Book review: The Night Circus by Erin Morgenstern

The Night Circus (2011) by Erin Morgenstern

Fantastical, exciting and fittingly enchanting, Erin Morgenstern's much-talked-about debut The Night Circus isn't great literature - but it IS, without a doubt, very good fun. The plot is difficult to summarise briefly, as it involves numerous different strands, but in the main it revolves around the rivalry between two great 19th-century magicians - Prospero the Enchanter and 'the man in the grey suit', also known as 'Mr A. H–', whose name eludes both pronunciation and memory. Both men vow to train apprentices who will be schooled in magic and ultimately pitted against each other in a long-running challenge which will dominate their lives. Prospero chooses his daughter, Celia; the nameless man chooses a nameless, orphaned boy, who eventually decides to call himself Marco. When the two are teenagers, their battleground, a mysterious and magical travelling circus which only opens at night, is chosen. But of course, there has to be a hitch, and in this case it's that Celia and Marco begin to fall in love with one another as soon as they meet.

There are similarities between this book and Susanna Clarke's Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell, one of my all-time favourites, and while The Night Circus is nowhere near as cerebral, it has a similar genuinely magical quality. The use of magic is integral to almost everything that happens, yet it's presented in a completely believable manner. The story is told mainly in short, snappy chapters which constantly switch between times and places. In addition to the main plotline, there's the story of the formation of the circus itself; the tale of Bailey, who, after being dared to enter the circus as a child, develops an enduring obsession with it and with a girl who is part of the troupe of performers; and the story of Herr Thiessen, who creates a magical clock for the circus, and goes on to become the leader of the 'Rêveurs', a kind of night circus fanclub. Meanwhile, the large and varied group of performers and artists involved in creating the circus become drawn in to the feud between Prospero and the nameless man - even after Prospero's apparent death. There's more besides, and almost too many main characters to mention; this is a rich, varied narrative which touches on a number of lives, rather than confining itself solely to a tale of magic or a love story.

With all the hype around this book, it's almost impossible to read it without imagining that it was written, or at least published, with an eventual film adaptation in mind. With endless wondrous sights around the circus and all the incredible magical feats performed by the characters, it would certainly make for a real visual spectacle, and the romance at the book's heart is bound to be a big draw for many. When I first started hearing about this book, there were some comparisons to Twilight, which I'm relieved to say are inaccurate - I'm not actually sure where anyone got the idea that the two are similar. Harry Potter fans, meanwhile, will probably appreciate the 'Power Trio' dynamic between the older Bailey, Poppet and Widget, as well as the more obvious elements of magic. I was pleased to find that the romance doesn't dominate the story anywhere near as much as I expected; a few of the scenes between Celia and Marco are a little corny, but nothing inexcusable.

Overall, it's well-written; although personally I would have preferred a little more detail and longer chapters without so much jumping around, there's something quite beautiful, and certainly very inventive, about the way Morgenstern describes breathtaking demonstrations of magic with minimal prose. (On the other hand, the style handily side-steps any need to explain how this magic works or even where it came from.) Oddly, the word 'likely' is used in place of 'probably' with irritating frequency, but nothing else about the writing struck me as anything less than accomplished. The author's skill lies mainly in world-building, and you often get the feeling she lacks confidence in her characters, creating beautiful settings for them to interact in rather than fleshing them out. Not that this is necessarily a bad thing; as imaginary worlds go, the altered reality of The Night Circus is a charming, seductive one.

This is an indulgent, escapist book - it's not wildly adventurous, dramatic, or particularly meaningful, and some may find it dull due to the lack of action. It's a story you could curl up with and lose yourself in, and though I never quite got to the point where I couldn't tear myself away from it, I did feel rather sad when it was all over. I think the characters are too lightly drawn to inspire real devotion from the reader, but the world surrounding them is skilfully created an astonishingly effective. It's the sights and sounds of the circus's myriad tents that have stuck in my head even as the characters have begun to fade. Perhaps the hype surrounding this book has been a little over-zealous; it's not perfect, and I can't imagine enough readers falling in love with the characters for it to become a real phenomenon. But it's a solid debut, and the carefully detailed world it conjures up has ensured my interest in Morgenstern's future work.

