On Reading and the Art of Giving Up – Reading Diary #2

In this instalment of my Reading Diary: how to begin a book, how to give it a chance, why giving up is an option – and an analysis of one book I gave up on

Beginnings

Nowadays, when I start reading, I keep an eye on the page numbers and see if I can’t reach page 50 by the end of the first sitting. After that I try to read two or three chapters or 20 to 30 pages at each subsequent reading. Of course this only works with longer books. With books of short stories or essays, books of poetry or other thinner volumes I have different strategies. But novels, biographies, histories – anything that has serious mass – this is the way I go now.

The 50 page first bite confirms for me that the book is worth trying to read. If I can’t get to page 50 – or at least close to that – on my first sitting, I have to ask, Why? Is it because the book is too dense? (Maybe I’m going to have to revise my idea of the time I want to give to it.) Or is the book just poorly written? Is it irritating me too much?

If the latter, comes the next question: Am I going to waste any more time on it?

Lately – and this is a very new development – my answer to that last question is No.

I’ve started, so I’ll finish

Not so long ago my philosophy was, “I’ve started, so I’ll finish.” Guided by that, I tortured myself with numerous titles that just weren’t worth the effort. I’d start reading, and because I’d started I’d grit my teeth and plough on, generally making my life increasingly miserable. Every time I finished one of these exercises in masochism the relief was palpable. But why do it? Just because it’s so nice when it stops? That’s the punchline of a joke, but it’s no way to live.

And why take it as a poor reflection on myself when, despite everything, I failed to read a book even under this lash? Why not blame the author? You, yes, you, damn you! You who couldn’t keep my attention, who couldn’t interest me enough!

But really, it’s not the author’s fault either, just my own stupidity.

Maybe I’m getting a little less stupid.

What has changed, apart from my having struggled at last out of the Slough of Despond, is a growing consciousness of my mortality. Life is just too short, I tell myself.

It’s something I have to tell myself because, after a lifetime of assuming that a book:
1. that’s made it into print,
2. that someone has recommended or
3. that someone I know has written, and
4. that I’ve picked up and started,
is necessarily a book I have to finish. After a lifetime of that, it’s hard not to fall back into the rut of: “I’ve started, so I’ll finish.”

Giving up : Man with books - detail of foot Bad books

Mind you, it’s not as though I’m exactly wading through bad books. In the last eight months I’ve chosen to not continue trying to read just two. And there’s one other I’ve read but wish I’d had the strength of mind not to plough through.

(Let’s not be coy – the book I wish I hadn’t wasted my time on is Linda LaPlante’s Backlash.)

One of the two books this last year that I eventually chucked aside is Barnbruden by Anna Laestadius Larsson.

Barnbruden

Barnbruden means “child-bride”, and, yes, it’s in Swedish. (There may be an English translation, but a quick Internet search doesn’t turn one up.) It’s a fictionalised account of a few years of the life of Charlotte – Princess Hedwig Elizabeth Charlotte of Oldenburg – the child-bride of the title. Charlotte came to Sweden in 1774, aged 15, in order to marry the brother of the King of Sweden.

Giving up: Barnbruden
There is a portrait of the young Charlotte by the Swedish artist Alexander Roslin, but for some reason the publishers chose to decorate the cover of Barnbruden with a Roslin painting of a different woman.

The book was recommended to me because it has things in common with my Elin’s Story.

I’m not sure how far I want to go into the things about the book that made me – finally – give up. Because I didn’t give up directly. I put Barnbruden to the fifty page test and it passed. I actually got through 156 pages – the first 22 chapters. (There were 252 pages left to go.) It wasn’t that I found the Swedish difficult. Of course, as someone who only learned to read Swedish as an adult, as someone who has not put nearly as much effort into appreciating Swedish as I have into appreciating English, I’m in no position to pass comment on the quality of the Swedish Ms Larsson writes. So I won’t say anything more than that I thought the language was pretty straightforward.

However, I became increasingly irritated by two things that have nothing to do with the language. First, character development (or lack thereof), second historical accuracy.

More fool me

The novel starts quite well, with the heroine’s voyage to Sweden and her initial experience of the court. That was what saw me through the first 50 pages. But after that, after that it deteriorates into banality. It holds out the promise of character development, but then betrays that promise. Of course, I have to wonder whether I’m being too harsh. Whether the book is just very slow in setting up its character development. But I gave it three times as much space as I give other books to prove itself to me and it still didn’t seem to be going anywhere.

