Our Shadows | Gail Jones #AUSfiction

One gets to a time and place when one HAS to be done thinking about a book and what review to write for it. I have reached this point with Our Shadows by Gail Jones. 

I have done everything I can to put together some coherent, clever thoughts, from attending two zoom author talks with Avid Reader Bookshop in Brisbane and a week later with Gleebooks in Sydney, to reading other reviews and talking about the book with a friend who abandoned it half way through.

I really enjoyed Jones' previous book, The Death of Noah Glass, although it was not easy. So I felt prepared for Jones' themes of loss and grief wrapped in layers of art and ideas. However, I never really felt fully engaged with her characters or her purpose. Noah Glass got under my skin, but sisters Nell and Frances failed to become fully-fleshed characters in my mind.

About a third of the way through, I decided to engage with the book in a different way to help me get through (it was around this point my friend abandoned ship). I had noticed the number of times the word 'shadow' was being used by Jones, so I decided to list them.

• mud and shadow make him appear older.
• Let us say he is a man perpetually shadowed. He will always be in shadow.
• Frances began to accept that she lived in Nell's shadow
• their shadows were huge on the tunnel wall, they were monsters, not men
• dying in their shadows
• When Paddy saw their shadows walking alongside them, they were conglomerate creatures, lumpish and inhuman
• he felt himself splotched in shadow.
• ill-fated and shadowed.
• his lungs have been checked. No shadows.
• it was the shadow of wings passing over her
• the women trudged back, pulling their long shadows
• He was all shadows
• the story that hung shadowy

In discussion with Krissy Kneen (Avid Reader) and then with Bernadette Brennan (Gleebooks) I learnt that Jones set up the novel with a specific spatial logic whereby the scenes shadowed each other. The modern story of the sisters being followed by a chapter about their grandparent's history in a process described by Jones as the 'layers of life in your childhood that you spend the rest of your life excavating'.

The loss of the girls' parents also highlighted the shadow between generations. This family had an aching, missing step between grandparents and grandchildren, that caused a discontinuity in history and memory. Jones described it as 'looking forwards as memory leads us back'.

She used the mining processes of Kalgoorlie, WA to explore themes of darkness, what lies underground and beneath the surface. Through mining she explored different levels of knowing and interiority (a word she used several times to describe her writing).

Jones is also interested in scale and how a smaller, intimate story fits within the bigger narrative of history. In this story we glimpse the Irish potato famine, the gold rush/early settler life in Australia, the mining industry in WA and an Indigenous perspective. 

The importance and use of language is another device that Jones plays with here. The importance of naming things and naming them correctly, the act of translation and language making and what it means when we lose language through cultural appropriation or dementia. When the absence of language becomes like a shadowy presence, leaving a space or void waiting to be filled, yet full of expectation, anticipation, memory and loss. It's something that feels very close, within reach, yet impossibly far away, unable to be grasped. Which is probably a pretty good description of my reading experience!

I learnt that Australian POW's (& British, Dutch, US, Czech & Norwegian) were in Nagasaki (or nearby at least in Omuta) at the Fukuoka #17 Branch POW Camp (and other camps) when Nagasaki was bombed at the end of WWII. How had I never heard about this before? Most of the British, Dutch and Australian POW's were also survivors of the Burma railway.

I was moved by Fred's description of the pipeline and the country around Kalgoorlie:

He was surprised to realise how much he loved this landscape - the gimlets and casuarinas, the sweeping hawks and the streaking crows, the high shine of the cloudless, metallic sky. he loved the stiff grasses and the saltbush and the tiny tough flowers. The wind moving through them, and the scent of the red earth, baking. Alongside, the white pipeline stretched all the way from Perth. He loved it too. Water in the desert. And the story of how the pipeline was built.

Image source

And, for the first time I heard about the Lake Ballard statues, 'Inside Australia', by Antony Gormley. I first came across Gormley's work when it was referenced by Heather Rose in The Museum of Modern Love. So I was prepared for the eerie, startling nature of his statues, I just had no idea we had some in Australia.

They climbed a neat hill that reminded Frances of the cover of  The Little Prince, a hemisphere, like half a planet, in the middle of nowhere. From the top they stood in the salty wind and looked afar. Before them, beneath the white glaze of the sunlight, lay asterisk on asterisk of fanning trails, the footprinted patterns of earlier visitors who had tracked between the statues.

