know what he was up to almost every week of his working life and, while in the most exciting parts � when he’s working on the late 70s Muppet Show, or making Labyrinth in the 80s, or on the point of selling his company to Disney at the end of his life, this can be fascinating and suspenseful � sometimes there can by a bit too much detail. The first hundred pages of his young life were a slog compared with what came after. It could have done with some tightening, perhaps.

What genre would you say it is?
It’s one of those blockbusting biographies of a famous person who was a great creator � whose career is measured in the ideas they had, and were determined to realise.
What surprises did it hold � if any?
Lots of behind-the-scenes type surprises. We learn so much about the process of making his shows and movies. I was surprised by stuff like � how he just slipped seamlessly into being a puppetry genius on TV at the age of nineteen. I was surprised at the way doors seemed to open at every turn for him, and how his struggles were mostly aesthetic ones. It’s refreshing to read, for once, about a non-thwarted genius. The world of TV and film in the decades when he was working seemed to greet a great innovator with open arms � and that’s a lovely thing to read about.
What scene will stay with you? What character will stay with you?
The grueling detail of his last days will stay with me, I think. His death was needless and sudden � and it takes us by surprise. But there are many other scenes and characters that will stay with me, too � of happier times. I love the tales of him settling into life in England in the Eighties, and making wonderful films like ‘Dark Crystal� and ‘Labyrinth� � and jetting back and forth between the US and Britain with almost unseemly regularity.
What will you do with this copy now?
Back to the library. But I’ll be tempted to buy my own copy. Perhaps the US edition. It’s the kind of biog it would be good to dip into again.
Give me a good quote:
“Today you’d rely on computers or visual effects to accomplish all that we did. But back then, everything on the screen � everything � was handmade…�

DAZZLING DARKNESS by Rachel Mann

Encapsulate the book in one sentence?
Guitar-wielding philosopher pieces together the tale of discovering her faith and changing her sex in the 1990s and becoming a poet and a vicar in the early 2000s.

What year or edition?
Published in 2014 by Wild Goose Publications.

What’s your verdict?
Just wonderful. This is a memoir told through essays that grapple with some very tricky topics � from gender reassignment surgery and ‘passing� as a woman, to the pitfalls of starting off on confessional poetry, to the arcane workings of ancient prejudices within the established church. It’s all told with panache and wit, as well as a certain good-humoured academic rigour.
Did it work for you?
It’s a book that takes us cheerily and fearlessly into some very dark days and brings us out again, feeling amazed that the author’s been through so much stuff and faced it so doughtily and successfully. It's dizzyingly erudite, honest, profane, pithy and delightful. The description of a Crohn's diagnosis as being 'shat on by god' is fantastic. All the religious stuff makes sense to a heathen like me, too. For once, reading a book on God, I can see why all this stuff works for the writer.

What genre would you say it is?
It’s a spiritual autobiography. Or it’s a book about a sex change and the way gender and stuff works out. Or a book that blends theory, memoir and poetry. It’s a book of both theory and practice.  It’s all of this, but it’s a book about how to become yourself � like all the best memoirs are - and how you’ve got to keep on working at it.

What surprises did it hold � if any?
Many. That the religious stuff was as interesting as it was � all this business of wrangling with a ‘dark� and ‘living� god, and how none of that was cosy or self-congratulatory. There were surprises of form, too � in the way we got little nuggets of philosophy, or early poems, and at once point a smattering of fiction, in a kind of Sara Maitland-style biblical-moment interlude. All of this is fun � the switching of gears throughout the book.

Which scene will stay with you?
At the very end the narrator returns home and imagines coming face to face with her younger self at twenty � the guitar playing puckish character hanging out in the wood with his pals. There’s a lovely moment of connection across the years as they acknowledge each other.

Have you read anything else by this author? Or anything this book reminds you of?
That’s a funny question for this one, because I was at university with the author. It reminds me of her as she was then, and has brought me up to date.

