Kidnapped - Robert Louis Stevenson

'Kidnapped' was a childhood favourite - or more specifically a favourite from the years that seem to be classed as young adult now; a term I'm a little bit suspicious of but I assume covers the stage when one grows out of The Famous Five but doesn't yet feel compelled to walk around with a conspicuous copy of something Russian. (I wonder if there's a polite term for that phase?) I probably had a battered Puffin Classics copy back in the day but it's long gone, so a few years ago I felt impelled to purchase a rather more grown up looking Canongate version (it looked exceptionally scholarly) which has kicked around the shelves ever since waiting to be picked up until finally I was in the mood for something Scottish and Victorian.

A few pages in and I wondered what I'd signed up for - it was clear that 'Kidnapped' wasn't entirely the book I remembered (it was also clear that I didn't really remember much about it). Re-reading it, it's a much more complex novel than I would have imagined a week ago. Having started this post the Scottish one and I have spent the last 2 hours discussing Jacobite's, the suppression of the clans, and Scottish independence. I grew up with a romantic notion that the Jacobite cause was a noble one and that Bonnie Prince Charlie was a hero (in Shetland where traditionally there is little love for the mainland Scot) He grew up being told that Bonnie Prince Charlie was a nasty little man, foreign at that, who was the ruin of the Clans (in the Highlands where you might imagine a different attitude would prevail).

I assumed that a good portion of my pro Jacobite sympathies were culled from 'Kidnapped' but reading now I see no evidence of enthusiasm from Stevenson. His Alan Breck Stewart is in most ways a ridiculous little (literally - his lack of hight is frequently referred to) man with a distinctly skewed idea of honour and morality. Resourceful and brave certainly, but also overly proud, vain, quick to take offence, manipulative, and unscrupulous. He certainly has no qualms about taking a second rent from his clansmen who can ill afford it so that his chief can live in some comfort and safety in France. David Balfour - the Lowlander happy to swear his allegiance to King George is on the other hand a model of youthful integrity whose only discernible fault is his inability to tell when he's on a tidal Island.  

As a children's book it's a ripping yarn which manages to mix the fairy tale elements of a young man destined to find he's the long lost rightful heir of an estate and fortune, with adventure on the high sea's, a life and death journey across a wild landscape, and just a little humour. As a grown up book there is far more humour, more tension, more horror and plenty of the duality that the introduction in my edition insists upon. David leaves behind a world of certainty for one where nothing is assured and where the weather is as much his enemy as the red coats are. 

As for 'Kidnapped'  itself - well the chances are anybody reading this will already have know it reasonably well, but should you be on the look out for a copy I absolutely recommend this edition. The notes, glossary, introduction, and maps are excellent (I learned stuff) and as a book to provoke conversation it has a lot going for it - not least as it feels remarkably relevant in a time when Scottish independence is very much on the news agenda.  

Ragnarok – A.S. Byatt

For me one of the most attractive things about the Ragnarok myth is that it is the end of the gods rather than the end of the world so it’s rather galling that this is generally dismissed as a later Christian nod towards resurrection. I see it as a perfectly brilliant way of being able to have your mythical cake and eat it; by assuming Ragnarok has happened you can move onto new beliefs whilst still leaving room in your imagination for an older world view which on a wild winters night - or the disconcerting white nights of a northern summer - or during the cataclysmic reality of a world war may not seem so very far away from possibility. I mention this because A.S Byatt also dismisses the idea of renewal and I thought I might hold it against her, but she does it in such a way that I can't. She really is very, very, good.

I’ve been anticipating this book for what has probably been the best part of a year now, I even read ‘The Penguin Book of Norse Myths’ in preparation (and very good it was too). A.S. Byatt is without doubt my favourite living writer particularly when she’s writing short stories and novellas. It might have been a question as to whether this book could ever live up to my hopes for it – honestly it far exceeded them.

It’s a good myth to start with, though I think this is the point to say that I’m a bit vague about the difference between myths and fairy tales. I think I can tell the difference when I’m reading one but an actual definition remains elusive, not least because I feel that there are elements in many myths which are basically fairy stories but put them all together and they become more than the sum of their parts. Most deities are fairly one dimensional but the Norse men had Loki, a shape shifting Lord of Misrule, a god of chaos and curiosity, both Odin’s foster brother and the agent of Ragnarok. In short a complicated character.

What Byatt does with Ragnarok is tell it through the experience of a thin child in wartime. The child takes what she needs from her reading which is not necessarily belief but something more like recognition. Meanwhile Byatt uses (and I liked this too) the traditional structure of the cycle to add in her own lists of things that the child does believe in – nature and the weather, although we know what the child doesn’t, that these common things are no longer common, the destruction continues.

