A/W 2012

Paul Smith



Francesco Scognamiglio



Helmut Lang



Theyskens' Theory



Ralph Lauren



Gucci


Victoria Beckham


Wes Gordon


Burberry Prorsum
Every year I have the same dilemma. I really want to get excited about the spring trends - and indeed, there's always something new I like: this year it's baroque prints, silk pyjama trousers and peplums, for example. But I will never be able to muster much (if any) enthusiasm for pastels, florals and girly summer dresses. My heart belongs to autumn/winter fashion, and it's to the A/W shows that I'm inexorably drawn. Yes, I know, most people do not want to look at pictures of big coats and scarves at the same time as they're hoping for some sunny weather... but while I love the sunshine, the clothes that come with it bore me. On the other hand, the above (personal) highlights of A/W 2012 so far look like a catalogue of things I love to wear: skinny and mannish trousers, pencil skirts and dresses, slouchy layers, shirts with blazers, military coats, big jumpers, tweed, loads of leather and black, black, black. Newsflash: I am not very original. The good news is that it looks like the shops will be full of really nice clothes this autumn.

Book review: Alys, Always by Harriet Lane

Alys, Always (2012) by Harriet Lane

Alys, Always, the first novel by Harriet Lane, has received rather a lot of press, and all of it - without exception, as far as I'm aware - has been positive. Given that the author is a former journalist who has written for most of the British broadsheets, this isn't so surprising. But a few things about the book grabbed my attention anyway: the beautiful cover, the promise of a story set amidst the London literary scene, the comparisons to Zoe Heller's masterful Notes On a Scandal.

Frances Thorpe is a struggling journalist who is driving home one night when she sees an overturned car by the side of the road. She rushes to help, and has a short conversation with the woman trapped inside the car, who then lapses into unconsciousness just as an ambulance arrives. Later, Frances learns that the woman, Alys Kyte, died just minutes later. When Frances is asked to visit the Kyte family to talk about Alys's last words, her natural impulse is do what's necessary and escape as quickly as possible - until she realises that Alys was the wife of a celebrated, Booker-winning author, Laurence Kyte. Partly by chance and partly by design, she starts an unconventional friendship with the Kytes' 19-year-old daughter Polly, and soon sees an opportunity to ingratiate herself with the family and to better herself, both personally and professionally.

It's only since I've begun writing this review that I've recognised the similarities between this book and one of my very favourite reads from last year - Gillespie and I by Jane Harris. Much like Gillespie and I's Harriet Baxter, Frances is a single woman with a rather empty life - though her age is never actually revealed, it's implied that she is in her mid-thirties, and she spends her days toiling away as a sub-editor on a left-of-centre newspaper, the Questioner. She has few friends, an awkward and distant relationship with her parents, and is often treated as a dogsbody by her boss. However, she is not simply a lonely person craving any sort of human interaction: faced with potential interest from a scruffily dressed, but nevertheless attractive and available, male colleague at a party in his shabby flat, she baulks and flees. Rather, Frances fancies herself as something of a social climber, and as she begins to realise how far her association with the Kytes could take her, her determination and ambition grow - along with her deviousness.

At numerous points, Frances is asked: 'where did you come from?' The words are spoken both as an accusation and an endearment. This book - Frances's story - is the answer to that question. With the pace and lucidity of a thriller, Lane shows us how quickly Frances is seduced by the Kytes' lifestyle - not just the privilege and status, the adoring acolytes and luxurious homes, but how easy and expected it all is. The simplest observations of the family's everyday routines illustrate with great clarity how unassumingly blessed they are, and this is a state Frances becomes increasingly desperate to achieve. The reader, too, is beguiled by this coveted lifestyle: at so many points I just wanted to jump into the book, to live inside it. In this it reminded me of another great, and similarly evocative, read from last year - The Poison Tree by Erin Kelly. But where Kelly's novel was ruined by a daft, schlocky ending, Lane's boasts a conclusion that is dark, delicious, and absolutely perfect. Frances is a brilliant creation, by turns sympathetic and terrifying, but always so believable that you forget you're reading fiction.

Engrossing to the point of being absolutely addictive, this is one of those books that makes you feel you've fallen into a different world: after I'd devoured it within less than 24 hours, I looked up from it dazed and a little bit lost. In this review, I have defined it mainly through comparisons to other books, but it is a wonderful novel in its own right. I have a penchant for debut fiction, and am often drawn to first novels, but even so, this really is a stunning effort. I loved the story, loved the style and found myself thoroughly under the spell of Frances and the Kyte family. Harriet Lane, you have a fan for life!