Rating: 7/10

A/W again: this time it's Zara

This weekend I visited the newly refurbished Zara in Leeds and was overwhelmed by how much I want EVERYTHING they're doing right now. Perfect coats and jackets, gorgeous smart dresses and pencil skirts for work, and the best knitwear on the high street. A lot of other shops aren't really doing it for me right now (I've completely gone off Topshop for some reason, New Look has been a disappointment apart from the shoes (as per), and H&M never seems to have any of the good stuff in stock) but I could quite literally spend thousands in Zara...






I'm so into autumnal colours at the moment (what a surprise/how original, etc etc) - dark green, burgundy, navy, camel, grey. The pencil silhouette is definitely going to be my template for autumn office dressing, and I can't wait to get my hands on some fitted pencil dresses (the silver one shown here is a little glitzy for everyday wear, but the shape is absolutely spot on). The coat and jacket will have to remain in the 'impossible wishlist' category, but I HAVE to have a) one of the pencil skirts (the leather-look one is calling my name, but I'd also love one with a split) and b) at least one of those dreamy jumpers. I've been after a chunky, cable-knit navy jumper for a couple of months with no success and this one is beautiful, but that tan one with contrast arms, collar and hem is so ~unique~, I'm torn.

It's safe to say I am not overjoyed by the prospect of a 'mini heatwave' this week. I've packed away/thrown out/got completely sick of all my summer clothes and am ready for JUMPERS. Bring on the cold snap! (I won't be saying that when I have to dig my car out of a snowdrift every morning, but at least I'll be doing it in some nice wintery layers.)

Book review: Cold Light by Jenn Ashworth

Cold Light (2011) by Jenn Ashworth

Cold Light is both a coming-of-age story and a murder mystery of sorts. Our protagonist, Laura, is a lonely 24-year-old cleaner in an anonymous Northern city, and we meet her as she sits down to watch the televised unveiling of a memorial to her former 'best friend', Chloe, who died ten years before. The story then spools back to the events of that winter, with Laura - who then called herself Lola - narrating her story as a confused teenager. She is caught between a depressing life at home with her distant mother and mentally ill father, and her all-consuming idolatry of Chloe, who in fact is often manipulative, spiteful and cruel. Chloe, in turn, is under the spell of her menacing older boyfriend, Carl. We know the story is progressing towards some sort of tragedy, as the fact of Chloe's death is made plain from page one, but Jenn Ashworth does a good job of keeping the reader guessing about how and why this happens, with various secrets staying under wraps right to the very end.

You can certainly tell Ashworth is a child of the early 80s, and she's got many of the details of teenage life in the late 90s spot on. (Even the names - have you ever met a shy or geeky Chloe? The name practically exudes a uniquely teenage kind of glamour.) I laughed when, for example, Lola described Chloe's hairstyle on a date with Carl; 'Her hair was scraped back into a scrunchie, apart from two long strands at the front. She'd wet those with spit and curled them around her finger.' Teen girls of the 90s, summed up in just one hairdo. Lola isn't a hugely likeable character, but her narrative voice is wholly believable as that of a 14-year-old. The style often recalls Anne Fine's The Tulip Touch, one of my favourite children's books, with the twisted relationship between Lola and Chloe mirroring that of Natalie and Tulip (and as Ashworth is a similar age to me, I can't help but wonder if she read this book as a child too, and might have been influenced by it).

The blurb for Cold Light says there's 'a surreal edge to its portrait of a northern town'; it's surreal all right, but whether it's successful in this is another matter. 'The City', as Lola calls it throughout the story, is weirdly self-contained, with residents rarely leaving its confines. There's the odd detail of a local newsreader who mysteriously exerts a powerful influence over the community, which feels like it would fit more comfortably into a US-based story and doesn't ring true of an English town. Similarly, the idea that the streets would be completely empty at night because of a flasher exposing himself to teenage girls would make far more sense if the story was set in a small, isolated village (is this mass reaction really plausible for a city?) It doesn't add up that Lola is so prejudiced and ignorant about Wilson's disabilities, given her own father's significant mental health problems. And I also found it hard to believe that the entire city would still be so obsessed with Chloe ten years after her death; I know some tragedies linger in the public consciousness longer than others, but if the people of the City were so keen to turn vigilante against a flasher, I'm pretty sure they wouldn't romanticise a relationship between a 14-year-old girl and a 29-year-old man.

