There's a novel I often notice in the library when I'm shelving. It's by Virginia Ironside, it's about a woman turning 60, and it's called 'No! I Don't Want To Join A Book Club' - as if doing that was the last port of call before the care home. Well, I'm not sixty yet, but I've been a member of our little book group for about ten years. It was started by Judith Churcher, one of the other mums at the school, who tragically died not long afterwards, but the rest of us carried on: we gathered new members, lost a few, and now number around seven or eight people. More than that, we reckon, would fragment discussions and make it difficult to hold it, as we do, in each other's homes. Some people have nice big rooms, but mine and Debbie's aren't quite so palatial. Plus, over the years, it's got a bit competitive regarding the food. When we met during the day, coffee and biscuits were usual (though they did tend to be M&S biscuits, or home made), but now we have evening sessions, none of us bothers to eat before we go out. Cheese and biscuits, nice bread, posh chutneys, wine, even, in Stuart's case, a two-course sit down meal, are the order of the day. As we meet perhaps half a dozen times a year, my turn doesn't come round too often, but feeding six people is a lot easier than feeding ten or eleven - plus I don't have that many comfy chairs.
Anyway, the food, though nice, is hardly the point. We're a fairly varied bunch of intelligent women, plus Stuart, our 'token man' - he's gay, and keeps trying to persuade us to tackle things like 'The Line of Beauty', while making humorous digs about the 'all men are bastards' theme of a lot of the books we choose. There are two authors, a high-powered lawyer, an ex-journalist, an ex-teacher, a letting agent, two library assistants and Stuart, who works for the Landmark Trust. He's the only one who doesn't actually live in the village. Only one of us doesn't have a dog, and apart from Stuart (again!) we all have kids of various ages - some went to the village school, some to the local private school. So our tastes - and brows - are pretty varied too. Debbie and I tend to the less literary end. Louisa ('Can we do 'Of Human Bondage' next time? I've always wanted to read it!') is definitely the most highbrow, though she enjoys more popular books too. Vinnie did an English degree as a mature student a few years ago, and is into Henry James. I like historical novels and fantasy and chick lit. One day I'll suggest we do 'The Left Hand of Darkness', by Ursula Le Guin, which should get people talking. Some of my suggestions have gone down really well - everyone loved 'Northern Light', by Jennifer Donnelly, and 'Passion', by Jude Morgan. 'My Name is Red' and 'The Child That Books Built' were less successful. We used to take it in turns to offer titles, but now it's less organised and a variety of books are put forward and a choice of two made more or less by vote. Ploughing our way through something that's long-winded or turgid will make us keen to read a lighter book next time. With so much available at the library, it's hard to fit in the time for our chosen club titles, especially if they don't much appeal. I never did get very far with 'Of Human Bondage', or with the Trollope (unfortunately Anthony, not Joanna), and I hated 'Dorian' by Will Self. On the other hand we've chosen 'Snobs' at the last meeting, and I've broken all records by finishing it less than a week later! Usually, true to form, I'm trying desperately to read the last chapter an hour before we get together. Even more usually, Henrietta (very large house, indeed pocket stately home, demanding in-laws, commuting husband and several children) never gets the time to do more than read the first few chapters.
Some book groups only do Richard and Judy titles, or go for the Booker Prize shortlist. I can safely say that I've only ever read two Booker winners. One was 'The True History of the Kelly Gang', by Peter Carey (2001), which we did do a few years ago. There are some on the list I mean to get around to trying (notably 'The Ghost Road' by Pat Barker) but most of them I wouldn't touch with a bargepole. Rightly or wrongly, the winners - and, indeed, most 'literary' fiction - have the reputation of being difficult to read, more interested in ideas than plot and character, or just plain boring. The few examples I've tackled have not tended to dispel this notion. I remember reading a Fay Weldon novel (and no, it was not 'She-Devil') and thinking half-way through, 'I have never met people like this in my entire life!' Of course, that could just mean that I've led a very sheltered existence, but I suspect that's not so. These characters were cyphers rather than living, breathing individuals: they were in the book to express an attitude, point a moral or as a plot device.