Rating: 10/10

Book review: The Snow Child by Eowyn Ivey

The Snow Child (2012) by Eowyn Ivey

Eowyn Ivey's debut The Snow Child is one of those zeitgeist books that seems to have a significant buzz about it right now. Whether this is because of great PR, reader word-of-mouth or simply that it's really that good, people seem to be talking about this book, and the burgeoning hype, along with the promise of an intriguing, magical story, grabbed my interest. When I spotted a special offer (fyi - use the code SNOWCHIL at Amazon UK to get the hardback for £5.99!), I was sold.

Beginning in 1920, this is the story of Mabel and Jack, who make the decision to move out to a homestead in Alaska relatively late in life, in their early fifties. After marrying late and suffering a stillbirth, they have never been able to have children, a source of great sorrow to Mabel in particular. The move to Alaska is meant to represent a new start, a peaceful, simple and traditional life together without interference from relatives or acquaintances. But there are problems: Jack is getting too old to work the land on his own, and is struggling to keep going; Mabel's repressed grief is magnified by her isolation; the Alaskan wilderness is lonely and unforgiving. One night, however, a fresh snowfall briefly reawakens their passion for life and each other, and they excitedly build a snow girl, even giving her a hat and mittens. The next morning, the snow girl is gone, seemingly destroyed by a wild animal - but there are tiny footprints in the snow, and Jack thinks he glimpses a child running through the forest.

The story is based on a traditional Russian tale, 'Snegurochka' (the snow maiden), and Ivey's commitment to retaining the fairytale feel really shows. This is a fully fleshed-out and detailed story, spanning a number of years and featuring a complete cast of characters - Mabel and Jack's neighbours and later friends, the Benson family, have a significant role to play in what happens - yet it never loses that sense of the otherworldly. The essence of Alaska's harsh beauty is communicated wonderfully, so that you understand how the characters can both love and hate their environment, but at the same time there's always a hint of something etheral. Is Faina, the child who becomes so precious to the couple, actually a magical being, or is there some rational explanation for her sudden appearance and apparently nomadic life in the forest? Outside the story, the idea of a snow child coming to life sounds silly, but the narrative manages to balance (often brutal) reality with suggestions of fantasy, making the plot believable even as it keeps you guessing about Faina's true origins.

The biggest problem with The Snow Child was that despite enjoying the book, I didn't get emotionally involved or feel particularly moved: tears never even pricked my eyes, even though this is technically a very emotive story. Plenty of other reviewers have fallen head-over-heels in love with this book, but as much as I think it is largely worth the hype, this just didn't happen for me. Also, I wasn't keen on the way every part of the story suggested a person's life is incomplete unless they have children. Yes, I know this is the whole idea the plot rests on, and it wouldn't really work properly without it, and it's set in more traditional times, in a part of the world where having a family was one of the only things you could hope to successfully achieve and was arguably necessary for survival... But nevertheless, I couldn't help being a bit turned off by this implication. Finally, this book contains a lot more descriptions of hunting, killing, gutting (etc) animals than you would ever guess from the whimsical title and plot. These didn't put me off reading, but I could have done without them, to be honest.

That aside, this is an enchanting story and definitely a very impressive debut. I often find first novels 'stumble' in places, but, apart from a jarring 'off of' within the first few pages, the narrative flows beautifully and the style feels very assured. The blurb describes it as an 'instant classic' and while I wouldn't quite go that far, it does have a timeless quality that I'm sure will give it enduring appeal. It will be interesting to see what Ivey does next: as an Alaskan native, it's no real surprise she has captured the setting so evocatively, but her tender depiction of the protagonists' relationship suggests this is more than a one-hit wonder. A lovely diversion from reality, and an author to keep an eye on in the future.

Rating: 8/10

February books so far

An Object of Beauty (2010) by Steve Martin

This third novel by comedian and actor Steve Martin boasts a great opening line, which I found impossible to resist:

I am tired, so very tired of thinking about Lacey Yeager, yet I worry that unless I write her story down, and see it bound and tidy on my bookshelf, I will be unable to ever write about anything else.