I'd been looking forward to reading this book for months, and was delighted to find a copy in the library. Given my anticipation, I felt somewhat let down by it. Aside from the last few chapters, it often reads like YA fiction, as opposed to adult fiction about teenagers, which might be an advantage for some readers, but wasn't what I was looking for (Mary Horlock's The Book of Lies did it much better). It has all the right ingredients for something darkly intriguing, but somehow, all the interesting elements never quite come together and in places it feels dull and flat. That said, there was something about it that compelled me to read on, and I'm no less interested in Ashworth's other work - I still think her first novel, A Kind of Intimacy, looks potentially excellent. Cold Light, meanwhile, is a good - but not great - read with a lot of weak patches and some solid redeeming features; not brilliant, but certainly worth a look.

Rating: 6/10

3 things I like about S/S 2012

So far...




1. Paul Smith




2. Theyskens' Theory

3. Brilliant photos of London Fashion Week by the ever-excellent Kris. I was going to post some of these here, but there are simply too many to choose from, I'm overwhelmed. Unusually, even when I'm not keen on the clothes, I still love looking at Kris's pictures because they're just so BIG! So CLEAR! Go and look at them.

Book review: God's Own Country by Ross Raisin

God's Own Country (2008) by Ross Raisin

Sometimes, when I read a really good book, the subsequent review practically writes itself. I normally start the first draft of a review when I'm halfway through a book; occasionally even earlier. If I absolutely LOVED the book, you'd think this would be easier. Yet it's been days since I finished God's Own Country and I haven't yet written a word about it. Why the delay? In part, it could be because I just know it's going to be difficult to do this book justice. My initial response upon finishing it was to write: 'Wow, just wow', and I'm tempted to leave it at that. But if I'm to convince others it's worth reading, I suppose I have to explain why it wowed me in a little more detail, so I will give it my best shot.

The story is narrated in North Yorkshire dialect by Sam Marsdyke, a 19-year-old farmer's son. Having been expelled from school several years before, he has withdrawn into a world of his own making; he spends his days working on the farm with his brutal father, walking the wild moors with his sheepdog, and terrorising unsuspecting ramblers and 'towns' (Sam's word for the rich families who are slowly but surely buying up the surrounding farms). With no friends or even acquaintances of his own age, Sam lavishes attention on the puppies and lambs at the farm, and frequently uses his vivid imagination to conjure up interaction between the people, and even the animals, around him. When a new family - well-off 'towns' from London - move into the farm next door, Sam develops something of a fixation with their young daughter (whose name is Jo, although she is almost always referred to as 'the girl' by Sam - a telling detail, as it turns out). The plot is woven around Sam's increasing sense of isolation and, concurrently, his escalating obsession with the girl. Without giving too much away, it all builds - subtly and with a heavy dose of black humour - to a startling and disturbing climax.

Rarely has a narrative voice been so convincing, so powerful, so ferociously REAL. At points during the time I spent reading this book, I found myself actually thinking in Sam's voice, which I don't think has ever happened before. It's revealed early on that Sam's expulsion from school was due to an accusation of rape, but rather than turning him into a repulsive character, Ross Raisin carefully dances around the issue - it isn't even that you necessarily believe Sam is innocent, but rather that he is painted as such a believable, complex character that it is impossible not to be drawn into his lonely world. He is often very funny and can be incredibly beguiling. His observations are twisted cleverly and are sometimes shocking; for example, he turns a description of two sheep mating into what seems to be an admission of guilt about the rape incident, and the wordplay here is so beautifully done that I had to read it several times and turn it over in my mind to grasp the real meaning. Sam is capable of astonishing cruelty, but shows affection and empathy towards the animals he cares for; he is clearly obsessive, but his fantasies about the girl are, more often than not, innocent and even quite sweet. In fact, it's Jo who initially appears to be the more manipulative and conniving of the two. Raisin encourages the reader to be on Sam's side, to perceive him as well-meaning even as his behaviour becomes ever more menacing and out of touch with reality.