What will you do with this copy now?
It was a gift. We went out for coffee and an uproarious afternoon of catching up what’s been going on in the last twenty years. We swapped copies of our memoirs! That’s the kind of thing you do when you get to 45, I guess. This is a book to treasure.

Is it available today?
Yes, from Wild Goose Publications

Give me a good quote:
“…this God who gives voice to the excluded and is in their voice is troubling and uncomfortable � both personally and socially. For the first time I properly embraced a love which suggests that not only are trans people, gay people, the chronically ill and so on the beloved of God, but that God is trans and gay and chronically ill and a woman and everything else.�

UNDER ONE ROOF by BARRY MARTIN and PHILIP LERMAN

Encapsulate the book in one sentence?
A man in charge of building a shopping centre in Seattle finds one corner still occupied by an old woman who refuses to budge from her memory-filled house, and an amazing relationship develops between them.

When did I buy it? Where and why did I buy it?
One of my favourite places for book browsing � a remainder warehouse called Brierlow Bar, just outside of Buxton. I found this recently-published hardback for £3.99. It was only out in 2013 � it seems that Harper Collins hasn’t done a very good job of letting us know this book exists.

What’s your verdict?
I loved it. Both Barry and Edith are lovable, wonderful companions. It’s utterly believable, the way they become friends, even as the noise from the diggers and builders echo around her little house. He’s enthralled by her tall tales of jazz musicians and of being a spy during the war � sometimes wondering if he can believe even half of it. And she is gradually losing her faculties and coming to depend more and more upon him. Barry’s life is slowly taken over by the unexpected friendship.

Did you finish it? Did it work for you?
Oh yes � I had to slow myself down reading it, as I zipped towards the end. I wanted to delay the inevitable outcome of the story.

What genre would you say it is?
It’s one of those memoirs about seemingly-ordinary people who get caught up in something amazing. But this isn’t about cruelty or disaster in the way that most books in WH Smiths� ‘Difficult Lives� sections are � this is a book about the transformative power of friendship.

What surprises did it hold � if any?
Edith’s memories and the stories of her connections with historical and famous figures are all very surprising. This irascible old lady saw more history than you might expect.

What scene will stay with you? Which character will stay with you?
There’s a scene in which two protestors harangue our narrator in the street, mistakenly attacking him for ‘oppressing� Edith. It’s a painful moment of someone failing to understand a situation and blindly putting issues ahead of actual people.
Another wonderful scene comes near the end of the book, when Barry opens up Edith’s autograph book and gets something of a surprise.

Have you read anything else by this author? Or anything this book reminds you of?
First time for both authors. It reminds me of Alan Bennett’s ‘The Lady in the Van� � another true-life tale of a good man who finds himself at the beck and call of an ailing dame on his doorstep.

What will you do with this copy now?
It’s a keeper for rereading some day � but I can see myself buying extra copies for presents. And I shall sit back and await the movie that I fully expect to be made some day.

Is it available today?
It ought to be. But it’s one of those books that have been pushed out into the world by its publisher with little fanfare, I think � which is a shame.

Give me a good quote:
‘“The past is the past,� she said, and that pretty much ended it. “This tea isn’t hot enough. I’m going to warm it up. Lukewarm tea tastes too much like piss, if you ask me.�
‘She tottered off back to the kitchen, her teacup rattling on its saucer. She crossed the bright ray of sunlight streaming in through the windowpane, dust motes swirling in the light, all my questions just hanging in the air with them.�

