Letters from a Fainthearted Feminist – Jill Tweedie (1982)

Jill Tweedie was a feminist writer and broadcaster who is best remembered for her Guardian column on feminist issues, which ran from from 1969 to 1988. One particular series of columns was Letters from a Fainthearted Feminist, which was later collected into a book of the same name, and later again, More from Martha. I wasn’t familiar with the columns, seeing as this collection was originally published in the year I was born, but I found this copy of the book in my second hand book retailer of choice, the Mind Shop on Walton Street.

Tweedie was, it seems, a champion of moderate feminism, by which she meant, in her own words (via Wikipedia),

“You don’t have to signal a social conscience by looking like a frump. Lace knickers won’t hasten the holocaust, you can ban the bomb in a feather boa, just as well without, and a mild interest in hemlines doesn’t necessarily disqualify you from reading DAS KAPITAL and agreeing with every word.”

In Letters from a Fainthearted Feminist, then, she sets out to make serious feminist points but also manages to laugh at the movement in a respectful way. The letters are written by Martha, aged thirty-eight, married for the second time, and stay at home mum to two teenagers and a baby. She is all for the women’s lib movement, and longs to put her political ideas into practice, but the reality of being a wife and mother constantly gets in the way. She is writing to her more radical Sister, Mary, who lives in a squat with another feminist called Mo, who is seemingly constantly off on marches and crusades, including an incident where they trash a sex shop. Jill Tweedie, in her introduction to the letters, places herself squarely in between the two (fictional, though she writes as if they aren’t) women:

“I have often been irritated by Martha’s fainthearted approach to feminism (I am not at all like that, myself) and I must say I often deplore Mary’s blinkered fundamentalism (I am not at all like that, myself). I’m sure that sensible readers will agree with me that the way ahead for women is an amalgam of the two. A faintheartedness tempered with fundamentalism. Or is a fundamental faintheartedness? You pays your money and you takes your choice. Women’s liberation is, after all, about choice.”

While there was the odd contemporary political reference I’m pretty sure sailed over my head, this managed to be both angry and very, very funny. Baring in mind these columns were written when Margaret Thatcher was Prime Minister, it manages to be furious and hilarious about those men who thought that because they voted for her, they were fully paid up members of feminism. Mary’s husband Josh is just such a man. High up in The Department (of what, we never discover, nor does it matter), he is infuriated with Mary’s questioning of his ideal Department Wife:

“I told Josh I wanted to take the baby and go on a CND march this summer and he said no I couldn’t, it wasn’t Department policy. What is Department policy then? I said. Letting babies frizzle in their cots like Kentucky Fried Chickens? Having women and children running through the streets like so many living torches?”

Meanwhile, Irene, Josh’s Thatcher-like boss, is running for parliament.

“I tell you, that woman is the Marie Antoinette of our time, she even has a weeny thatched cotty in the Cotswolds where she goes and pats sheep. Any minute now, she’ll be saying let  them eat Textured Vegetable Protein. You’re thinking she resembles Mrs T? Matey, she makes that lady look like Marx in drag. At least Maggie has momentarily experienced childbirth even if it was two for the labour of one and into boarding school before they could call her Mother, whereas Ms Boss has done nothing more female than stick her feet in stacked heels. Why in heaven’s name should I support a person just because it wears skirts? So does King Khalid and he’s in line for no feminist prizes.”

Funny and ranty, there can be no better combination in my eyes. And while one might disagree with the odd point our Martha makes, this is a genuinely entertaining book that made me really irritate FH by chuckling out loud and insisting on reading passages out loud to him while he was attempting to watch Eastenders.

While specific details make it very much ‘of its time’, the overall sentiment of the book hasn’t dated in the slightest. The same arguments are happening both within the wider world and, it must be said, within feminism itself. What Letters of a Fainthearted Feminist does do though, and very well, is show that those who call feminism humorless couldn’t be more wrong.

This book makes up part of the Women Unbound reading challenge.