Barnbruden has clearly been a success. It was published in 2013 and there are already two sequels. Perhaps I was expecting too much from it. Maybe it’s only a romantic romp got up to look like a serious historical novel. Only a bit of fluff successfully marketed as an example of feminist historical fiction. But, you see, I was reading it under the impression it was a serious historical novel, that it was actually a work of feminist historical fiction. More fool me.

The eck of history

It seems as though Ms Larsson is very taken with the eck of history – with body odour and sweat, urine and shit, lice and fleas – and is keen to share. Also that she is so keen to write about the experience of women in the past that she’s prepared to insert modern perspectives and activities into the historical narrative. I think this is particularly noticeable when she writes about sex.

I’m not sufficiently well read in this particular period to be sure, so I could be wrong. A large part of the book seems to draw on the diary that Charlotte kept for all her life and I haven’t read the diary. It’s possible Charlotte was sufficiently indiscreet to actually write about some of the things Ms Larsson passes on. But, I have my doubts.

Sex as window dressing

For example, is it really likely that Charlotte would have all her body hair shaved before her wedding night? Maybe it is, maybe it happened, maybe she recorded the experience in her diary. It just seems unlikely. I do know that not 150 years before Charlotte’s wedding, in England, women had their body hair shaved only to combat disease – in particular sexually transmitted disease. At that time and in that place, shaved body hair marked a woman out as a diseased prostitute. Shaving body hair simply wasn’t acceptable for women with any claim to respectability – especially among the aristocracy. (Shaving or plucking hair from your scalp line to raise your forehead was a different matter.)

Maybe, in her diary, Charlotte described her first sexual encounter with her husband as a rape. Maybe she implied it. (This latter seems more likely.) What perplexes me is why her husband, after using her so badly on their wedding night, and then “servicing” her on a daily basis in much the same manner in order to get her pregnant, should suddenly choose to give her cunnilingus. And that after a completely unexplained change in his feelings towards her.

Possibly the Princess also wrote in her diary an explicit description of the transgressive scene Ms Larsson retells. The one in which Charlotte’s maid and friend Sophie von Fersen introduces her to sex by kissing her like a man and fondling her body – a practice Sophie claims to have learned from her brother. Certainly the diary appears to have been started as series of unsent letters addressed to Sophie von Fersen, so what do I know?

It may be all there in the diary. But in Barnbruden it honestly reads as far too modern. By and large most of it fails to advance the story, so it also reads like window dressing.

In the watches of the night

It feels bitter and harsh to be criticising this book. It feels a lot like the voice of failure, as I lie awake in my bed and run through the things I hate about this book. This book I’ve just put down on the bedside table in order to compose myself for sleep. Which I’m not managing to do.

What right, I ask myself, what right do you have to criticise Anna Laestadius Larsson? You who have squandered the last eight years failing to write your own historical novel? I defend myself: Don’t I have the same right as any reader who feels short-changed? Yes, I grant myself that – but it still feels like envious disparagement. Shame!

I can’t sleep and find myself gazing into the well of my self-doubt – as one does at 3 o’clock in the morning.

Finally, I sit myself up and go on-line to see what I can find out about Ms Larsson and how the general public, and any historians, may have reacted to her book when it came out.

You’re never weird on the Internet

Reviews and the Swedish language pages of Goodreads. First off, I discover that Ms Larsson isn’t an historian but a journalist – which is a partial explanation. Then I discover that nevertheless she has her fans. (And why not? Even journalists need people to love them.)

Most of the women – I only found women – who have read the book and written about it on-line have enjoyed it. Some have even been inspired by it. Some, though – I’m relieved to see – have reacted like myself. Sisters! (I cry – but softly, it’s the middle of the night after all.) I am not alone. Not uniquely weird, not the only person to have found the history in Barnbruden dubious and the characterisation dodgy.

After reading all the negative criticism I could find on-line (not much) I felt less as though I was at fault for not enjoying the book, and more justified in putting it aside. And actually able to switch off the light, and the tablet, and go to sleep.

It took a long time to write this entry. I kept hesitating about publishing my critique of Barnbruden. Well, I made the decision at last.

Next time

Next time I’ll write about a book I actually enjoyed reading all the way to the end – and how I read as I get towards the end of a book I like.