My Dear Sister Nellie,
You had every faith in me. You knew I would do it, didn’t you? Secretly I thought I would back out of this trip at the last moment. Too daunting for one such as I! However, I did not let my nerves get the better of me. And suddenly there I was, all alone, aboard the SS Utopia, in the dock at Southampton. Ready to sail the oceans at last and see the world. I don’t know how I had the courage to set off like that, but somehow I did.
If I’d known what was coming, would I still have done it? I had no idea how brave I was going to have to be.
When the steward manhandled my bags all the way to my First Class cabin, he was full of reassurances. Blandishments, I would call them. How the sea would be calm and as smooth as a newly-made bed; how no storms were expected during our seven-night journey. But then, I expect they are used to soothing the nerves of first-time passengers like myself. Only a year after the ghastly tragedy of the Titanic � God rest their souls � I suppose most travellers experience qualms as they set sail upon vessels such as the SS Utopia, no matter how luxurious.
Why did I ever think an Atlantic passage would be something I’d enjoy?
I was rather fretful, Nellie. I sat up in my nicely appointed room and I couldn’t sleep at all during my first night at sea. I listened to the ship’s groaning, and panicked at every slight movement. I couldn’t help wondering whether this trip of mine was such a good idea after all.
Only a month before, I had finally decided to throw caution to the wind. As you yourself pointed out, I’d hardly been anywhere in the world. Now that I found myself without employment or ties, it seemed the opportune moment for a lady of even my advanced years to sally forth into the wider world. Your enthusiastic goading worked, my  dear sister. And so I went off in search of the New World, all alone.
But at the outset I couldn’t help wondering: what if I had bitten off more than I could chew?

*
You will be glad to know that I ventured forth on the third day of sailing. What a thrill it was to be out on the deck once the wind had died down. How I marvelled at that blue expanse of sky and sea, with absolutely nothing to mar the view. I took a brisk walk all around the SS Utopia and suddenly started feeling very much more comfortable than I had at first.
I saw my friendly steward and he showed me where breakfast was being served. I nibbled on a crumpet and sipped some rather superior tea and felt quite content, sitting alone. Lovely silver, I must say. And the tablecloths were beautifully pressed.
Such luxury! Who would have thought I would be enjoying such riches? Only the generosity of my erstwhile employer could have brought me here. That dear man. Though, as you have rightly pointed out, sister, I deserved every penny of my severance pay. My years as his housekeeper were not uneventful, and sometimes they were downright terrifying. One never knew who would be turning up to consult with him in his sitting room. Traipsing muck up and down my stair carpet. Murderers and poisoners and suchlike. I was in far more danger than I think I ever knew about. But bless him, anyhow, and I hope he’s doing well tending his bees in Sussex. I had an extra spoonful of delicious honey on my last crumpet in honour of my ex-employer and his current charges.
Then I saw that I had attracted the attention of a gentleman at the next table. He, too, was eating alone, a clean-shaven, hawk-faced chap wearing evening dress for breakfast. He was peering at me over his pince-nez, so I shot him one of my basilisk stares � you know the ones, dear Nellie � and he disappeared once more behind his Times. Honestly!  A Peeping Tom. And in First Class, too.
I wondered who he was. Quite a dapper gent.
*
