I received a proof copy of this book ages ago. I put off reading it because I thought her previous novel, East of the Sun, was a prequel. After reading that book and liking it well enough, I felt adequately prepared to move on to Jasmine Nights. Imagine my surprise when I discovered that Jasmine Nights had absolutely nothing to do with East of the Sun.
Jasmine Nights is set during the second World War and I must admit to suffering some literary WWII fatigue. It seems that lately there is a glut of it on my bookshelves. And regrettably, this book offered little additional insight although it did offer an alternative perspective.
The setting of North Africa and the characters of a band of wartime entertainers, eg singers, magicians, comedians was new to me. However, the shattered families, the devastated countries, and the pursuit of a few moments of passion in the midst of chaos and hopelessness, is nothing new. A singer falling in love with a soldier, stolen nights of tenderness, and a suitably romantic ending make this novel, ultimately, a bit cliched.
I enjoyed the plot and the timing of the novel. I was compelled to keep reading. So all is not lost. but the characters failed to jump off the pages and capture my imagination.
I also enjoyed the place of the novel. Cairo, in fact all of North Africa, is a place I dream of visiting but avoid because I am apprehensive about the security situation. So instead I read about it. Or watch films. You can never see Casablanca too many times. The difficulty of travelling in wartime is brought alive in the novel's pages. In fact, Gregson does a superb job conveying the sense of despair and tragedy of the area.
She also shines a very bright light on the unsavoury business and characters of wartime. I loved the various eccentrics who populate the troupe of entertainers, all carrying the burden of past secrets, all running away from something or to something. They were savvy, desperate, and very resourceful.
I will read more of Julia Gregson because I think she is a good writer. I just hope she uses her imagination more when it comes to choosing a time.
For my New Year's resolution, I promised myself that I would undertake a new adventure at least once a month. This didn't have to be something as dangerous as swimming with sharks or parachuting out of an airplane. I just wanted to make sure that I exposed myself to new experiences, new people and their lives.
In January, you may remember, that I went and visited the Metropolitan Police Air Support Unit in Loughton, Essex. In February, I participated in recreating Michelangelo's Florence Pieta at the Mall Galleries in London. I was Mary Magdalene! This month, I volunteered our family home as a base for a semi-finalist in the Windsor Festival International String Competition.
When I first volunteered our services, I imagined it would begin and end with a clean bed, a warm shower, and a few hot meals. I had no idea that we as a family would become so emotionally involved.
During the week of 11 March, we were told that Meng Feng Hsieh would be joining us and would be arriving at Heathrow airport on 18 March for us to pickup. We knew nothing more about Meng Feng.
A quick google search revealed that Meng Feng was a he, that he was 23 years old, that he was from Taiwan and after studying in Singapore from the age of 16, he was currently in his last year of study in Zurich. We also learned that he played the cello. By watching his numerous YouTube videos, we quickly concluded that he played his cello very well indeed.
We subscribed to his YouTube channel, liked his fan page on Facebook and sent him a friend request on Facebook along with an introduction message. We know knew what he looked like but weren't entirely sure about anything else than he was allergic to shellfish and didn't eat beef. We didn't even know if he spoke English (although given that he studied in Singapore and Zurich, it was a fair bet that he did).
Armed with his name written on a sheet of paper and an image of his face from Facebook seared in my brain, I awaited his arrival at the airport. He was easy to pick out as he was the only one carrying a cello on his back. I should have guessed!
We chatted easily as I lost my way to our house from the airport, Terminal 5 and I having never met before. Meng Feng hadn't slept well the night before so he crashed as soon as we got home. This is going to be a breeze, I thought to myself as I prepared our dinner for the evening. We took Meng Feng to St George's Chapel to attend Evensong with us and listen to Sebastian sing with the choir. Meng Feng was very impressed with Sebastian which impressed Sebastian which impressed the hell out of me.
We then attended a small but perfectly formed drinks reception that evening sponsored by the Windsor Festival at the McDonald's Hotel. We met some of the other host families and their corresponding competitors. It was a friendly and jovial atmosphere.
That night we shared our evening meal with Meng Feng. He fit into our family like pair of custom made leather gloves. He laughed with us. We shared stories. He told us about his family and how he had gotten into the competition. He told us about his studies and his dreams. He told us what the competition meant to him. And slowly but surely our hearts melted and we fell in love with him. And he with us.
And then he went upstairs to the room we had designated as his rehearsal room (aka Sebastian's bedroom) and he began to practise his cello. And our world tilted ever so slightly on its axis. We stopped tidying up the dishes and listened. We sat down on the sofa and listened. Abigail went to bed and fell asleep to the beautiful music Meng Feng made.
It is hard to believe that just a young man and a cello can have such a profound effect on the lives of this ordinary family. In that moment, I knew it was our job to do everything possible to make his dream of winning this competition come true.
Tuesday was spent rehearsing. I am not just talking an hour or so. I am talking about playing all morning. Then practising for an hour with his pianist. Then practising several hours in the afternoon. We took a brief break to attend a reception at The Guildhall in Windsor hosted by The Worshipful Mayor of the Royal Borough of Windsor and Maidenhead Councillor Colin Raynor. Then back to practising.
Our home was filled with beautiful and passionate music. Our neighbour's homes were filled with beautiful and passionate music. Our hearts were filled with beautiful and passionate music.
The next day dawned early for me. I was up at the crack of dawn, showered and dressed, ready for the big moment. At 2:00 pm we arrived at the McDonald hotel and the designated rehearsal room which was exquisitely furnished with everything and anything a person could need before a moment like this.