Man with books


A note about some of the subheadings

I’ve started, so I’ll finish
This is a catchphrase from the BBC TV quiz series Mastermind. Coined by first presenter, Magnus Magnusson, it was incorporated into the title of his account of the programme I’ve Started, So I’ll Finish: The Story of Mastermind (1997).

More fool me
This is a widely used expression. Some people say “The more fool I”. Shakespeare did in As You Like It (Touchstone: “…now I am in Arden; the more fool I! when I was at home, I was in a better place: but travellers must be content.”) But more recently “More fool me” is the title of a song by Genesis (1973) and a work of autobiography by Stephen Fry (2014).

In the watches of the night
An expression meaning the deeper, darker parts of the night. The term refers to guard duty (watch duty) in time of war or uncertainty – or simply during a curfew – and is recorded (as “night watches”) in the King James Bible and the Book of Common Prayer. It’s been used repeatedly in the form “watches of the night” as the title of books, novels, short stories and poems.

You’re never weird on the Internet
This comes from the title of a work of autobiography by actress, vlogger and Internet entrepreneur Felicia Day, You’re Never Weird on the Internet (Almost): A Memoir from 2015.

Reading Diary #1 – To Have and to Have Not

I’ve decided to start a reading diary At The Quill. I don’t know how this is going to work, but I’m reading regularly now – have been for more than a year, I think, looking back. I’ve been mentioning my reading in my private diary more and more frequently. Why not extract those pieces and polish them up a little to post them? At least it will mean a more occasional posting than the dearth of what’s At The Quill at present.

I don’t need to call it anything more fancy than “Reading Diary” (though I expect I’ll think of something).

Book box giving

After my blog entry about the Book Boxes at Stops and Stories last Wednesday, I decided to take a bag of books and go round the boxes leaving the books – one here, one there. It wasn’t so difficult in the end, choosing which to give away. The three my mother gave me when I was last home (including the awful Linda LaPlante Backlash), plus the last of the Terry Pratchett books – The Shepherd’s Crown – which I liked well enough but doubt I’ll want to read again.

Then there’s the hardback of Harper Lee’s Go Set a Watchman that I bought back home in Sweden last summer. I hope someone finds it and enjoys it (more than I did). I’m also giving my copy of Gone Girl (the beginning was better than the end), China Miéville’s Embassytown (good, but not nearly as good as The City and The City), and Angela Gillies’ The White Lie. Of them all, I think it’s the last I may regret giving away most. That’s personal – simply because I’ve been in touch with Angela directly (over Twitter). But I must be honest with myself – though I enjoyed it am I going to want to re-read it? Probably not.

Giving books away

Giving books away like this is a new experience for me. Of course I’ve parted with books in the past, but often not very willingly. I can still remember the covers of some of the books I sold when I was a student, and how painful it felt – like abandoning a child.

I’m being melodramatic. How would I know what it’s like to abandon a child?

But I still remember the deep green cover of my Everyman copy of Sir Thomas Elyot’s The Boke of the Governour; the white cover with the red, blue and black lettering and the imitation woodcut illustration of my book of mediaeval European history. And why can I remember them so clearly? And why does it still hurt that I was fool enough to part with them? For a handful of coins that weren’t really enough to pay for the next book I bought?

Make room! Make room!

My depression and my inability to read overlapped with our move to the present flat in Gothenburg where we had – still have – even less room for bookshelves than in the place we left. My re-discovery of the joys of reading, now, coincides with our move to Brussels and empty shelves that cry out to be filled. But I know in a year, or a year and a half, that we’ll be moving back and I have no idea how I’m then going to shoehorn all these new books into the flat. It’s probably a good idea to start training myself to be selective about the books that I keep, and to pass on the rest.

It is easy to let go of books you haven’t enjoyed reading. At the same time it feels a bit shabby. If I didn’t like them, am I not cheating others when I give them away? Am I passing them off as books to read when I really believe they’re not worth it? I argue with myself and say: Because this book isn’t to your taste doesn’t mean it won’t suit someone else. Besides I’m also giving away some books I’ve enjoyed but don’t see myself picking up to re-read any time soon.

