My thoughts on Week 1

Hello everybody! I hope you're having a lovely week - if you're a UK reader, then hopefully you've been able to soak up some of this heatwave! The weather's been almost exceedingly pleasant this week where I live, so I've been able to read out in the garden with a dog curled up at my feet!

Week 1 of the Reading Challenge has taken us all the way from eighteenth-century William Godwin to a novel from last month! Along the way, I've experienced a reasonably wide variety of texts, so I'm going to share my thoughts below...

*** THESE REVIEWS CONTAIN SPOILERS FOR SEVERAL TEXTS ***

Mark Billingham's The Killing Habit reflects the modern-day reader's urge for something more than the old-fashioned crime novel. The Agatha Christie formula, no matter how durable throughout the first half of the 20th century, is unlikely to still shift vast numbers of books, and so writers such as the acclaimed Billingham need to turn to fresh plots, often composed of eclectic ideas, that can be summed up in snappy taglines. In this case, Billingham investigates the idea of 'a killer who is yet to kill', drawing on the gripping real-life M25 Cat Killer as his criminal; perhaps readers may see this as a cop-out, given that the Cat Killer is, well, a killer already. Linguistically, Billingham has without doubt written a thriller with a very contemporary feel, filling the prologue with expletives, slang ('throw up on the spot') and references to Trump - yet the police investigator protagonists are cloaked in traditions and stereotypes, relying on theories from 'the early sixties' in their dusty offices. It's early days yet, but to me, protagonist Thorne seems little more than a cipher, in fact; Billingham is much more interesting when writing his antagonists, giving a chilling description of a hired goon demanding menace money from his employer's debtor. Other highlights for me, within these early chapters, were an economically efficient introduction to an alcoholic (who '[crushes] the empty can in his fist' before '[grabbing] the beer that he now very much needed'), and a brief but fascinating insight into the psyche of a killer (where murder is described as 'a lifting, of sorts. Funny old word, but it sounded right'). As long as Thorne and Treasure (the latter being, for the time being, a lesbian in search of a personality) can lose the unrealistically hard-boiled dialogue and find personalities before finding their killer, then this is a book I can imagine thoroughly enjoying.

On Tuesday, I tasked myself with reading a famous author's first work, and turned to Dickens' gargantuan serialised debut, The Pickwick Papers. I can definitely see why Dickens became the household name he is today. Whilst the author adopts some of the Victorian era's literary clichés, such as the curator of an epistolary novel speaking directly to their audience to justify the existence of what they're about to read, his character work is phenomenal - as a reader, I really get a sense of the pomp and majesty of the eponymous Pickwick, who 'inspired involuntary awe and respect' wherever he went, and the mysterious stranger who is, arguably, the novel's antagonist at this stage, is another well-crafted figure; his dialogue is characterised by dashes to convey the choppy, breathless nature of his discourse. There were two other things which struck me, one of which I had been expecting, the other I hadn't. Firstly, Dickens weaves in the subtle social commentary for which he is well-known, with references to 'confessionals like money-takers' boxes at theatres' (a beautiful and scathing simile) and 'the ordinary transitions from the height of conviviality to the depth of misery... to the height of conviviality' which alcohol causes. Secondly, in the duel scene where I stopped reading for now (and the whole book is available for free via the iBooks app for iOS devices), there is a surprising element of humour - after the duel is arranged, the two parties wish each other 'Good-morning' and one '[whistles] a lively air as he strode away'; not only does this solidify the characterisation of Mr. Winkle as somebody who is absolutely committed to his 'reputation' and to the rigid Victorian class system, but it also heightens the comedy of the chapter's agnorisis, when, much like in Twelfth Night, it is revealed that the duel is based on mistaken identity and misunderstanding. Really gripping stuff, which is definitely going on my reading list for the future.

The philosopher William Godwin, on Wednesday, contributed possibly the first 'miss' to my Reading Challenge. St. Leon could be considered, for several reasons, a worthwhile read, but it is undeniably boring in places. By framing itself as a history novel ('A Tale of the 16th Century'), the book, an autobiographical tale of a very patriotic French aristocrat who ruthlessly pursues glory, allures history fans, and it certainly delivers on that front, with brutal description of the deaths incurred in the Italian war of 1521-6. However, divorced of any historical appeal, the novel is relatively slowly-paced and lacking in strong characters (St. Leon's hunger for glory, whereby he confesses 'if it be a sin to covet honour, that guilt was mine', is belaboured to the point of tedium, and his character only really becomes interesting when his proclamations of great patriotism and commitment to 'hold your life as a thing of no account' fall short in battle - when confronted by an enemy knight, he hides behind a tree instead of fighting). Whilst I picked this book for its theme of alchemy, we haven't really touched on 'the great secret of nature' yet; the philosopher Godwin offers up some tasty quotes such as the opener 'There is nothing that human imagination can figure brilliant and enviable, that human genius and skill do not aspire to realise', but we get very little on the topic of alchemy (not that the book claims to be an alchemy novel), aside from a rambling soliloquy about how 'a thousand winters want the power to furrow my countenance to wrinkles'. This is the first one that I'm not interested in completing.

