"What James Lee Burke does for Louisiana, Kimber Silver does for Kansas." —Karen Holmes
Kimber Silver, a book blogger and Å·±¦ÓéÀÖ enthusiast, beca"What James Lee Burke does for Louisiana, Kimber Silver does for Kansas." —Karen Holmes
Kimber Silver, a book blogger and Å·±¦ÓéÀÖ enthusiast, became poacher-turned-gamekeeper when she released a book of her own, back in 2022. And what a debut! Broken Rhodes was a well-received novel fizzing with wisecracks and a hullabaloo of unbridled energy. And this sequel, a cosy small-town murder mystery, is every bit as engaging. The author writes lovingly about her home state of Kansas, and her cast of earthy characters are wonderfully evoked. Moreover, she has a mastery of colloquial dialogue not often seen in modern literature. I don't want to waste your time rambling on about the plot, but must give a special mention to incoming character Dean McCormick, a Harvard-educated biker who'd give Thor a run for his money. He, ladies and gentlemen, is the kind of guy who could find a woman's G-spot just by winking at her. So be warned!
There is an impishness to Silver's writing; her humour is subtly witty and sometimes laugh-out-loud funny. Without giving too much away, there is one scene (as two of the characters were getting into a hot session of faire l'amour) where an unexpected outburst caused me to erupt with laughter. Loved that! : )
Now, here is something you need to know� As I am clearly an incredibly butch slab of masculinity who shaves with an axe and fights with bears, you might wonder how I got on with the cosy romantic mystery side of things� Well, it wasn't really my bag, but then I remembered that I am secretly partial to a chocolate box Hallmark movie when the mood strikes, so I went with it!
In this book, you will find more ne'er-do-wells than you could shake a stick at: you will boo and hiss at Trenton Crawley, a slimy status seeker; and you will definitely get behind Sheriff Lincoln James as he battles for the good folk of Harlow, Kansas.
Silver has a big-hearted writing style and writes with great affection for the type of people she grew up with. And -as in the first book- her characters are a valuable part of the novel.
Dang! This was an entertaining read, y'all!...more
"Silence cut him to the quick as it breathed a tale he didn’t want to hear."
I must confess to a feeling of trepidation prior to reading Kimber Silver'"Silence cut him to the quick as it breathed a tale he didn’t want to hear."
I must confess to a feeling of trepidation prior to reading Kimber Silver's debut novel. I don't usually review books written by author friends for fear of being accused of nepotism. And what if I didn't like the book? Would she really appreciate me posting a two-star review, as I am often inclined to do? : ( Well, all of those concerns quickly flew out of the window as I began to lose myself in this captivating story. Yes, Kimber Silver can write. And yes, she is deserving of the glowing reviews that have come pouring in.
Harlow, Kansas, a small town where grudges fester and where everybody is in each other's business, is the perfect setting for a murder mystery. Kinsley Rhodes is a young woman on a mission; she has a past that she would rather forget and a limited store of patience. Her grandpa, the only person she knew how to love, has been murdered and she wants answers. Enter Lincoln James, the local sheriff and Marlboro Man lookalike who is tasked with finding the killer whilst struggling to placate Miss Rhodes who has blown into town like a tornado. As you can imagine, Kinsley and the Sheriff don't get off to a good start and the spirited interplay between them is a joy to behold: him, genial and playful; her, unapproachable and prickly. Kinsley's initial disdain for the lawman is perfectly pitched and fun to observe.
There is a cinematic quality to Silver's writing; like Steinbeck, she can summon a vivid scene with a scarcity of words, and her jocular dialogue fizzes with energy.
The Kansan countryside and its salt-of-the-earth characters are skilfully rendered by the author. I could easily envisage the endless skies and could almost hear the prairie grass rustling in the breeze. Kinsley's fond recollections of her bucolic childhood were drawn from Silver's own experiences growing up on her grandparents' farm in Kansas. And she also does humour so well: it's there in the earthy local dialect; it's there in every wisecrack and riposte; it's also there in a vignette where one of the locals explains to Lincoln that aliens are to blame for recent events. Loved that scene! : ) Oh, and a word of warning. Do NOT donate your copy of Broken Rhodes to a local nunnery, because there is a steamy sex scene in this book that will blow their knickers off!