4 Comments
March 10, 2010 in feminism, fiction, politics, review, women's history
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On Short Stories

I have a funny relationship with short stories, as I must have mentioned before now. One of my problems is that I’m never quite sure how to read collections, by which I mean, should I read them slowly, one story at a time, and leave a respectful amount of time between each in which to cogitate and fully appreciate each tiny delectation, or is it acceptable to plough straight on with barely a breath?

I suspect the answer, as it so often is, is that it’s a personal thing. What is it, though, about the short story that puts me on edge so? Why do I find them so much more difficult to get into? I must have a dozen collections dotted about my house that I’ve read three or four stories from and never finished. I’m starting to infuriate myself.

That’s not to say that there aren’t collections that I haven’t loved and devoured. Here are my top five:

  • The Complete Ghost Stories – M.R. James (you can just never go wrong with M.R. James)
  • Open Secrets – Alice Munro (mesmerising)
  • Other Stories and Other Stories – Ali Smith (Ali Smith is an exception to all of the above, I adore her, and this is the collection I named this blog after)
  • The Loudest Sound and Nothing – Clare Wigfall (this is wonderful, wonderful, wonderful)
  • Bliss and Other Stories – Katherine Mansfield (first read this at university, quickly became a firm favourite)

I have purposely excluded anthologies with multiple authors for the simple reason that the continuity question is less of a *thing* for books that are put together by a separate editor. Not that they aren’t carefully put together by said editor, but it’s not the authors’ choices. Clare Wigfall, say, would have put her stories in a certain order for a reason.

Does anyone else have a tricky relationship with the short story as a genre, or am I thinking too hard about it?

15 Comments
March 9, 2010 in fiction, personal, short stories
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Happy International Women’s Day!

Before I go on, I want to say a big THANK YOU to everyone who popped in for yesterday’s Not the TV Book Group discussion on Vanessa and Virginia by Susan Sellers. I never fail to be delighted by how many threads and conversations come out of the NTTVBG meetings. Thanks to my fellow NTTVBG-ers, dovegrey reader, kimbofo, and Simon, and we’ll hopefully see you all in two weeks at Reading Matters to discuss The Illusionist by Jennifer Johnston.

It’s fitting, though, that we should have spent all of yesterday talking about two such iconic women as Virginia Woolf and Vanessa Bell when today is International Women’s Day. Unlike many ‘days’, though, this is a truly global affair, with events happening all over the globe. You can see a full list on the IWD website.

Oxford is, as it does every year, celebrating International Women’s Day. The theme this year is ‘Grassroots and Glass Ceilings’, with events including an art exhibition running at The Jam Factory until Sunday 14 March, and another art show, ‘A Celebration of the Female Form: 100 Portraits of Women’ at the North Wall Art Centre until Saturday 13 March.

Today’s major event is one I wish I was able to go to: ‘Aung San Suu Kyi: Breaking the Glass Ceiling in Burma’ at Oxford Town Hall. It starts at 6.30pm with a sale of Burmese cuisine, with the main event following at 7.30pm:

A celebration in recognition and support of Aung San Suu Kyi: iconic first lady of Burma , described as  “a stunning beacon of non-violent struggles for democracy and human rights.”

Aung San Suu Kyi, a graduate of St Hugh’s College, Oxford, 1969, was elected as the Leader of the National League for Democracy in her home country Burma in 1988, and has since 1989 spent fourteen years under house arrest. In 1991 she was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize in recognition of her non-violent struggle.

The evening combines Burmese culture with politics; providing an insight into the forces that have inspired AungSan Suu Kyi’s passionate commitment to the peaceful pathway to freedom and democracy in her country.

Treat yourself to an early supper: A flavour of delicious authentic Burmese cuisine on sale from 6.30-7.30pm. Meet the people of Burma, learn about their traditions, beliefs, customs and politics through: speakers, film, costume, traditional dance and presentations: 7.30–9.30pm

Proceeds from the sale of tickets will be shared between the Oxford Burmese Benefit Fund and the Oxford International Women’s Festival. Collection during the interval for the Oxford Burmese Benefit Fund; proceeds will go directly to support relief projects in Burma.