That night I attended a concert wearing my dressiest gown and, as you promised, I soon fell into  company. I was set upon by some women from the north country. Bradford, they informed me. The wives of some manufacturers of woollen garments. There was talk of mills and some such. I told them that I have a sister in North Yorkshire, on the very coast, and they made interested noises, all the way through the programme of light classics.
The small orchestra was tuneful and energetic, and I couldn’t help but be reminded of the band that bravely played on as the Titanic went down to her ignominious end. A gloom crept over me. And it wasn’t helped by those fussy Yorkshire women and their urgent quizzing, which began during a medley of waltzes. As you know, Strauss always makes me queasy, and that feeling wasn’t helped by the realization that these blowsy types had learned from shipboard gossip of my name and previous occupation.
They were avid for details of what it must have been like, keeping house for “the Great Man himself�, as they styled him. Well, I could have told them a tale or two about the messy and dirty circumstances in which that Great Man liked to languish, given half a chance. I could have told them about gunshots and smashed windows in the early watches of the night. But I thought � why bother? I don’t need the friendship of this gaggle of nosey parkers. I am on this trip to find a new life. Not to dwell upon the vicissitudes of the old.
I slipped out during a break for refreshments and returned to my cabin. I got somewhat lost as I traipsed down those endless corridors, and that was when I came upon that man again. The one who had been staring as I broke my fast. Perhaps, I thought, he too knew of my connection to the Great Detective. It was galling, really, to have been nothing but an invisible helpmeet all my life and yet then, when I could have done with some peace, to be drawing unwanted attention like this.
I clapped eyes on him as he came creeping out of a door clearly marked ‘crew only�. The pointy-nosed cove was still in the same jacket as he had worn that very morning, and he had a suspicious look about him. Evidently he had been poking about down in the bowels of the Utopia, up to no good. In one hand he was clutching a fearsomely pointed stick. This he quickly hid behind his back as I coughed loudly and swept past him in my formal gown: my magenta with the whalebone support and the seed pearl embroidery. You admired it, Nellie, remember?
He bade me good evening and I gave him another of my stares.
He was, I thought then, not a very nice gentleman. I have a keen sense of villainy, of course, due to my many years in Baker Street. As you know, I can tell at a glance what’s lurking in the murkiness of a man’s soul. You, my dear sister, could do with some of that perspicacity yourself.
Do look after yourself, in that seaside resort of yours. I am so far away and feel uncomfortable because I can’t advise you if you start making a fool of yourself again. You were never very shrewd when it came to the male sex and their heinous desires.
I decided to take to my bed as the tossing sea turned rough and everything started to roll to the rhythm of awful Strauss.
*
There we were in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean. There was nothing to see, in whichever direction one looked. Never had I had so little to do, or had so few concerns. It was a strangely liberating feeling, marred only by the suspicion that the Titanic must have been hereabouts when disaster struck. Also, by the dread I felt for reaching our destination. Oh yes, indeed, I had dreamed about this holiday and experiencing the New World for a long time. But, really, what did I think would happen there? I was all alone, Nellie. With no one at all to share those new sights and experiences with. I found myself thinking about the years ahead � and wondering what I might fill them with. I am no longer needed, Nellie. I am redundant in every sense.




