Before you begin reading this review please note that I did actually enjoy reading this book (in case my review might convince you otherwise).
'The RotBefore you begin reading this review please note that I did actually enjoy reading this book (in case my review might convince you otherwise).
'The Rotters' Club' takes place in 1970s Birmingham, among race and class clashes, union strikes and the inevitable ushering in the Thatcher era. It provided me with another piece of the puzzle that is my fragmented knowledge of the British history and I do love a book where the personal is political. It did seem like a particularly bleak time and place to be alive, but of course if you were a teenager it was still the best of time, and forever "the good ol' days", the 70s in Birmingham.
It was a fine middle brow novel with some solid plotting and engaging characters, but for some reason Coe fancies himself a postmodernist experimental writer and he introduced so many unnecessary things here.
First of all the book is bookended by a couple of pages of a contemporary narrative where two of the main characters' children meet up and say what can be summed up to: "Uncle had a crazy life. You know this is what happened when they were in school.." Here comes the whole book. And then it ends with the other kid saying: "Yeah, wow, what a story!". What was the point of that?
Coe also tries to experiment with the form and uses a different narrative tool and person for different chapters, until he goes off the rails completely in the last chapter, thinks he is James Joyce reincarnated and writes the whole thirty pages as one stream of consciousness sentence. It really was unfair to put the reader through this much tediousness right at the very end. That space would've been better used to tie up the many loose ends. Because for a novel so rich in subplots and characters, it peculiarly opts for a "slice of life" approach, rather than a proper narrative arc of a beginning, middle and end.
This all didn't ruin the reading or the enjoyment, but it did make me wonder what exactly this book wants to be when it grows up....more
Another book I have read for the never-ending research for my novel. Of course, again I have realised I need to rewrite a couple of scene because of sAnother book I have read for the never-ending research for my novel. Of course, again I have realised I need to rewrite a couple of scene because of some limitations that the communist regime imposed on the citizens of Poland. Interestingly enough, that鈥檚 where I find most factual mistakes in my novel. There was no visiting in maternity wards. The telephone communication between different towns was impossible for at least the first month of the Martial Law in 1981, etc. etc. This all is a great pain in the ass because I now have to rewrite things. Of course, technically it offers fantastic plot solutions, especially if what you need is a case of misunderstanding or miscommunication. Something that is hard to achieve these days because we are so well connected.
This book called 鈥楩ever Chart鈥� relates the history of communist Poland concentrating on its pivotal moments 鈥� most serious conflicts between the people and the People鈥檚 Party.
It鈥檚 rather hard to write the history of that time because of what the People鈥檚 Republic of Poland was. It is almost impossible to tell the economic history of that time for example, because all the official statistics and data are complete moonshine. The data shows whatever the Party needed to see at the time. It is equally hard to talk about individual politicians, because people were exchangeable, and could fall out of favour easily and we will probably never know exactly who did what and who made which decision.
Karpi艅ski divided his book into four parts representing different periods of Polish history between 1945-1989. Most of the articles in the book were written separately and a long time ago. After that not much editing happened, so you will find occasional repetitions and often the use of present tense where, luckily, past tense should apply. Karpi艅ski鈥檚 tone makes up for those shortcomings 鈥� his narrative is a gently sarcastic and mocks the communist regime almost humorously.
The first part talks about the first 15 years after the war and made me realise it wasn鈥檛 until the 1952 that the People鈥檚 Republic of Poland was officially established. Even though our fate was pretty much sealed in Yalta, it seemed that, as usual, we didn鈥檛 want to go without a fight. It鈥檚 a rather dark time marked by the Stalinist terror and it wasn鈥檛 until 1956 that the first thaw came. As you can imagine, it didn鈥檛 last long. Soon it was explained to the society that the Party was there to stay and what the purpose of elections was (for that check Gomu艂ka鈥檚 speech from 1957 - 鈥渢he point of elections is not to see whether the Party will stay in power, because the Party will stay in power and will never yield to the forces of reaction and restorers of capitalism鈥�). I suppose the elections were just an opportunity for the society to tell the Party how much they love and support them.
Next chapter talks about the short 1968. Yes, Poland did have its 1968 (not as much as Czechoslovakia though). And to be fair, the students behind the Iron Curtain had a lot more to protest against than the Western ones. Needless to say, it didn鈥檛 end well for the students. The third chapter talks about the turbulences of the 70鈥檚 which culminated in the birth of Solidarity. It鈥檚 basically a long list of strikes and appeals, price rises, demonstrations, and the government鈥檚 violent retaliation.
Eventually, the book arrives to its most interesting part 鈥� the Martial Law and its immediate aftermath. I don鈥檛 know if it really was the most interesting part, or whether it was just the part I鈥檓 most interested in, because that鈥檚 when half of my book takes place. One way or another, it鈥檚 thanks to this last chapter I awarded this book four stars.