Meng Feng was the picture of poise. I couldn't detect a single nerve, not a wobbly finger, not a shortness of breath. I on the other hand was a bundle of nerves. My heart felt like it was going to beat our of my chest and my stomach felt like a 1000 butterflies had taken flight. I asked him if he was nervous. He said no, because nerves wouldn't help. I asked if he knew what his competition was playing. He said no, because it wouldn't change what or how he played.
We walked across the street to The Guildhall. The place was packed but I had a perfect seat. Meng Feng took to the stage and played Bach, his first piece. I held my breath through the entire thing. It was exquisite. then he played Beethoven. My knuckles turned white and I became dizzy. Then he played his piece de resistance, an emotional roller coaster of Dvorak. My eyes filled with tears as he finished. My applause hurt my hands.
I was so proud of him! He couldn't have done it any better. I had felt every note, every string, every movement, every beat, every breath.
That evening we took Meng Feng to see Abigail perform in her school play, a very modern interpretation of Romeo and Juliet. She was brilliant with the comic timing of a professional. Meng Feng had become a member of our family and was along for the ride. He applauded Abigail the same way I had applauded him.
Late that evening at 9 pm, we made our way back to the Guildhall. All 8 semi finalists had finished playing, the juries votes had been tallied, and the results were in. The first name was announced. And then the second. I reached over and grabbed on to Meng Feng's hand. The third name was announced. None of those names were his. I blinked. Did the jury not hear what I heard? Did they not feel what I felt?
And then I witnessed the joy of others and I knew this was part of competition. Meng Feng knew that he had given his best. When I asked if he was OK he told me, yes, he had another competition to start thinking about the trouble was I didn't. Meng Feng hadn't made the finals and I was angry. I wanted to hit someone. Instead I waited until Meng Feng had wandered away and I shed a few tears into my husband's shoulder.
On Thursday all competitors visited local schools and talked to children about being a professional musician. I watched the children St Bernard's School in Langley become mesmerised by Meng Feng's playing. They asked great questions and he gave great answers. He talked about how he loved playing the cello because he felt he could express every one of his emotions through the instrument. He talked about the sacrifices he and his family have made for him to reach this level. He talked about the dedication, single minded focus and commitment it takes to play at this level. He talked about the physical scars on his hands and chest that practising and playing for hours leaves on his body. He talked about the poverty of being a musician. He talked about his dreams of bringing beautiful music to the world. He talked about being thousands of miles away from his family since the age of 16.
I dropped Meng Feng off in Windsor so he could do the tourist thing and see around the castle and town of Windsor. The pressure of the finals was off and he could enjoy himself a wee bit. So the next day I took him and another competitor from China into London. I drove them round all the sites showing off this glorious city we call London: Big Ben, Houses of Parliament, Tower Bridge, The Tower of London, London Eye, Westminster Abbey, etc etc etc. Being musicians they wanted to see Wigmore Hall and so we did. We stopped in at Bishop Instruments and the Chinese musician got to have a go on a Stradivarius violin that is several hundred years old and worth twice as much as my home. The bow she played it with is worth 3 times as much as my car. I could barely breath.
Never before have I felt like I have been in the presence of such promise of the future.
That evening we attended the final performances held in the majesty and splendour of the Waterloo Chamber in Windsor Castle. We were honoured to be invited to the Governor's home for drinks and canapes afterwards. Our children were well behaved. They didn't spill anything on the priceless antiques or ruin any of the paintings of historical significance.
The next morning as I lazed about in bed, I reviewed the order of the day in my head. It had been planned out with military precision. I had to have Abigail at the school by noon to rehearse her ballet show that would be performed that evening at 5 pm. Then I had to drop Sebastian off at 1 to rehearse the Passiontide which would be performed that evening at St George's Chapel at 7:30 pm. Then I had to head to the airport by 2 pm to drop Meng Feng off by 2:30 pm to catch his flight at 3:30 pm. Then back to school for the ballet show, then a quick dinner out with the husband and then the Passiontide. No problems.
Right up until about 10 am when Meng Feng checked his airline ticket and we discovered that the schedule the Windsor Festival had provided me with did not reflect the time indicated on his airline tickets. His tickets said that his flight had been at 7:30 am, which we obviously had missed. We tried calling the airlines but due to the unusual snow fall, the wait time on the phone was over an hour. So Meng Feng packed up everything. I rushed him and his belongings to the airport and said a hasty goodbye hoping he could get on the 3:30 flight.
I raced Abigail to the school and dropped Sebastian off at the same time. I took a shower and waited. Sure enough. At 2:30 the phone rang and British Airways had been unable to get Meng Feng on the 3:30 flight but had confirmed his place on the 7:30 am flight the next morning so back to the airport I went.
Some might say this was destiny. The ballet had been arranged so that each dancer could have 4 members in the audience instead of the usual 2, which meant Meng Feng could join us. And, more importantly, I had accidentally bought 2 extra tickets to the Passiontide concert and we had only been able to resell 1 of them which meant we had an extra one. Obviously, the gods of the fate had decided that Meng Feng was going to be here and would be needing this ticket.
We watched Abigail give a serene and elegant performance in the ballet, Peter and the Wolf. After a quick bite to eat, we watched Sebastian give a professional and breathtaking performance as a chorister singing strong in a larger choir of over 80 adults in celebration of the Christian holiday of Easter.
We collapsed into our beds emotionally exhausted. My husband had the task of getting Meng Feng to the airport by 5 am on Sunday morning to catch his flight.
As I lazed around resting on Sunday, my mind drifted to what a joyful and wonderful experience the week had been. I never dreamt our family would have grown to have such fond feelings about someone who just a few days prior was a complete and utter stranger. I never would have thought I would have children who would achieve so much at such a young age.