There are many dramatic events in this story - particularly towards the end, which spirals into surreal confusion to the point that what appears to be a nightmare segues into the book's climax, reflecting Sam's damaged mental state. But really, it's all about Sam as a character, and the power of his unreliable narration. You probably know how much I like my bleak, black books, and God's Own Country certainly won't have the same appeal for every reader; it's intensely disturbing in parts. The idiomatic language might be off-putting to some, too. But if you can stomach all the slang and the dark turns the plot takes, it's breathtaking; the way the book draws you in until you're too rapt to look away seems to mirror Jo's involvement with Sam. Alongside Gillespie and I by Jane Harris (a worthwhile comparison since, despite the very different settings and details, the two books share many traits) this masterful debut is one of the best books I've read all year.

Rating: 10/10

Book review: The Stranger's Child by Alan Hollinghurst

The Stranger's Child (2011) by Alan Hollinghurst

The only other Alan Hollinghurst book I've read is the beautiful but disturbing Booker Prize winner The Line of Beauty, which, from what I can gather, is typical of his work. The Stranger's Child, then, is a departure: while homosexuality and gay relationships are a strong theme throughout the book, it is a family saga spanning almost a hundred years - stretching from the eve of the First World War to the present day - and is the first Hollinghurst novel to feature major female characters. Divided into five parts, the book follows several generations of the Sawle and Valance families. Cecil Valance - first introduced as the young lover of George Sawle - is the central figure of The Stranger's Child; a bisexual poet and aesthete, he achieves fame - and creates an impact which will resonate throughout history - with a poem titled "Two Acres", ostensibly a message of ardour directed at George's teeenage sister, Daphne. Daphne is the secondary protagonist, and while Cecil remains frozen in time as an increasingly mythical figure, we follow her through youthful infatuation, marriage, motherhood, family life and old age. Later, a younger character is introduced: Paul Bryant, an aspiring writer whose obsession with Cecil and the two families' entwined histories leads him to pen a speculative, sensational (and in fact remarkably accurate) biography.

I initially found it quite difficult to adapt to the narrative jumps between generations. After the opening, which I instantly loved, I struggled to get used to the second section. But by the time this ended, I had become so involved that I hated the next skip forward in time. However, by the end I was glad this device had been used; to see the impact of these characters on their descendants near to a century later gives the story a uniquely insightful feel. You really get the sense not only that you've genuinely known these people, but that you've travelled through time to see how the echoes of their thoughts, feelings and actions have reverberated down the years. Hollinghurst is clearly a fan of keeping the reader guessing - each of the sections opens in such a way that makes everything a complete mystery at first, with the truth gradually revealed; there are some witty red herrings in the narrative too, and the dates of each event are never actually given, just subtly implied through cultural changes, topics of conversation, the characters' manners and clothes.

Because the story takes leaps through time, it's impossible for me to discuss the plot in any detail without giving away significant spoilers - so I won't. However, I do really want to talk about how much I loved the party scene in the second section of the book. It's an absolute masterclass in writing; I actually don't understand how Hollinghurst managed to write it in such a way, as if you are there with the characters as they move from room to room, in the thick of the action, experiencing the confusion of drunken fragments of conversation and the disorientation caused by interaction between a number of people with disparate goals and desires. It's breathtakingly filmic and one of the most impressive and memorable scenes I have read in any book in recent memory. Surely, surely, a television adaptation of this novel must already have been mooted. Fans of Downton Abbey and the like would absolutely lap it up.

This was a slow, leisurely read rather than a compulsive one, but for all that I enjoyed it immensely. I was immediately drawn in by the first two sections, which bear what I'm sure is a deliberate resemblance to Brideshead Revisited; the period, the relationship between George and Cecil, the significance of the two families' houses ("Two Acres" and Corley Court, the latter clearly the book's Brideshead). I thought the book sagged in the middle somewhat, and the introduction of Paul was troublesome - he isn't likeable, though this is necessary for his character to work - but the plot gained momentum in the last few chapters and I found myself captivated by Paul's race to uncover the 'truth'. The short final section wrapped things up neatly - I enjoyed the fact that we see members of yet another new generation still obsessed by Cecil, suggesting that this will always continue while the man himself will remain an unknowable enigma. Therefore, the ending itself, which is left somewhat open, seems a fitting conclusion even as it is a little frustrating. I didn't want the book to end, and I wished more time could have been spent on the final section - I understand that Paul's introduction was necessary as a bridge between the generations, but I think it could have been done with more brevity.