As for Sheriff Lincoln, what's not to like? Even I, a raving hetero, thought he was a dish. In a moment of exasperation, I shouted at Kinsley, "If you don't ask him out on a date, then I will!"
This is a terrific read from start to finish and there are more miscreants here than you would find in a Wild West saloon. There is an energy to Silver's writing and it's clear to see that she has put her heart and soul into every sentence.
And, unlike a Netflix movie, this story actually has a proper ending.
I was alerted to this allegorical short story after reading a recent review penned by Swaroop.
Narrated in the first person, an unnamed man (Steinbeck I was alerted to this allegorical short story after reading a recent review penned by Swaroop.
Narrated in the first person, an unnamed man (Steinbeck himself?) encounters a group of migrant cotton pickers in a bucolic valley setting. The impoverished workers, though they have little, are nevertheless happy with their lot and even offer the stranger a breakfast plate of food. The humility and the charity that these people display is heartwarming, perhaps even biblical.
As ever, Steinbeck's writing is authentic and unadorned. There is a bonniness in this simple-yet-idyllic scene; a moral beauty that so often exists in the hearts and minds of those forced to lead a modest life � an overriding feeling of gratitude that is sadly lost in those of us who have attained a comfortable existence.
The piece is more scene than story and can be leafed through in the blink of a chameleon's eye...
"There are none so blind as those who will not see." ‱÷°ù´Ç±¹±ð°ù²ú
In the wildest wastes of Ecuador's Andes, there nestled a valley that was cut off from"There are none so blind as those who will not see." ‱÷°ù´Ç±¹±ð°ù²ú
In the wildest wastes of Ecuador's Andes, there nestled a valley that was cut off from the world outside. Though the valley was lush and beautiful, it harboured a mysterious disease that rendered its entire populace blind. Enter Nuñez, a mountaineer from the modern world who, cushioned by a deep drift of snow, miraculously survives a fall from 1,000 feet. He stumbles upon the legendary 'Country of the Blind', a place known to him only in folklore. Arrogant and opportunistic, he seeks to use his fifth sense to gain some leverage over the 'simple' villagers - possibly symbolic of the Spanish Conquistadors who thought themselves superior to the indigenous population under their subjugation; ditto colonialism, wherever it occurred. (view spoiler)[The villagers, however, have no concept of what it is to be blind, or indeed what it would be like to have the gift of sight, and so the interloper's devious gambit isn't the advantage he'd hoped it would be. Metaphorically speaking, the natives are able to 'see' better than Nuñez, whose dark heart is closed off to interracial harmony and the beauty that surrounds him. (hide spoiler)]
In summary, this is a wonderful little allegory which sees H.G. Wells using personification to great effect, attributing human characteristics to the magnificent features of the valley's natural surroundings. Nuñez is verily the serpent in the villagers' Garden of Eden.
I first read this immersive short story in my early teens and would like to thank Sara for bringing it back into my life! Sara's review...more
"Because in the end there's always death, and always broken hearts. Happy stories, at least, get to hold the air of magic." —Billy O'Callaghan
Brill"Because in the end there's always death, and always broken hearts. Happy stories, at least, get to hold the air of magic." —Billy O'Callaghan
Brilly Billy O'Callaghan has an all-seeing eye and a poet's soul. In this poignant collection of short stories, he uses symbolism and metaphor to great effect while exploring themes of love (though never the romantic kind). He writes about the love that invites death; forbidden love; doomed love; lost love; unrequited love, and the raw, heartbreaking desolation of love. There is an immediacy to O'Callaghan's words; he finds grandeur in the prosaic and his evocative descriptions of limitless Irish skies and etched landscapes are a thing of unfading beauty. To further enhance my reading fun, I entered into a three-way buddy read with Australian possums, Nat and Neale, with whom I would heartily and unequivocally advocate a readage à trois.