Well, obviously I came to my senses and saw that it was no good carrying on like that. Neither of us was brought up to wallow in feelings of desperation. And so it was that, determined to clear my head of all this foolish anguish, I took my daily constitutional, five times round the deck of our ship. I nodded and smiled to those passengers whose faces had become familiar in those past few days; I paused to examine the ship’s daily manifest; and I watched some elderly gentlemen playing a doddering game of quoits. And then, as I reached the very prow of our vessel, I was interrupted in my reverie by that same pale-faced chap with the pointed nose. That day he was in a green velvet smoking jacket, and I had the instant impression that he had planned this interception.
He opened his mouth to explain himself, but I wasn’t having any of it. I waved him off and tried to bustle past. I felt a bit foolish running away, but a woman alone can’t take too many chances. There he was, rabbiting on about why he’d been carrying that sharpened stick and sneaking about, and I tried to tell him I just didn’t care. But then he said it. He said it in such a sharp, commanding voice: ‘Mrs Martha Hudson. Please let me explain.�
I turned round to look at him, amazed that he knew who I was. He was glaring at me with these steely grey eyes. Then I thought, well, anyone can look at the ship’s passenger list, can’t they?
He stepped forward and I was holding my breath. The sun was bright on his slicked-back white hair. I did think him a tad attractive, Nellie, for an older gent. But I didn’t want to let that show. He was burbling on about carrying pointed sticks and knives� Heavens! He opened up his jacket to show me that, stitched into the silk lining, he had a deadly array of hunting knives and more of those pointed sticks.
I boggled at him, Nellie. This was a very oddly-equipped gentleman. He was telling me that I had nothing to fear. His job was to protect ladies like myself. This was why he was armed so fearsomely. It was his role in this world to combat evil and the forces of darkness, wherever he was. Even aboard a luxury sailing vessel like this one.
Forces of darkness, I thought. Here we go again. Well, Nellie, I swiftly made my excuses and hastened to leave. I don’t know why he’d decided I needed to see his arsenal out there on the prow, but I wasn’t going to hang around.
‘Wait!� he cried out. And then he asked me, urgently, whether I wasn’t in fact the very same Mrs Martha Hudson who had worked for so many years as housekeeper to the esteemed Mr Sherlock Holmes of 221b Baker Street.
Graciously, I gave the nod. ‘And Mr Watson, too,� I added. Folk tend to leave out the good doctor, but I was at his beck and call, as well. And this polite gentleman with the stakes and knives nodded thoughtfully. He’d come over all funny at the mere thought of Mr Holmes. I wondered if he was an acquaintance or something� or worse� an enemy! A deadly enemy who had waited in the shadows until he could get this helpless female housekeeper alone�
He told me had conceived the greatest respect for my employers and myself. And then he introduced himself, rather charmingly, I thought. His name is Doctor Abraham Van Helsing. A Doctor, I thought, Nellie! A doctor of medicine and he’s got a PhD in ancient folklore and a Chair in Metaphysics to boot. Not that I know what a Chair in Metaphysics is, but it sounds rather grand.
I allowed him to take me in to lunch and we had a fine time of it, Nellie. He ate very little himself, but ordered all sorts of delicacies that he thought I ought to try. What a cultivated chap! Calling out for things in French without a qualm. Things that I didn’t even recognize. It was like Manna from Heaven, Nellie. It was like ambrosia or something. And all the while this dapper gentleman told me all about his scientific investigations. Not that I followed a word. Terribly well-groomed, he was.
He walked me back to my cabin and the sea was a little wilder, so I had a rolling gait as we made our way through the narrow corridors. Nothing to do with the crisp German wines he’d insisted I sample. However, I did feel slightly tipsy and perhaps over-stimulated by the company and the attention I’d received. I was much in need of my afternoon nap as we rounded the last corner before my door. I was fiddling in my clutch bag for my key just as that friendly steward I mentioned to you came walking past us.
The ship lurched, and I clutched the brass rail and dropped my key. At that very moment I saw that Doctor Van Helsing � my gallant companion � had produced, from inside his velvet jacket one of his sharpened sticks. I gave a shriek. I thought he was about to impale me, Nellie.
But he swung himself round and plunged that weapon straight into my steward. The stake went into the clean white breast of his jacket. Right into his heart. The sailor looked amazed and he gave a horrible, gurgling scream. And then POOF. He exploded into a shower of grey particles, which dropped to the carpet outside my cabin door.
Abraham Van Helsing was still holding his stake. He looked grimly satisfied. ‘These evil creatures are everywhere, Mrs Hudson. And that is why I am always quiveringly alert.
‘What evil creatures?� I asked him.
‘Why, vampires, Mrs Hudson,� said he.

