So my tournament of books pitched two novellas against two long epic novels, and in both cases the novella KO’d its opponent.  It’s a knock-out when one competitor  doesn’t make it to the final bell page, isn’t it?

Now this surprised me because I’ve been in the mood all year to immerse myself in a    long epic read (450+) pages, but it’s just not happening.  In fact as hinted above, both tournamented epics were DNF, for different reasons.

C E Morgan’s The Sport of Kings (Pulitzer Prize finalist, shortlisted for the Rathbone Folio Prize, the James Tait Black Prize and The Bailey’s Prize for Women’s Fiction) came with such resoundingly positive reviews that I was sure that immersed I would be.  And yet at 200 pages, feeling impatient, and with absolutely no investment or even interest in where things were headed, I stopped. For now.  I will revisit this as it’s one of the novels to be discussed on this summer’s online How to Read A Novel reading course (free from the University of Edinburgh). Perhaps I will even finish it.

The second DNF – after only 70 pages – surprised me even more, particularly after the anticipation following my visit to the Leipzig Book Fair earlier this year.  Matthias Enard’s Compass, winner of the Prix Goncourt and the Leipzig Prize for European Understanding, is surely the favourite to win this year’s Man Booker International Prize. Even after only 70 pages I could recognise the intelligence of Enard’s writing, the erudition resulting from his research and the worthiness of the novel.  Compass is a plea for better understanding and cooperation between East and West, and  seemed to be gearing up to encompass a complete history of occidental literary and musical culture within the stream of consciousness of a terminally-ill man. It’s an interesting concept and not necessarily a bad thing, but it wasn’t entertaining me.  As I am no longer a student, I abandoned it – probably for good.

Interestingly Enard’s opponent in the tournament also features the stream of consciousness of a terminally ill patient and a worthy cause.  But Samatha Schweblin’s Fever Dream is altogether much more – oh, dare I use this word – readable with a page-turning quality that satisfies my need for pleasure, not just instruction.

A full review of Fever Dream will follow in due course  (i.e when the sun stops shining, which won’t be long, knowing Scotland as I do). As will a review of the second giant-killing novella, China Miéville’s This Census Taker.   I don’t know what has taken me this long to return to Miéville; it’s 6.5 years since The City and The City blew me away for goodness sake!  Still I’m here now.  Nor will it be 6.5 years before I read him again.



imageWinner of the 2014 Nordic Council Award
Translated from Swedish by Neil Smith

I was rooting for this novel to lift the Petrona Award (for best Scandi Crime novel) on Saturday night, but it was not to be.  All I can say is that the winner (which I will be making a beeline for) must be utterly fantastic because The Wednesday Club was one of the most satisfying reads of 2017 to date.

It’s not your standard crime novel. In fact, after the prologue, in which Claes Thune’s secretary, Matilda Wiik goes missing, there’s no mention of the police for another 300 pages! Instead the narrative rolls back eight months to describe the events leading up to the disappearance.

Set in Helsinki 1938, following the Austrian Anschluss, it documents the unrest and tensions arising in Finland through the eyes and attitudes of Claes Thune’s fellow members of the Wednesday Club, a group that meets once a month to drink lots of liquor (!) and to debate issues of the day. Long-standing friendships mean that there is no rancour when disagreements arise. It is very civilised. For the sake of the group, Thune even swallows his pride when one of them runs away with his wife! And yet at this critical point in time, political attitudes are diverging and hardening. The group’s cohesion begins to weaken, and division becomes inevitable.

This group of gentlement works as a microcosm of society. There are Nazi sympathisers, supporters of appeasement, adherents of resistance and others, like Claes Thune who seem to be as bemused politically as he is personally. Hoping for the best. And there is the Jew, Joachim Jary, destined to be the victim, not only because of his race, but because of his chronic depression. His illness enables a disquietening discussion on the Nazi rationale for euthanasia of the disabled.

All of which is not necessarily specifically Finnish. The novel becomes so through the revelations of Mrs Wiik’s history. She’s a woman with a past she would love to forget and keen to keep secret. Why? Because 20 years previously she was on the wrong side of history, finding herself on the losing Red side of the Finnish Civil War. Even now this counts against her even though she was punished for it at the time with internment in a concentration camp, where unspeakable things happened to her. Yet her memories flood back, when she hears the voice of her persecutor on the night she works late to deliver drinks to the Wednesday Club.