Over the coming days there is also an event celebrating Dorothy Hodgkin, a crystallographer, ‘Creative Women, Creative Children’, and open afternoon with Redbridge Traveller’s Women’s Group, an evening of Latin American music and dance, Women Reaching Women Water Day, a joint feminist/Trade Union event about the fashion industry, and a Women in Business seminar. Phew! Something for everyone and no mistake.

Happy International Women’s Day from Other Stories, to you, wherever you are. Me, before I go out today, I’m going to get back to reading Letters from a Fainthearted Feminist by the late feminist writer Jill Tweedie.

6 Comments
March 8, 2010 in feminism, politics, women's history
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NTTVBG 3: Vanessa and Virginia – Susan Sellers (2008)

Hello, good evening, and welcome to the third meeting of the Not the TV Book Group! Following the impeccable example of Lynne and Simon before me, I have been baking, tidying, and brewing more tea than you can possibly imagine in preparation for my virgin voyage into the world of the internet book group.

We’ve already been to the Tamar Valley and the depths of Derbyshire, and today I welcome you to my beautiful adopted home of Oxford, in particular, the area called Jericho.

That’s St Barnabas, one of Jericho’s most famous landmarks, and best known for its role in Jude the Obscure by Thomas Hardy. In fact, you can just see the back of my house in this picture. Do pull up a cushion and let’s get comfortable because I know that there is a lot to chew over when it come to Vanessa and Virginia by Susan Sellers.

Now, before I go on, I feel compelled to remind you all that if you haven’t already read the novel, there will be spoilers ahead.

The thing that made me choose this book in the first place was my love of Virginia Woolf’s novels, and my fascination with the relationship between two very artistic sisters growing up in an less than typical way. What I genuinely wasn’t expecting, though, was for this novel to be narrated by Vanessa, rather than Virginia. I think I can be forgiven for believing the initial pages were in the voice of Virginia. For instance, the very opening paragraph seemed to suggest my very favourite Woolf novel:

I am watching the clouds, tracing giants, castles, fabulous winged beasts as they chase each other across the sky.

I immediately thought of all of Bond Street looking up to watch a sky-writer, not to mention Woolfian flights of fancy with what seems obvious in fact being cast as something esoteric and much more personal and revealing than perhaps seems immediately apparent. But, of course, we quickly learn that the girl seeing fantastical shapes in the sky is Vanessa, rather than Virginia, and thus our expectations are immediately subverted.

The structure of the novel is similarly Woolfian. No detailed linear narrative for us. What we read might be in chronological order but there are gaping holes in the time frame that leap over not just days but whole months and years. No extraneous details here: everything we are told seems to be relevant to Vanessa’s life and thoughts and, importantly, her art. For she is a painter, every bit as artistic and her famous novelist sister. She is seemingly more atune to colours and images as a young child, whileVirginia is painted (so to speak) as an echo of her father (the literary critic Leslie Stephen), accompanying him to the library, searching out obscure facts. And here appears to be the first diversion away from what is received wisdom, perhaps, about the more famous sister. Virginia was artistic, imaginative, and set apart from other people because of her art. Here, though, we read Vanessa as the daydreamer, while Virginia is the one who encourages their younger brothers to climb precarious walls.

Quite aside from Vanessa and Virginias’ roles as Bloomsbury Group artistes, though, is the narrative of the two girls/women as sisters. Now, I grew up fundamentally as an only child (my siblings having all left home by the time I was born) so I cannot fully relate to the sisterly relationship, but it seems to me that every possible attribute of such a relationship was writ large here: love, passion, jealousy, competition, anger, but above all a connection that no one, not Virginia’s beloved Leonard, not any of Vanessa’s lovers, not the ‘magnificent’ Vita Sackville-West, could come close to compromising. And here the episodic structure of the novel really came into its own for me, with arguments described but at the same time glossed over as “you” appeared again with no explanation as to how ill tempers were assuaged on either side.