I picked this book up based on a effusively glowing recommendation from fellow (but usually absent) book group member, Moray Barclay. We had read the author's previous book, The Reluctant Fundamentalist to great acclaim. I loved that book and usually, although not always, if I like one author's books with so much passion, I like other books of their. Notable exceptions include Ian McEwan (Solar, among others, sucked), John Grisham (he's lost his edge), Dan Brown (all down hill from DaVinci), and Louis de Bernieres (should have never written another book after Captain Corelli's Mandolin).
I still am not sure how I feel about this book. Similar to his previous book, I was never sure where the story was going or even what was happening as it was happening. Unlike the previous book, nothing came together in the end.
Maybe I'm complaining for all the wrong reasons. This isn't a happy book. It tells a depressing story of unemployment, duplicity, loss of self esteem and identity, and ultimately loss of hope. So when I finished reading it, I didn't feel any better for having read it. When I read The Reluctant Fundmentalist, at least I felt that I walked away with an education. This book just made me feel complete and utter despair, which might just be the point.
This book has the same laconic style of writing as his other novels. Things happens quickly but you feel like you are watching it all in slow motion. You can see the crash is going to happen and you are hoping for redemption at the end but life isn't like that. And one thing Hamid does very well is not mess with the brutal reality of life in Pakistan.
I like reading books that are about subjects that I don't get much exposure to. One of the reasons The Kite Runner is still one of my favourite books of all time is the fact that I had never heard that story before. It was truly original. I feel the same way about Moth Smoke.
I gave this a 3 out of 5 stars. This would be an excellent book group choice. In fact, please please please, would a book group pick this up and let me know what they think about it?
This book wins the prize for having the longest title of the year. It also wins the prize for the book whose title I can never remember correctly. But none of that matters because if you ask anyone who reads if they've read the "one-hundred year old man" book, they will know exactly which book you are talking about. And they will, in all likelihood, have read it. And it is a distinct probability that, like, me, they will have found it an entirely entertaining experience, as did I.
In a series of highly improbable but no less hilarious coincidences and happy meetings, a man with not many days left in his life, enjoys his remaining days and enlivens the lives of a few other no less deserving eccentric characters who cross his path.
Even more remarkable is the astonishing Forest Gump like influence his past had on key events in history spanning the entire globe and affecting just about every significant international crisis along the way.
This book was fun because it allowed a bit of a reminder of my history over the lasts 100 years whilst I was laughing out loud to the hysterical situations this mild mannered individual found himself in and then dug himself out of.
I gave this book a 4 out of 5 stars and would recommend this to anyone over the age of 45. Any younger and the history lessons might just fly right over their head.
I understand this is the debut novel from Gillian Flynn. I can only say, I hope she writes the next one quickly because I can't wait to see if this is a one off.
I was completely mesmerized and captivated by this story. I couldn't put it down. I was tempted every 20 pages or so to jump to the end and read the last 5 pages. I just had to know how it ended. I resisted the temptation and am very glad I did.
I hated both the main characters, Nick and Amy, so much so that I wanted them both to come to a sticky end. But the same way you slow down at the scene of a road traffic accident, I just had to keep reading. How was this all going to end? Who was going to win the ultimate battle of the psychopaths?
In the immediate aftermath of finishing the book, the ending spoilt everything that came before it. I'm not going to give it away and I have tried and tried to come up with a better ending. I don't have a good suggestion although I have to say it would have been anyone but the one it got.
And then I slept on it. And now I realise it was the perfect ending. For the perfect psychopath(s). I wouldn't change a thing. As for Flynn's next novel, will she be able to match the wildly unpredictable and clever ending. Or was this the most original idea she will ever have? I'm hoping for the former. I gave this book 5 out of 5 stars and highly recommend it for books groups. Ours were evenly divided between those who loved the ending and those who hated the ending. No punches were thrown.
This was one of book group choices for February, which is quite fitting given that we had freezing temperatures and a wee bit of snow during the month. I picked both the books for February so I might be biased here but live with it.
I really enjoyed the language of the book. Ivey used everyone of the sensory perceptions available to bring that harsh landscape to life. I could hear the snow crunching under my feet as I traipsed through the forest. I could feel the snow on my face as the brutal winter broke. I could smell the decay of autumn leaves as summer came to a staggering halt. I could touch the feathers and the rough clothing. I could taste the monotony of the first sparse winter meals.
I got lost in the beauty of the challenges faced. But then I got lost in the story.
I loved the characters of Jack and Mabel. I even loved their names. I thought the speed of the plotting was very well done despite the descriptive language. I couldn't stop reading.
And then it all ended. And that's where the troubles began. We had a lengthy debate at book group about whether the entire book is a fairy tale or is Faina a real girl. If she is real, how does she survive all alone. If she isn't real, how does she get married?
Seldom does a child bring a couple together, usually because the first years of a child's life are difficult on a marriage But if that child came to a marriage at a later age, could she really bring them closer together? Or would that have happened anyway out of necessity in the harsh reality of the Alaskan wilderness?
I like the book if I imagine it as a fairy tale. I like it a lot less if it is not meant to be a fairy tale.
I give this book 4 out of 5 stars but with a strong recommendation for book groups. There is a lot to discuss.
I won a competition over on Twitter (@ladawncp) hosted by the Metropolitan Police Air Support Unit (@mpsinthesky) by answering a simple question: what are the registrations for their 3 helicopters?
