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Good morning, eTLS. (Well, it’s pre-sunrise where I am anyway.)

Justine has asked me to fill in for her for a week or two while she deals with some health issues (and a few ongoing annoyances with her broadband connection). She thanks you all for your well wishes, and begs you ‘not to worry��. Her shoes are hard to fill but I’ll do the best I can.

Last week:

Sandya introduced us to The Young Melbourne by David Cecil.

The book is beautifully written, rather in the style of Duff Cooper’s “Talleyrand��. It takes its history lightly, without intimidating the reader with footnotes, references, and superscripts. Yet its subject is well researched and it probably benefited greatly from family records. It is full of memorable quotes. On Fred Lamb, Melbourne’s younger brother-“Did he not read Shakespeare to his mistress? And what is more, persuade her to enjoy it?�� This sparkling surface makes it easy to read and one ends up with a detailed knowledge, painlessly gained, of the time and place-London in the late 18th and ear The Young Melbourne. David Cecil.ly 19th centuries.

�ʲ��ܱ�’s review opened a discussion about ‘magic realism��, always entertaining in these parts:

Last week, I found myself longing for a book with the narrative space in which I could walk and wander, a book without all of the thoughts thought, the words said and all the balls busted.

I sure got that space in Juan Rulfo's Pedro Páramo. However, in the world of Juan and Pedro, the free spaces were full of ghosts and echoes of memory. Juan Preciado's mother dies and he has to fulfill her command from the deathbed, to go find his father in Comala, the titular Pedro. What or who he finds is entirely different, and I won't go into details.
It was a brilliantly evocative, ethereal novel in which all was wispy and direction was hard to establish.

Pomfretian made me long for a chance to ‘walk the Chilterns�� someday:

This month's is The Country of Larks: A Chiltern Journey: In the footsteps of Robert Louis Stevenson and the footprint of HS2. It's a beautiful little hardback in which the author walks the Chilterns between High Wycombe and Tring just as RLS had done in 1874. RLS wrote an essay about his walk called In the Beechwoods where he tells of being followed as he went by a carolling of larks.
Simmons only hears them briefly whilst they're feeding on a stubble field but she does at least hear some....

���Ի��’s review of I Am an Island by Tamsin Calidas had me humming Paul Simon tunes all week.

This was a really enjoyable and completely compelling read that I can only add to the many accolades it has received.
Regardless of its very feminine perspective, as a man living alone (with a dog of course) in a quiet rural spot much affected by wild weather, I can relate to a lot of Calidas's story, especially the life-changing effect of the nature and environment.

I am practising to be like the earth. If I am cold, I light a fire. If I am hurt, I breathe and allow tears to flow. If I am fearful, I step closer to the source of fear. If I am alone, I go outside into the wilds for their solace and company.

So, five stars, no question, but its the sort of book that needs to be discussed.
After so much conflict and pain, has Calidas lost confidence in relationships and people? Was she always going to be happier alone?

FrancesBurgundy wins this week’s ‘Stick-to-itiveness�� award:

I’m very pleased at last to have finished La Vie mode d'emploi by Georges Perec. But it’s taken me an awful long time. 660 small print Livre de Poche pages of ‘story��, 50 pages of index, 7 pages of chronology from 1833 to 1975 and an index of 107 stories contained within the book. I’m sure there are more than 107 in fact, but I’m not going back to count them....But Perec doesn’t make it an easy read.

Georg's review got �����������Բ�������’s attention.

The Council of Egypt by Leonardo Sciascia

This is a novella, just over 130 pages (in my German translation), set in Palermo in the 1780s.

It starts with an Arabian manuscript that had gathered dust in the library of a monastery...

It tells the story of Giuseppe Vella, a lowly chaplain of the Maltese order, who supports his meagre income listening to peoples dreams and translating them into numbers to enter into the lottery.
It tells the story of a bold, cunning forger whose imagination knows no bounds. A man with foresight, a man who, as it turns out, never loses control, Giuseppe Vella. A man who grabs the opportunity offered to him by fate, or chance, to forge his own destiny.
…If there were a contest how much you can pack into such a short book I think this would stand a good chance to be among the winners.