Back to Brilly Billy, who not only has his finger on the human pulse but is also a master at capturing moments in time and filming them with words. In truth, not all of the stories were feathered with excellence. There were a few stocking fillers (even in the claustrophobic confines of a short story, I would still prefer a narrative arc). But this didn't detract from the high quality of the collection as a whole. My favourite tales were 'The Boatman' (it really floated my boat, man), 'Love is Strange', and the cinematic 'Last Christmas' (such a clever piece; an author fond of feeding the reader with enough prompts for them to be able to write their own endings).
This is a compelling collection of thought-provoking reads made all the more enjoyable by sharing the experience with my wonderful Aussie amigos (my vote for *star reader* goes to Nat for exhibiting a prescience that would have bested Nostradamus). We didn't always concur, but all agreed that this was a meritorious read! Recommended for anyone with a library in their heart and Guinness in their veins 4.5 stars...more
Ahoy there, me hearties! All hands on deck! Cap'n Kevin here, and I've been reading John Boyne's Mutiny on the Bounty, so I have! Arrrrh!
Now then, althoAhoy there, me hearties! All hands on deck! Cap'n Kevin here, and I've been reading John Boyne's Mutiny on the Bounty, so I have! Arrrrh!
Now then, although I revere Boyne's flamboyant writing, this was not one of his best, in my humble opinion.
Our story begins with a scene straight out of a Dickens novel: Artful Dodger-esque street urchin, John Jacob Turnstile, knows that money doesn't grow on trees and therefore needs to pick a pocket or two. Yess! This is bloomin' luvverly, thought I, breaking into a rousing chorus of ♬Consider Yourself� from Oliver! Needless to say, Turnstile (truly a lovable rogue) is caught red-handed and ends up in the long arms of the law. To avoid a harsh jail sentence he is offered a working position on HMS Bounty and finds himself valet to none other than Captain William Bligh. Naturally, and without delay, I spliced my mainbrace with a tot of rum and hoisted my mainsail. "Come on, John Boyne, you lovable landlubber!" I bellowed into the salty wind. "Enthral me with a dazzling escapade on the very highest of seas!"
Sadly, it wasn't to be. What ensued was a boys'-own adventure that remained far too frisky for my liking (and I like frisky). Boyne plays fast and loose with the language of the day, slipping into modern-day vernacular with alacrity and depicting Tahitian natives as having such a perfect command of the English language that I wondered if they'd enrolled on one of those Rosetta Stone language courses. Example (native girl to Turnstile): "You employ a man to live with horses?" : )
Anyone familiar with my reviews will know that I'm a huge fan of John Boyne's work. Consequently, I fully expected this book to rattle my crow's nest and shiver my timbers. Although extremely excited by its Dickensian beginning, the story didn't move through the gears and I wasn't at any point imbued with a sense of trepidation. In summary, it was a rollicking good read that needed a bit of a rethink.
What a great start to a book! A dead Tasmanian mother returns to her family two days af"Everything changes, nothing perishes." —O±¹¾±»å, Metamorphoses
What a great start to a book! A dead Tasmanian mother returns to her family two days after they'd spread her ashes, and no-one bats an eyelid. This phenomenon isn't unusual within the McAllister clan, for a procession of deceased relatives routinely reappear, albeit amalgamated into the flora, fauna and flotsam of the locale in which they were scattered. Yes! Yes! YES! I was seduced by Robbie Arnott before he'd even bought me flowers. This is an earth, wind and fire kind of book and I was up and ready to groove tonight! For some strange reason, the mythical, folklorish inception of this story put me in mind of the nymph, Daphne, turning herself into a tree so she could evade the lustful advances of Apollo. I love shapeshifters.
Magical realism, if done well, is my favourite genre and Arnott's avant-garde storytelling is backed up with picturesque descriptions of the wild Tasmanian landscape: glistening green gorges, thistle fields, hateful gorse, mudflats and reedy wetlands; whale spray rising from the ocean, beneath a clotted sky.
This, my fellow bookaneers, is an author whose imagination outshines most others'.