And yes, I am a big enough geek to know the answer to that question. I know the answer to that question because I follow them and their adventures in hunting down bad guys hiding in bushes, finding lost people and reducing the general mayhem caused by vehicle pursuits. They take lots of beautiful pictures. And they almost always get the bad guys.
And they engage with the community they serve and protect, which is really the key to their success. They have nearly 31,000 followers over on Twitter and if you don't follow them, you should. Even if you don't live in London, you should, if for no other reason than it will give you plenty of ammunition to speak to your local police force and get them to communicate with your community as comprehensively as these officers do!
The ASU is based in Loughton, Essex so I had a trip of 50 miles (or so) around the top of the M25. I had left the house in plenty of time but found I had forgotten my picture ID so had to turn round to get my passport. Once on my way, I thought I was under the gun. Luckily, the usual parking lot that is the M25 was clear. I was there within 50 minutes.
I rang the buzzer and was directed to my parking. When I found the office, I was told I was an hour early. Oops, I got the time wrong. Better an hour early than an hour late, I always say.
I got a fantastic cup of tea courtesy of the Old Bill and put my feet up for an hour and waited for my geek compatriots (other people who had also known the helicopter registrations) to join me. We were also joined by a few officers visiting from Northern Ireland who were there to observe the ASU for the day.
The base is a former WWII POW camp. The buildings are listed and have a beautiful view of across all of London.
We were led to a classroom and shown a very professional slide deck all about the ASU including the role and responsibilities of the members of the team, the type of activity the ASU performs, and the best part, the nuts and bolts of the helicopters.
These machines are very impressive. They cost £5m each. They are reliable and flexible. Safety is obviously a big concern for the ASU. One helicopter was in the hangar in bits under maintenance. All 3 are Eurocopters manufactured in Germany and the ASU has one in maintenance most of the time to ensure that they are always in tip top shape. All the internal fittings can come out and can be reconfigured in any number of configurations. The camera is the most impressive. The quality of the zoom picture is seriously impressive (and a wee bit scary). From a great height, the camera on the helicopter can zoom in and display amazing quality pictures!
The helicopter is kitted out with numerous display screens showing infrared imaging, zoom pictures, and maps. The ASU can enter an address and pinpoint it on their map. Conversely, they can pinpoint a location and their computers tell them the address.
I was afraid to touch anything. I wouldn't even get into the helicopter despite the encouragement from the PCs to do so. I was afraid I would knock something and be billed £10,000 for it.
We then watched the helicopter take off which was almost as impressive as watching it land. What was absolutely incredible was the quality of the camera work. From the helicopter, the ASU can send photos to the commanders on the ground. There's even a gadget that allows the force on the ground to see what the helicopter is seeing. This helps find baddies hiding under bushes, in sheds, under cars and running down alleyways. It also helps find missing people, particularly useful in the water as long as the person's head is still above the water.
I am most happy to report that despite expecting to be the only female on the premises, not only was I joined by 4 other female geeks (and Twitter aficionados), there was also a female PC on the MPASU team.
@mpinthesky is providing a fab service to the public and I applaud the old bill for embracing this new and scary world of social media. They are doing it right, using humour, building relationships with the public and setting an example for forces all over the world. I really hope more follow suit, specifically Thames Valley, who beyond having an account aren't really engaging with the public.
I'd like to say a huge thank you to Tony and Ricc who did a great job on the day and were the most gracious and courteous of hosts. Your time and enthusiasm is greatly appreciated!
In the last 18 months, I have devoured all the Reacher novels so I needed to start looking for a suitable replacement or be left as one of those sad souls who pine away for the release of the next installment standing in a drizzly rain outside a book shop. No, that will never be me. Well, maybe perhaps not ever. But certainly not for Jack Reacher.
My search introduced me to Myron Bolitar, who isn't nearly as intimidating or good looking as Jack Reacher. He is not ex military nor can he kill anyone with one strategically placed strike from his hands of retaliation. Myron is not sexy. Even is name is a bit of a damp squid.
In fact, most unlikely, Myron is a sports agent who repeatedly finds himself in the middle of murder scenes. This sports agent business is far more dangerous than you might imagine. And far more entertaining.
Deal Breaker is the first in the series and, similar to the Child series, these are easy to read, a bit like opening a packet of crisps and eating the whole bag in one sitting. Christian Steele is a rookie quarterback (this is American football, people) and a big client for Myron's struggling business. All the people around Christian keep disappearing or getting themselves killed. In an attempt to salvage his client's career and secure his 10% commission, Myron swoops in to limit the damage to Steele's reputation and put an end to the killings.
Myron doesn't have the sex appeal of Jack Reacher but he does have some side kicks who provide some comic relief. The good guys and the bad guys were a bit more clear cut than in a Reacher tale. And Coben doesn't have as great a story to tell as Child. His first novel was published when he was 26. He's won numerous awards in his genre. His novels tend to go straight in at number 1 on the New York Times best seller list. I gotta be on to something good here, no?
I'm looking forward to reading some more books in the series and seeing how Myron develops as a character. I may get bored very quickly with the whole sports angle but I'll give it a go. I gave this book a 3 out of 5 stars just for its originality in characterisation.
Ages and ages ago I was given an advance copy of Jasmine Nights by Julia Gregson which has just been chosen as one of Richard & Judy's Book Club reads. Somehow I got it into my head that Jasmine Nights was the sequel to East of the Sun and my mild case of OCD means that I could never ever possibly read a sequel before I read its prequel. Which sent me to the book story. I know, lame excuse but one has to do what one has to do.
East of the Sun tells the story of a select few from the fishing fleets: the groups of young women who would leave their families in search of marriage to a suitable officer in the British Military during the last gasp of the British Raj.