As all good story tellers should Byatt also adds her own distinct twist to events. The chapter on Jörmungandr the world serpent is my favourite and will bear several rereading (as will the whole book).   Jörmungandr in this telling is cast into the sea as a small creature who eats then devours and all the time grows until she spans the earth. All the time she becomes ever more monstrous and angry until the day when she’ll join her father and brother for the final battle.

Like all the best books finishing this has left me feeling slightly bereft, intent on reading again soon, and desperately curious to follow up with more reading around the subject. The hard back is pricy, the kindle version more reasonable, I’m glad I got a proof copy and didn’t have to wait for the paperback because I think this may be the best book I’ve read all year – there is stiff competition for this title, none of them have been duffs. Honestly this book is worth picking up. 

The Hurricane Party – Klas Östergren

‘The Hurricane Party’ was a penny purchase from amazon – and even if it turns out not to be a book to cherish you can’t go wrong at a penny (even including the £2.80 postage and packing where I assume, and hope, the bookseller manages to make a few more pence). Having easy and affordable access to almost any book I chance to hear of (in print or otherwise) is something that fills me with delight to the point that it feels like one of the privileges of modern life. I think I mentioned before that I’ve dithered over ‘The Hurricane Party’ for a while now; attracted to it because it was part of the Canongate myth series but put off because it seemed a little adrift of my usual fare and because it was pricey for a paperback.

As I definitely already mentioned I realised as soon as I read the back blurb (which is a bit different to the amazon description and one of the many reasons I miss finding books like this in real shops) that it probably wasn’t for me. Having read and digested I know it wasn’t for me, I’m just not suited to fiction of this sort – it seems that books set in the past (as opposed to written in the past) or set in the future bring out my most pedantic streak. All the time I read I found myself questioning the possibility of the world that Östergren had created and too often found myself picking holes in it to the point that I’m pretty sure I missed the point of the book. This is no reflection on ‘The Hurricane Party’ there are plenty of readers out there who will find it hits the spot exactly.

The basic premise of a man looking for answers after being told that his son has died of a heart attack was promising, the idea that a mafia style clan bearing a striking resemblance to the pantheon of old Norse gods is pulling the strings was attractive, but I don’t understand why it needed to be set in the future. I’m not sure either if the clan were indeed the gods themselves or not, or what was meant to be real and what was a drug induced hallucination on the part of the main character. Despite my reservations I never struggled to find the motivation to carry on reading, Hanck’s love for his son is compelling as is the retelling of the Edda but I’m more than ever resolved to stay away from anything bearing the description ‘set in a dystopian future’...

Something Old, Something New

So far I’ve confined my online book buying activities to amazon. I’m not really a fan of internet shopping, believing very strongly that money (on the rare occasions I have it) should be spent in ways which promote choice and help people keep jobs... But back in the real world choice on the high street is already severely limited and when times are tight price matters.

Cutting a long story short I’ve discovered the book depository, now obviously I’ve heard of it before nevertheless I’m brand loyal so I’ve always stuck with amazon, but things have changed thanks to Canongate Classics. Canongate in partnership with creative Scotland and the The Book Depository have released just over 100 titles from their back list. They’re available as e books or print on demand (As an aside am I the only one who’s a bit hazy about what print on demand means? Quality, presentation, time before available – it doesn’t half vary.) And until March they’re only available from the Book Depository who have a special little shop for them.

Anyway I’m guessing there are plenty of books printed without much demand as all the titles I looked at were available for dispatch within 24 hours. I’ve looked out for Canongate Classics for years – they do a fine line in Scottish literature from the really quite old to the early 20th century and I’ve found some great books through the imprint (and notice in an incidental sort of way looking through this current list that they share a few titles and authors with Virago).

The end result is that as an early birthday present to myself I ordered some books which turned up promptly and cheaply – which is the sort of thing I like and just generally I’m really quite excited by them. I got ‘Highland Lady In Ireland’ (I have the highland lady diaries already, though shamefully unread, but these diaries cover two minor obsessions of mine – what could be more tempting?) Book number two is Annette Hope’s ‘A Caledonian Feast’ (the widely acknowledged definitive history of Scottish cuisine no less) it’s hovered on the edge of my wish list for a while and now seemed like a good time. I also got Duncan Williamson’s ‘The King of the Lamp’ which is a collection of Scottish travellers’ tales. It was a bit of an impulse purchase and is either going to be a great find or something I’ll wonder why I bought for ever more.

Having a good old browse through the Canongate list has also made me look out the unread classics I already have with a definite view to reading in the nearish future, which in way that probably only makes sense in my own mind makes me feel like I’ve got far more than three new books. This promises to be the highlight of the week – which means I’ve had far worse weeks and that I’ll be going to bed happy tonight.