And while she recognises him, he doesn’t recognise her, leaving the way free for her to plan a leisurely revenge. The identity of the man and how Mrs Wiik’s intends to revenge herself are the mysteries at the heart of this novel, both solved, along with her disappearance, only in the final 5 pages.

I didn’t see any of it coming, possibly because I found the historical revelations alongside their warnings for our future fascinating; the characterisation equally so.  Westö’s characters are not ciphers, one dimensional representations of political viewpoints; they are fully human with the capacity to surprise, by acting in ways contrary to their utterances.

So even though I now know the outcome, this is a historical crime novel with sufficient depth to fully repay a reread or two.  It is, in summary, quite brilliant!

James Robertson’s novel faces quite a challenge, if it is to progress into the next round of my tournament of shortlisted books, given that Nina Stibbe’s Paradise Lodge scored a whopping 42/50. But this is a strong contender, and will fight like a true Scot.  So don’t write it off just yet.

As both novels are contending for Bolinger Everyman Wdehouse Prize for Comic Fiction, I shall evaluate To Be Continued using the same criteria as Stibbe’s novel: cover, plot, characterisation, scope and LOL moments.

Cover 10/10

This cover is a wonder – in fact, it was my favourite cover of 2016.  Why?  Because it transformed the book into a matching fashion accessory, and redefined the notion of well-dressed for me!


Need I say more?

Plot 8/10

Douglas Findhorn Elder is about to turn 50.  He has just been made redundant, is in denial about the end of his 10-year partnership, and his father has just been moved into a care home.  We meet him pondering  his crises on a bus journey through Edinburgh on his way to a funeral.  Except the bus is stuck in a traffic jam – much like Douglas himself.

He needs an adventure to get himself out of the doldrums, to reignite his life. And his first piece of freelance journalism is about to send him on a trip to a remote Highland estate, with a talking toad for companionship. It is an assignment/ escapade that will give more than enough inspiration for the novel he is failing to write, and will change his life forever.

Characterisation 7/10

Roll back a moment there. Did you say a talking toad? Indeed, I did. Mungo Forth Mungo is his name, who acts as Douglas’s confidante, conscience and at times, mentor.  Because Douglas needs someone to make him think as he has not thought for a long, long time. He comes into Douglas’s life one drunken evening  and leaves when it is time to hibernate – albeit belatedly, because those lengthy adventures in the Highlands require almost toad-ex-machina interventions at times.  Thankfully there is enough insect life to keep Mungo’s wits well-fed and sharp!

Douglas himself is a man in the full throes of a mid-life crisis, and although this is his story, he’s a bit of a grey flannel. However, there’s nothing less than a rainbow of subsidiary characters to brighten things up: the harridan ex-partner, the funeral assistant come whisky-bootlegger, the pub musician/alcoholic innkeeper/tee-total estate manager/whisky bootlegger (all different identities of one very mixed-up individual), the 100-year old grande dame of Glentaragar House and her granddaughter – another individual with dual identities.

Tis all very entertaining  and just a tad surreal and you need your wits about you to keep up. Reality intervenes in the form of Scotland …

Scope and Setting 8/10

… which is very recognisable in these pages, particularly to those who have sat for hours on a grid-locked bus in Edinburgh (that would be me), or tried to reach remote      areas on other forms of public transport (impossible as Douglas finds out).  Though when the action hits the glen – emptied of people other than tourists and the inhabitants of Glentaragar House there’s a slight sniff of politicism. Robertson is a proud and patriotic Scot and you can tell that the neglect of the Highlands rankles.

Possibly also the outcome of the 2014 Indyref? The novel is set a few weeks after the that referendum and Douglas Elder’s commission is the first in a mooted series on “The Idea of Scotland”. This strand didn’t enthuse me much, even though Robertson isn’t heavy handed. I can’t begin to tell you about how tired I am of Scottish politics at the moment.   Apart from a few dull pages, most of this is a knowledgeable satire on journalism.

The novel’s firmly set within the tradition of Scottish literary history with the plot. full of homage to classics such as Whisky Galore! and The 39 Steps,  and, I  suspect, many more. Oh yes, those dual identities – Jekyll and Hyde, what else!

LOL Moments 9/10

It takes a while to get going, and there are a few breathers here and there, but generally this is a full-on carry-on adventure.  A bit barmy, but there’s enough realism in the mix to keep things grounded.  I laughed more in recognition than in hilarity, but I loved, loved, loved the whisky-riff!!!  I need to be surprised to LOL, and it says much about me that it took a talking toad to do that! Mungo Forth Mungo’s wordplay is sublime.