The novel centres on 3 women in their 20s each at different stages of their quest: Rose has become engaged to a military officer whilst he was on a brief period of leave. She hardly knows him and knows even less about the nature of marriage. Victoria has her heads in the clouds and is taken advantage of by every Tom, Dick and Harry (excuse the pun). She has barely a penny to her name and her chaperon is wholly unsuitable for helping her find her way. Finally, Viva, who has misrepresented her qualifications, experience, and motivation as a chaperon. And although Viva's last intention is to find a husband, she does yearn for the excitement and independence that she imagines life in India as a single woman in the 1920s might bring her. That wouldn't have been my destination of choice in those days but to each their own.
Thrown in for good measure are innumerable eccentric and exotic characters which is exactly how I imagine the British expatriates behaved during this time. Perhaps I read too many books. One of the most troubling characters in the book is Guy Carver who is clearly afflicted with what would today be diagnosed as either bipolar or schizophrenia, both serious mental health illnesses which have many different and effective methods of treatments today. However, in India in the 1920s it is fair to say, he was not treated very sympathetically although Gregson barely touches on this area. She could have developed him as a character much more effectively. I think this would have been a very different book had she done so.
Also, the quest for Viva's trunk is somewhat disappointing. It takes Viva ages to go on the search and when she does go the result is more than a mild let down. I suppose that's the point. Viva had these unrealistic expectations of all of her questions being answered by the contents only to find that mold and decay had eaten up any and everything that was there. And, in fact, nothing there would have brought her peace anyway. It was a clever device to keep the plot moving but was ultimately disappointing.
This is the first book that I've read about this time period although several others are now on my To-Read list and after reading this they have made it to the top of the pile. I gave this book a 4 out of 5 stars. I think most of you would really enjoy this.
I can't help myself. The Jack Reacher series by Lee Child is candy floss for the brain and whilst trying to juggle the demands of the Christmas holidays, I find his stories irresistible. They are like breath mints in between courses of heavier literary duty.
I read 3 in the series in December, 61 Hours, Worth Dying For, and The Affair, which are number 14, 15, and 16 respectively. They take little more than a day to power through. Similar to John Grisham books, the plots are very similar in every book, as are the characters.
Jack Reacher is an ex-military, hottie nomad who travels the United States of America, usually by bus but sometimes by hitchhiking or stealing cars. He most likely seduces the one beautiful woman in the story. He always kicks the shit out of the baddies to save the small town/helpless locals from some rampant corruption.
There are no surprises. You always know how it is going to end. The locations change and I do love the fact that Lee Child is a Brit from Coventry, UK but has probably travelled to and stayed for a time in all 50 states just to get the local dialect and culture just right.
He's not going to win any prizes for high brow literature but I don't care. They are fun. They make me believe that some stranger is out there fighting to take out the baddies without a care for the justice system or unrestrained violence. Of course, I wouldn't want my real world to be like this but a fantasy is always useful.
SIDE NOTE: Tom Cruise has been woefully miscast in the role of Jack Reacher. No, I haven't seen the film and I doubt that I will for several reasons:
Reacher is 6'5". Cruise is 5'7" in heels.
Reacher has a 50-inch chest and weighs between 210 and 250 pounds (100–115 kg). Cruise does not. Not even close.
Reacher has ice-blue eyes and dirty blond hair. Cruise does not.
Reacher has very little body fat, and his muscular physique is completely natural. He is exceptionally strong but is not a good runner. Reacher is strong enough to break a man's neck with one hand and kill a villain with a single punch to the head or chest. In a fight against a 7 foot, 400 lb steroid-using thug, Reacher was able to lift his opponent into the air and drop him on his head. Cruise does not and cannot not. Not even with Hollywood magic.
Reacher is supposed to be ruggedly good looking. Cruise looks like a baby.
Reacher is supposed to have been emotionally and physically scarred by his time as an MP in the US Army. Cruise hasn't had a day of hard graft in his life and no amount of makeup is going to make him look like he has.
There are a million other better casting choices. OK, maybe not a million but I can name a few here: a) Ray Stevenson, b)Viggo Mortenson - my personal favourite, c) Russell Crowe, d) Josh Holloway. I should become a casting agent.
Instead I will let Reacher live on in my imagination. And let the world be a better place with Reacher in it. However, Child's betrayal of millions of fans who have spent roughly £7.99 on each of the 16 installments, and thus, making him a very rich man, will not be tolerated by this fan. I will not buy another book by Lee Child. I will do my best to avoid his pseudonyms. My love affair with Jack Reacher is over. Finished. Finito. Done. Complete. The End.
Oh, how I wish I had studied the classics. The tales of the Greek Gods are filled with violence, jealousy, superstition, romance and sex. What more does one need for a good story? To start with, a command of this indecipherable language would be helpful. Not Greek necessarily, but the poetry and structure in which The Iliad and The Odyssey were written have left them out of the reach of typical readers like myself, who decided a degree in computer science would be a far more useful.
One would think these stories, having been told for thousands of years, do not need to be told again. Ah, but you would be wrong. The Iliad weighs in at a mere 482 pages but the text can be somewhat (dare I say it?) incomprehensible to those mere mortals amongst us. Put the same stories in the talented hands of Madeline Miller, these heroes and their tales of war come alive with their faults and flaws, love and lust, courage and foolishness.