Of course there are more elements to a book than characters or plot. Good writing is important, though not as vital as you'd think: plenty of books with clunkingly awful prose reach the top of the best-seller lists (Dan Brown springs first to mind). But the novels that last seem to have the right balance of plot, character and writing. I love that feeling that creeps over you as you begin to read a new book, and realise that there is something about it that just grabs you: you make a cup of tea, get a chocolate biscuit, settle down on the sofa and prepare to enjoy yourself. The most recent one to give me that buzz was the other Booker winner I've read (before it was even on the shortlist) - 'Wolf Hall' by Hilary Mantel. Never has six hundred pages gone so quickly. I was so pleased when it won, I'd been afraid it wouldn't. You always get the impression that the one thing that literary people can't stand is popularity, and 'Wolf Hall' is certainly popular, with the betting public as well as the readers. I wonder if all the people who put money on it had read it? Probably not - but I bet they knew people who had. At one stage we were considering it for our group read, but there are something like fifty reservations on it in the library service, and as Debbie and I have both read it, we've decided to try something else. Best book of the year, for me, and I can't wait for the sequel.
Over the years we must have read forty or fifty books - Louisa keeps a record of them all in her black book (you can tell she's a legal eagle). Some pleased everyone, some attracted indifference, some had mixed reviews. But only one book was universally panned, and interestingly it led to our most lively and stimulating discussion. It was 'The Dying Animal' by Philip Roth. I can't remember who suggested it but it was quite the most horrible book I've ever read. About an ageing university lecturer who begins an affair with one of his students, a luscious Hispanic girl (played by Penelope Cruz in the film), everything is described in prurient detail and the 'hero' is so obviously the author's alter ego that you just cringe. Doesn't he just wish he could have a lovely girl less than a third of his age climb enthusiastically into his bed! I know there are some mismatched couples out there (Sarkosi and Carla spring at once to mind) but this is wishful thinking on a grand scale. Yuk. And for once, Stuart agreed with the women.
Actually, I've got another idea for our next selection. It's much the same sort of view of women as 'The Dying Animal', but from the opposite end of the literary spectrum, and it throws up all sorts of topics for discussion: prostitution, feminism, even racism. There's a copy in Market Lavington library, and though I haven't actually read it, the title tells me all I need to know. It's called 'Love Slave to the Sheikh', and it's published by Mills and Boon. I can't wait to see what they all think of it when I take it along to the meeting in January.
Anyway, the food, though nice, is hardly the point. We're a fairly varied bunch of intelligent women, plus Stuart, our 'token man' - he's gay, and keeps trying to persuade us to tackle things like 'The Line of Beauty', while making humorous digs about the 'all men are bastards' theme of a lot of the books we choose. There are two authors, a high-powered lawyer, an ex-journalist, an ex-teacher, a letting agent, two library assistants and Stuart, who works for the Landmark Trust. He's the only one who doesn't actually live in the village. Only one of us doesn't have a dog, and apart from Stuart (again!) we all have kids of various ages - some went to the village school, some to the local private school. So our tastes - and brows - are pretty varied too. Debbie and I tend to the less literary end. Louisa ('Can we do 'Of Human Bondage' next time? I've always wanted to read it!') is definitely the most highbrow, though she enjoys more popular books too. Vinnie did an English degree as a mature student a few years ago, and is into Henry James. I like historical novels and fantasy and chick lit. One day I'll suggest we do 'The Left Hand of Darkness', by Ursula Le Guin, which should get people talking. Some of my suggestions have gone down really well - everyone loved 'Northern Light', by Jennifer Donnelly, and 'Passion', by Jude Morgan. 'My Name is Red' and 'The Child That Books Built' were less successful. We used to take it in turns to offer titles, but now it's less organised and a variety of books are put forward and a choice of two made more or less by vote. Ploughing our way through something that's long-winded or turgid will make us keen to read a lighter book next time. With so much available at the library, it's hard to fit in the time for our chosen club titles, especially if they don't much appeal. I never did get very far with 'Of Human Bondage', or with the Trollope (unfortunately Anthony, not Joanna), and I hated 'Dorian' by Will Self. On the other hand we've chosen 'Snobs' at the last meeting, and I've broken all records by finishing it less than a week later! Usually, true to form, I'm trying desperately to read the last chapter an hour before we get together. Even more usually, Henrietta (very large house, indeed pocket stately home, demanding in-laws, commuting husband and several children) never gets the time to do more than read the first few chapters.
