Six Degrees of Separation … in January

‘On the first Saturday of every month, a book is chosen as a starting point and linked to six other books to form a chain. Readers and bloggers are invited to join in by creating their own ‘chain’ leading from the selected book.‘

Six Degrees of Separation Kate W

Rules of Civility by Amor Towles begins this month’s chain. I plunged into this novel full of hope for a delicious escapist read in the F. Scott Fitzgerald mode: and at first I wasn’t disappointed. Our narrator is Katy Kontent, and she’s full of witty and clever descriptions of the New York world she inhabits and its cast-list. I was happy to involve myself in her life, and that of her friend Eve, as they negotiated their working lives as secretaries, and their social lives, mainly spent in up-and-coming jazz clubs. Where, one evening, they meet rich, winsome Tinker Grey. And it’s at this point I began to lose a little interest. The characters didn’t develop, least of all that of Katy herself, who alludes to her humble origins but never explores them. The plot itself introduced a range of characters who didn’t move the story along, and generally conspired to lose me, though I read to the end willingly enough, hoping that the warm feelings with which I’d begun this novel would return. They didn’t. This was an amiable read with the makings of a great one, and I’m not against giving Amor Towles another go.

Where next? I struggled a bit, then came up with not so much a chain as the spokes of a wheel radiating from Towles’ book.

All my books this month have a female protagonist, and my first link features a woman, Rósa, who might have had things in common with Katy if their circumstances hadn’t been so very different. In The Glass Woman, by Caroline Lea, we’re in 17th century Iceland, and can feel its chill, its landscape, its folk and religious history in the pages of the story. Young Rósa rather precipitately marries Jón, the leader in a distant village, to ensure her ailing widowed mother some security. Here she is deliberately isolated by her controlling husband, who is a widower. No spoiler alerts here, but tensions rise as her isolation increases, and as her childhood sweetheart appears on the scene. A cleverly written novel, in which Rósa’s unease, and her increasing inability to keep a grasp on what is real, and what the product of a fevered and frightened imagination keeps the reader guessing.

Possibly a view Rósa might have known. Matt Hardy, Pexels.

My next heroine also labours under a – in her case misplaced – sense of duty. Oyinkan Braithwaite‘s My Sister, the Serial Killer was a quick read, an easy read, and at no point did I think of not finishing reading this story. But – and perhaps I’m not entering into the spirit of things here – a story in which the writer’s sister gets into a routine of killing her boyfriends, while the writer colludes with her deception just left me cold. The short sharp chapters, and the action which jumped hither and thither kept my interest, as did the back story of a controlling, brutal father. But in the end, it was a slightly distasteful read as far as I was concerned. I don’t think I get dark humour … 

Joshua Oluwagbemiga, Unsplash.

And so to Madame Bovary of the Suburbs, by Sophie Divry. Definitely no high drama in this one – not even an unexplained death or two. Born to loving parents in the French provinces, our heroine does well at school, university, marries a kind man, has an affair which comes to an end, and she gets through the rest of her working and retired life looking for something to engage her. In many ways a wry portrait of twentieth century middle class life, it’s also somewhat depressing. Which seems to be the point. Life is absurd, why bother? seems to be the message. Not for nothing was this Madame Bovary descended from Flaubert’s original.

I don’t think Laroque, where we used to live, would have suited Emma.

From provincial France in the decades preceding this one to present day provincial England, and Carys Bray‘s When the Lights Go Out. Though very readable, this didn’t equal Bray’s The Museum of You for me. The subjects: eco-aware Emma versus eco-warrior husband Chris feel rather overdone now. Chris learnt to be a warrior during his now-rejected fundamentalist Christian childhood, and his warriorship consists in being a prophet of doom, rather than in action. We’re meant to find him tedious, and we do. We’re meant to like busy, community-minded Emma, and we do. We’re meant to feel wry sympathy with the Emma and Chris as they parent their teenage children, and deal with Chris’s interfering-in-a-humble-way mother. So it’s an engaging enough read, but one in which I didn’t fully involve myself.

This isn’t Emma’s home. It’s Middlesbrough. I think it may be a suitable stand-in.