The Song of Achilles provides a beautiful account of the alleged love story and sexual relationship between Patroclus and Achilles while at the same time painting a brutal scene of the war and conflict that dominated their world. And all in a language that I can read, enjoy and understand rather effortlessly. The homosexual relationship between Patroclus and Achilles was never explicit in the Iliad and the nature of the word love can mean many different things: love for a child, love for a friend, love for a lover, the act of loving, etc. But there is no such ambiguity in Miller's novel. Miller embraces whole heartily the sexual nature of their relationship. But there is more to this story than the sex. The violence of the war, the disregard for the value of life, the egotistical drive to be the best: the themes dominate the Greek myths and Miller makes it all fascinating as well as accessible.
I found the novel intense and engaging (read "I couldn't put the bloody book down"). The tender love between the lovers developed over decades. The grief ravaged me and I cried when Patroclus died and Achilles wept inconsolably. I felt his rage and commitment to revenge. I don't doubt for one second, after reading this novel, that Achilles loved Patroclus with every fibre of his being, in every way possible. The summoning of such anger would be difficult to imagine without the existence of such love.
This wins the honour of being in my Top 10 2012 Reads and it gets 5 out of 5 stars from me. If you haven't read it, do so. Now!
I have a confession to make. I am not a fan of Dickens. Yes, I hear all the sharp intakes of breath. How can I admit to such heresy? Easy, I say. I have tried and tried to read several of his novels and I have simply found them incomprehensible. Bleak House and Oliver Twist top the list of books I have failed to finish despite repeated attempts. I am well aware that this means some of you may never trust another book review I write. I am willing to take this risk. I doubt my life will be ruined any more than it already is.
It does mean, however, that I may have enjoyed this novel more if I had read and committed to memory the tome, Great Expectations. It would appear that everyone else has. Mister Pip was shortlisted for the Man Booker Prize in 2007 and was the runner-up for the Richard & Judy Best Read of the Year 2008. Not sure what Oprah thought of it but she probably loved it.
Thankfully, I don't put too much stock in these literary prizes, that is until I win one. I started reading this novel several times but it always made its way back into my pile to "to-read" as pile when I failed to make it beyond the first 30 pages or so.
The novel is set on a fictional but all too familiar tropical island beseiged by the horrors of an inexplicable civil war. The native inhabitants of the island check every box on a list of cliches. Mr. Watts is the only white inhabitant and has decided, I presume, that this qualifies him to be the teacher. Regrettably, the only text book available is a copy of Great Expectations, which does at some point go missing entirely. His star pupil is a young, impressionable but questionably bright girl named Matilda.
I found the story mildly entertaining and Jones' prose is, at times, beautiful, although poetic might be stretching it a bit. The savagery and randomness of the civil war is told with the same lyrical tone as the uplifting and heartwarming rhthym as Matilda's quest for knowledge and the truth. I was, and will continue to be, dismayed by Mr Watt's cotinued presence on the island. I gave this novel 3out of 5 stars, mostly for originality in plot and the use of language. But there is a pile of books unread next to my bed and I wish I had chosen something else.
Over the Christmas holidays I gave my final push towards my goal of reading 60 books in 2012. I exceeded my target by 9 books! Woo Hoo! Now I get to tell you all about them.
This was the first book by Jojo Moyes that I had read and, to be honest, if it hadn't have been a free gift in my Red Network Event gift bag, I probably wouldn't have bought it. Which would have been a huge mistake.
Set in the First World War, this book tells the story of a French artist and his muse who are torn apart by the horrors wreaked upon northern France and its citizens during the invasion and occupation by German Forces. Edward Lefevre leaves his wife, Sophie, to fight on the front lines but Sophie is left with her own more subtle but nevertheless wretched battles to fight in their small village.
Interwoven is the story of Liv, who has also lost her husband and is suffering in the depths of her grief. When a precious painting, a gift from her late husband, is suspected to be a stolen artifact from the war, Liv must pick herself up and fight to keep her most prized possession.
Other than Birdsong by Sebastian Faulks, I have read few novels about the first World War. I simply find them too harrowing. This tale was no different. But sometimes we must read that which frightens us. Enjoyed is the wrong word to use to describe how I felt when reading about the suffering of the village and Sophie, in particular. I was moved by her dedication to Edward and compelled to keep reading whenever her story was on the page.
Liv's story on the other hand was less engaging. As a character, I didn't relate to her at all. Specifically, the relinquishment of her total life to her husband's choices was annoying. I found her story tedious and read through the chapters with her story as quickly as possible.
The ending is predictable but satisfying, especially the fate of Edward and Sophie. I enjoyed this novel tremendously which is why it gets 4 out of 5 stars. The only thing holding back that coveted last star is that I felt more time could have been spent developing a more plausible plot and likable character in the modern day storyline.
The start of a new year is also the depths of winter. Having come from one of the sunniest places in the world (aka Colorado), I find this time of year bleak. The sun has made exactly one appearance over the last 3 weeks. The children have been out of school since mid December and although we have unconditional love for each other, every day brings a new opportunity to keep them from killing each other.
Despite what my nutritionist tells me, I refuse to buy strawberries or any other fresh fruit or vegetable that is out of season. My cupboards are also stuffed to bursting with tins and packages of items that jut simply didn't get used over the last year. We've all spent way to much money over the festive holidays and we have probably set ourselves some resolutions about improving our financial standing over the next year.
We get a box delivered to us from the wonderful people at Abel and Cole every week. The beauty of this arrangement is that they only deliver what is in season. The challenge of this arrangement is that I am occasionally (aka usually) baffled by the contents. Turnips, celeriac, and cabbage don't typically feature on my grocery list when I go to the shops but the rule is "If they send it, we will eat it."