Girl meets Boy – Ali Smith

After ‘The Warden’ I really wanted to get stuck straight into ‘Barchester Towers’ but have so far resisted partly to give me the time to get the rest of the series. (I’m off to hunt them down across the cities charity shops in the morning and if that fails it’ll be an amazon binge.) Meanwhile what to read next? My general inclination has been for the 19th century but I’m aware that if I overdo it with that now, by Christmas it won’t appeal at all and I have a stack of ‘Classics’ (quite a bit of Trollope, some Edgeworth, a couple of Wilkie Collins, and some Oliphant amongst others) that I’m keen to work my way through, as well as who knows what else I‘ll find to enthuse over in the meantime.

I had a good scour of the bookshelves but nothing felt quite right (a sort of twist on the ‘I haven’t got a thing to wear’ dilemma) so I opted for short and picked up Ali Smith’s ‘Girl Meets Boy’ which was the result of my last major amazon frolic back in the summer. It’s one of the Canongate myth series (which I think is a fantastic concept, and one which has persuaded me to read writers and books I would never otherwise have picked up) and this time based on an episode in Ovid’s ‘Metamorphoses’. Art history is littered with episodes from the ‘Metamorphoses’ and I read the book a few times as a student but the story of Iphis and Ianthe isn’t one I particularly remembered.

It seems when Iphis’s mother is pregnant her husband tells her that sadly they can’t afford a girl, so if she has a girl it will have to be put to death. She’s not best pleased with this news and prays desperately to Isis who promises everything will be alright and tells her to bring up the child regardless. Iphis is born a girl, a fact her mother conceals from everyone bar the nurse. Iphis is a name used by both men and women, and she comforts herself that in this at least there is no lie. All goes well until Iphis and Ianthe fall in love – they have grown up together and their match is seen as desirable by all, apart perhaps from Iphis who loves Ianthe with all her heart but sees no way of possessing another woman. Another trip to the temple is called for and the outcome is a transformation. The girl Iphis enters, the boy Iphis leaves – the wedding takes place and everyone lives happily ever after. (Unusual for Ovid – most the stories in ‘Metamorphoses’ end with sadness.)

The quotes on the front of ‘Girl meets boy’ are ‘exhilarating’, ‘Joyful’, and ‘Charming’ all of which are true and as succinct as the book itself. It only took me a couple of hours to read and was an excellent foil for my 19th century obsession. I rarely read contemporary books and this one was to me shockingly contemporary – Cilla Black’s ‘Blind Date’ is history (can’t argue with that) but all the details set ‘Girl meets boy’ so firmly in this time here and now that I can’t imagine what it will read like in 10 or 20 years time – something I’m quite hung up on because I’m just not used to it. It’s also very Scottish, specifically a book set firmly in Inverness (the Scottish ones favourite bookshop is described), something which I really liked – Inverness is a fast growing, fluid, changing sort of place at the moment (or was until the recession hit) a city having its own metamorphoses couldn’t be more appropriate for this story – it’s a character in its own right.

It’s a fantastically poetical book as well and one that appealed to every romantic idea I’ve ever had about falling in love; a book that sings out about how marvellously easy things are once you accept that you’ve met your match, and how exciting they are too. Autumn isn’t my favourite season so reading a definite spring book full of blossom, birdsong, and passion has been a real mood lifter, and it’s a book I mean to get my youngest sister to read whilst she’s still of an age to not expect this kind of exhilaration as a right at the beginning of something. (She’s a good natured girl who generally humours me, which I find hugely endearing.)

The Crimson Petal and the White – Michel Faber

Where to even start with this book? It’s one that I’ve picked up a few times over the years – lured by the book cover, only to put it down again when I realised it was contemporary, but an enthusiastic write up from Kirsty made me want to read it, and so only slightly daunted by the length (833 pages) I started.

‘The Crimson Petal and the White’ has clearly been waiting for me since, well since 2002 when it was published, and possibly the whole of the twenty years I’m sure I read it took to write before that. Honestly I don’t think I’ve fallen into, and in love with, a book so hard since Angela Carter’s ‘Nights at the Circus’ and that was a good few years ago. There have been a lot of much loved books over those years but they’ve been friends – a basically platonic relationship, this has been a fairly intense affair. I read it in a week, which meant outside of work I didn’t do much but read this book, or talk about it. My, but I must have been fun to be around – the blonde has already given in under the pressure and bought her own copy, she’d better start reading it soon...

Having established that I liked the book (a lot) I now have the slightly harder job of trying to put my finger on where exactly the magic lies. This is the story of Sugar a distressingly experienced young prostitute, her lover, his wife and a wider ripple of other characters. The narrative is juggled between protagonists with quite dazzling dexterity – it changed perspective often enough to keep me turning pages avidly but never drifted off course. Sugar is determined to have a better life, William is determined to have Sugar, and Agnes (the wife) is determined to keep her place in society despite her precarious grasp on health and reality.