It's a real shame The Stranger's Child was excluded from this year's Booker shortlist, and I can't help but feel it's been snubbed precisely because it seemed like such an obvious choice. Though both were very good and neither perfect, I think The Stranger's Child has the edge over The Line of Beauty; its scope and ambition make it both more appealing and more resonant. I didn't fall head over heels in love with the book, but nevertheless, I believe it's worth the hype.

Rating: 8/10

Maudlin Monday

Having a bit of an introspective Monday night, sitting here listening to Hatful of Hollow, tweeting like I'm drunk and eating cream pies (#foreveralone). Seriously though, HOW FUCKING GOOD were the Smiths? My heart wants to burst with love for them every time I listen to anything they ever did. And when I say 'them', of course I mean 'Morrissey'. Greatest lyricist of all time and idgaf what anyone else thinks. I could make this into a detailed tribute but I'm seriously lacking in the necessary eloquence at this point in time, so here are some flawless masterpieces of songs instead.








How dearly I'd love to get carried away/Oh, but dreams have a knack of just not coming true/And time is against me now.

Reading round-up: July & August

(This is a continuation of the bi-monthly book list I used to do at my old blog. Now that I'm posting my book reviews here, in future I'm just going to do a quick round-up at the end of each month, but I didn't want to miss anything out!)


July & August weren't great months for getting a lot of reading done, partly because I've had so much else to do, partly because I got bogged down in a couple of not-so-great books that took me a while to finish. However, I still managed a total of 13. Here's an overview of what I thought of them all...

53. The Winter Sea by Susanna Kearsley - 7/10 (full review). A fluffy, but nevertheless enjoyable historical romance alternating between 18th-century Scotland and the present day.
54. The Likeness by Tana French - 6/10 (full review). A too-long suspenseful thriller that wants to be The Secret History but doesn't succeed, thanks in part to a completely implausible plot.
55. How To Be a Woman by Caitlin Moran - 7/10 (full review). An amusing (at times hysterically funny) personal memoir with an admirable feminist agenda.
56. Gillespie & I by Jane Harris - 10/10 (full review). Absolutely sublime - a deliciously dark, compelling and addictively readable historical tale with a completely spellbinding narrative voice. My read of the year so far. If you take any notice of my opinion on books whatsoever, I urge you to read this!
57. Oracle Night by Paul Auster - 8/10 (full review). Hard to describe but very captivating, this is a slightly surreal, multi-layered story charting the effect of a seemingly powerful notebook on a writer's life.
58. The New York Trilogy by Paul Auster - 8/10 (full review). A trio of interconnected detective stories in which nothing is as it seems. Full of symbolism and recurring themes, this was unlike anything I've read before (in a good way).
59. Lucky Break by Esther Freud - 6/10 (full review). Following the fates of a group of drama students across 14 years, this has an interesting premise but somehow never quite hits the mark.
60. Snowdrops by A.D. Miller - 4/10 (full review). Despite the beguiling and well-depicted setting of modern Russia, this 'suspense' novel is hampered by a detestable protagonist and a notable lack of suspense.
61. The Book of Illusions by Paul Auster - 7/10 (full review). A subdued story about a grieving man's obsession with a silent film star. Unbelievable in parts, but intriguing and haunting.
62. The Sense of an Ending by Julian Barnes - 6/10 (full review). A beautifully written but ultimately rather too slight tale of unreliable memories and past secrets.
63. Travels in the Scriptorium by Paul Auster - 5/10 (full review). While as well-written as the other Auster books I read this month, the plot of this self-referential fable is muddled and unengaging.
64. The Magician King by Lev Grossman - 3/10 (full review). A bloated, anticlimatic mess full of unpleasant characters, this is much worse than its predecessor, The Magicians. A disappointment.
65. A Summer of Drowning by John Burnside - 9/10 (full review). With flawless prose and characterisation, plus fascinating themes, this semi-supernatural mystery set on a remote Norwegian island is only let down by some frustrating plot points.

