The House of Special Purpose

I managed to both devour and savour this book, and wish I’d read it sooner. A lovely friend told me back in 2011 that it should be the next of my unread books to come off the shelves. She raved about it so much that I felt obliged to set it on the table beside my bed, where it stayed, untouched for at least 2 months.

I was put off by the size, and by the feeling that it was not going to be a light read. In this era of 1-click 99p Kindle purchases and instant library downloads I’ve been wallowing in easy reading. My iPad reading habit has satisfied cravings for relaxation, escapism and comfort, but a recent experiment inspired by 7 has woken me up to the fact that ease, comfort, unthinking compliance with our culture’s norms are not good for me.

All that to say; this book is well worth the time and brain power required. Actually, ‘brain power’ may give the impression The house of Special Purpose is a Ulysses-esque read: it’s not, but it is a bit of an epic. Spanning centuries from 1915 to the 1980s the narrative flicks between Russia, London, Finland and Paris in non-linear fashion. There are also plenty of Russian names to keep straight in your head, if not on your tongue. Thankfully the narrator, Georgy has an easy name, as the story is his. The book opens with Georgy as an old man reflecting on his parents’ marriage, and from this flow recollections of his childhood, family and friendships. These themes are developed as he is taken by a twist of fate from peasant poverty to the opulence of the Romanov’s Winter Palace.

At this point several historical figures enter the story, and I wished I had read The House of Special Purpose 18 years ago when I was infuriating my A level history teachers with my laid back approach to study. The Tsar, his family, Rasputin and the whole revolutionary period are depicted with both historical insight and literary skill. I will not spoil the plot by revealing any twists, but will say that as with Boyne’s The Boy in the Striped Pyjamas working everything out as the book progresses is satisfying, and this time, not so sad. The sections set in London, and in more modern times develop themes of identity, family, love and guilt and also continue the skillful characterisation of Georgy and his wife Zoya. Neither are completely likable characters; Boyne’s portrayal of lives shaped by turbulent times matches the complexities of the setting. Perhaps the best endorsement of Boyne’s depiction of Russian history, is that I started reading up on the events straight after finishing the book; I was left with an interest in the period my A level history studies never achieved. I didn’t google whilst reading though, I was far too engrossed!

Rachel Ray

No, I didn’t choose this book based on the wonderfully named eponymous heroine, but to be honest I kind of wish I hadn’t chosen it at all.

It’s been over a month since my last entry; which immediately shows how much I struggled with this book. I have, of course read other things in the past 5 weeks, but having started Rachel Ray I stubbornly refused to read any of my other ‘unread’ books until I’d finished it.

First, how I came to have this book on my shelf. Twelve years ago I graduated from the University of Glasgow with a degree in English, and a lot of books. Most of them had been read, but a few had not- Rachel Ray had not. It wasn’t required reading, but I had gone through a Trollope phase (insert obvious joke) and having enjoyed the Barchester Chronicles had picked up a couple of Trollope’s other books intending to maybe do a dissertation on him. Of course I was way too much of a slacker to actually bother doing a dissertation, so Rachel Ray has languished on various bookshelves since then.

The blurb promises much; ‘The zest and intensity of their religious, political, commercial, and class warfare make Rachel Ray one of the liveliest and most compact of Trollope’s comedies.’ but as you’ve probably grasped I didn’t love it. It’s basically a ‘rich but slightly rakish boy meets poor but beautiful girl’ story, with a lot of complications related to snobbery, breweries and the Church of England thrown in. Perhaps my problem was actually hinted at in the above quotation, I wasn’t really interested in commercial or class warfare to begin with, and found the endless comments on religious and political issues a bit tiresome. I also found my 21st century self cringing at more than one 19th century un-PC description. Having said that, I did eventually get into it (after about 260 pages) only to be disappointed that, as ever the book finishes with the wedding. Trollope does create both likeable and loathsome characters, and I found some aspects of ‘bourgeois provincial life’ quite interesting, but ultimately I found these bright spots outweighed by the work required in plowing through the minutiae of said provincial life.

I do worry a little that I struggled so much with this book, has my brain turned to mush after 12 years, 3 babies and too much chick-lit? Or have I simply immersed myself in so much modern/post-modern fiction that reading novels from another age requires ‘translating’ which I’m no longer used to? Not sure, but I do think I’ll give Trollope another go, just not Rachel Ray.

No and Me by Delphine de Vigan

If, like me, you enjoy Juvenile fiction, or ‘coming of age’ novels, then this book is for you.

The central character, and narrator, is Lou, a gifted 13 year old struggling to fit in with her older classmates in a Parisian high school who befriends an older homeless girl named No. The book was first published in French, as an adult novel, however the English publishers seem to be cashing in on ‘crossover’ appeal, as an Amazon search reveals different covers for adult and teenage markets.

Mine looks like this:

which seems to be the adult cover, and since my lovely husband bought it for me, I didn’t know much about it before starting to read it on Wednesday evening. I finished it the next day, and was engrossed right from the start.

It’s a quick read which flies through weighty themes; friendship, depression, grief, society’s treatment of homeless people, motherhood, alienation and betrayal, without resorting to trite resolutions. The main characters are all sympathetic, or at least have enough redeeming qualities to make us care about them, even when we judge or dislike their actions.   Lou’s mix of sweet naivety, hyper intelligence and insecurity, make her voice quite compelling and her quirky ‘experiments’ provide just the right amount of humour to prevent this being a depressing read.

Some might feel that none of the themes (perhaps particularly homelessness) are dealt with fully enough, in fact one comment I read referred to the author’s exploration of the issues as ‘shallow’. While I agree that few of the themes are fully developed, this did not lessen my enjoyment of the book, or my admiration of the writer’s skill. While her treatment of some themes may have been shallow, it was not one-dimensional, and I was prompted to reflect on many of my own views while reading.

Another aspect of de Vigan’s writing I appreciated was her depiction of Paris. I’ve never been there, but felt drawn to the city as she portrayed it. Lou and No frequently meet in cafes, and travel around the city at different points, but the writer totally avoids stereotypical aspects of Paris (no Eiffel Tower!)

As an English teacher I read Stone Cold with at least 5 different classes – this deals with the same theme in a much quieter way, and I hope it makes its way into classrooms soon.  No and Me is definitely not just for teenagers though, and I give it 8 out of 10.