Okay � here’s my complete Advent list � all the windows hanging open! The best 24 books I read this year. Or, put better, the books I had the best time reading this year. That’s a much better way of saying it. There’s nothing absolute and final about these judgements. We can only say how books actually worked out for us, as we read them� But these were the real treats of 2014 for me:

Tolstoy and the Purple Chair � Nina Sankovitch The Dr Who Annual 1980Fan Girl � Rainbow RowellAdventures with the Wife in Space � Neil PerrymanThe Fault in Our Stars � John GreenThe Goldfinch � Donna TarttThe Beach Reading Series � Mark AbramsonMan on the Run � Tom DoyleThe New Arrival � Sarah BeesonDoctor Who: Engines of War � George MannThe Collected Works of A.J Fikry � Gabrielle LevinThe Little Beach Street Bakery � Jenny ColganUntil the End of Time � Danielle SteelThe Storyteller � Jodi PicoultIQ84 Books 1&2 � Haruki MurakamiLove, Nina � Nina StibbeThe Unpredictable Consequences of Love � Jill MansellThe Voices � F.R Tallis One Night in Italy � Lucy DiamondWe Are All Completely Beside Ourselves � Karen Joy FowlerJaunt! � Andy DavidsonThe End of Your Life Book Club � Will SchwalbeThere’s Something I’ve Been Dying to Tell You � Lynda BellinghamThe Hare with the Amber Eyes � Edmund De Waal
So� there’s my list of 24. Interesting to see that�
Nine are non-fiction, Just over half are by women,And only seven were read as actualbooks. That’s fewer than usual. The rest were all e-books, and one was on audio.
Memoirs and rom-coms won the day for me this year� though with Murakami, Tartt, Levin and Fowler I was scoring stuff I’d be inclined (if forced to) call ‘literary� pretty highly. Fantasy / horror / sf were really quite low down on my list this year � with only George’s Daleks and Tallis� ghostly voices creeping into my list.  Very little children’s fiction � old or new � stood out this year � except for two great Teen novels that made it into my list.
What’s most apparent is the fact that I took a decision early in the year to read mostly brand new books. It’s been a veryilluminating business. There are some very readable blockbusters out there, and some of them are so marked down in price it would be rude to say no. While some are stonking reads� others are just piles of piss stacked as high as they can get.
Choose wisely what you read and what you spend your time with. Every one of the books on my ‘best� list (out of more than 150 I’ve read in total this year) are the ones that I chose most advisedly � listening to that quiet, insistent inner voice that, if I’m lucky, guides me magically, intuitively, to the books that I know will be worth my time. I keep trying to listen to that voice � over and above the shouting of the dross.
Next year � and I mean it this time � I hope to make a go of really exploring the books from the Beach House, and the accumulated books that will return from storage when our house is rebuilt and redecorated at last�
Happy Christmas again � and I hope you get some time to devote to your reading!

THE HARE WITH AMBER EYES by EDMUND DE WAAL
There are so many books I've had to leave out of my festive countdown! I'm sorry not to have included things like the spiffing Kate Bush biography I read in august (when everyone i knew was seeing her in concert!), or the 1960s Puffins I spent July reading in the Beach House... or an amazing 1970s horror novel about a giant murderous snake at large in New York called... 'The Snake'..! 
But, with one choice to go - it had to be this. Perhaps the best of the recent spate on non-fictions that I've been absorbed in. It's a book that came out a couple of years ago and had everyone hyperventilating with its brilliance back then. Well, I'm late to the party - and I loved it. Tracing the intricate life of a collection of 264 carved beasties, De Waal tells the long and complex story of his family since the mid-1800s, across continents and war zones, and right through the middle of history being made in the most hectic, baroque and destructive of fashions. Somehow we get a brilliant sense of all the characters from his family's past - they're all lovingly brought back to life. 
So that's it! That's my festive countdown complete! I'll pop the whole list up tomorrow so you can see what I'm recommending that you rush out and find, so you can read them for yourselves.
Happy Christmas, all! 

THERE'S SOMETHING I'VE BEEN DYING TO TELL YOU by LYNDA BELLINGHAM

Another memoir - and this one snatched from the jaws of death itself. It was published just before the writer's death, and I read it just afterwards. It's a lovely book - well-deserving of being as widely bought and read as it has been. You get a sense of Bellingham as this amazing force of nature - a bit bolshy, a bit full of herself and snobby (the chapter on stately homes is cringeworthy in that respect!) But what a woman. She is vividly and dynamically present on every page.

THE END OF YOUR LIFE BOOK CLUB by WILL SCHWALBE

My second memoir about reading in this list of favourites! The year was bookended by very personal mediations on how reading can heal and bring people back together. Here's what I wrote at the time:

"It's a lovely, warm meditation on how readers know that, when they read, they're taking part in the 'human conversation.' It's about how readers are never lonely, bored, or alone, and how they are always *included*. It's such a warm and loving book, too, and I've spent hours and hours with it in the past week - reading and rereading sections and whole paragraphs."

JAUNT! by ANDY DAVIDSON

In a year with so much wonderful non-fiction, there had to be an example of a great TV episode guide, and this year there was Andy Davidson's wonderful book on the Tomorrow People. Exhaustive, opinionated and intrinsically silly, this volume more than made up for the dishwater-coloured arsefest that was this year's US revival of the show.

WE ARE ALL COMPLETELY BESIDE OURSELVES - by KAREN JOY FOWLER

I walked around in a daze for a whole weekend, listening to this on audio. It's harrowing, thought-provoking, moving and brilliantly told.