The plot is basically the way these characters lives change through contact with each other – it’s hard to say much more without giving away plot spoilers which I’m loathe to do but I won’t be spoiling the surprise if I say there’s plenty of sex (which avoids the pitfalls of being to gratuitously described), some death, some religion, plenty to make you think about the position of men and women in society, and quite a bit about the nature of prostitution - and that’s only the tip of the iceberg. Still there are plenty of books which offer all these things so what’s special about this one?

What really caught me from the first moment was the way the narrator pulled me in as a fellow voyeur (there must be a technical term for this device, please tell me what it is if you know) it felt appropriate for the nature of the book, and it also made me very aware of the physical presence of the book. Its weight and feel in my hands added to the barrage of smells, sights, and sound that pervade the story; it felt right. The second thing I realise I really liked is the emphasis on smell, and on bodily functions – normally something ignored in the books I read, but it’s ridiculously easy to empathise with a heroine who’s worrying about when she’ll next be able to pee. I appreciated too that Faber doesn’t try to write like a Victorian, he uses some slang terms which feel right, but nothing to distract or annoy the reader, just lovely words that fit together effortlessly and make you want to read on and on...

It might be that there are faults or moments of clumsiness in this book, but I was far too caught up in it to notice – it feels like a masterpiece. What I did notice was craftsmanship, the research must have been meticulous – every detail, and there are hundreds of them, rings true which is a remarkable achievement, it doesn’t feel laboured, just very well made. Every time I opened the book I was in Faber’s world, by the time I finished it, even after 800+ pages I didn’t feel like I’d had enough – which brings me to the finish. It’s an abrupt ending leaving a lot of unanswered questions, which in the normal way I might have found frustrating, but after feeling so deeply involved with the characters here it worked for me – what happened next is for the reader to imagine – I Imagine it turning out well for the heroine, not so well for the men in the book, but I’m okay with that.

Baba Yaga Laid an Egg – Dubravka Ugresic

Part of the Canongate myth series, this book ticked so many boxes for me and yet for some reason I’m struggling to pin it down. Still I’m going to try because I found it both a great read and deeply invigorating – I came out of it fizzing with ideas. The box ticking comes from the myth element, myths, legends, fairytales, folklore – it all fascinates me, and Baba Yaga is a particularly intriguing figure. (Just in case she’s new to you Baba Yaga is a hag who lives in a hut that stands on chicken legs by the edge of the forest. Sometimes she helps travellers but more often she entraps them, especially girls. She travels by flying through the air in a mortar steered by a pestle wiping out her traces with a broom. She may or may not eat children).

All of that is well within my comfort zone, but reading an author I know nothing about, whose (indrawn breath) contemporary – well it’s not something I do a lot of, although there are a few more in the Canongate series that I’m adding to my wish list (how amazon must love me). I might even take a chance on another of Ugresic’s books because this one reminded me irresistibly of Angela Carter and I’d like to know if that’s specific to this book because of its explicit basis in myth, or if it’s a shared quality between the two writers. It’s the way that Ugresic plays with reality that reminds me of Carter; things seem real enough and then they become fantastic, strange, worrying, and not quite real at all.

I should also say that this is the second book in a row (after Memento Mori) that’s dealt with the extremes of old age and it occurs to me that the very end of life when neither body or mind works quite as it used to, or quite as you might like it to then things might well be strange, worrying and not quite real.

‘Baba Yaga Laid an Egg’ is split into three parts; the first section chronicles the relationship between the author and her aging mother and includes a trip to her mother’s old home in Bulgaria with a young academic called Aba. Part two takes place in a spa; a triumvirate of old women turn up and wreak a certain amount of havoc on all around them, all in their way are waiting for death:

“Beba sat in the bath wrapped in lacey foam. She could not remember the last time anyone had treated her with greater warmth or tenderness than this hotel bath. This was the kind of painful realisation that drives the more sensitive to put a bullet in their temple, or at least to look around to see where they might attach an adequately strong noose.”

This is the point when strange things really start to happen. Finally there is a ‘Baba Yaga for beginners’ section written by Dr Aba Bagay. It’s an exhausting exploration of Baba Yaga (and incidentally introduced me to the work of Marina Warner who’s now also on my wish list) written as if to the editor of the book. Exhausting but ultimately very worthwhile.

I mean to carry on researching Baba Yaga – here I think she is an avenging fury of sorts - and a neat opposite of the ideal of womanhood, but for all the repulsiveness in her image she’s still a recognisable woman, an angry one at that, and somehow I find that very compelling.