Now we’re off to Spain, and Mercè Rodoreda‘s In Diamond Square. It must be me. This book regularly appears in lists of ‘must read’ Spanish books, and it failed to engage me.  I nearly gave up at the half way point, but persisted. This is the story of a young woman living in Barcelona who marries her husband after a short courtship. It’s the story of his domination of her, of the birth of their two children, of his going off to fight in the Civil War, and of the years after the conflict is over. Although Natalia, the heroine, writes little about her feelings, these are at the core of this story. What she experiences about the pigeons that her husband introduces into their attic. What she notices about the employers for whom she cleans. What she notices in the grocer’s shop. The smells – of the streets, of the pigeons, of death. I’ve a feeling that my experience of reading this book may change over time and that this is a book I may consider re-reading. Just now, I rather wanted to get it over with.

Casa Vicens,  Gaudí’s first major project , built just a few streets away from Natalia’s house in Gràcia, Barcelona.

I’ll end with a book I read over a year ago, and one that’s not a novel – Emily Maitlis‘ Airhead. Not a memoir, not a biography, but a series of bite-sized vignettes about the life of this successful newscaster and interviewer. One who prepares carefully, but flies by the seat of her pants. One who researches, but seizes the moment. One who knows what she wants from an interview, but who will allow happenstance to take control. This is a real insight, wittily written, into the high-octane life of a political journalist. It’s fairly exhausting reading, so what it’s like to be part of her family, I can’t imagine – we learn only a certain amount from reading between the lines of this book. An interesting, well and amusingly written book. Recommended to those of us who keep up with current affairs. 

Emily Maitlis, courtesy of The Guardian

So there we have it. A series of women whose abilities to make life choices are constrained in most cases by those closest to them. We’ll make an exception for both Katy Kontent and Emily Maitlis, both of whom play by different rules. And did you notice? Emily Maitlis likes the Carys Bray more than I did 😉

Next month? One of last year’s must-read books, which I haven’t yet read: No One is Talking About This by Patricia Lockwood.

Author: margaret21

I'm retired and live in North Yorkshire, where I walk , write, volunteer and travel as often as I can.

39 thoughts on “Six Degrees of Separation … in January”

  1. Thank you for providing an interesting list of books that your readers might enjoy. I see one or two that I will definitely consider reading. May 2021 be better for you and all of us than 2021.

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  3. Hi Margaret! Your posts are always so beautifully put together and such fun to read.

    I love the cover and your description for The glass woman. I will take a look at that one.

    I know My Sister the Serial Killer is a very popular read, but it has never really grasped my attention in such a way that I actually want to read it.

    Happy New Year and I hope your year will be filled with wonderful reads.

    Elza Reads

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    1. Thanks so much. A mutual appreciation society here, as I always enjoy yours too – though I’ve yet to read this month’s. I hope you’ll enjoy The Glass Woman. Personally, I’d continue to give My Sister the Serial Killer a miss. Happy New Year, and happy reading!

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    1. Interesting. I’m probably too literal for my own good when it comes to dark humour. And it looks as if, so far, Braithwaite fans may have to content themselves with her short stories.

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  11. An interesting mix of books here Margaret. If you didn’t care for the Towles, try his later novel Gentleman in Moscow – the main character is really well crafted.

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  12. I’ve only read When the Sky Fell Apart by Caroline Lea and always intended to read more from her. The Glass Woman looks like a great one to pick up. I enjoyed your chain. All the best for 2022!

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  14. Enjoyed your spokes of a wheel idea Margaret even though I haven’t read any of the spokes! Some of them however sound really interesting in terms of my taste. It’s been great sharing books with you this year particularly these 6 degrees and I look forward to doing more in 2022. Wishing you all the best for the New Year.

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  16. The Glass Woman sounds good, I love the Icelandic setting. Sry, you didn’t get on with My Sister is a Serial Killer, I thought it was brilliant. Probably, there are some similarities to the Nordic variety of dark humour. Wish you a happy new year!

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  19. Ah, a great mix as ever. I always enjoy your reviews, Margaret. Glass Woman sounds good, and I’m tempted by the Spanish one too. And I actually enjoyed the Serial Killer – I liked the mix of serious issues with some rather black humour. Seemed to blend with my mood during lockdown!

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    1. Ah, I think it was my lockdown mood that prevented my enjoying Serial Killer. Yes, I seem to have ad a bit of a downer on this month’s choices, don’t I? But Glass Woman was definitely worth reading.

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