Bout result

Which brings the final score on the door to 42/50.  It’s a draw!  But there must be a  knockout in a tournament of this kind. The judge must cast the deciding vote. And so, because there were times when I found To Be Continued slightly less than enthralling, I declare Paradise Lodge the winner!  Ironic isn’t it,  the comic novel that did make me LOL doesn’t progress to the next round …

I need to be more objective in my judging during my Tournament of Books, realising that I failed miserably at my first attempt! So I have pre-determined the criteria for this bout: cover (as both of these books were added to my TBR due to their covers), plot, characterisation, scope and LOL moments. This last criterion is added because this bout will determine the book I will champion to win the 2017 Bollinger Everyman Wodehouse Prize for comic fiction.

Today’s post concentrates on Nina Stibbe’s Paradise Lodge, which can be said to have thrown down the gauntlet to James Robertson.

paradise lodgeCover 8/10
I couldn’t leave Paradise Lodge on the tables in the wonderful Main Street Trading Company this time last year. It’s a wonderful shop that I’m unlikely to visit again. I knew it at the time and so Paradise Lodge came home with me as a souvenir. The vibrant yellow dustjacket, with the almost louche child of the 70’s (the flared trousers and platform boots give it away) lounging on the bed, reading a book and smoking a surreptitious cigarette drew my eye immediately. Curiosity ensured the sale when I realised the novel was set in an old people’s home. So what is this young girl doing there? I had to find out.

Plot 9/10
Her name is Lizzie Vogel; she is fifteen, and she takes on a Saturday job at Paradise Lodge for the pocket-money to buy herself some luxuries (such as beer shampoo for voluminous hair!). Except it’s anything but a paradise – there’s a power struggle between the modernisers and those who hold the purse strings. The modernisers don’t win and leave to set up a rival home. As numbers deplete, through natural attrition and the superiority of the new facility, new custom and replacement staff become increasingly difficult to secure. The home, which at the beginning was run-down and chaotic, descends into a state of crisis, relying as much on voluntary help and food donations from the local Chinese restaurant as on professional staff.

Lizzie’s Saturday job soon becomes much more. Evening shifts, emergency cover, the matron takes advantage, not only of Lizzie’s good nature, but of the residents as well. Lizzie’s level of truancy increases accordingly and soon Lizzie finds herself threatened by an unscrupulous headmistress. She will be removed from the ‘O’ level stream unless she helps the headmistress kidnap remove her father from Paradise Lodge. He, it seems, is spending the headmistress’s inheritance on fees …

This is one of many entertaining subplots.  Another involves matron’s attempts to find herself a rich client who will bequeath her a home to live in.  And then there is Lizzie’s home life, almost as chaotic as life at Paradise Lodge, due to her clueless, bohemian mother.

There’s never a dull moment in these pages.  The subplots (each with an element of recognisable truth in them) twist and turn around each other in misadventure after misadventure, and yet Stibbe detangles them all in a most satisfactory and sometimes surprising way.  Neither is the novel devoid of its serious moments – this is an old people’s home where death is an unfortunate reality of life.

Characterisation 9/10

In many ways this is Lizzie’s coming-of-age, a time when she learns to separate the superficial from the important. Her Saturday job catapults her into an environment that accelerates the learning curve dramatically even as the poor girl must deal with the trials of adolescence (working out who her real friends are, the pangs of unrequited love).

Lizzie is a wonderful lead with selflessness and compassion beyond her years (though that could be accounted for by the responsibilities she has towards her younger siblings).  Yet the ultimate twist in the tale is the lesson this adolescent must learn is that sometimes she must put herself first.

She is supported by a host of vivid supporting characters: the residents and staff of Paradise Lodge.  The residents suffer the indignities of old age patiently with good grace.  Some are saints and some are … just a little bit naughty.  The sinning is reserved for matron and the headmistress, though only one can be declared villain of the piece by the end.

Scope and setting 8/10

This is a finely scoped situational comedy, venturing out of the old folk’s home only occasionally into Lizzie’s family home and school.  And yet as Lizzie reflects on the meaning of life, friendship, love and death, the scope of the novel expands into the philosophical.

The 1970’s setting with its lack of regulation (working hours, health and safety, truancy laws) gives the author leeway with regards to plot that a contemporary setting just would not allow.  It also allows for product placement, which for me,  also a child of the 1970’s,  brought back a raft of nostalgic memories.