What struck me most of all, though, is that for all the novel’s declaring itself to be the story of two sisters and the relationship between them, this is, at heart, the story of the lesser know sister Vanessa Bell. However, the novel is narrated in the first person, with Vanessa referring to Virginia as “you”. So, then, I assumed that the reader was meant to identify itself with Virginia in terms of what we were reading. It seemed to me that she was writing to Virginia for the first “real” time, coming clean about feelings, motivations, and secrets that she might not otherwise had done. Of course, Virginia has already committed suicide by the time that our novel is “written”, so in the end I was reading it as a letter, a confession almost, about what had been and, more importantly, could have been.

I feel I have gone on too long now, and I want to open it up to the floor, as it were, but before I do, I just wanted to ask this. Now, I’m reasonably familiar with Virginia Woolf’s life and works, so there were a number of references throughout that I picked up on where someone who was coming to this novel without any preconceived notions wouldn’t have noticed anything. Similarly there were events and aspects of the Vanessa/Virginia relationship that I was intrigued to hear about from Vanessa’s point of view, in particular the fact that she contributed the front covers to most (all?) of her sister’s novels. This seemed to me to be a key factor in the artistic and familial relationships of the two women, but it wasn’t really looked at in this novel. But, for those of you who aren’t familiar with biographical detail, how did you find this novel? Did you feel you were missing something, or did you think it read perfectly well as a story of the relationship between two sisters, regardless of their providence?

I can’t wait to find out what you all thought of Vanessa and Virginia, and I’ll be back online around 10am UK time to join the discussion.

61 Comments
March 7, 2010 in fiction, not the tv book group, review
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Not the TV Book Group: A Reminder

Just a quick post to remind you all to join me here at Other Stories this Sunday for the third meeting of the Not the TV Book Group. I’m already preparing myself to make hundreds of virtual cups of tea, and I really must get on with baking those cup cakes. Do join us, and I really do hope you enjoy the novel. Whatever happens, I’m looking forward to a great discussion.

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March 5, 2010 in blogs, fiction, housekeeping, not the tv book group
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Happy World Book Day!

In happier news, today, March 4th, is World Book Day. Now, I know there are about a bazillion ‘days’ for all sort of industries. For example, this month alone in the UK sees:

  • National Bed Month
  • Veggie Month
  • Fair Trade Fortnight (22 Feb-7 Mar)
  • Self Injury Awareness Day (1 Mar)
  • World Maths Day (3 Mar)
  • World Book Day (4 Mar)
  • National Doodle Day (5 Mar)
  • World Glaucoma Week (7-13 Mar)
  • International Women’s Day (8 Mar… and you can bet your bum I’ll be posting about that too)
  • Commonwealth Day (10 Mar)
  • World Kidney Day (11 Mar)
  • National Science and Engineering Week (12-21 Mar)
  • Brain Awareness Week (15-19 Mar… I can’t personally imagine a time when I’m not aware of my brain at some level)
  • Sport Relief (19-21 Mar)
  • Earth Day (20 Mar)
  • World Poetry Day (21 Mar)
  • World Storytelling Day (21 Mar)
  • World Forestry Day (21 Mar… gosh, that’s a busy day)
  • World Day for Water (22 Mar)
  • World Meteorological Day (23 Mar)
  • World Tuberculosis Day (24 Mar)
  • World Purple Day (26 Mar… not the colour, it raises awareness about epilepsy, apparently.)
  • World Theatre Day (27 Mar)
  • Hospital Broadcasting Week (27 Mar-5 Apr)

Now, some are more important than others, and I’ll leave you lot to fight it out amongst yourselves as to which are which. Regardless of where your loyalties lie, it’s easy to get ‘Day’ fatigue. How do you think I feel? I’ve just had to type that lot out?