And finally, Nabokov drives SydneyH to Wodehouse. Hmmm.

Nabokov’s Pale Fire contains a four-canto poem in rhyming couplets, followed by extended commentary on each line. What I admire about the project is how daring it is �� if Nabokov hadn’t absolutely nailed it, the undertaking would have looked ridiculous. But his verse is excellent. My main objection is that the commentary takes up most of the text, and I didn’t find the editor’s contributions very entertaining. I otherwise preferred this novel to Lolita.
I’m well and truly due for some comfort reading, so I’m turning to Leave It to Psmith by P.G. Wodehouse.

Interesting links about books and reading

I thought I'd revive this section from our 'real' home...just a few links this week, more next.

(thanks, mb)


New! Literary Birthdays

The slew of February birthdays mentioned last week led me to add a new folder - Literary Birthdays. You'll find the first post - Week of February 15th through February 21st - here.

Machenbach wrote: "Thanks Lisa, and my best wishes to Justine.

Daniel Kehlmann, Me And Kaminski (tr. Carol Brown Janeway)

This is Kehlmann’s fifth novel, published..."

Didn't get on with 'Tyll' at all. But I loved 'Measuring the World'.
So I'll go for 'Me and Kaminski' as soon as the library opens again. Thanks for the review.

Thank you, LL - and the literary birthday list is a great idea. All the best to Justine.
The 15th of the month is the day for the Slightly Foxed podcast. This month's theme is 'An Odyssey through the Classics' and as always it's a real pleasure to listen to.

Here's a couple of recommended novels that have entertained me over an icy weekend, -18C recorded on Helton Felll on Friday night..
Untraceable by Sergei Lebedev, translated by Antonina W. Bouis.
This starts with a lively and dramatic first chapter as a man, once part of the Soviet secretive services, since defected and settled in the West with a new identity, is assassinated. Its also straight form the front pages of our newspapers, as he feels a wasp sting him, but has been poisoned.
But though the subject of poisioning dominates throughout, there is a change of pace, while Lebedev takes time to describe the novel's two main characters, both products of the Soviet days; Kalitin, a talented chemist who has developed Neophyte, a wonder drug, as it is untraceable, and Lieutenant Colonel Shershnev is tasked with taking Kalitin out in his German exile.
This is a well done thriller at a strength with its characterisation. Though Kalitin's background may less readily accepted, the many cock-ups encountered as Shershnev closes in are much more believable. They also lighten a pretty dark indictment of Russia under Putin.

Milder in the south, feels almost tropical after all the icy air for 6-7 days, a balmy 11c!

I Shall Not Hear the Nightingale by Khushwant Singh (1959)
is a brilliant distillation of the Punjabi region during the Quit India disturbances of the year 1942-3. The novel moves from Amritsar to Simla and two famliies working for the Raj and their rebellious eldest sons who are mixed up in the revolutionary movements. Singh presents a world of uneasy change, as WW2 starts to become complicated for the occupiers...

Youth by Tove Ditlevsen (1967)
Downbeat memories of her teens and 20s, following on from the excellent "Childhood".

Target in The Night by Ricardo Piglia (2015)
Argentinian noir, a rare modern novel for me by the late great Pigla. It has elements of Murnane's "The Plains" in its stratified system of rural new world life, with an argentine flavour

i think i share my birthday (feb 13th) with Georges Simenon....thats a good author to be share it with...

And, The Book of Daniel by E.L. Doctorow
This, Doctorow’s third novel, published in 1971, has the titular Daniel as narrator, an orphan who tries through his narrative to rehabilitate his parents who are fictionalised re-creations of the Rosenbergs, renamed Isaacsons. Julius and Ethel Rosenberg were American citizens who were convicted of spying on behalf of the Soviet Union in 1951, and executed in 1953.
The crux of the book is of Daniel trying to find meaning to the void left by his parents, which though very informative about a fascinating time in the history of the US, doesn't sound powerful enough to compel for 350+ pages - but, as ever, Doctorow's writing pulls it off.
It is at its most poignant when considering the Isaacsons; Daniel's grandmother, a “sour smell, always with her, a stink shadow,�� his father, “who would never believe that America was not the cafeteria at City College,�� his mother, who needed “some purchase on the future against the terrible life of the present,�� and, most memorable, his Aunt Frieda, whom Daniel catches on the lavatory, “arching her back in an ecstasy of defecation,��. Doctorow skilfully dramatises their innocence, impotence and fury.