All in all, a real goldmine of interesting facts: how they would announce price rises on Saturday so people would talk to Jesus and chill over Sunday and not go mental at work on Monday, or how during Martial Law one of the many things that had been banned was water sports like sailing or canoeing (yes, let鈥檚 overthrow the government one canoe at a time). ...more
Maria Zi贸艂kowska was a Polish writer who wrote mostly teenage fiction and esperanto textbooks. Creepily, I have just learnt she died about three weeksMaria Zi贸艂kowska was a Polish writer who wrote mostly teenage fiction and esperanto textbooks. Creepily, I have just learnt she died about three weeks ago and this is the second time this happens to me (vide: G艂owa wroga ). Even more interestingly this little book is a slight detour from her normal repertoire as it鈥檚 a collection of musings about superstitions.
It鈥檚 full of all sorts of crazy. For example, do you know why Monday is supposedly a bad luck day? Except for the obvious, apparently, back in the day the Church anathemised anyone who dared to commit a serious crime (like a robbery, or murder) between the Wednesday sunset and Monday sunrise. The logical consequence of it was that most god-fearing criminals would put off their worst crimes until Monday. That鈥檚 why you should be more than careful on a Monday.
I鈥檝e also learnt the etymology of the word 鈥榣icho鈥� () which currently in Polish means an unspecified sort of evil spirit or devil but was originally derived from the word describing an 鈥榦dd number鈥�. See, odd numbers are really bad for you. You should avoid odd numbers, and particularly 13, which comes after 12, the super-number.
The opposite of 鈥榣icho鈥� is 鈥榗etno鈥�, an even number and all things good. This word survived in Polish only in the name of the game 鈥楥etno i licho鈥� (Cetno and licho), which is a sort bet which makes you guess whether the number of things held in someone鈥檚 palm is a an even or odd number.
There is also a whole chapter on sneezing and why we say 鈥榖less you鈥� (or 鈥楴a zdrowie鈥� in Polish) to someone who sneezed. There are many different explanations and hypothesis, going from Greek mythology to the Bible, from 6th century epidemics to a more recent use of snuff. However, my favourite story was the one not mentioned in this little book, but which I read in one of the books by Kopali艅ski ( ). According to some Indian myths, sneezing is like your personal thunder, when the gods don鈥檛 want to scare the whole town, just you in particular.
Leukonychia, in Poland (apparently) known as nails blossoming is usually a bad sign. Only the Polish and some other Slavs allow some good luck if the white dots appear on the right hand, but on the left hand it is definitely a bad sign. Generally, you should pay attention to your nails. And, for God鈥檚 sake don鈥檛 just throw your clippings anywhere. Ideally, keep them with you at all times so that they can be buried with you. If not, your ghost will wander the earth searching for missing nail clippings. You don鈥檛 want that 鈥� they might be difficult to find.
One of my favourite superstitions are those connected to names of things. A Polish proverb says: Don鈥檛 call the wolf in from the forest (which would have the English equivalent in: talk of the devil and the devil appears). It has the origin in the strong belief that calling things by its name can summon them. And that鈥檚 why we never call really horrible things by their name, like wolfs, bears, or Voldemort. As a matter of fact, the English word for a bear comes from the word which means 鈥榯he brown one鈥�, and the Polish word for a bear comes from the words 鈥榚ats honey鈥� 鈥� they are both euphemisms used instead of the real words which were considered taboos. What were those real words? Well, God (or 鈥榣icho鈥� as we say) knows now. So names are power. That鈥檚 why we all use some crazy screen names here. You don鈥檛 want someone to use your real name and cause you harm, do you? The gypsies are particularly careful with that. The famous Polish-Romani poet Bronis艂awa Wajs went by Papusza (). Not that it helped her much).
Another series of superstitions surround all things sharp, like needles, pins, axes, etc. Zi贸艂kowska quotes a belief that you should never lend pins or needles. It most likely comes from the fact they used to be bloody expensive, so it was only wise.
Putting an axe, sword, dagger (depending where you鈥檙e from) by the entrance of your house would stop the evil spirits and all sorts of nastiness coming through.
It surprised me that Zi贸艂kowska didn鈥檛 mention that you shouldn鈥檛 give knives as presents. Apparently it鈥檚 a complete no-no. When I moved at the age of 21, my grandma bought me a set of knives for the new place, but then insisted I paid her for them (a symbolic grosz 鈥� penny), so I don鈥檛 bring bad fortune upon myself. With all those superstitions one can hardly be blamed for developing an aichmophobia. I think that years of being a keen cook has finally cured me from it but once I threw up because one of my friends would not stop playing with his jackknife.
People who move a lot are not doing themselves any favours. And not to mention left-handed people. I鈥檓 a lefty who has lived in quite a few countries already. My fate is sealed.