But, World Book Day is something I can truly get behind. It encourages children to read, it encourages adult literacy, and frankly, it condones dressing up as your favourite literary character, and how can that ever be wrong? And their new ‘Read to a Million Kids’ scheme is, in my opinion, brilliant:

‘Read to a Million Kids’, sponsored by Renaissance Learning, is a brand new initiative for World Book Day 2010.  The 11 £1 Book stories, read by their authors or actors, will be broadcast online during World Book Day.  Available exclusively to schools and libraries in the first instance, and supplemented with a fun quiz about the reading (to download please visit the Read to a Million Kids page), please visit www.readtoamillionkids.co.uk to find out more and to register to participate. 

The films will be available for all to see for a period after the Day via this site, so if you’re an interested child or parent, please visit us again.

You can also follow World Book Day on Twitter.

Has anyone got a child dressing up as Harry Potter or Matilda? I’m sort of tempted to go bustle-hunting and cast myself as a Cranford lady for the rest of the day…

1 Comment
March 4, 2010 in book news, education, publishing
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Michael Foot RIP

Despite not being old enough to remember Michael Foot’s time in parliament, he is someone I have since read a lot about and admired. So, I was very sad to hear about his death at the ripe old age of 96 yesterday.

While politically my views generally tally with Mr Foot’s, I know people across the political spectrum admired his integrity, passion, and commitment to the causes he believed in. That’s not to say he was perfect – no one is – by all accounts he was disastrous as Labour leader in the early 1980s, and he made an odd, weak defence of the Falklands War. But he was a skilled orator, a brilliant parliamentarian, and that is something lamentably lacking in today’s era of the political soundbite and glib media manipulation. Shall we see his (and Tony Benn’s) like again?

My own tiny tribute – Michael Foot in Quotations – is up on the OUPblog this morning.

3 Comments
March 4, 2010 in news & media, politics
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The Discomfort Zone: A Personal History – Jonathan Franzen (2006)

Can there be any bigger ‘discomfort zone’ than growing up?

I picked this book up on a whim a few days ago. I hadn’t managed to get into the book I was reading at the time and was looking for something completely different. That day I had also rearranged a couple of bookshelves in a fit of pique, and thanks to double-stacking this had got lodged down the back somewhere. Newly rediscovered, and sitting right in my eyeline, The Discomfort Zone immediately became my next read.

Jonathan Franzen is probably best known as the author of The Corrections, his 2001 novel about a Midwestern couple and their three adult children trying to rub along as best they can. I read that about three years ago, loved it, and immediately recommended it to all and sundry. Later I read his collection of essays How to be Alone and was less struck with it. In fact, I would go as far as to say that I was a bit disappointed with it. So how would I feel about another work of non-fiction? If The Corrections won a 5/5 from me, and How to be Alone won 3/5, then The Discomfort Zone sits right in the middle at 4/5. So sayeth Kirsty’s highly scientific book categorization method.

Rather than being a straight autobiography or memoir, this is a collection of six essays that are obviously best read in order but similarly could be stand alone musings on different aspects of Franzen’s childhood, adolescence, and adulthood. Each one takes a different subject as its central point – the house he grew up in; his love of Peanuts cartoons; the church youth group he attended; the pranks he and friends played at school; studying German at college; his developing obsession with bird watching as an adult – and from there picks out wider themes around them. The section entitled Two Ponies, which took Franzen’s love of Peanuts as its central point, particularly resonated with me.

For one, I am engaged to one of the world’s biggest Peanuts fans. When he moved in with me just over two years ago, over 50 books concerning Charlie Brown, Snoopy et al came with him. So, understanably, anything Peanuts-related is inextricably tied to FH for me. It pricks my ears up. Indeed, I was reading out passages from Franzen’s essay to see whether FH agreed with his pronouncments or not.