His descriptions of New York in the 1950s are a stand-out, and worthy of a short clip..

Tompkins Square Park. The Park is crowded. This is not 14th street, this is the community. There is a music phenomenon coming out of hundreds of transistor radios. There is a mamba phenomenon. There is a dog phenomenon- there are dogs in the dog-run taking craps, dogs on the leash, dogs roaming free in packs. Men and girls playing handball in the fenced-in handball courts. The girls are good. They shout in Spanish. Dogs jump for the ball in the handball courts. In the benches of the park sit old Ukrainian ladies with babushkas. The old ladies have small yapping dogs on leashes. Old men play chess at tables. The old dogs of the men lie under the stone tables with their tongues hanging. On the big dirt hill in the centre of the park, a kid and a dog roll over each other. A burned-out head drifts by, barefoot with his feet red and swollen. A dog growls at him. Down the path from the old ladies in babushkas sits one blond-haired girl on the pipe fence. Four black guys surround her. One talks to her earnestly. She stares straight ahead. Her radio plays Aretha. Her dog sleeps at the end of its leash. Benches are turned over, a group of hippies huddles around the guitar, dogs streak back and forth under the bandshell with the zigzag propulsion of pinballs. Two cop cars are parked on 10th street. Mambo, mambo. A thousand radios play rock.

Andy wrote: "And, The Book of Daniel by E.L. Doctorow
This, Doctorow’s third novel, published in 1971, ..."

I read that book many many years ago and have forgotten most of it except that I thought it was very very good!

I am finally reading the "Fettnäpfchenführer Japan" "Sandtrapguide to Japan" if you so wish. We travel with fictious Herr Hoffmann (a common German surname) to Japan and trip from sandtrap to sandtrap vicariously. Hence I can only read it in smaller installments, chapter by chapter. Still have the will to make enough progress to finish it until the 28th.

AB76 wrote: "Looks like the Guardian are going further down the wokehole, with an american leftist journalist sacked for a tweet quipping about the amount of money Congress gives to Israel per year..."

I fail to see what's 'woke' about this? Or am I misunderstanding you?

Machenbach wrote: "This is Kehlmann’s fifth novel, published..."

There' something familiar about the storyline you describe for this book, but I can't pull it up. I scanned some GR reviews to see if anyone else saw the similarity to another novel, but nothing showed up. I did rather like this (2-star) review:

Think _Pale Fire_, but without the poem; add _Bright Lights, Big City_, but without the cocaine; wrap it up with a hint of redemption, and there you are. Brevity is the great virtue of this book.

And ooohhh - Patchett! I can't remember, have you read her before?

Its interesting for me how the indian writers in english have faded from the scene in portrayals of the India they grew up in, usually from pre-partition era and later (1930s-1970s)

RK Narayan, Raja Rao, Mulk Raj Anand and Khushwant Singh all wrote many novels in english but none seem as revered as they should be. In fact it is Bishami Sahni(writing in Hindi) and Hasan Saadat Manto(writing in Urdu) who are the biggest names now.
(Manto ended up in Pakistan, was Muslim but most of his works focus on the Punjab before and during partition)

All six are rough contemparies from all over India, though only Narayan and Rao are Southern writers

My favourite of them all is Manto but he didnt write that much, in a troubled short life. Possibly the modern BJP nationalist Indian policies look towards the writers who forged literature in the native tongues...though thats only a theory.

Tagore(from an earlier generation) is of course is appreciated by all and the father of modern Indian lit

My husband teases me, calls me ‘Shortie�� and ‘where are you going��. Today he insisted ( laughing) in getting out the tape measure and yes I am four inches shorter, down from 5ft 6in to 5ft2in and I cannot reach the top shelves in the kitchen any more.
I never knew that this could happen, it seems to be more common in women as though I had been guzzling Alice’s Drink Me

Told him I’m growing again later. Yes, his turn to be measured but he had only lost an inch.
What wonderful characters appear in Alice, can’t decide on a favourite.