Library

You should borrow more books from the library, Mrs SC says. And she’s right. And I do. But mostly it’s when I want to be surprised. I go to the library, I look along the shelves, and I see what jumps out at me. It’s how I found Nick Hunt’s Walking the Woods and the Water. It’s how I found Christopher Priest’s The Islanders. When I know for sure what I want to read, when I have an author’s name or a title, then a search online and an order placed. Or, as just happened, a visit to a local bookstore (in the belief that I am supporting local business against the evil Amazon) – that’s my usual practice.

To Kindle, or not

I’ve got a Kindle app on my mobile phone, but to be honest I mostly don’t see the point. Yes, yes. I know all the arguments about saving space and saving paper. But there are so many things you can do with a printed book that you can’t do with electronic document. Read in the bath. Make notes in the margins. (Not that I do the former – or the latter very much either to be honest.) Read without having to worry about battery time and without tiring my eyes. Give it away.

I have one title on my telephone Kindle that I read three years ago – Sonya Hartnet’s Thursday’s Child. I really enjoyed that book and deeply regret that I don’t have a proper hard copy. It was the experience of buying Thursday’s Child through Kindle – it was only my second or third Kindle buy – that killed my interest in buying more. That and the ridiculous complications I ran into when I was forced to reinstall the Kindle app, and couldn’t find my password. I thought all the books that I had bought up to then were erased and I would have to pay a second time for any title I wanted to re-read. Well, that turned out not to be true. Not then and there. But it might be in the future, and it just added to my reluctance.

No, I’m sticking with the printed word.

So, if this reading diary is going to be a regular thing it’s likely to be – mostly – a diary of reading print media. You’re warned.

Filled with numbers and books - secondary school art
Filled with numbers and books – art decorating the outer wall of a secondary school on Rue du Grande-Serment, Brussels

A note on the heading and subheadings

To have and to have not is the title of a novel by Ernest Hemingway from 1937. It seemed appropriate.

Make room! Make room! is title of a science fiction novel by Harry Harrison published in 1966. Though, to be sure, it wasn’t an exploration of the consequences of unchecked book buying.

Books read 2015

Below is a list of all the books I managed to read (or at least partly read) in 2015. Thirty titles. Not nearly on a par with the days of my boyhood and youth when I could get through five or more in a week, but not too bad. Better than last year (I suspect). One of my New Year Resolutions is to read 50 books in 2016. I wonder how that will go.

Ayres, You Made Me Late Again
Banks, Consider Phlebas
Banks, The State of the Art
Bohem-Duchen, Chagall
Booth, The Almost Nearly Perfect People
Brayfield and Sprott, Writing Historical Fiction
Christopher, The Tripods Trilogy
Cleese, So, Anyway
Gaiman, Neverwhere
Humes, Belgium: Long united, Long Divided
Hunt, Walking the Woods and the Water
Kimselius, Back to Pompeii
Kimselius, Att Skriver med Glädje
Langley and Jones, The Search for Richard III
Leigh Fermor, The Broken Road
Lispector, The Hour of the Star
Mantel, The Assassination of Margaret Thatcher
Miéville, The City and the City
Miéville, Embassytown
Mosse, The Mistletoe Bride and Other Haunting Tales
Mullan, How Novels Work
Newman and Mittelmark, How not to Write a Novel
Pratchett and Gaiman, Good Omens
Reynolds, The Oslo Tram
Sacks, On The Move
Schalansky, Pocket Atlas of Remote Islands
Stoppard, The Real Inspector Hound
Tegeborg Falkdalen, Vasa Döttrarna
Williams, Tailchaser's Song

Some of the books read 2015

Bibliomania in the family

My grandfather was a bibliomaniac. This is my mother’s father, Charlie – Charles Bradlaugh Warwick. My grandmother threw him out sometime in 1939, just around the start of the war, and although my mother met him once more during the war and there were family sightings of him to the 50s, by the time I was born we’d lost contact and I never met him. However I heard a lot about him, growing up.

He had a number of habits and qualities, some of which were positive, but overall the stories tended to dwell on the negative ones. His philandering, his ego, his bibliomania.

One story has him coming home to the cottage at Wilmslow on the outskirts of Manchester, where my grandmother and he lived in the late 20s and early 30s, opening his coat and taking out the two or three books he had stolen from bookshops on his way home.

Charlie worked as an accountant for various employers, but as a committed socialist and paid-up member of the Communist Party of Great Britain he may not have kept his jobs very long as he was always agitating for workers’ rights. His political convictions may also have helped him justify his book thefts.