The narrator is Daniel, an art writer in 1990s New York. However, he is a largely featureless figure, with his narrative (as the above suggests) being almost entirely devoted to his friend and one-time lover, Lacey Yeager. Lacey is an art dealer - an up-and-coming young gun at the story's beginning, and a gallery owner by its end, fifteen years later. Daniel observes and listens to much of Lacey's story, and fills in the blanks using his imagination, so it's almost as though this is just a third-person narrative about Lacey: we never learn much about Daniel's own life, and I often forgot he was there. The plot traces Lacey's career and hints at Daniel's involvement in her sudden, mysterious acquisition of a large amount of money, an event which proves to have lasting repercussions on the lives of both characters.

That opening sentence - along with the general premise of the novel - instantly had me hooked, but all in all I found it a bit of a lacklustre affair. I liked the idea of it more than the reality, I think, and I felt that the final revelation regarding Lacey's windfall was a little anticlimatic. My favourite part of the plot was probably Lacey's relationship with Patrice - but let's be real, this is mainly because I want a hot affair with a sexy older multi-millionaire European art collector. When do I get mine??

My main problem with this book was the same issue that stopped me giving Kirsten Tranter's otherwise excellent The Legacy full marks: I am mentioning the comparison because both books feature an impossibly alluring young woman involved in a relationship with an older man amidst the New York art scene, although the plots are very different. Lacey, like The Legacy's Ingrid, is one of those characters we're constantly told amazing things about without any clear supporting evidence or justification for them. She has an incredible effect on almost every person she ever comes into contact with, yet I was never quite sure why, or at least I never felt convinced this would truly be the case in real life. I wasn't entirely sure the narrative style worked, either, and I was constantly frustrated by my desire to know more about Daniel. I understand why he's there, but I don't think fleshing him out a bit more, giving him a life of his own beyond an outline of his career, would have been detrimental to the story.

I liked the themes of this book - the world of fine art, New York, Lacey's glamorous lifestyle and the unspoken mysteries lurking behind it - but ultimately it all just seemed a bit... flat. I wanted to get emotionally involved in the story, but because the narrator was virtually anonymous, and therefore the narrative could only get so far under Lacey's skin, and Lacey herself was (in my opinion) somewhat unrealistic, I couldn't engage with it properly. Interesting, sexy, but in the end, a little too empty.

Rating: 7/10


Cold Earth (2009) by Sarah Moss

Cold Earth follows a group of young people on an archaeological dig in Greenland. The team is made up of four archaeologists, Ruth, Catriona, Ben and Jim, along with their team leader Yianni, and Nina, a literature student who has tagged along for various vague reasons. A mixture of nationalities and backgrounds, they struggle to get along in the isolated, cramped conditions of the camp, with only sporadic access to the internet providing a link with the outside world. With reports of a potential pandemic starting to surface as they arrive in Greenland, they are faced with the possibility that a deadly virus may be spreading across the rest of the world, making them anxious about their families and friends, and eventually prompting the uncomfortable and terrifying question: could they be the only ones left? The book is written as a series of letters from the team members to their loved ones back home, with the perspective switching to different characters as it progresses.

Unfortunately, the first third of the book is lumbered with impossible-to-like Nina as narrator. She is selfish, childish, pretentious, hideously judgemental, throws tantrums for next to no reason, decides she hates Ruth because she takes care of her appearance while on the dig (yet she - Nina, that is - claims to be a feminist...!), and is irritatingly obsessed with her boyfriend, to whom her narrative is addressed. She drops brand names into her account for no reason other, it seems, than to show off (when she's had a panic attack and Yianni makes her hot chocolate: 'when I didn't think about Charbonnel et Walker, it was warm and sweet') and makes awful, selfish statements about the pandemic, since her boyfriend is the only person she cares about ('the rest of the country can lie dying in the streets for all I care as long as you are all right') - which begs the question of why she would ever have agreed to join the expedition in the first place. She's supposed to love adventure, but this doesn't gel with her needy and immature personality.

Then we're handed over to Ruth, who (thank god) is much more likeable. Through Ruth's eyes, we see that Nina's neurotic tendencies are escalating into a sort of madness, as she becomes convinced that the team's activity is causing them to be haunted by malevolent ghosts. Ruth, who has ghosts of her own, isn't convinced, even as the rest of the group becomes increasingly spooked by unexplained noises and strange voices in the night. We hear from the other characters too, but the chapters get progressively shorter and more urgent as the situation worsens.