With these objectives in mind, my children embrace (aka tolerate) the wonders of my Recipe Imagination. My husband will eat anything I put in front of him, so I worry less about him. His stomach is a slut. My goals are to use up all the beautiful in season produce delivered that week and to empty my cupboards, fridge and freezer of the various bits and bobs that have been hanging around for far too long. This also means I suspend the need to go to the grocery store or have a load delivered when, in fact, my family has plenty and doesn't need anymore.
I've tried referencing cookbooks, both online and printed. I have an extensive collection of cookbooks. I read them like novels. But they have failed to provide me with a cupboard cleaning remedy. So, into the depths of my imagination I have gone.
So far, my imagination hasn't let us down. Or poisoned us. Here's the first success!
3 Bean, Beef and Turnip Slow Cooker Chili
1 tin kidney beans
1 tin chickpeas
1 tin Berlotti beans
4 carrots, peeled and sliced thickly)
4 small turnips, peeled and chunked into bite size pieces
3 onions, peeled and sliced
1 tin whole tomatoes
2 cups beef (we had some leftover from our Christmas rib roast that I chunked up and threw in)
1 Tbsp cumin
1 Tbsp cayenne pepper
2 tsp mild chili powder
1 tsp salt
Throw it all in the slow cooker for 4 hours on high or 8 hours on low. Serve over tortilla chips with grated cheddar cheese and a dollop of sour cream.
This got 5/5 stars from my husband and I. 4/5 stars from my son. And a mere 1/5 stars from my daughter. She hates anything that isn't bread right now so I wouldn't put much stock in her opinion.
I was giving my brain a rest from the trauma of The Quincunx and I think I've strayed into a brain coma. This is, however, not an entirely bad thing.
I've never read anything by Rebecca Chance depsite her having written and published no less than six books, all featuring a CFM shoe (ask your parents if you don't know what CFM is) and sparkly jewelery on the cover. I picked up this copy at the blogging event that Simon & Schuster hosted a month or so ago. And, hey, it was free. Oh, and it was loads of fun.
This is truly a bonk fest book. Loads of sex. Did I meantion it had loads of sex? Loads! Hot sex.
The story is actually quite funny and entertaining. The endings are all happy and joyful. And to pur the icing on the cake, it even takes place during the Christmas festive season in London featuring caricatures of all our favourtie Daily Mail characters.
Melody is an up and coming actress who has spoint her chances of being a serious actress when Hollywood calls and transofrms her into a plastic surgery parody of herself. Jon is a former CIA agent turned professional assassin trying to start his life over by erasing all traces of his former self including a whole new face using reconstructive surgery. Aniela is the nurse in residence trying to care for both of them whilst falling head over heels in lust with Jon. Grigor is an exiled Russian oligarch, who also owns a London-based football team but in deep trouble when he leaves his first wife for a young bimbo. Hell hath no fury like a Russian oligarch's first wife. Andy is the gay concierge at Limehouse Reach, a swanky apartment complex on the banks of the Thames, where all these lives collide for fun and festive frolics. Oh, and lots of bonking.
This is a "curl up in front of the fire with a big duvt and get lost without having to think for one minute" or perhaps a "sit on a sun lounger and get fried" type of book. I laughed out loud more times than I would like to admit. And enjoyed it more than I would like to admit.
For sex scenes much better than Fifty Shades, you should really be reading Rebecca Chance!
We've all fallen for the bad boy at one time or another.
There are quite a few similarities between the Fifty Shades trilogy and Beautiful Disaster. Abby Abernathy is a perfect university freshman student who wears cardigans to her classes and has kept her virginity intact. Before long, Abby is attracted to Travis, the fiercely toned, fabulously great looking and fully covered in tattoos bad boy. Without a lot of convincing, Abby gives up her virginity to the charming, man slut.
There is a lot of violence, not in the S&M bondage type but of the boxing type. Travis boxes in amateur, underground matches to make money to pay for his education. This apparently is quite the turn on for Abby. Travis is equally attracted to Abby when he sees his blood covering her cardigan.
Of course, Abby isn't as perfect as she first appears. She has a wretched childhood growing up with an unstable and dysfunctional father and alcoholic mother. She has run away to university to escape their grip on her both emotional and financially.
And this is where I start to have massive problem with the story. Abby seems to be quite sensible unless Travis is involved. He is very controlling and whilst she appears to fight with him every time he misbehaves, she always forgives him. She goes back to him time and time again convincing herself that they are so wrong for each other that they might be just perfect for each other. Now, what kind of logic is that? I'll tell you what kind of logic that is. That is the logic that gets battered wives killed by their husbands when they don't leave or prosecute them for their violent tendencies.
If I look beyond this appalling message I still struggle to find good things about the book.
Abby was inconsistent as a character. First she didn't drink. then the reader finds out that she can drink15 shots of tequila in one night without dying of alcohol poisoning. This turns her boyfriend on. Her first boyfriend was a preacher's son who now runs a gambling casino in Vegas. Really? Uh, I don't think so. If he was thrown in to make Travis jealous again, we didn't need it. We knew he was jealous. Having Parker give Abby a diamond tennis bracelet after 1 week of dating is absurd. Do you know how much those cost? Why didn't she just sell that to pay off at least part of Mick's debt? It appeared not to even occur to her.
I loved the whole teenage angst of breaking up and getting back together again and again and again. I remember those days! I loved the character of America. Shepley could have been developed a bit more. I didn't understand his fierce loyalty to Travis.
So here I've just rubbished the book but I still gave it three stars? That's because the plotting is divine. I couldn't stop reading it. The writing is way better than Fifty Shades. Actually, so is the sex. There's a little bit of the Twilight series thrown in for good measure but without the vampires and werewolves.
The tattoo at the end is absurd. Mrs. Maddox? She couldn't come up with something better than that?