Admittedly, Colm Tóibín's 2014 novel Nora Webster doesn't have much in the way of Irishness, either (that being the reason why I chose it as Thursday's pick), but reading just the first few chapters showed me, in a beautiful, organic way, as I let the words pour into my brain, why Tóibín is comfortably regarded as one of the Emerald Isle's finest exports. Nora Webster was my favourite book of the week, a really poignant study of grief so vividly exploratory, every facet of the process of loss agonised over and brought to the page, that it could only be powered by bitter experience. The simpering '"and he was so young"'s, the desperate psychological war with the well-wisher who you fervently want to leave you alone, the 'something hungry' in the way that ogling outsiders want to crack the bereaved's shell of coping. The sheer tiredness. Powerful emotions are all rendered into beautifully honest, accurate prose. I can't claim that Tóibín's eighth opus has much of a plot in these early stages, but so detailed and painfully evocative is this account of the grieving process that I couldn't help but admire its naked simplicity.


In retrospect, reading Percy Bysshe Shelley's ode to the icy beauty of Mont Blanc in the summer sun in the garden perhaps wasn't the best way to experience the poem, but it didn't detract from the overall atmosphere. A true Romantic poem, this celebration of the Swiss countryside, with its 'many-coloured, many-voiced vale' and 'Dizzy Ravine', fits easily into its genre. However, much like the genre's pioneer Wordsworth's The Prelude, Shelley isn't afraid to question the beauty of nature; rather than mindlessly praising it, a trap that other Romantics risked falling into, the poet recollects how 'the glaciers creep/Like snakes that watch their prey' and describes how 'vast pines are strewing [the river's] destined path, or in the mangled soil/Branchless and shattered stand' - it is this consideration of the destruction wreaked by Mont Blanc, how 'so much of life and joy is lost', that lifts Shelley's poem into another level, whilst also conveying the power of the mountain in another way. Mont Blanc is almost personified, through the use of a semantic field of loneliness - 'the mountains lone' hide 'secret springs', and the powerful ice sits on 'his secret throne' making 'a loud, lone sound no other sound can tame'. The isolation is contrasted with the sheer power of the mountain and its surroundings - both physically (the river is described as 'bursting through these dark mountains like the flame/Of lightning through the tempest') and emotionally (Shelley recollects his trance-like state at gazing on the ravine, and ponders whether 'some unknown omnipotence' has 'unfurled/The veil of life and death' to allow him to see such beauty). Presented in five short sections, Mont Blanc is an engaging, well-written introduction to the Romantic movement, and a fine work of art in itself.

What a way to finish the week! Virginia Woolf is a writer who's gone under my radar until now, but I'll certainly be putting Between the Acts high up on my 'to-read' list! Reading only the first few chapters of a book has its positives and negatives; you get to experience the primary setting, the characters and the author's style, but many of this week's reads have been character-heavy at the expense of plot. This isn't necessarily a bad thing, just an observation, and Between the Acts fits into that model, presenting a cast of engagingly- and efficiently-written characters going about their everyday upper-class British lives. Woolf's understanding of character works to her advantage, with the delicious description of Mrs Haines as 'a goosefaced woman with eyes protruding as if they saw something to gobble in the gutter' being a particular highlight. Woolf threads the seeds of marital tension throughout this early portion of the book, with Mrs Haines 'aware of the emotion' between her husband and Isa and plans to 'destroy it, as a thrush pecks the wings off a butterfly'. That's wonderfully written! The thing that struck me most about Woolf's exceptional final novel is the sheer beauty and intricacy of her prose. To Mrs Swithin, the birds 'attack the dawn' and she is 'forced to listen'. When the nurses talk, they 'roll words, like sweets on their tongues; which, as they thinned to transparency, gave off pink, green and sweetness'. Regarding Mrs Oliver, '"abortive" was the word that expressed her'. In a similar way to Nora Webster, I will gladly excuse Between the Acts' lack of plot thus far, for its beautifully-crafted characters and gorgeous, free-flowing prose more than sustain the book.

So - there are my thoughts on Week 1's selection! The Reading Challenge resumes on Monday 16th July - next week's menu will be going up over the weekend, so keep your eyes peeled! Another way to keep up to date with the Reading Challenge is to follow us on Twitter - @Banquetofbooks - should you be so inclined. This week, since the Reading Challenge only takes place every other week, I've been reading the excellent and unputdownable Captain Corelli's Mandolin by Louis de Bernières - a full review of that book will be going up at some point in the future, with any luck.

Next week's menu will go up over the weekend, but until then - keep reading!