CCCubbon wrote: "My husband teases me, calls me ‘Shortie�� and ‘where are you going��. Today he insisted ( laughing) in getting out the tape measure and yes I am four inches shorter, down from 5ft 6in to 5ft2in and I..."


My sympathies, I used to be 5'6" too.

Lljones wrote: " Nabokov drives SydneyH to Wodehouse"

Thanks LL - though it wasn't Nabokov that turned me to Wodehouse, probably the current state of the world generally (and maybe the Woman in White, which was a longer text).

��50 Foods: The Essentials of Good Taste�� �� Edward Behr (2013)

Back in the days when it was possible to go to a book sale (sigh) I was always amazed at the sheer number of books on food and cooking. Mostly I would pass them by. This one I picked up on spec from a Covid-compliant book rack (as new, HB, $2). I’m glad I did. Writing from a US perspective but encompassing the regional cuisines of Europe, EB displays a deep fund of delicious knowledge. He covers the gamut from anchovies and apples via lamb and lettuce to salmon, strawberries and walnuts, and a score of cheeses along the way. He does five or six nicely turned pages on each food �� how it’s cultivated, how it’s prepared and cooked, and how you should buy it (a bit theoretical in present circumstances), all with sections on complementary foods and wine-pairings. There are no recipes as such but he says enough for you to work things out on your own. A couple of chapters at bed-time and I float away.

CCCubbon wrote: "I am four inches shorter, down from 5ft 6in to 5ft2in and I cannot reach the top shelves in the kitchen any more.
I never knew that this could happen, it seems to be more common in women..."

Loss of height with age is a well-known phenomenon:

The tendency to become shorter occurs among all races and both sexes. Height loss is related to aging changes in the bones, muscles, and joints. People typically lose almost one-half inch (about 1 centimeter) every 10 years after age 40. Height loss is even more rapid after age 70. You may lose a total of 1 to 3 inches (2.5 to 7.5 centimeters) in height as you age.
.

It's also the case that we are slightly taller after a night's sleep (or a 'night in bed', for some of us):
...we do grow taller during our sleep thanks to our intervertebral disc. It’s a disc-like material in between each joint in our spine. It acts like a shock absorber and allows movement of the spine.

During the day, the intervertebral disc is squished as we wake up, stand, and do our daily activities. This means we lose around one percent of our height. When we sleep in the night, it gets to recover and return to its natural state whenever we sleep; hence, returning to our true height or the illusion that we grow taller overnight. That’s why we wake up slightly taller than our height prior to sleeping.
.

These authors state the difference is only 1%, but others put it as 1/2in or more... try getting your husband to measure you in the morning!

An update on Albert Cohen's Le Livre de ma mère the book of my mother

I like Cohen's memoir so far, but progress is slow - I need my wits about me to read in French, and a period of worse than usual insomnia has dulled my brain to the point that it has seemed to require more concentration than I have, most mornings. The early chapters, too, are a lament for his mother, and deal with his sense of guilt at his lack of appreciation (as he sees it) when she was alive.
Albert's mother died in occupied France at a time when he had escaped to London and (by the sound of it) news was understandably hard to get. This ending must have compounded Albert's regrets.

Sometimes, you come across authors who appear to have been taught that repetition is a 'useful technique' - presumably at some week-end creative writing course - and who go on to use it clumsily and badly. Cohen, on the other hand, is exceptionally skilful and sensitive in his use, as is shown in this passage (ch. 4):

On l'a soulevée, et elle ne s'est pas débattue, celle qui s'était tant affairée dans sa cuisine. On l'a soulevée de ce lit où ell a tant songé à son fils, tant attendu les lettres de son fils, tant rêvé des cauchemars où son fils était en péril. On l'a soulevée, raidie, on l'a enfermée et puis on a vissé la boîte. Enfermée comme une chose dans une boîte, une chose que deux chevaux ont emportée, et les gens dans la rue ont continué à fair leurs achats.