If you want more Abby and Travis you can relive the whole thing from Travis' point of view by reading Walking Disaster. I think I'll skip it.
I live near the very old town of Windsor. It's a hard place to place what with the oldest living continually inhabited castle sitting up on the with its powerful tower announcing its presence with authority. No matter where you turn you can't miss it. It is a constant reminder of the links between Queen and Country.
If you are a visitor to the Royal Borough of Windsor and Maidenhead, this should be your first port of call. If you live in and around Windsor and haven't taken the tour of the castle, you really have no excuse. Get yourself over there. The original paintings of past Kings, Queens and other aristocracy which featured in our history books grace the walls. The tapestries, rugs and furnishings are exquisite. Don't forget to walk around St George's Chapel where King Henry VIII and Jane Seymour are buried right in the centre of the quire.
But once you leave the grounds of Windsor Castle many visitors to our historic town can be baffled for ideas about what to do next. Ours is a sleepy and hidden place. You will find that all the shops close by 6:00 pm and other than having a meal out at any one of our fantastic restaurants or pubs, you may find it difficult to find any entertainment. On cold, dark winter nights, our town looks like we are all curled up in bed in our nightdresses. Unless, of course, you want to get caught up in the drunken mayhem on Thames Street after 11 pm on a Friday or Saturday night. If you are looking for a bit more or something a bit different, you may find yourself lost.
Whether you are just in Windsor overnight or planning a long weekend to our fair town, Glow Events has collected all the in one place so you can find all the hidden cultural treasures. Whether you are looking for live music, opera, poetry and/or book readings, art installations, comedy, or dramatic performances, this town has got something for everyone on just about any night of the week.
If you are a venue in Windsor, you can enter your own events on the website. If you need any help, please feel free to contact us also via the website. If you are interested in advertising on the website, please contact me on ladawnclarepanton@hotmail.com
Set in London during the upheaval of the Reformation of the seventeenth century, this novel blends fairy tale with historical fiction, not entirely successfully. I kept wondering is this a children's book? Is this fantasy? The truth is it's a little bit of all of those and, therefore, none of those.
Coriander is a young girl who has inherited some sort of magical powers from her mother, who was some sort of Fairy Land Princess. These powers include the ability to be transported to magical lands and live for three years locked in a chest without food or water, and maybe bring the dead back to life.
I found the histroical landmarkers and period details well researched and fascinating. Most of the trouble started when we left London and headed for this other place. The story felt disjointed in those moments.
But then, the lyrical and beautiful prose would carry me away and I would forget about the depravity of those historical times. That would soon come to an abrupt halt and I crashed into a wall trying to find my way back into the story as Coriander struggled to find her way through the streets of London.
It does have a fairy tale ending, which I have to say I was pleased about. I hang my feminist head in shame and fear for the future of my daughter.
I gave this book 3 stars but I have also given it to a 13 year old daughter of a friend of mine and have asked for her perspective. As I am probably not the target audience I htought it would be only fair to give her a chance to speak. She has generously agreed to provide a book review for me when she is done so stay tuned!
This year, more than any other year past, I have so much to be thankful for.
My health: Last year I spent Thanksgiving in a psychiatric clinic under the watchful eyes of some incredible and dedicated mental health professionals to ensure that I didn't, first and foremost, harm myself. Beyond that they helped me navigate a torteous path of recovery from the depths of depression to where I am today: stronger, calmer, happier, more content, more resilient. I hate to say that I have fully recovered because I'm not entirely sure what that means but at least I know I am better than I was and madness is being kept at an arm's length.
My husband: I can't imagine how diffcult the last 16 months has been on my husband who vowed to love, honour and cherish one woman and has ended up loving, honouring, and cherishing quite another. We have grown together. He is my rock and my soft place to fall all rolled into one. We struggle everyday but at least it is our struggle and we do it together. I love him more today than I ever have.
My children: Never in a million years did I imagine how they would change me and how their growth impacts my growth. They have the sweetest kisses and the sweetest cuddles. One smile from them can banish whatever internal monsters I am fighting and make every day worth whatever is being thrown at me. I am so grateful to have such incredible individuals in my life.
My friends: I am surrounded by an army of amazing friends. They have picked me up. They have carried me. They have walked with me. They have cried with me. They have bathed me. They have fed me. They have laughed with me. They have brought me coffee. They have sat with me. They have held my hand. They have never judged me. They never gave up on me. They believe in me. They nuture my spirit. They inspire me. And there is so many of them!
My home: I am warm. I am protected from the elements of wind, rain, snow and frost. I am fed. I have access to and can afford nutritious fresh fruit and vegetables. I have plenty of protein in my diet. I have access to clean drinking water at all times. I am clothed and I have shoes on my feet.
My community: I am protected by a dedicated force of police officers and fire fighters who will risk their lives to ensure the safety of mine. I have the right to vote. I have freedom of speech. I have access to free health care. I have nieghbours I can count on. I have access to high quality education. I have opportunity to do meaningful work. I have the right to practise (or not) the religion of my choice. I have the right to love, marry, and have sex with who I want.
There is nothing I need that I do not have.
There is much that I wish was different in the world. I wish there was less hate and more peace. I was there was less greed and more giving. I wish there was less grief and more joy. I wish everyone could grow old. I wish there was less disease and illness. I wish there was less slefishness and more self awareness. I wish there was more singing and music and less noise. I wish there was more art and less rubbish. I wish there was less corruption and more purity and compassion. I wish we took care of each other better and thought less of ourselves. I wish we were more forgiving and less hostile. I wish there was less poverty and more equity. I wish there were more books. There can never be too many books.
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