Now, this doesn't mean that I was totally won over� The story takes too many routes and becomes lost in the Forest of Fabulism that Arnott has planted. Not only that - why, oh why was the dialogue italicised? And there weren't any blimmin' speech marks either (one of my pet peeves). This ill-considered modus operandi frustrated me from start to finish. I felt as if I was bearing witness to a coven of superhumans who could all communicate telepathically with each other.
The good news is that Arnott's inventive imagery and extravagant storytelling continued to delight me throughout. He conjures up a wealth of extraordinary characters: salt-rinsed fishermen, census-friendly families (now that is a genius line), a flinty, androgynous kickass female detective and the world's finest coffin maker (who was a hoot!). The author even presents us with a Moby Dick-style trope involving a wombat farmer's maniacal quest to kill a malevolent cormorant.
The biggest compliment I can give Robbie Arnott is that his spellbinding book is like nothing I've ever read. And that, dear reader, is a very fine achievement!
My thanks to wonderful Collin for his solid recommendation! Read his review: /review/show......more
"Something will have gone out of us as a people if we ever let the remaining wilderness be destroyed; if we permit the last virgin forests to be tu"Something will have gone out of us as a people if we ever let the remaining wilderness be destroyed; if we permit the last virgin forests to be turned into comic books and plastic cigarette cases�" —Wallace Stegner
As with A Gentleman in Moscow and The Heart's Invisible Furies, the inescapable popularity of this book on Å·±¦ÓéÀÖ was the white flash of a rabbit's tail that first caught my eye. Then as I dipped into the lavish reviews, it became the godlike voice that boomed at me through thunder clouds: "Do thyself a favour, mortal, and REEEAD THIS BOOOOK!" it resounded. So, that’s exactly what I did. (I would just like to add at this stage that a plethora of five-star reviews isn't always a reliable indicator of a book's calibre).
The story spans several decades and is told by genial culture vulture, Larry Morgan, a writer who marries during the Great Depression; a man prepared to suffer for his art so long as he has his wonderful wife, Sally, by his side. He remarks that it was beautiful to be young and hard up if you had the right wife. There is a 'let's get it all out in the open' honesty to Stegner's writing. His direction though is steered by optimism. This is an urbane version of Steinbeck: An erudite, glass-half-full Steinbeck. He is highbrow yet humble, scholarly yet folksy. And as if his elegant no-nonsense prose wasn’t enough, he proceeds to tick almost all my literary boxes by gilding it with some wonderful imagery (cattle grazing in the distance are described as being "tiny as aphids on a leaf") Brilliant! Back of the net, Stegner!
In a scene reminiscent of an episode of Frasier, Larry and his wife are beguiled by like-minded aesthetes, the Langs, who invite them to their fancy schmantzy dinner party. The foursome become lifetime friends and the thrust of the story is as much about them as it is the Morgans. Their very human dynamics will ring many readers' bells because this semi-autobiographical tale gives us the sense of being allowed to pry into the highs and lows of people’s personal lives over a period of several decades. Despite his literary success, Larry is often embarrassed at being able to enjoy a comparatively comfortable lifestyle without ever needing to roll up his sleeves and commit to a 'proper' job (his father was a farmer). He also recognises that there is more to life than the tinsel of literary praise (so true!).
This was my first read by this astonishingly gifted author, and it shan’t be my last. Stegner was clearly at one with nature and a charming aside about Achilles the Tortoise immediately reminded me of dear old Gerald Durrell. Oh, and the women in this book are given equal billing to the men, which is always a good thing in my view.
Because this human story was capably written and wonderfully realised, it didn't need any flash bang wallop or bells and whistles. It's ostensibly a book where a seasoned author has taken his time and allowed his love of words to drive the narrative....more
"Be strong, saith my heart; I am a soldier; I have seen worse sights than this." —Homer, The Odyssey
Having recently read The Odyssey, I was prompte"Be strong, saith my heart; I am a soldier; I have seen worse sights than this." —Homer, The Odyssey
Having recently read The Odyssey, I was prompted by Å·±¦ÓéÀÖ friend, @JulieGrippo, to go on this journey - namely, Homer's epic voyage transposed to the terrain of 19th-century North America.