(They lifted her up, and she didn't argue, she who was so busy in her kitchen. They lifted her up from that bed where she thought so often of her son, so often awaited letters from her son, so often dreamed nightmares where her son was in peril. They lifted her up, stiff, they closed her in and then they screwed down the box. Enclosed like a thing in a box, a thing carried away by two horses, and the people in the road carried on with their shopping.)

That's a cruel and beautiful passage, but not the sort of thing I can take too much of at present... apologies for my imperfect translation, but I hope you get the idea.

Here is another link I just came across on youtube, a bookish one, of course:

It is about the dedications of books. I particularly liked the Skulduggery Pleasant ones - they may not be a work of art, but are very elaborate.

In Leave it to Psmith (the p is silent, as in psalamander) the protagonist is an unflappable young man with a monocle, a waistcoat, and a taste for whimsical entertainment, even if this unfortunately entails crime. The writing is jovial and gorgeous, obviously, though the narrative is much the same as usual. Still, I think it is worth the very minimal effort for Wodehouse’s characteristic wit and charm.

“Is Miss Peavey staying at the castle?��
“My dear fellow, you couldn’t shift her with blasting-powder��

I’m still biased in favour of Uncle Fred in the Springtime, the first Wodehouse I read, and I’m planning to read the other ‘Uncle Freds��. I’m also interested in Wodehouse at the Wicket, the collection of Wodehouse’s cricket sketches.
Now onto Concrete Island by J.G. Ballard.

scarletnoir wrote: "CCCubbon wrote: "I am four inches shorter, down from 5ft 6in to 5ft2in and I cannot reach the top shelves in the kitchen any more.
I never knew that this could happen, it seems to be more common in..."

oh dear...so i can look foward to shrinking since i passed 40, five years ago, i'm 6'1 now....wonder how shrunken i will be at 70(if i make it that far)

Machenbach wrote: "Lljones wrote: "There' something familiar about the storyline you describe "
Yes, it's a familiar conceit, 'though I couldn't think of another novel that mapped onto it exactly - I guess it's an es..."

i have come up against a brick wall with Vlady Nabo, i read Lolita in my teens and didnt get, tried Pnin and hated it, its a shame, i must make a choice and read another of his, maybe Pale Fire

Like conrad, i am impressed by his writing in brilliant prose in english but with Pnin i found it was almost an exercise in using a dictionary, over elaborate and fussy at the same time

Many thanks to Pomfretian for his comments on the book site 'Adventurous Ink' and Neil Ansell's book 'The Last Wilderness-a Journey into Silence' which I very much enjoyed.
Here are my thoughts -


As time has continued to slow down to a snail's pace and we have still no freedom to leave home and explore our world because of the pandemic I have looked to another book about the beauty of our world.

The Last Wilderness follows the thoughts and memories of Neil Ansell's life long journey into the natural world.

As his health is deteriorating he plans a series of journeys over a year to explore the area that he believes to be the most wild area of Britain; the Rough Bounds of Lochaber in the north west Highlands. He has split the journey into 5 visits starting in November and ending in October the following year. He travels light with no defined plan making each journey by train then either hitching or walking the rest.

He describes in detail the beauty of the landscape, the wildlife and he is hugely knowledgeable about the natural world. The 'armchair-reader' is transported to this wilderness, to it's hugeness, it's smallness, it's smells, it's sounds. Particularly it's sounds. Specifically the bird song. As well as his failing health Neil is losing his hearing and his distress at this is written through the pages of this book. He knows all the songs of the birds but gradually they are lost to him, falling outside his hearing range. It is very sad to witness this huge setback -

'One by one I am losing my birds, and I have just had to add the meadow pipit to my ever growing list of those who's song I have lost forever.'

The author entertains his reader with memories of his travels through the natural world. There are plenty of stories to bring a smile to the reader and a huge amount of knowledge just pours out of the pages, dropping onto the reader's lap, encouraging further investigation by any reader curious enough to follow up.

His story is filled with his love for the world and is a great read for someone looking for a little solace in our own strange lock down world.

I am now currently lost and in love with Brian Sewell's tiny and adorable little book, 'The White Umbrella' (did someone recommend it here?) If you've been in love with your dog then this story of Mr.B and his 4 month old baby donkey will bring a warm glow to your day!