I've got my work cut out for the next month or so - there's a HUGE list of books I want to read (but isn't there always!) Next on my to-read pile is Cold Light by Jenn Ashworth, as I just managed to find a copy at the library after coveting it for months. I'm looking forward to reading and reviewing Incubus by Carol Goodman - I've previously read a few of her more 'literary' mysteries in the Secret History vein, and this is a paranormal novel which has (worryingly) been compared to Twilight, so I'm interested to find out whether it will be a successful take on the genre or a bit of a car crash... I'm very intrigued by the buzz about Erin Morgenstern's debut, The Night Circus, and I also really want to get round to reading Ross Raisin's God's Own Country, by all accounts a quintessentially 'Yorkshire' book. And then, of course, there's the Alan Partridge 'autobiography', I, Partridge: We Need To Talk About Alan, out at the end of the month!

What have you read and loved (or hated) this month? Which books are you looking forward to reading? As always, recommendations are welcome!

Book review: A Summer of Drowning by John Burnside

A Summer of Drowning (2011) by John Burnside

When asked to list the types of books I generally enjoy, a phrase I've often thrown into the list is 'books about solitary people'. In A Summer of Drowning, I have found perhaps the ultimate book about solitary people. Set on the remote Norwegian island of Kvaløya, it features a cast of characters almost universally defined by their independence and solitude. The story is narrated by Liv, a self-confessed loner with no boyfriend or friends - nor any desire for them; her closest relationship is with Kyrre Opdahl, an ageing neighbour who fills her head with old folk tales about mythical creatures and supernatural powers. Liv has been brought up alone by her artist mother Angelika, who has deliberately chosen the isolation of island life and is famed for her reclusive existence. In the present day of the story, Liv is 28, but the majority of the narrative takes place 10 years previously, and recounts the summer she finished school, an already uncertain time marred by a spate of drownings on the island.

Interwoven with the mystery of the drownings is a traditional tale about the huldra - a troll disguised as a beautiful woman, who spirits men away and leads them to their deaths. Kyrre's obsession with variations on this story slowly begins to taint Liv's perceptions of the events of that summer, and she develops an increasing conviction that a mysterious, apparently homeless classmate, Maia, is not all she seems to be, and is in some way connected to the inexplicable deaths. Liv describes herself as 'one of God's spies', and passes her empty days by observing the actions of neighbours and her mother's acquaintances. When a friendly yet sinister stranger called Martin Crosbie arrives to spend summer on the island and becomes the main subject of Liv's spying, her suspicions spiral out of control, to the point that she begins to lose her grip on the line between fantasy and reality.

A Summer of Drowning is a book in which every character has hidden depths and harbours dark secrets. Liv is a complicated girl, precocious but naive, whose life has been shaped by her adored but somewhat heartless mother - and influenced in a different way by the palpable absence of a father she has never known. Despite lacking her own voice in the book, Angelika herself is a constantly dominant presence, a fact underlined by Liv's frequent references to her as Mother - in contrast to her repeated disparaging dismissal of her father as father, the italics often implying a sarcastic tone. The book is filled with small, carefully crafted, and meaningful details like this. The characters and the relationships between them are, without exception, brilliantly rendered, and there's a constant undertone of suspense and unease which reaches its climax in a subtly terrifying interlude set in England.

Personally, I loved this book, but I can imagine that it won't have the same appeal for every reader; it's rather dreamlike, often slow-moving, and there are times when the events it portrays seem oddly anticlimatic and almost unfinished. I have to admit I was disappointed that the last third of the book didn't recapture the escalating sense of dread conveyed so effectively in the England section, and that aspects such as the weird letter Liv received in the hotel were never given a satisfying explanation. Because we see everything through Liv's eyes, the story ends on a slightly frustrating note, as tales related by unreliable narrators often do. At the end, I felt I'd had a sublime reading experience yet had been left a little let down by the plot. Nevertheless, due to John Burnside's beautiful, beguiling prose and hugely appealing (to me) themes, this was one of the most inspiring books I've read all year. There is absolutely no doubt that I will be reading more of this author's work.

Rating: 9/10