I could go on for hours about mirrors, bats, storks, salt, stye, throwing dirt on coffins, dogs, cats, owls, whistling, knocking on wood (in Poland it additionally has to be unvarnished wood) but I will wrap this review with a threshold. There are various superstitions regarding thresholds but probably the most wide-spread and common these days is the one about carrying your bride over the threshold. So what is so bad about thresholds then? Ha. Back in the day, that鈥檚 where they buried still births, unbaptised children, suicides, etc. and that鈥檚 where their ghosts still hang out. The broom kindly carries his bride over the threshold so she doesn鈥檛 accidentally kick some vengeful ghost in the head. Now you know.
While I enjoyed all those little feuilletons I was often taken aback by the viciousness with which Zi贸艂kowska attacks anyone believing in superstitions, horoscopes, prophecies, etc. It goes beyond a normal defence of rationalism; it smells of something personal. Maybe her fianc茅 left at the altar because a black cat crossed his path. Maybe her boss sacked her over something he read in his horoscope. Maybe a neighbour wouldn't lend her a needle when she was in need....more
I did not know what to expect when I started reading 鈥濫ast of Acre Lane鈥� as it is described as 'Urban fiction'. I like general fiction and I feel tha I did not know what to expect when I started reading 鈥濫ast of Acre Lane鈥� as it is described as 'Urban fiction'. I like general fiction and I feel that all those other genres are invented for books that are just not good enough to be 'general fiction', so they are given their own little category in which they can shine. I needn't have worried about 鈥濫ast of Acre Lane鈥� as it's an effort strong enough to stand alongside other books on the 'general fiction' shelf.
It's like Zadie Smith but rough and ghetto. I love reading about places I know and Brixton is just round the corner from me. The local flavour is probably the main strength of the book, it brings this little Jamaica in the middle of London to life. One of the newspapers (was it the Guardian?) named Alex Wheatle the Brixton Bard and it's a title well deserved. Brixton is one lucky district to have Wheatle as its chronicler. You can really see, feel, hear and smell Brixton on every page. It's not an easy job to describe a district believably and I couldn't help but compare East of Acre Lane to 'Camberwell Beauty', which was supposedly set in Brixton's closest neighbour 鈥� Camberwell, but could as well be anywhere else if you ask me.
Wheatle's narrative bears resemblance to oral tradition of storytelling. It reads like a tale or one long reggae song. In fact this book IS like a reagge song. It talks about troubles and hardships and doesn't mince words but there is some enchanting sweetness in it, too.
I thought the social commentary inserted in dialogues and the narrative was at times a bit intrusive but that really is my only complaint.
So that's it, ladies and gentlemen. I managed to write another (longish) review without mentioning the plot of the book at all. Because my belief is this: if you want to know the plot, read the bloody book!...more
My boss has just seen it on my desk and said: you're reading the Shit Of The Wind?? Stop now! I will save you. Just stop now before you start enjoyingMy boss has just seen it on my desk and said: you're reading the Shit Of The Wind?? Stop now! I will save you. Just stop now before you start enjoying it. You will like it while you're reading it and then it will mean nothing to you afterwards. It's literary Pinot Grigio! (Can you tell I am working in fine wine business?). Now I am afraid to like it.
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Ok, I finally got round to writing this review. Unfortunately I don't remember much about this book. And it is significant because I read it only a month ago. I should be able to remember SOMETHING? Initially I thought it would be the kind of book I would scorn at for being poor excuse for literature but also secretely love and read in one day because of the gripping story. As for the style, I think it was ok. I think I thought it was ok, because I don't remember. But the story? What was the story about? Some young boys falling in love with your girls and they all liked reading books. I didn't care for anybody in this book, I was not convinced by the drama and I just really don't understand what the fuss was about. Even when then big secret is revealed at the end of the book, I was so jaded I almost missed it altogether.
The only interesting concept in the book was the Cemetery of Forgotten Book and it was completely underdeveloped. That's the only thing I knew about this book before I started reading it. I felt like I was promised something amazing and magical and got cheated....more
I am always wary when it comes to books written by regular people who decided to discover their family history. They more often than not are of intereI am always wary when it comes to books written by regular people who decided to discover their family history. They more often than not are of interest only to the authors and their relatives. And they are usually badly written. Also this was an "Oprah" book, so I was expecting lots of gooey 'women power' yadda-yadda.
I was pleasantly surprised. Wheares Ms Tademy might not win Nobel Prize for literature anytime soon I don't feel I have wasted my time. She doesn't over-romantacise her heroines - something hard to avoid when you write about your ancestors, so she earned one star for that alone. The remaining three stars are for an interesting story and insight into life in Deep South during the slavery and post-Civil War era. The book seems extremely well researched so I trust my vision of that time is not distorted. ...more
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