According to Mum – and to my grandmother because she told this story as well – Grandma was always nervous about Charlie’s thefts, fearing he would be caught and arrested.

Debbie, Charlie and Elsa in 1925
Debbie, Charlie and Elsa (Mum) in 1925.

My grandmother, Debbie, was born Jewish in Odessa which is now in Ukraine but between the wars was a part of the Soviet Union. Her parents brought her with her elder two brothers to England at the turn-of-the-century, fleeing poverty and the pogroms. Grandma always insisted that she had been taken to see Queen Victoria’s funeral cortege, so I place their immigration sometime around 1900 as the old Queen died in 1901. I suspect though that they were illegals as I’ve been unable to find them in the 1901 Census.

As a Russian immigrant, Debbie was always worried about the police showing up on her doorstep. A marriage certificate with a British citizen was a fair security to have – but how would it be if he was a convicted criminal? I believe she went through a second residency legalisation after 1941 (when Britain and the Soviet Union found themselves on the same side in the war).

I don’t really know whether Charlie ever stole more than two or three books. Perhaps one theft was enough to generate the story, but I suppose it’s more likely that it was a habit. In a way, I hope he was a bibliomaniac and did steal books on regular basis because only stealing two or three would put him on about the same level as me. Oh, don’t worry, I haven’t done it for a long time, but when I was a poverty stricken student and reading matter was not nearly as easily available as it is today, when books I needed to read were all borrowed out from the library and bookshops were more common and far less security conscious than today, I stole my share.

I never told Mum or Grandma of course. That would have only provoked a retelling of the Charlie stories and accusations of incipient bibliomania, which I already had a reputation for with all the library books I had overdue.

Grandma didn’t throw Charlie out because of his bibliomania but because of his philandering. As a 1920s Communist Charlie believed in “Free Love” and would have been perfectly happy not to lock himself into a “bourgeois relationship” (marriage), but he got Debbie pregnant and with the help of his parents she shamed him into marrying her. Not the best start perhaps.

Charlie full lengthIt didn’t stop Charlie continuing to act on his convictions, however, and for fifteen years or so he seems to have taken up annually with one new sweet young thing after another. My grandparents lived in or near Manchester, but when Charlie was having an affair, Debbie used to take my mother and move home to her parents’ in the East End of London. After Charlie’s affair had burned itself out, he would come down to London, plead with her to come back and they would all return to Manchester together.

This went on until Debbie got a job of her own. She became the warden of the Ivinghoe Youth Hostel just north-west of London in about 1937. According to my mother Charlie settled down for a year or so, but then took a shine to a guest at the hostel with whom he left. Later, he came back as in previous years to plead with Debbie, but now she had a degree of independence and she refused to take him back, so he returned to Manchester alone.

As I mentioned earlier, Mum did meet him once more during the war. She was in the WAAC (Women’s Auxiliary Air Corps) and apparently he tracked her down and wrote to her commanding officer asking if she could be given permission to come and visit him. She was then about 22. So she travelled to Manchester by train and went home to the address she’d been given. Her abiding memory of that visit is the books. Charlie was uninterested in spending money on bookshelves and had simply constructed walls of books – a row standing upright on the floor, a row lying down on top, a row standing upright on top of them, and so on right up to the ceiling. They were also good insulation, he said.

“That was an odd meeting,” Mum says, “I never knew what it was he wanted. I have a sort of feeling there was someone else there, one of his women, and that he was meeting me because she wanted him to.”

Many years later, quite recently in fact, Mum learnt that Charlie remarried (bigamously as he never divorced Debbie) and had a son. Mum’s new interpretation of her strange meeting is that Charlie had got the invisible woman pregnant, was going to get married (history repeating itself) and that the woman had twisted his arm to get him to try to reconcile himself with his first family. That didn’t happen.

Having learnt about the existence of her half-brother, Mum tried to get in touch with him. She wrote and then as he didn’t reply she eventually phoned him. They talked and she learnt a little bit more about him, but he was “not interested” as she says.

I’m not at all surprised. The poor fellow must be in his early 70s and this crazy old woman writes to him out of the blue and then phones him to tell him she’s his sister and that his father – now long dead – was a bigamist and he’s a bastard. It wouldn’t surprise me if Mum also told him about Charlie’s bibliomania. In his position, I doubt very much that I would be interested in pursuing a relationship, but Mum gets a little tearful about it now. She says she would have liked to have had a brother.


