Just Finished Reading...

NEVER LET ME GO - By Kazuo Ishiguro

Ok, so here is a book that is just so beautiful in its simplicity. No, I’m not saying it is a ‘simple’ book, not by any means. Its layered and multi-faceted and just encrusted with pure emotion. The way Ishiguro gently talks about these children’s lives, in this seemingly mild natured boarding house, and their life afterwards whilst subtlety hinting at the dark nature of their very existence is astounding.  

Its strange, isn’t it, how something like a novel can effect you so profoundly. The words just seem to touch you somewhere you can’t reach. Its not a visible change, maybe, its something that you carry around with you.

For some reason, Never Let Me Go made me feel like that. It’s not even something I can describe, and it didn’t even fully hit me until part three of the novel, the donor chapters. When it all comes together. And though you knew it was happening from the beginning, you can somehow feel you are these people, because to me, they are people, not some soulless body bags, and they come to terms with what purpose they were created for. I felt like Tommy, and wanted to just scream and rage, at the unfairness of it all, for the hope they lost.

This all might sound really vague if you haven’t read the novel, so come back and read this afterwards, and maybe you will feel some kind of change, like I did. 

Ok, so before I do a review of one of my favourite books of all time, Neil Gaiman’s American Gods, I thought Id have a quick rant about my undying love for Neil. Gaiman is one of those authors that can just write, you know? He has just got such incredible talent, and I haven’t finished all his works yet, but American Gods, Stardust and Neverwhere are just out of this world (sometimes literally).

And nobody can say anything that will make me love Neil Gaiman less. You tell me he kicks puppies? I say they probably had it coming. He lures small children into vans after school? I’m sure the kid would be happy to be in a van with the writer of Coraline and The Graveyard Book (I sure would). He takes candy from babies? He’s just watching out for them. Developing a sweet tooth at such a young age is not good in this world plagued by obesity. 

And just to put it all out there, I would have this man's children where he not married to the fantastic Amanda Fucking Palmer, the stunningly brilliant American performer (as well as singer,  lyricist, pianist and composer). Anyway, here goes...

AMERICAN GODS BY NEIL GAIMAN

This extraordinary book follows a man, Shadow, who is just out of prison and somehow manages to find himself involved in a war, between the old time gods of mythology, and those of the 20^th century, the relatively new gods of media, celebrity, technology and drugs, etc. Shadow is thrust into this fight with no warning, after he finds out his wife has been killed in a car accident, and he is recruited to serve as a bodyguard by the enigmatic and oddly captivating Mr. Wednesday, who is in charge of the final frontier battle for survival against these new gods.

Gaiman’s premise of the novel that these Gods exist because we worship them is one that I can’t help but fall in love with. Brought over to America on slave ships, existing in the minds and the souls of the people were the spirits and the dwarves and gods of Norse, Pagan, African, Hindu and Egyptian mythology. These gods that are in the novel, Gaiman gives a voice and a personality, and you feel with them all that they have been through, their weariness at the state of the world.

Just writing this review makes me want to pick up the novel again, and plunge straight back into this world that Gaiman creates. I could live there for days, just hanging with Mr ibis and Sheeba, Czernobog and Kali. If you haven’t gathered already, this book is a must read. Stop what you are doing and go buy it now. Don’t borrow it; trust me, you’ll want to read it again and again and again and again…

Second Review + Some Pleasant Ramblings..

MIDNIGHT'S CHILDREN BY SALMAN RUSHDIE

Ok, so my first experience with Salman Rushdie has been a bit of a bust. I have to be honest, as they say, honesty is the best policy, and I am also protected by the anonymity of the internet so any mad, die hard fans of the man cannot come and suffocate me in the night, or perhaps ninja into my kitchen and start a fire.

I did not enjoy Midnight’s Children. I was lured by his reputation and the promise of magical realism, which, is a weakness of mine. But somehow, he did not draw me in. The book is divided into three books, and the first book was full of long-winded paragraphs and strange convoluted segues. And don’t get me wrong; I’m a fan of strange. Give me a strange sandwich and I will eat it all up. But it just didn’t seem relevant or, quite frankly, interesting.

Believe me, I gave it the old college try. I have this issue, where I feel morally obliged to finish a book that I have started; no matter how much I am not enjoying it. I don’t know where this illness came from, or how to get rid of it, but its there. No matter how many people tell me, ‘life is too short for bad books’ I get this twinge of uneasiness if I even think about giving up. What if the last few chapters, sentences, words even, are the most poetic and beautiful prose I have ever read? What if they open a pathway to myself that I never knew even existed? Plus, if you find yourself in possession of a book, it has naturally been bought, borrowed, or stolen, and in all situations it is your duty to finish said book. If you buy it, I believe you have entered a sacred contract with the author to read their book. If it is borrowed, then with the borrower, and if you stole, you put at risk your criminal record and reputation as an upstanding citizen of society, so for all this trouble, you should at least FINISH IT! Ok, so I haven’t finished it yet, but I promise you, I will. I have the amazing capacity to compartmentalise when it comes to reading, I can pick up a book that I started years ago and remember (this memory never seemed to work when it came to maths or science in high school, I still don’t remember my times tables, go figure) the storyline and just pick up where I left off.

Do not be one of those people who sees one bad review and never reads that book as a consequence, because if that was happening, I'd never write one again. I firmly believe in forming your own opinion, so read the book. Enjoy it, hate it, dislike it, love it, want to have Salman Rushdie’s children, its up to you. But read, read, read.

MY FIRST BOOK REVIEW:

NOURISHMENT BY GERARD WOODWARD

I’ve never really thought about how I would feel if I unintentionally ate a human leg, but somehow, Nourishment by Gerard Woodward made me feel as though I was there, with Tory and Mrs Head as they discussed whether this unintentional act was as inhumane as a deliberate act of cannibalism. Now, don’t get the wrong impression, this novel was not about cannibalism. Woodward manages to beautifully weave the theme of nourishment throughout his novel both spiritually and nutritionally whilst giving us a peek at the obscurities of human relationships during the Second World War.

Whilst Tory’s husband Donald is serving his country her mother, Mrs Head comes to live with her, as Tory is alone, her children being sent away during the course of the war. When they do not hear from Donald in quite some time, it comes as a shock when his correspondence comes. He is detained as a German POW, and requires from his wife, not food or nutritional-based nourishment, but dirty letters by return of post!

This sets in motion a train of events that me, as a reader would have never seen coming. I have to admit, I gasped out loud at least three times during the course of the novel, stayed up well past my bedtime on numerous occasions, and resented having to go to work and only having a forty-five minute period to become engrossed (and begrudged my own body for requiring food during this break, how ironic it would seem, once you read the book!). Nourishment is filled with strange but likable characters and events, and I know this sounds clichéd, but funny, sad and incredibly unpredictable. Two thumbs up for this Man Booker and Whitbread shortlisted author. 

Standard Introductory spiel..

My name is Natalie, I am a bibliophile who is lucky (or, according to my sad bank account, unlucky) enough to work in a bookstore. Books are all I know, the one constant in my life, since I was little. Books have been with me through good times and bad, when I needed cheering up, when I needed a laugh, when I needed an escape, and when I wanted to look busy so the weird woman on public transport wouldn’t talk to me. I have experienced Jane Eyre’s heartbreaks and triumphs, sailed with captain Ahab and completed my seemingly uneventful school years alongside Harry, Ron and Hermione’s. I have always wanted to write, but never have. So I have decided to write a blog about my experiences with words, books, authors and all things great about the literary world. I hope someone out there will get a kick out of it.