Some book groups only do Richard and Judy titles, or go for the Booker Prize shortlist. I can safely say that I've only ever read two Booker winners. One was 'The True History of the Kelly Gang', by Peter Carey (2001), which we did do a few years ago. There are some on the list I mean to get around to trying (notably 'The Ghost Road' by Pat Barker) but most of them I wouldn't touch with a bargepole. Rightly or wrongly, the winners - and, indeed, most 'literary' fiction - have the reputation of being difficult to read, more interested in ideas than plot and character, or just plain boring. The few examples I've tackled have not tended to dispel this notion. I remember reading a Fay Weldon novel (and no, it was not 'She-Devil') and thinking half-way through, 'I have never met people like this in my entire life!' Of course, that could just mean that I've led a very sheltered existence, but I suspect that's not so. These characters were cyphers rather than living, breathing individuals: they were in the book to express an attitude, point a moral or as a plot device.
Of course there are more elements to a book than characters or plot. Good writing is important, though not as vital as you'd think: plenty of books with clunkingly awful prose reach the top of the best-seller lists (Dan Brown springs first to mind). But the novels that last seem to have the right balance of plot, character and writing. I love that feeling that creeps over you as you begin to read a new book, and realise that there is something about it that just grabs you: you make a cup of tea, get a chocolate biscuit, settle down on the sofa and prepare to enjoy yourself. The most recent one to give me that buzz was the other Booker winner I've read (before it was even on the shortlist) - 'Wolf Hall' by Hilary Mantel. Never has six hundred pages gone so quickly. I was so pleased when it won, I'd been afraid it wouldn't. You always get the impression that the one thing that literary people can't stand is popularity, and 'Wolf Hall' is certainly popular, with the betting public as well as the readers. I wonder if all the people who put money on it had read it? Probably not - but I bet they knew people who had. At one stage we were considering it for our group read, but there are something like fifty reservations on it in the library service, and as Debbie and I have both read it, we've decided to try something else. Best book of the year, for me, and I can't wait for the sequel.
Over the years we must have read forty or fifty books - Louisa keeps a record of them all in her black book (you can tell she's a legal eagle). Some pleased everyone, some attracted indifference, some had mixed reviews. But only one book was universally panned, and interestingly it led to our most lively and stimulating discussion. It was 'The Dying Animal' by Philip Roth. I can't remember who suggested it but it was quite the most horrible book I've ever read. About an ageing university lecturer who begins an affair with one of his students, a luscious Hispanic girl (played by Penelope Cruz in the film), everything is described in prurient detail and the 'hero' is so obviously the author's alter ego that you just cringe. Doesn't he just wish he could have a lovely girl less than a third of his age climb enthusiastically into his bed! I know there are some mismatched couples out there (Sarkosi and Carla spring at once to mind) but this is wishful thinking on a grand scale. Yuk. And for once, Stuart agreed with the women.
Actually, I've got another idea for our next selection. It's much the same sort of view of women as 'The Dying Animal', but from the opposite end of the literary spectrum, and it throws up all sorts of topics for discussion: prostitution, feminism, even racism. There's a copy in Market Lavington library, and though I haven't actually read it, the title tells me all I need to know. It's called 'Love Slave to the Sheikh', and it's published by Mills and Boon. I can't wait to see what they all think of it when I take it along to the meeting in January.
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