Another slice of family history this week, gleaned from my ongoing interviews with my mother (see here). The title of last week’s entry – Bibliophile – set me off thinking about bibliomania and the the only (if putative) bibliomaniac in the family.

This article was written for the #Blogg52 challenge.

Bibliophile

Over the last seven days, following my last entry for Blogg52, I’ve run a bibliophile’s — a book lover’s — questionnaire. One question a day here At the Quill, and on Facebook and Twitter. I come out of the experience with a slightly increased respect for all those people who create “click bait” questionnaires on the social networks. It’s not quite as easy as it looks. (Which isn’t to excuse the poverty of effort put into some of those Facebook questionnaires.) Anyway, having got to the end of my seven days it seems appropriate to sum things up.

First of all I should thank all the people who took time out of their days to respond to some or all of my questions. Thank you Agneta, Aleks, Anna, Eva, Kate, Lena, Miranda, Monica, Pernilla and Silia. The overall average of your response suggests you are all delightful, well-balanced people who are nevertheless passionate about books. Not an entirely surprising result.

If your responses say something about how you feel about books, the questions — and the way the alternative answers were formulated — gave you pointers towards my feelings. To be sure, I was trying to be light-hearted, but I think there are undercurrents.

I tried to strike a balance between questions about the physical object and the content of books. For good or ill, I am — as it seems all of you are — still wedded to the book as a collection of printed pages bound up between covers.

My first question had to do with books on shelves – the space available, the decorative quality, the dust trap they constitute, the challenge from the e-reader. “You sit in your sofa and look at your shelves and think…” No one chose E, my fifth alternative response: “Now all my books are on my e-reader I have much more space for my collection of porcelain plates with pictures of kittens.” Because, after all, you’re book lovers – not Dolores Umbridge. The results here were 7 As, 8 Bs, 1 C, 2 Ds. What I didn’t do was identify the sense in which people looking at their shelves were thinking: “So many books, and so many I’ve not yet read” (B). I hope it was an expression of delight and anticipation.

The second question was to do with giving away books you have enjoyed. It seems we’ve all done it and that none of us are unaffected. I clearly share the experience of waking in the middle of the night crying “Oh, no! What have I done?” And going on-line to replace the books I’ve given away. However none of you seem to have sunk to the level – as I have – of going to the charity shop and trying to buy back the books you’ve given them. (I didn’t succeed – someone else was ahead of me.)

Question 3, on Friday, had to do with our reactions when we see people reading books on public transport. Six out of seven of us find ourselves trying to identify the book by squinting at the cover or casually leaning over the reader’s shoulder. The seventh, it seems, is happy to actually ask, “What are you reading?” And strike up a conversation. In reply to some comments on Facebook I reminisced that for a period of time I was taking photographs of people reading books in public – till I saw a cartoon in our local paper in Gothenburg where a man reading a book on a park bench was surrounded by people taking photographs of him with their mobile phones. I decided my photographing of readers was a cliché, and stopped.

Question 4 was the question I feel most viscerally about. “You are watching a film and a scene comes up in which books are burned, torn, drowned or thrown. What do you do?” I was a little disappointed that only four people responded, but perhaps that’s indicative of something in itself. (Okay, it might just be indicative of a lack of time on a Saturday for silly questionnaires.) When I wrote this question I was thinking exclusively of my reaction to seeing physical books damaged or destroyed (“Wince, shudder; Cry out.”) Some of the responses reminded me that another perspective is to think about what the books contain and what reasons may be given for the destruction. This was the question I had not thought through as thoroughly as I might. However, I still feel that physical books have a value that may be greater than their contents. Is this rational? I’m just now thinking of that scene in the TV series Homeland where Brody the putative terrorist and traitor, lovingly wraps and then buries his copy of the Koran after his wife has thrown it on the oily floor of his garage. On the one hand this feels emotionally appropriate – the book has been damaged, is dead, and should be buried with respect. On the other hand, burying a book puts it as completely beyond use as burning it, so how is it better?

Question 5 came on Sunday. This one was about book series for young people that have become film series. I think I may have inadvertently skewed part of the response here since one of the series I chose to mention was the Fifty Shades series by EL James. Here’s what I was thinking.