LOL moments 8/10

I laughed out loud during the first couple of chapters, though I can’t remember exactly where.   Once I was acclimatised to Lizzie’s voice and could anticipate, not so much.  Even so, this is a very funny novel, and one I am likely to reread,  when in need of a pick-me-up.   The smile on my face, as I write this, is very broad indeed.

Total score: 42/50 or, if I were to use my former star-rating system: 4hstars

Why not 5 stars?  Lizzie’s mother annoyed me!

I began my Short List Tournament (now renamed Tournament of Books) by determining which book I shall be championing for the Dublin Literary Prize.  I had two of the shortlistees in the TBR: Mia Couto’s Confession of the Lioness (translated from Portuguese by David Brookshaw) and Valeria Luiselli’s The Story of My Teeth (translated from Spanish by Christina MacSweeney).  Mia Couto is an established superstar in Mozambique and Valeria Luiselli is a rising superstar (or perhaps she has already risen) in Mexico.  Certainly I have heard many favourable comments about her in the blogosphere.

So we’re all set for the battle of the continents: Africa vs Central America

Except, all I can say is that this was not a good start to the tournament.  I disliked Confession of the Lioness for all the reasons cited in the Independent review here.  I have neither time nor inclination to write it up in my own words.

And, while I preferred the quirkiness of The Story of My Teeth, I was still underwhelmed.  So I’ll suffice by linking to Tony’s review and answering his final question: No, I don’t think its various components hang together well enough to form a successful novel.

I wouldn’t progress either to the next stage of my tournament but the knock-out nature of the competition means that someone must.  At this point I remember Robert Seethaler’s A Whole Life (translated from German by Charlotte Collins) is also on the Dublin Literary Prize wshortlist. I loved it.  So in it comes on a wild card to KO both of the other contestants.

Next bout: To Be Continued – James Robertson vs Paradise Lodge – Nina Stibbe. Two comic novels to rid me of my grumpiness – hopefully.


I tried to resist, but I suppose it was inevitable given the programme.  Two events: one with three British authors writing historical crime fiction set in Germany, the second with three German crime fiction authors.  Both with the inimitable Mrs Peabody as chair.

So into the car I jumped and drove south to Newcastle upon Tyne, listening (finally) to Sascha Arango’s The Truth and Other Lies in preparation.  But then he was a no show – apparently he was needed on the film-set (which I suppose is good news in a way, because his novel is fantastic!)  His stand-in, Elisabeth Herrmann, never made it to Newcastle either due to a bomb scare at Berlin Tegel earlier in the day.  That second event turning into a logistical nightmare for the organisers … still 5 authors, Mrs Peabody and her delightful sidekick, Erich, the Bavarian duck did make it.  So a huge round of applause for them please. And another for the Goethe Institute, sponsors of the German Noir event.


Erich takes a bow

But let’s start at the beginning.

Arriving at the Literary and Philosophical Society (the Lit&Phil) in Newcastle, I was surprised to find a smallish space in which authors mingled and chatted quite naturally with the attendees.  I spied David Young of Stasi Child/Stasi Wolf fame immediately and couldn’t resist introducing myself with the statement I’ve got something to show you.   Cue photos from mobile phone.

“Surely you didn’t read Stasi Wolf and then visit Halle Neustadt”, he asked. As it happens, I did, but only in broad daylight! (Admittedly I was in Leipzig for the book fair and Halle Neustadt was only a S-bahn ride away.)

imageThereafter, it was straight into the German historical crime fiction event, the panel consisting of David Young (series set in the GDR), Luke McCallin (series set in Nazi times), and William Ryan (series beginning in Stalinist Russia, latest novel set in Ausschwitz).  All three talked about the gold mine of a totalitarian regime – a setting that just keeps on giving was how William Ryan described it.  How can a detective ever hope to preserve truth and justice in times when parallel moralities are at play?

William Ryan talked of the photographic inspiration for The Constant Soldier, Luke McCallin of his fear of writing about Berlin (his first two novels are set in Sarajevo, where he lived for 6 years) and David Young of his need for escape from the BBC! All acknowledged Phillip Kerr for leading the way in writing historical crime fiction set in Germany, and Luke McCallin divulged his fantasy of Kerr’s Bernie Günther and his Gregor Rheinhardt appearing in each others works!

Why are German authors not writing historical crime set in National Socialist or GDR times?  “They say it is too early”, said Mrs Peabody, pointing out to David Young that Simon Urban’s Plan D, set in an alternate present, is his nearest competition  “Oh, there’s far too much internalisation in that novel”, replied David Young. “It could have been much better.”