Inman (not as heroic as Odysseus), an army deserter wounded in the American Civil War, faces a treacherous, interminable journey home to his love, Ada (ergo Odysseus’s Penelope).
You can see from my five-star rating that I was captivated by this book, but it could just have easily been demoted to three stars as it was very nearly hoisted by a petard of its own poetic prose. So I'll just get my two gripes out of the way, then we can all sit down and have a nice cup of tea� Gripe #1 One of my pet peeves is seeing dialogue that isn't neatly nestled between some perfectly respectable speech marks. Why, Charles Frazier? Why? They were evidently good enough for Dickens, Hugo and Dostoyevsky yet, for some artsy reason, you didn't feel the need. Of course, the enlightened readers among us can get by without them but, applying the same logic, why bother with commas and full stops? In fact, let's go the whole hog and eliminate vowels as well! Huh! Bloody vowels, making words much longer than they need to be! Gripe #2 More than most, I drool over a banquet of sumptuous prose. Frazier writes beautifully and songbirds landed on my shoulders while I read, rather like a dreamy scene from Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs. All, it seemed, was perfectly spiffing in my world. But holy pretentiousness, Batman! Surely, he didn’t have to pack every blimmin' paragraph with eminence until each one burst at the seams! The high calibre prose, though meritorious, did quicksand the pace of my read and decelerated the narrative thrust of the story.
Ahhh, now isn't it just grand to get things off one's chest? So, how about that nice cup of tea ... do you take milk and sugar?
The story, despite my two gripes, is a towering epic worthy of the utmost praise. Evocative and monumental, it carries weighty themes of love, resilience, honour and devotion with great aplomb. Granted, it doesn't flow like a cold mountain stream, but you won't often see writing as good as this in our modern age....more
5/5 for the faultless prose. Wroblewski writes with aplomb and could become a latter-day Steinbeck if he were to produce a gutsy, seminal story. Alas, 5/5 for the faultless prose. Wroblewski writes with aplomb and could become a latter-day Steinbeck if he were to produce a gutsy, seminal story. Alas, 2/5 for this story, which plodded along and might only suit dog trainers and breeders. An amazing writer though!...more
"Ivashov and his men were sleeping in their sleds when, at a prearranged sign, the Midnooskies crushed each of the men's skulls with axes."
At firs"Ivashov and his men were sleeping in their sleds when, at a prearranged sign, the Midnooskies crushed each of the men's skulls with axes."
At first glance this is a story that I shouldn't like: it's essentially an account of an expedition into the frozen wilds of Alaska, expressed in the form of diaries and historical documents. Sounds boring, right? Wronggg!!! This is, in fact, an epic tale of love, nature, historical adventure and North American mythology that had me absorbed from start to finish.
It's 1885: Dutiful and capable Lieutenant-Colonel Allen Forrester leads a reconnaissance mission into Alaska, up the Wolverine River, to gauge whether the natives of the territory would be hostile or not. At the same time, his pregnant wife, Sophie Forrester, is confined to Vancouver Barracks. Optimistic, ladylike and resolute (think Charlotte Brontë), she keeps a journal of her daily life, as does her hubby. Sophie's snug life of self-discovery and afternoon teas forms the perfect contrast to her husband's grim and perilous odyssey.
With the words of his blood & guts father, General James Forrester, ringing in his ears (that his preference for topographical engineering is for sissies) Allen has nevertheless previously shown his mettle in the heat of battle.
Ivey's prose is precise and evocative, rather than poetic and descriptive. It is this verisimilitude that gives the story some grit and amplifies the magic that is braided into the narrative. The novel is extremely well written, which is a benediction these days. Particularly groovy was a description of bats as being "mice who swim with the stars." Love that!
Those accompanying him on the trip include boisterous hell-raiser, Sergeant Tillman, and Tillman's polar opposite, brooding Lieutenant Pruitt, who prefers a sextant to sex. Also in the party is an old Eyak Indian, known as "The Man Who Flies on Black Wings." This chap sleeps at the top of trees in the dead of night and is said to possess unearthly powers.