Although I didn't think this book was brilliant, it was undoubtedly the most gripping thing I've read in a while, and I thought the premise was excellent. I even liked the ending. I just wished I could have taken this journey with characters I actually wanted to read about. I liked Ruth, but that was about it, and I wasn't keen on how the female characters were all obsessively attached to men who seemed to be rather indifferent about them, and I simply couldn't believe how insufferable Nina was. A great idea with a compelling plot and some chilling, thought-provoking moments, but ultimately it's marred by the characters, and because of this I found it difficult to actually enjoy.

Rating: 7/10


The Sound of a Wild Snail Eating (2010) by Elisabeth Tova Bailey

A short, uplifting memoir, The Sound of a Wild Snail Eating is the story of Elisabeth Tova Bailey's illness and recovery. A healthy, active woman, she is quite suddenly struck down by a mystery illness, which proves difficult to diagnose and treat. One day, she is brought a pot of violets as a gift by a friend, and inside the pot is a snail. As she is bedridden, the snail becomes a kind of pet, as she observes its daily movements, becomes accustomed to its habits, and begins to feel emotionally attached to it.

I hadn't heard of this book until it popped up as Amazon's Kindle Daily Deal. The unusual but lovely title appealed to me, as did the idea of the author's fascination with her snail - I loved them as a child, and often used to try bringing them inside and keeping them as pets. But, although the book does feature a lot of factual information about snails, it is really about how finding wonder in small things and the beauty of nature can help those in difficult situations, particularly if they are isolated. Although minimal, the prose style is quietly beautiful and the book is very well-written.

I imagine it would be difficult to dislike this book (unless, of course, you really hate snails), because Bailey writes with such charm and even the most hard-hearted reader will empathise with the frustration of her condition. However, it's very slight, and at least half the text is taken up by facts the author has found out during her research on the lives of snails, which make it feel more like a biology essay than a memoir. Instead of this, I would have liked to read more about her life before and after the illness. I enjoyed this book, and I can understand why it was sparsely written, but the fact that Bailey's style was so appealing made it all the more frustrating that her experience wasn't expanded on in more detail.

Rating: 6/10

Reading round-up: January

1. Miracle On Regent Street by Ali Harris - 6/10 (full review). A fluffy, Christmas-themed piece of chick lit: the romantic elements are ridiculously cheesy and implausible, but the book is just about rescued by its sweet, heartwarming depiction of friendships and refreshingly non-patronising attitude towards its characters.
2. The Somnambulist by Essie Fox - 6/10 (full review). A pastiche of Victorian gothic in the tradition of Sarah Waters, this spooky mystery promises a lot but doesn't really deliver: the plot goes over the top with an excessive, and ultimately exhausting, number of twists.
3. The Midnight Palace by Carlos Ruiz Zafón - 6/10 (full review). One of the author's early YA books, recently translated into English, this is a bit daft and inevitably childish, but quite exciting - and much better than its predecessor, The Prince of Mist. A good easy read for a night in.
4. Invisible by Paul Auster - 10/10 (full review). Completely dazzling, compulsively readable, and effortless, this is my favourite book by Auster so far - a dark coming-of-age tale with the tone and pace of a thriller. This is what fiction should be, and I wish I could find more brilliant novels like this!
5. Man in the Dark by Paul Auster - 8/10 (full review). Telling the story of an ageing writer who relates the story of his own life through a fictional character trapped in an alternate, war-torn version of America, this is very short but quite enjoyable. However, it will be nothing new for fans of Auster, and it's not his best work (see above).
6. The Enchantment of Lily Dahl by Siri Hustvedt - 7/10 (full review). One of the strangest books I've read for a while. This is a meandering story about a girl finding her way through life in small-town America, with a cast of very odd characters and a heavy dose of the surreal. Interesting, but not wholly satisfying.

I think it's fair to say this year's reading hasn't got off to a great start, and with the obvious exception of Invisible (which has jumped straight into my all-time-favourites list), I haven't come across anything I've found enormously inspiring. I think that's why I've been slacking on writing up reviews and posting them here - it's hard to find the motivation when everything you're reading is just, well, okay. I'm slogging through two books at the moment and neither of them are really that great. None of this has made me feel particularly enthusiastic about reading and I've probably spent more of my spare time listening to music this month.

I have lots of books on my wishlist, most of which haven't been released yet, or else they've been released fairly recently and I can't afford them, so the library is my only hope. Speaking of which, I have still got a few library books waiting for me after I've finished the current couple, but my expectations are low and I'm starting to lose faith in my own judgement...! Have you read anything amazing lately? I need inspiration!