Cue coffee and a good old chin wag with Mrs Peabody before she left to prepare for the second event ….  Turned out it was Wulf Dorn’s 1st UK event, and only Cay Rademacher’s 2nd!


Cay Rademacher, Mrs Peabody and Wulf Dorn – courtesy of Mrs Peabody

Wulf Dorn was a psychiatric therapist before turning to crime writing.  He likes to explore the abyss of the human mind, using Friedrich Duerrenmatt as his role model.  His motivating factor is suspense, not blood and gore.  His novels have yet to be published in English (though I believe something may be in the pipeline), but all have a fantastic premise, said Mrs P. Then she asked:  “How do you come up with these?  Do you soak in the bath, go for long walks, or do you simply have a twisted imagination?”.  Wulf Dorn:  “If I tell you, I’ll have to kill you.”

Cay Rademacher’s Inspector Stave series is available to English readers.  The Murderer in Ruins and The Wolf Children are set in post-war Hamburg.  Set in the cold, cold winter of 1947, the first is based on an unsolved case, reconstructed by Rademacher to provide a solution.  The second is set in the hot summer of 1948 which heralded the beginning of Germany’s economic miracle with the introduction of the German Mark. I intend reading  both when I visit Hamburg in June.

There was discussion about the popularity of the prologue in crime fiction, something authors are taught not to write.  Both authors agreed that the prologue has grown in popularity since the introduction of e-books.  These are now so cheap that a novel must have a hook in the first few pages to prevent readers moving straight onto the next one.

Time for audience questions:

From me:  Do you think that a crime novel will ever win the German Book Prize?  Both authors were adamant that it will never happen, (which is interesting given Marlon James’s success with the Booker Prize).

Another member of the audience asked for further German crime recommendations.  Works recommended were Volker Fischer – Babylon Berlin (in TBR), Melanie Raabe’s The Trap (best forgotten IMO), and Andreas Eschbach (new name to me and more science fiction than crime?)

With that a very interesting afternoon came to a close with lots of leads for further reading.  I made only one e-book purchase, deciding I couldn’t wait until Wulf Dorn’s work appears in English. When asked which novels should be translated first into English, he answered Phobia, which is set in London with the following premise.  A woman greets her husband when he comes home from work. He is wearing the clothes he went to work in and carries the same briefcase  … but he is not her husband.  Sounds interesting, doesn’t it? (To be continued.)

I was on the road March into April, and so I have two months of wrap-up outstanding.

I attended not 1, not 2, but 3 book festivals: Glasgow Aye Write!, the Leipzig Book Fair in conjunction with Leipzig Liest, and I’m just back from Newcastle Noir. (More on that later in the week.)

I read or listened to a total of 22 books during that time and I have reviewed only 10, which is not surprising given all the travelling.  A batch of mini-reviews will help me catchup on the thus-far-unreviewed.


Books Read March 2017

Total YTD: 39 read, 4 DNF, 3 audio books
Total for March 2017:  Read 7 plus 1 audio book
Total for April 2017: Read 11 plus 2 audio books


Books Read April 2017

Reviews March/April 2017: 10

What’s to Become of the Boy? – Heinrich Böll
 Mini-Reviews: Under A Pole Star – Stef Penney,  Doctor Zhivago – Boris Pasternak, Billionaire’s Banquet – Ron Butlin, The Intrusions- Stav Sherez
Sand – Wolfgang Herrndorf
My Cousin Rachel – Daphne Du Maurier
Maigret’s Memoirs – Georges Simenon
Where Were You, Adam? – Heinrich Böll
The Hour of the Jackal – Bernhard Jaumann

Book of the Month March 2017: Stav Sherez’s zeitgeisty and scarey The Intrusions

Book of the Month April 2017: I’m excluding Janice Galloway’s Clara as it was my Book of the Year in 2007.  Nevertheless, this is still a tough call because 2 of the books I read for the 1951 club were superb: Du Maurier’s My Cousin Rachel or Böll’s Where were you, Adam? It’s neck and neck until Böll steals it with the power of the final image.

Finally an update on purchasing targets.  I have bought more than I intended over the first four months of the year, BUT I have also culled many more than I thought I would.  The upshot of this is that according to my 2017 allowance equation,  I start May with an outstanding purchase allowance of 5 (and a wishlist of 205!)  Next update in August Wrap-Up – following the danger that is the Edinburgh Book Festival!

(2017 purchase allowance = 2 per month + (total books read + total books culled)/5)