Clare de la lune wrote: "Many thanks to Pomfretian for his comments on the book site 'Adventurous Ink' and Neil Ansell's book 'The Last Wilderness-a Journey into Silence' which I very much enjoyed.
Here are my thoughts -

..."
That's a great review. I must brush up on my reviewing skills; when
I read ones that others have posted I can see where mine are lacking :)
Glad you enjoyed the book. Ansell has had quite a life, including living alone and off the grid for 5 years in Wales! He contributed to an article in The Guardian last week about lockdown stress and it appears that he now lives in a council flat in a town. Quite a change.

AB76 wrote: "scarletnoir wrote: "CCCubbon wrote: "I am four inches shorter, down from 5ft 6in to 5ft2in and I cannot reach the top shelves in the kitchen any more.
I never knew that this could happen, it seems ..."

Unfortunately, the way you want to shrink, i.e. girthwise, doesn't seem to happen the same way!!

Yes and my feet have lengthened so I guess I am sliding down!

Target In The Night by Ricardo Piglia has recieved a lot of praise for its "southern cone noir" style and i'm impressed so far

It was one of the last novels the great Argentine wrote before he died and i love the fact 30 pages have elapsed and little has happened. However its not indulgent prose, puffed full of learning, its precise, clipped and unadorned observations of Pampas life and the arrival of a stranger, a Puerto Rican into the community

"I Shall Not Hear The Nightingale by Khushwint Singh"
is a Raj power-play on a local level. The war is going badly for the British and the local DO, Taylor, is trying to monitor the local movements for Indian independence, including the young son of a loyal magistrate Buta Singh.
The Singh family is headed by the slightly two faced Buta,caught out by the blows the British are suffering in the war, his son Sher is locked into a marraige with a sexual demanding wife and is wracked by guilt over the fact his involvement in the "movement" could undermine his father, while hating the British equally. His mother is deeply religious and consults the Sikh holy book at every opportunity
Around this family, strides the elegant figure of Madan Lal, another member of the "movement" and a philandering cricket legend, who seduces his friend Sher's wife and makes moves on his sister too....

Clare de la lune wrote: "As well as his failing health Neil is losing his hearing and his distress at this is written through the pages of this book. He knows all the songs of the birds but gradually they are lost to him, falling outside his hearing range. ..."

This'll be a familiar experience to some of you beyond 'a certain age', as I am. I used to be able to hear bats (probably pipistrelles - unlike Ansell, I'm no wild-life expert) - but no more. Of rather more concern is the inability to carry on a conversation in noisy environments - the pub, for example. No wonder us codgers retreat to a corner with our drinks!

High frequency sounds are generally 'lost' first... if you want an amusing novel based on this experience, you could try David Lodge's Deaf Sentence, a funny and sometimes cruel tale of the trials of old age.

giveusaclue wrote: "Unfortunately, the way you want to shrink, i.e. girthwise, doesn't seem to happen the same way!!

How true... I'm not exactly 'waisting' away, unfortunately!

AB76 wrote: "i have come up against a brick wall with Vlady Nabo, i read Lolita in my teens and didnt get, tried Pnin and hated it, its a shame, i must make a choice and read another of his, maybe Pale Fire

I read Lolita some time ago and sort of liked it... or rather, sort of 'admired the skill' in the writing.

From time to time, I have considered reading another Nabokov; every time, though, my inner voice says: "Don't do it!"

Not sure why, TBH, but I somehow think he's not for me.

AB76 wrote: "scarletnoir wrote: "CCCubbon wrote: "I am four inches shorter, down from 5ft 6in to 5ft2in and I cannot reach the top shelves in the kitchen any more.
I never knew that this could happen, it seems ..."
At least you start from over 6 feet. I was 5" 7' and last time I was measured it was about an inch smaller .. and I am 52.

Machenbach wrote: "AB76 wrote: "i have come up against a brick wall with Vlady Nabo, i read Lolita in my teens and didnt get, tried Pnin and hated it, its a shame, i must make a choice and read another of his, maybe ..."

that point about precision is right, i agree, in that he applied an almost scientific emphasis to the correct application of the english language, which could be labelled pedantic. (i'm almost 100% not pedantic, hence my irritation at that style but i do also admire how he manages to write in english)

attention proust fans, a new work found



i have never read Proust but am beginning to think about it..