And this is where the story gets really interesting... As a fan of magical realism, I love Ivey's sorcerous incantation of anthropomorphism and zoomorphism. Native folklore and perceived reality become blurred; it is believed that humans have been seen shape-shifting into animals and that trees can double up as wombs! As a result, Forrester's white man scepticism is sorely tested on the assignment. The wilderness of wintry Alaska, with its frozen rivers and deep-set snow, is best suited to mineral prospectors and fur trappers and if anyone can survive that, Spring awaits with its squadrons of ceaseless mosquitoes.
Comic relief comes in the form of Sergeant Tillman who has a bash at writing the daily log while his scholarly superior is indisposed. Unforchinitly his speling and grammer isnt as gud as wot forristers is. : )
Side by side throughout the book, yet a hinterland apart, Allen's indomitable spirit is mirrored by his wife's determination to challenge chauvinistic attitudes back at the barracks. The dichotomy of their parallel existence is a constant theme throughout, as is the symbolism of the colour black: black wolf; black raven; black hat; black bear, etcetera.
This has all the ingredients of a first-rate novel and serves as a sad reminder that the Native American's soulful connection with nature is now only the stuff of legend.
Homeric and allegorical, To the Bright Edge of the World is a cracking read that cannot be ignored. Huge thanks to Cheri for her judicious recommendation....more
"They said that I stole the breath from men, and now they must steal mine."
An impressive first novel from young Australian writer, Hannah Kent. Thi"They said that I stole the breath from men, and now they must steal mine."
An impressive first novel from young Australian writer, Hannah Kent. This disquieting tale is based on historical events that happened in Iceland almost two centuries ago.
Agnes Magnúsdóttir was a local woman condemned to death for murder in 1829. This is her story re-imagined by the author for our reading pleasure.
Because there were no jails in 19th century Iceland, Agnes is billeted with an understandably reluctant family who already have enough on their plate eking out a meagre existence on an isolated farm (Jails, pah! Who needs jails, eh?) Fast forward to the present day and there isn't one single McDonald's on the entire island, which seems a more sensible idea altogether.
Time is running out for Agnes, and the executioner's axe looms large (beheading being the punishment of choice at the time).
I cannot fault the author's evocative prose, but if I were to be picky, the characters were thinly-drawn and the dialogue was stilted at times.
2 out 5 for the characterisation. 5 out of 5 for the prose.
Now, let's see: using the arithmetic formula of 2 + 5, multiplied by 2, d being the common difference, divide that by 2, add 7, divide by 4 ...um, oh God, where was I? I'm not Albert bloody Einstein y'know! Yep, got it! That comes to 3.5, which I've bumped up to 4 because Hannah Kent has added a delightfully honest account of what led her to write the novel in the first place. Loved that bit!...more
30-year-old Bostonian, Maggie Flannigan, is expected to marry former high school himbo, Thomas (thereafter to become a Stepford wifeA delightful read!
30-year-old Bostonian, Maggie Flannigan, is expected to marry former high school himbo, Thomas (thereafter to become a Stepford wife in the 'burbs). Unfortunately, prissy Thomas is as dull as dishwater (I can just imagine him being one of those guys who drapes a pullover his shoulders with no intention of ever wearing it); Maggie, however, is free-spirited and loves to follow her heart.
To make things worse, Maggie settles for so-so sex with Thomas, but also has to endure his imperious, interfering mother.
Smith Diamond is a natural storyteller, the characters are well-observed and the author has a gift of transporting you straight to the heat haze of Tanzania. Her depiction of Nairobi Airport reminded me so much of Banjul's spartan effort, with its mosquito-infested latrines and porters who try to wrestle your suitcases from your grasp. Here, Smith Diamond touches on a mnemonic detail that triggers a familiar memory: Heat radiated up from the tarmac as she walked from the plane. Excellent simplicity!
Of course no femme-alone travel adventure would be complete without its 'hell-oo ladies' hunky object of desire... Enter full-lipped Adam Slater, he of the pompadour hairstyle and easy charm. (Him, Tarzan; Maggie, Jane).