But on a larger scale, the chapter was about the odd isolation that childhood can bring, and Franzen seems to have identified with Charlie Brown thanks to

“…Schulz’s awareness that for every winner in a competition there has to be a loser, if not twenty losers, or two thousand…”

…although he didn’t necessarily realise that at the time. As different as Jonathan Franzen’s and my childhoods were (different era, different country, different family set up, different gender) I can relate to that strange need to define oneself, even if it is in retrospect. I felt that that was what he was doing in this book, trying to unravel exactly who he was at each point of his life, and how that shifting amounted to the person he is today. In that sense then The Discomfort Zone is truly a “personal” history. The history of a person, and of personality, and of the people around him. It is also both completely personal to him and his experience but equally applicable to everyone. Everyone has those moments that seem insignificant but in retrospect define a whole section of life. 

And because those moments can be so personal, sometimes they alienate just as much as they entrance. While I lapped up the parts about books and literature and Peanuts, as well as the chapter about the intricacies of a church youth group, the last chapter about bird watching didn’t quite connect. I agreed with the political and environmental points he was making, and I was moved by the idea of his increasing interest in the hobby acting as a distraction from the grief following his mother’s death and the realization that he would never have children as he had wanted, but the birds themselves… didn’t do it for me. It’s just not my thing, and certainly not Franzen’s fault.

The Discomfort Zone is a funny, affecting, poignant book that charmed me almost entirely, give or take a twitching. It certainly reignited my interest in his work after my slight dismay with his other non-fiction, and now I’m off to investigate his earlier novels. Has anyone read them? What did you think?

5 Comments
March 3, 2010 in auto/biography, review
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Thanks for the memeries

Because I just can’t resist a book meme.

Total number of books owned:

According to LibraryThing, 1654. This is just my books, not FH’s. At last count he has around 300 or so, mostly music-related non-fiction, some modern history, a lot of Peanuts.

Last book bought:

As recently reported, I splurged with birthday book tokens recently and bought a whole pile of stuff.

Last book read:

The last book I finished was The Girl with the Glass Feet by Ali Shaw. I’m very nearly finished The Discomfort Zone by Jonathan Franzen. I’ve also been reading Workers in the Dawn by George Gissing, and I started Even the Dogs by Jon McGregor, but have had some trouble getting into it. I’ve put it to one side, but will go back to it because I’m sure I will like it once I get into the rhythm of it.

Five books that mean a lot to you:

Matilda by Roald Dahl. His books basically defined my childhood, and while I’ve read and loved almost everything by him, nothing quite matches Matilda for me. I was an awkward, insular sort of a child who read a lot – nothing precocious; I wasn’t reading Proust by the age of 8 or anything like that. It was pretty much all children’s books and abridged versions of the classics borrowed from the local library, to which I used to go every day during school holidays. Matilda was the first character I ever related to. I wasn’t always very happy at home and reading was the ultimate escape. It still is. I’m not a genius like her though, sadly. And I can’t make things levitate. I’ve tried.

Mrs Dalloway by Virginia Woolf. Read for the first time at 18 but I didn’t ‘get’ it. I read it again at 19 and had some sort of epiphany. There’s a line that says something about Mrs D thinking when she was 18 that she was looking forward to happiness, but realising later in life that she had actually been happy then. It made me terrified of wasting my life, it made me want to embrace every happiness I could get, however small and fleeting. I didn’t want to realise at 52 that I had spent my life waiting for something else.

Jane Eyre by Charlotte Bronte. I tend to relate to outsiders. Can there be a more consummate outsider than Miss Eyre for much of her life? She’s also a wonderful, proto-feminist character:

“I am no bird; and no net ensnares me; I am a free human being with an independent will.”

I just LOVE this book.

Wuthering Heights by Emily Bronte. With her sister’s novel, it fed my interest in all things Victorian. I first read it as a 16 year old goth, and I truly believed that I FELT and UNDERSTOOD this novel in a way that NO ONE ELSE EVER HAD . It was true love taken to its “logical conclusion”, Heathcliff altering the coffins so that his and Cathy’s remains would mingle in the earth. I fear I might have been the sort of teenager who would have swooned over Edward in Twilight. Shudder. But still, 12 years on, I love Wuthering Heights. I also realise that I was a bit OTT as a tortured teenager.