Roadside Picnic by Arkady & Boris Strugatsky, translated by Antonina W. Bouis.
Picture a carload of people on a road trip up country, a family maybe. With decent weather they pull over for a break and something to eat. As sadly happened here in our National Park last summer, they get back in their vehicle and drive away, leaving their trash behind.
So, in a way, the Strugatskys' book is about littering, and foraging, though its message is far deeper than that. In this case, its passing aliens who have treated the earth like a lay-by. Some of what they have left behind is valuable, and some toxic. The locals are scared away, but a few illegal 'stalkers' are brave enough to forage, and sell anything valuable on the black-market. This is their story, told over a period of twenty years as they are gradually being replaced by robots.
First published in 1972, this is as pertinent today as it was then, as a political allegory, or satire on nature of humanity’s desires and its consequences. There's a underlying sense of unease and tension throughout, a sort of fake arrogance about the place of humankind in the universe, or could it be that we are so small that we are just not worth bothering about?

AB76 wrote: "Target In The Night by Ricardo Piglia has recieved a lot of praise for its "southern cone noir" style and i'm impressed so far

It was one of the last novels the great Argentine wrote before he di..."

Enjoyed the Piglia also AB. I thought it was recently; just looked back and it was 4 years ago..

Andy wrote: "AB76 wrote: "Target In The Night by Ricardo Piglia has recieved a lot of praise for its "southern cone noir" style and i'm impressed so far

It was one of the last novels the great Argentine wrote ..."

time flies...i guess with the amount you read, Andy, its hard to remember which book slotted in where!

i had read a heist novel (based on real life) by Piglia before and this had lain about for 6-7 mths, glad i picked it up. Argentina has a good crop of writers born after WW2 and i think Piglia may be the best

Promfretian -
Thank you. You did inspire me to read it in the first place.
'he now lives in a council flat in a town' - like putting a wild bird in a cage surely.
Scarletnoir -
Sorry about the pipastrelles.
'No wonder us codgers retreat to a corner with our drinks' - my hearing has never been great and I struggle to hear any conversation in a noisy pub (though with the current lockdown I'd give anything to be able to sit in a pub surrounded by noisy people, just to be near lots of people)
'Deaf Sentence' does look funny but I may wait a while longer before I read that one!

Just to add to my comment regarding the thought of Neil Ansell living in a flat is like caging a wild bird - He still visits his Welsh cottage and the article in the Guardian is worth a read -

His book 'Deep Country' sounds good too!

CCCubbon wrote: "My husband teases me, calls me ‘Shortie�� and ‘where are you going��. Today he insisted ( laughing) in getting out the tape measure and yes I am four inches shorter, down from 5ft 6in to 5ft2in and I..."

My absolute favorite 'losing height' story concerns a sweet USAF Major who, with his wife - also a Major, splurged on ship trips (this was back in the day before thousands were crammed on a ship) where they ate royally. Before the trip he would eat less so he would weigh less, and thus he could REALLY enjoy the voyage.

One time right after the trip he was due for his annual physical. Before the physical he checked his weight, and he was just under the maximum allowed.

But he came back from the physical in an awful mood! He had lost just enough height to put him in a different weight category. He was officially OVERWEIGHT!

AB76 wrote: "attention proust fans, a new work found



i have never read Proust but am begin..."

You could dip a toe into the waters by reading Swann in Love, which is a self-contained story which also forms part of In Search of Lost Time.

I read this may years ago, and enjoyed it; I have forgotten why I never read any more Proust - perhaps I'll revisit him, too.

scarletnoir wrote: "AB76 wrote: "attention proust fans, a new work found



i have never read Proust..."

thanks scarlet

A young, French aviator is photographing the enemy trenches, when he and his comrade and friend are jumped by a flight of German Albatross fighters. His friend is hit, his aircraft on fire and going down, but he might make it! Then one of the Germans moves in for the kill and finishes the French pilot's friend at point-blank range.