JK Rowling’s Harry Potter series (1997-2007) sparked a phenomenal interest in reading among a generation of young people, and for all the criticism the series received from the literary establishment (the likes of Harold Bloom – “Harry Potter is stupid crap”), both children and teachers were delighted with the series though for different reasons. The children loved the stories and the characters; the teachers said “It’s fantastic how this series has caught young people’s attention and introduced them to the delights of reading.” (Which was also the most popular option in my quiz.)

Harry Potter started out as a series for older children, but grew over the seven episodes to become a Young Adult series, taking up some darker themes not usually seen in books for a younger audience. Susanna Collins’ Hunger Games series (2008-2010) and Stephanie Meyer’s Twilight series (2005-2008) were both aimed at a Young Adult/New Adult audience. Although both certainly developed their own unique readership, it seems to me that they may well have benefited from the success of Harry Potter and inherited some of that series’ readers as they grew older and started looking for more books that spoke to an adolescent’s spirit of enquiry or resistance, filled the sense-of-wonder/fantasy void and/or confronted awakening sexuality.

How does Fifty Shades (2011-2012) fit into this context? Well, it started life as amateur fiction created within Twilight’s fan base. For all its trappings of explicit sex and rose-coloured BDSM it is a romantic fantasy. I can appreciate that enthusiasts for Potter or Catniss are uncomfortable finding their favourites yoked to what is effectively soft porn, but I think the link holds.

Although none of my respondents ticked the D box (“What? Are they books? I thought they were films!”) it was apparent from the comments that most people are familiar with these series as films rather than books. As all my respondents, “you”, are adults I’m guessing it rather depends on how old the children are you associate with, which series you have met met as printed books.* (Declaration: I read the first five of the Harry Potter series because my niece Caroline was reading them, and the first one of the Hunger Games series because my friend Lena translated it. I’ve seen all the Potter films and the first two Hunger Games films. My knowledge of Twilight and Fifty Shades comes exclusively from YouTube trailers and Wikipedia.)

Let’s move on to Question 6. This was about film adaptations. I was interested to see that while some people were prepared to behave stoically in the face of the compromises (aka butchery) always present when films are adapted from books, others were prepared to admit to outbursts of ranting “to your friends and work colleagues about how the director has ruined the book” and enumerating “in detail in which specific ways the film fails to follow the book.” There’s passion for you!

Finally, Question 7 was to do with the disappointment one feels when a friend’s book recommendation turns out to be less than satisfactory. I’m not sure whether it’s a positive thing that no one admitted that a disappointing book recommendation might lead them to doubt their friend’s judgement and the basis of their friendship. Or perhaps it’s just me who is unhealthy in this respect. Having gone through this once – some years ago now – I’ve schooled myself to try to react according to my A answer (“Toss the book aside and get on with your life”) but it has to be said there is always a sneaking concern, given that the recommendation came from a close friend, that I may be “just too dull to appreciate” the book’s qualities.

Well, there you have it. My questionnaire and its analysis are complete. I promise not to do it again… at least not very soon.


*Hmm. It occurs to me that although you are all adults some of you may still be young enough to have met at least Harry Potter as teenagers. I sometimes forget my own advanced years. 🙂

This article was written for the #Blogg52 challenge.

Book Lovers – Question 7 (last)

A Week of Questions. Pick one (or more) answers and write a comment.

A close friend recommends a book to you, but when you start reading it you discover it is badly written, with poor language and two-dimensional characters.

What do you do?

a) – Toss the book aside and get on with your life.
b) – Force yourself to read the book through to the end – there must be something good in it or your friend wouldn’t have recommended it.
c) – Wonder if there is some quality about the book that you are just too dull to appreciate.
d) – Begin to doubt your friend’s intelligence and the whole basis of your friendship.

A Week of Questions for Book Lovers was inspired by Pernilla’s Questions.

Book Lovers – Question 6

Pick one (or more) answers and write a comment.

Your favourite novel has been turned into a film. Compromises have been made.

What do you do?

a) – Enjoy the film anyway, as a film.
b) – Say nothing, but leave the cinema disappointed.
c) – Say (perhaps through gritted teeth): “I respect the director had to change the story to make it work better on film.” Leave a “But-” hanging in the air.
d) – Rant to your friends and work colleagues about how the director has ruined the book. Ennumerate in detail in which specific ways the film fails to follow the book.
e) – Go on-line and troll the director’s Twitter/FaceBook/Google+/Instagram/Pinterest account.

A Week of Questions for Book Lovers was inspired by Pernilla’s Questions.