The Handmaid’s Tale by Margaret Atwood. Recommended to me by my CSYS English teacher in my final year of school. My first real experience of explicitly feminist fiction, I devoured it, and promptly started collecting everything else she had written. It opened my eyes to women in fiction in a way that nothing else had at that point. I re-read it every couple of years and continue to adore it.

Tag five people to continue this meme:

Meh. Everyone should have a go, and put the link in the comments so I can nosy.

3 Comments
March 2, 2010 in memes, personal
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The Girl with the Glass Feet – Ali Shaw (2009)

Like Philippe Claudel’s Brodeck’s Report, I would never have chosen this book were it not for the Not the TV Book Group. Unlike the Claudel, though, I wasn’t bowled over by The Girl with the Glass Feet by Ali Shaw.

That’s not to say that I thought it was a bad book. On the contrary, Shaw’s writing is very good indeed. His tone, his insight into the characters and their inner lives, his dialogue; it was all very good, and I genuinely think he is One to Watch. In that sense, I’m really pleased that Simon chose the novel for our book group. The thing that prevented me from fully engaging in it was its magical realism.

The Girl with the Glass Feet is about Ida Maclaird, who visits the remote archipelago St Hauda’s Land. She meets the mysterious Henry Fuwa, who shows her his winged cattle, then heads back to the mainland. After a while, though, she notices something very odd indeed. She’s turning into glass.

So, back to St Hauda’s Land she goes, staying with a family friend who lives there, and tried to track down Henry Fuwa to see if he can explain what is happening to her, and to find out if there is a cure. Instead she meets the sweet but socially awkward and emotional baggage-laden Midas Crook, who can only really relate to the world around if there is a camera lens between him and it. Being an archipelago, everyone knows everyone, and soon intricate webs of relationships are revealed, dark secrets are uncovered, and old wounds gape open. Ida, it is revealed, isn’t the first person to start gradually turning to glass, but is there a cure?

For me, and I stress this is my own completely subjective opinion, the whole turning to glass thing (along with those tiny cows with wings) actually detracted from what I could have loved about the novel. I’m a character person. I like novels that delve into relationships and tease out people’s motivations and fears and quirks. The magical realism elements distracted me though. Why the tiny moth cattle? Are they symbolic of something? What am I missing? Glass… that must mean something. Why glass? Is it the light? Is it linked to the light that Midas is seeking with his camera on the first page? What I really wanted to be thinking about was the complex relationship between Midas and his father, who committed suicide, or the relationship between Henry Fuwa and Midas’s mother (they had an affair, of sorts), or the developing relationship between Midas and Ida herself.

The other thing I noticed was that all the women in the book were physically compromised in some way – Ida and her glassiness, Midas’s mother and her post-jellyfish-sting limp, Catherine’s death (before the novel opens) in the mountains – while the men all seemed emotionally weak. Was that on purpose? Is it that those people can only be complete when brought together, the women with the inner strength and the men with the outer?

But I am perhaps being unfair by talking about what I didn’t like about the novel. The major thing that I loved was the setting. There was some debate during the discussion about where St Hauda’s Land actually was because like all good fairy tales it is that beguiling mixture of the recognisable and the ungraspable. My heart told me it was off the north west coast of Scotland. The rugged landscape felt like the landscape I remember from home, the surname Maclaird sounded Scottish, there was just an atmosphere of Scottishness about it. Something about the coast and the hills and the pools of water. Others, though, thought it might have been Scandinavian, others Irish, others Canadian. I suppose there is a certain amount of parity between all of those places, but I was intrigued by how we all had our own ideas.

The ending, too, worked for me. Without giving too much away, there was an openess about it that allows us as readers to come to our own conclusions. This element of trust by the author is heartening, and I thank him for it.

So, not my favourite book ever, but certainly not a bad book. Ali Shaw is an excellent writer, full of promise. I, in the end, just wasn’t the right reader for his work.

3 Comments
March 1, 2010 in fiction, not the tv book group, review
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