He is young and angry and swears vengeance on the German, determined to hunt down the Albatross that has a distinctive marking on the tail. The German pilot is his squadron's leader vastly experienced fearless and steady, and his men love him. But he's starting to feel it. That twitch in his hand...

We are in the air with them. feeling every kick of the rudder and movement of the stick. We hear the subtle changes in engine sounds and experience the beatuiful skies and the the way the sunlight reflects from the cloud formations. We fear the sun.

The author moves away from the expected narrative through his clever use of the the two pilot's Orderlies. They know their officers well and observe them closely but being two very different characters themselves, see them differently. Through what they see and don't see and the way in which they relate it to their own experiences we learn more about the ways in which our two eagles are changing, and of course heading towards a final, climactic meeting.

We are In the Company of Eagles', a novel by Earnest Gann, who was a poineer of early commercial aviation and the writer of the best book I've ever read on flying: his memoir 'Fate is the Hunter'. He also wrote 'The Aviator','The High and the Mighty' and 'Island in the Sky' which were made into movies. The books are better.

Recommended.

In the Company of Eagles

Gpfr wrote: "AB76 wrote: "Looks like the Guardian are going further down the wokehole, with an american leftist journalist sacked for a tweet quipping about the amount of money Congress gives to Israel per year..."

I'm with you there, but the slightest hint of criticism of Israel is such a can of worms..

CCCubbon wrote: "My husband teases me, calls me ‘Shortie�� and ‘where are you going��. Today he insisted ( laughing) in getting out the tape measure and yes I am four inches shorter, down from 5ft 6in to 5ft2in and I..."

Hi lofty! ( I am 5ft and probably decreasing) My offspring refer to me as The Hobbit.

scarletnoir wrote: "AB76 wrote: "i have come up against a brick wall with Vlady Nabo, i read Lolita in my teens and didnt get, tried Pnin and hated it, its a shame, i must make a choice and read another of his, maybe ..."
I can't seem to get on with him either.

NYRB article on three new Zola translations was very interesting, i think i am going to order "The Sin of Abbe Mouret" , apparently it has some brilliant lush narratives centered around the Aix En Provence countryside

its good to see new translations being published and funded of the great classic french novels

Excellent chance find on an amazon search for more journals or diaries, a book called:
The Sixth River: A Journal From the Paritition of India by Fikr Taunsvi

Taunsvi was a Hindu writing in Urdu, a resident of Lahore who recorded the awful events of 1947 as The Partition of India caused countless deaths and suffering.

Lahore, a city with strong Sikh, Hindu and Muslim traditions was eventually included within Pakistan but for many months, there was a belief it would be an Indian city....

AB76 wrote: "NYRB article on three new Zola translations was very interesting, i think i am going to order "The Sin of Abbe Mouret" , apparently it has some brilliant lush narratives centered around the Aix En ..."

Let me know how you get on - that's one of the very few Rougon Macquart novels I thought was a bit cheesy. Have you read the others? Not sure why I said cheesy, not exactly sure what it means, but I'll let it stand.

FrancesBurgundy wrote: "AB76 wrote: "NYRB article on three new Zola translations was very interesting, i think i am going to order "The Sin of Abbe Mouret" , apparently it has some brilliant lush narratives centered aroun..."

I've read a The Earth, Germinal, The Debacle, Nana, L'Assmomoir and The Ladies Paradise, though all of them read over a decade ago. They are impressed me greatly, The Beast In Man too. I aim to read some more next year maybe as my reading plan for 2021 is pretty settled. (best laid plans..Covid may upset my reading plan if i fall ill!)

max (outrage) - 'a young French aviator'....
This is not a subject that I would ever read BUT your review makes this book seem so exciting! Thank you.

I gave in finally and dusted off my headphones only to find that they did not work. Consulting a son led me back to sound for my thinking was that if I rest my eyes a little I hope to get back to print.
I had a detective story by Ann Cleeves called The Darkest Evening Tpthat I thought I would try.
I’ve only fallen asleep a couple of times listening although might have missed the odd paragraph.
What has been most noticeable is the amount of dialogue in the story, something that I doubt that I would have noticed when reading.
I don’t find myself very engaged, not part of the tale but whether that’s the story or that I am listening rather than reading I cannot tell until I have tried some more books.