Image: Merlyn Cantwell

I'm not sure I can say that I enjoyed this novel, although I didn't dislike it either. Maybe the use of so many absences and shadows was a device to leave us feeling empty and unfulfilled on purpose.

It is now a month since I read Our Shadows, and very little has stayed with me about the story. I enjoyed researching things like the POW's in Nagasaki and looking at all the images available on Instagram for Gormley's statues, but I did not engage at an emotional level with the characters. I love a good intellectual exercise, but sometimes the storytelling can get overwhelmed in the process. Judging by the experience of the two readers I have to hand right now, I fear that is what has happened here. 

 Epigraph: 

Strange how things in the offing, once they're sensed,
Convert to things foreknown;
And how what's come upon is manifest

Only in light of what has been gone through.

Seamus Heaney
(Squarings xlviii)

Opening Line (in an untitled prologue): 

• So who is this girl, dreaming awake, of an entombed miner?

The Dutch House | Ann Patchett #20BooksofWinter

The rave reviews are the hardest, aren't they?

It took me a few chapters to fall into this story, but when I fell, I really fell! The Dutch House turned out to be one of those wonderful, rich reading experiences that you wish would never end. Part gothic fairy tale and part psychological study of two siblings trying to come to terms with their loss and grief as they did battle with a wicked stepmother. Eventually expelled from their childhood home, they spent their adult lives searching for forgiveness, atonement and a way back home.

The character driven storytelling was absorbing, poignant and immersive. Maeve and her brother, Danny were characters that felt real - flawed but lovable. Their shared obsession with the childhood home helped them to gloss over their other losses. Money and possessions didn't matter; they simply worked hard and made good on their own. No parent? No worries; they had each other. 

But this is Ann Patchett we're talking about here, so there are many more layers to the story than that. Mothers and mothering played a big role as did materialism, greed and poverty. The different ways that kindness and love can be expressed and then experienced were explored. Do we ever really know our loved ones or do we waste a lot of time and energy trying to make them fit into the world view that we already have?

And we cannot talk about The Dutch House without talking about the house itself. As a metaphor for childhood and mother we see Maeve and Danny's mother reject and leave both the house and the children. As a place of shelter and protection, it clearly moved away from being a place of safety and security after the mother left and the stepmother wheedled her way in. 

As a symbol for self and personality, it's easy to see the Dutch House as an ongoing search by Maeve and Danny for a way back in, for integration. Their sense of being outsiders, abandoned and alone affected all their relationships. The weight of the grudge they carried around almost became another character, like the house. Spending so much time in the car together, looking at the house from outside, facilitated a kind of therapy session for both of them. Although I was in a constant panic that the stepmother would discover them and that things would turn ugly, but that could just be my fear of conflict!

It's curious that a book that seems designed to discuss mothers and mothering is narrated by Danny. In fact, for the first few chapters, I assumed that Danny was a sister, not a brother. He acknowledged that 'after our mother left, Maeve took up the job on my behalf but no one did the same for her'. Maeve considered herself lucky simply because she'd had many more years with their mother than he did. At every point Danny benefited from all the women in his life who took care and made sacrifices for him, but when their mother finally turned up again and Maeve forgave her and immediately moved to recreate a relationship with her, Danny was pissed off that he's been displaced. I accepted that he didn't want to forgive or let his mother back into his life, but I did resent that he wanted to deny Maeve the chance to decide for herself, when it was so obvious that Maeve was dying to feel mothered again.

But maybe that was one of Patchett's points. It's okay for fathers and men to be distant and absent, we can admire them for their ambition and worldly ways, but when a mother does it, she is lambasted and denied forgiveness or understanding.

Maeve and Danny were not the only siblings in this story. We also had Jocelyn and Sandy, the women who helped run Dutch House before and after the mother left, until they were also expelled along with Maeve and Danny. The wicked stepmother arrived with two children of her own, Bright and Norma. None of these characters were fully fleshed out for the reader as we only ever got to really see them through Danny's eyes. He didn't even realise that Jocelyn and Sandy were sisters until he was about 11 yrs old. He simply accepted them, unquestioningly, as part of the fabric of his young life, as most children do. 

I'm glad that Patchett never gave as any insight into why the stepmother was the way she was. She obviously had her own demons to behave the way she did throughout the story, but those demons remain part of the mystery. All we know is that her parenting style also completely alienated Norma and Bright. Bright didn't even return when her mother was ill and dying.