Sexual tension and mountain camaraderie keeps the story ticking along nicely. There are some delightful twists and turns and the author's clever descriptive imagery truly evokes the spirit of Africa: Monkeys chattered at her from the side of the road as she ran by. Birds chirped and screeched from the trees. There was a constant hum of insects in the grass. Splendid stuff!
I really enjoyed sharing Maggie's rites of passage journey; she's prickly, she's spontaneous, and she's certainly up for adventure. The book itself is an enjoyable, carefree read.
In fact, the mountain trek is so well-described that I can scrub it from my bucket list. I have now lived it vicariously, without a scintilla of altitude sickness!
An excellent debut novel from this writer. Get your hiking boots on and enjoy the trip!
A delightful, lyrical and altogether MAGICAL read. *ADVANCE WARNING* Review includes mention of tortoise sex!
It's usually a huge mistake to return to A delightful, lyrical and altogether MAGICAL read. *ADVANCE WARNING* Review includes mention of tortoise sex!
It's usually a huge mistake to return to a childhood favourite, imagining it would be just as good the second time around. So when I found this book in the attic, with its dog-eared cover held together with Sellotape and pages jaundiced with age, I had mixed feelings about reading it again. (A side note to any fellow Brits who once strode majestically in platform shoes: the price on the book was a nostalgic three shillings and sixpence).
My Family and Other Animals is the semi-autobiographical account of prepubescent Gerald's expat life on the Greek island of Corfu with his upper crust, eccentric, English family. Happily, this entertaining book far-exceeded my expectations. I rediscovered the same Mediterranean island from my boyhood wish list; a sun-drenched idyll of olive groves, cypress trees and hidden coves.
Durrell was better known as a leading naturalist and conservationist, but it would be a huge mistake to disregard his skill as an author. Without a shadow of a doubt, he was a formidable storyteller and his command of the English language would shame most of our modern-day scribblers. Not only this; his human imagery is up there with the best. Durrell generates genuinely laugh-out-loud moments with his impish descriptive humour: his sister Margot's acne-ridden face, for example, is described as being "swollen up like a plate of scarlet porridge". Animals on the island are cheerfully anthropomorphised, including Geronimo the gecko, Quasimodo the pigeon, plus Widdle and Puke, the gambolling puppies. Durrell's overuse of similes and adjectives might cause some readers to grind their teeth to powder, but I personally adore this overkill of descriptive imagery.
The author's personification of animals extends to goats, whose "udders swing like bagpipes" and also in respect of some tortoise-shagging (the tortoises with each other, not any deviant behaviour on Durrell's part).
Set in the 1930s, before the hedonism of mass tourism had descended upon the Greek islands, Gerald Durrell puts the 'Cor!' into Corfu. This is not just a novel for bookish school kids. I enjoyed it as a boy and I relished it even more as an adult. Methinks it was three shillings and sixpence well spent!
This well written, inspirational story chronicles the author's own rite of passage, where he eschews the comfort of modern life for the unforgiving wiThis well written, inspirational story chronicles the author's own rite of passage, where he eschews the comfort of modern life for the unforgiving wilds of New Mexico. Astonishingly, Dan Glover puts his own life in danger to trek the ancient trails once walked by Geronimo and his Indian braves. Battling loneliness, snowstorms and harsh terrain, the author treads his own path to Zen enlightenment, shedding his urban ego along the way: He feels the urge to abstain from modern life from time to time, to become diminished by nature's magnificence. Interestingly, this is so clearly a love/hate relationship: he's drawn, as a moth to a flame, to this Spartan existence, when part of him wonders why he hasn't instead opted for R&R at a tropical beach resort. As a kid, I was usually on the side of the Indians when watching a cowboy movie, so it was comforting to learn that the Apache's morals were frequently better than those of their paleface adversaries. You really get a sense that Glover's retelling of this introspective story was every bit as cathartic as his actual travels in the wilderness. Here, the beauty of the great outdoors is depicted as being in stark contrast to the inhumanity of modern society. A racist waitress at a remote diner serves as a clever metaphor for the outside world's intolerant attitude to these once-noble people. As much as the author is on a journey of self-discovery, we, the reader, learn an awful lot also. And for that, I am extremely grateful....more
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