Patchett was inspired by something Zadie Smith said about writing autobiographical fiction, 

She was saying that autobiographical fiction didn’t have to be about what happened — it could be about what you were afraid might happen. She said the character of the mother in Swing Time was autobiographical because that was the mother she didn’t want to be. I thought that was brilliant. It explained something I’d always been doing but had never put into words. I adore Zadie Smith. At that moment, sitting on a stage with her at Belmont University, I thought, I want to write a book about the kind of stepmother I don’t want to be.

Our book group had a great discussion about all the elements in the story and it was one of the few books where everyone agreed on how much we loved it. A number of them had even read the book twice, saying they got so much more out of the story second time round as they were able to tease out some of the nuances even more.

The Dutch House is a keeper. 

I think this is my first 5 star rating for the year.

Favourite Quotes:

But we overlay the present onto the past. We look back through the lens of what we know now, so we’re not seeing it as the people we were, we’re seeing it as the people we are, and that means the past has been radically altered.

There are a few times in life when you leap up and the past that you'd been standing on falls away behind you, and the future you mean to land on is not yet in place, and for a moment you're suspended knowing nothing and no one, not even yourself.

We had made a fetish out of our misfortune, fallen in love with it.

Norma said that childhood wasn’t something she could imagine inflicting on another person, especially not a person she loved.

Facts:

• Finalist for the 2020 Pulitzer Prize for Fiction.
• Longlisted for the Women's Prize 2020

Cover Love

• I agree with Ann, this is one of the best covers for a book ever. 
• You can listen to how this came about in this short video.
• It's not often that an author gets to have so much control over what ends up on the cover.
• It's not often that the same cover gets used for the US, UK and Australian editions of a book either.

Book 3 of 20 Books of Summer Winter - I'm a little behind schedule this year!

The Heather Blazing | Colm Tóibin #Begorrathon

Oh, this was utterly delicious. Deliciously melancholy, if that's a thing.

The Heather Blazing is the story of Judge Eamon Redmond, and the loss and grief that has defined his whole life. Tóibin writes these rather sad, introspective characters so well. Like Nora Webster, you're left wondering, if perhaps Eamon's first person story is missing an important piece to the puzzle of his life. There are hints, in his relationship with his wife and children, comments they make about his distance, lack of loving gestures and affection, that suggest he wasn't an easy to person to live with. Eamon also struggles with his emotional life, constantly afraid to show his true feelings. Taught from a young age to stay on the sidelines, always watching but not included in the adult decisions being made around him. Seeking solace in solitude, books and walking.

Eamon's sad, lonely childhood affected his ability to show the people in his life that he cared. We, the reader, can feel his emotional pain and see how much he loves those around him, but we can also see that it's all internal. Eamon thinks and feels and deliberates, but he doesn't express or show or share.

The frustrations of his wife and children are tangible, but Eamon is powerless to change.

The political and environmental story line that ran alongside Eamon's story was almost an allegory, with shifting political allegiances and houses slowly crumbling into the sea. The inevitable march of time and natural forces beyond our control reflecting Eamon's faltering progress through his own life.

I also learnt a bit about the history and differences between Fianna Fáil, Sinn Féin and Fine Gael.

Donaghmore, Wexford County, Ireland

Highly recommended to anyone who loves their Irish Lit to be gentle and thoughtful.
#Begorrathon2020
#ReadingIrelandMonth2020

Brooklyn
Nora Webster

If Cats Disappeared from the World by Genki Kawamura

If Cats Disappeared from the World is an odd little book. I say odd because I'm not quite sure how I'm going to review it best.

Obviously, it has a cute cover designed to attract the attention of any cat lover (me) and a title that would greatly concern said cat lover. I'm also a fan of Japanese literature. So this should have been a no-brainer for me. But maybe that's where the problem lays.

It was so lightly written and felt so detached (zen?) in style that it barely scratched the surface of my consciousness.

It had it's moments. There just weren't enough of them.

There were quirky moments like the Devil turning up to bargain with the dying narrator, whilst wearing bright Hawaiian shirts. And the cat who woke up one morning speaking in the refined voice of an English gentleman. The message about the power we give our possessions was an interesting one, and gives one pause to consider what you could give up forever to save your own life.

But mostly it was a sweet, uncomplicated tale about living in the moment and embracing those you love.

Love has to end. That’s all. And even though everyone knows it they still fall in love. 

I guess it’s the same with life. We all know it has to end someday, but even so we act as if we’re going to live forever. Like love, life is beautiful because it has to end.

Facts:

• Published in Japan 2012 as Sekai kara Neko ga Kieta nara
• Debut book by film producer Genki Kawamura
• Made into a movie by Akira Nagai in 2016
• Translated into English by Eric Selland 2018

Favourite Quote:

There's a limit to how well we know ourselves. We don't know what we look like to others, and we can't know our own future, and we can't know what our own death will be like.

Favourite Character:

• Cabbage, the cat, of course, especially when he started talking! 

Favourite or Forget:

• This was a HUGE hit in Japan and I can see why. As a fan of Japanese stories this one didn't live up to my expectations (I prefer the more complicated Murakami version of Japanese writing), but I'm not sorry I read it. 
• The stuff about materialism and the effects of technology on our modern lives will linger long. 
• Like many Japanese stories, what at first appears to be slight and sweet actually has subtle layers that get into your psyche as time goes by. 
• It's a small novel that could be gobbled up in one sitting, but I would suggest going slower. By taking your time, you allow the layers to sift into your consciousness and you will get the most out of your reading experience.
• When I first finished this book, I thought it was a forget. But over one week later, it is growing in my mind in significance.
• It may not be a firm favourite, but I won't forget it either.

Book 20 of 20 Books of Summer Winter
Wahoo!

The Death of Noah Glass by Gail Jones

Sometimes a reading experience is not as straight forward as you might first think. There are some books that demand more of the reader. The Death of Noah Glass by Gail Jones was one of those books for me.

I feel a little guilty about confessing that this was my first Gail Jones. One of my former colleagues (who is very arty and whose book tastes often, but not always, match my own) loves Jones' ouevre. It has taken this year's Stella longlist nominations to finally get me there though.

The Death of Noah Glass could simply be read as a tender, moving story about the sudden death of an elderly, but still physically active and able father in mysterious circumstances. Martin and Evie struggle with their grief and memories, although, ultimately, it is these memories that provide them with solace and connection.

I quickly felt, though, that there was more going on here. There was a lot of Italian art history and art theory being thrown around (as you might expect when one of the characters was an art historian and one an artist) and the discussions on time, space and memory felt layered and purposeful.

So after about 50-60 pages, I googled.

Piero della Francesca was the obvious place to start, as he was the Florentine artist that Noah Glass studied. I quickly discovered that Weng-Ho Chong, the cover designer, had used part of one of the frames from Piero's The Legend of the True Cross for his stunning book cover design. This frame is titled, Dream of Constantine and features a sleeping figure (Constantine) and a relaxed servant in the foreground. The servant, dreamily sits in the left hand corner of the cover, whilst the angel, prophesying victory, has been moved to the other side of the cover.

The Legend of the True Cross 1454-1458, Bacci Chapel, Church of San Francesco, Arezzo

I've also thought many times in the past year, that the blue cover was a nod to Brett Whitely's, The Balcony 2. Given the very Sydney setting of the story, the choice of this particular blue on the cover feels deliberate and significant.

And then I discovered Robert Dixon's article in the Sydney Review of Books, September 2018.

My brain almost exploded with art references and philosophical debates way beyond my ken! However I did take on a few new-to-me terms, and thanks to wikipedia, managed to grasp their meaning:

In Western art history, Mise en abyme is a formal technique of placing a copy of an image within itself, often in a way that suggests an infinitely recurring sequence. In film theory and literary theory, it refers to the technique of inserting a story within a story.

A type of frame story. Sometimes a story within the main narrative can be used to sum up or encapsulate some aspect of the framing story, in which case it is referred to in literary criticism by the French term mise en abyme.

Ekphrasis has been considered generally to be a rhetorical device in which one medium of art tries to relate to another medium by defining and describing its essence and form, and in doing so, relate more directly to the audience, through its illuminative liveliness.

In this way, a painting may represent a sculpture, and vice versa; a poem portray a picture; a sculpture depict a heroine of a novel; in fact, given the right circumstances, any art may describe any other art, especially if a rhetorical element, standing for the sentiments of the artist when they created their work, is present.

Knowing this, gave my reading of The Death of Noah Glass a little extra depth. I could see, and enjoy the various layers that Jones was exploring, even if I didn't completely understand why she wanted to, or needed to do this.

After finishing the book, I found Caroline Baum's review in the Sydney Morning Herald, 6th April 2018, which helped me to understand Jones' intentions a little more,

Acknowledgments are handy for literary snoops: they provide invaluable clues to a book's emotional undertow, especially when the writer is as private and reticent as Gail Jones....

"I'm a novelist of ideas," she continues, as if slightly insulted by the notion that she might entertain even for a moment switching allegiances from the literary side of the fence to populist genre fiction. 

"Novels are machines for thinking as well as feeling. Plot points are really engines for dispersed, unstable ideas about art, family and time. Especially time, and the way it folds and crumples, its patterns and repetitions, how it stops in front of a painting."

 ...Perhaps in spite of herself, Jones' novel reveals her own feelings about what it means to lose those we love. "There is no closure and that is a good thing," she says with certainty. "Other people live on in us, as a kind of secular afterlife. Art consoles us. That is its power."

As someone who has experienced that profound stopping and folding of time in front of certain paintings and in certain historical sites, I honour and admire other people's revelations. I certainly found some consolation in The Death of Noah Glass and hope that Jones did to in the writing of it.

Any Ordinary Day by Leigh Sales

It's hard to sum up what an extraordinary read Any Ordinary Day by Leigh Sales really was. I started off a little sceptical, doubtful that Sales would find the right tone to keep me interested, but I was wrong. Very wrong. 

I thought I knew what the book would be about thanks to the generous media and online coverage it had been receiving in Australia in the lead up to Christmas. I also had Nancy's unequivocal admiration for the book ringing in my ears. I was expecting to read about some of the (sadly) well-known names in Australia who had survived tragedies such as the Lindt Cafe siege, the Port Arthur massacre and the Thredbo disaster; I wasn't expecting to read about an acquaintance of mine though.

Any Ordinary Day was a riveting read. Heart-breaking at times, but so full of compassion, kindness and a desire for genuine understanding, that it melted my cynical side completely. But when I reached Chapter 6 and suddenly realised that this section was Leigh's interview with Hannah Richell about the surfing accident that took the life of her husband, Matt a few years ago, I was pulled up short.

Suddenly it felt very personal and very close to the bone. 

As Sales' said early on, the idea behind this book was to explore how we cope with not being 'exceptional' when we discover that we're as 'vulnerable as the next person' to being blindsided by life and death moments. Matt's accident, and Hannah's extraordinary blog about her journey with grief and sadness, have left me pondering this idea often. How do we develop resilience? How do we learn to let go the idea that we have complete control over our lives? How do we cope with the randomness of life? Can we become a better person for having gone through something so traumatic?

Sales' spends some time within each interview discussing these ideas, as well as bringing in various facts and stats from current research findings. Every interview was thoughtfully conceived and executed. She discussed the personal as well as the bigger picture stuff. She considered why it is that we're all fascinated by these traumatic events and why we participate in mass displays of grieving like those that happened after Princess Diana died and the floral tributes in Martin Place after the Lindt Cafe siege.

The role of journalists, media and social media are explored, as well as the negative and positive outcomes experienced by individuals caught up in this kind of craziness when they're at their most vulnerable.

Sales says,

because we don't have enough conversations about the big stuff, about life and loss and fear, we end up approaching death with morbid fascination, like it's some dark awful secret or some big heroic event.

This book is all about reminding us that the big stuff can happen at any time and that we should remember to be grateful for, a savour, the everyday, ordinary moments, for 'they're not so ordinary, really. Hindsight makes them quite magical'.

Junior Fiction - the rest!

Following on from my recent post featuring several fabulous Australian junior fiction titles, I thought it was time to venture further afield to see what the rest of the world (or at least the US, UK and Japan) were doing in this field.

The Afterwards is a new story by U.K. poet A. F. Harrold, illustrated by Emily Gravett, the well-known picture book illustrator. Like so many books for kids these days, the story explores friendship, death and loss. It is quite dark at times and some children may find the 'other world' that our young protagonist is able to visit quite creepy in much the same way that Neil Gaiman's Coraline's 'other mother' is creepy. But the ending is positive with a focus on living in the moment, honouring those you loved and being present.

Dear Professor Whale by Megumi Iwasa and Jun Takabatake (illustrator) wasn't quite as sweet and charming as Yours Sincerely, Giraffe, but it still highlighted the importance of friendship, kindness and belonging via the old-fashioned means of communication, letter writing.

The action centres around the reviving of the Whale Point Olympics. The older Olympians are honoured and revered while the youngsters are encouraged to engage in friendly competition and teamwork rather than winning gold medals at all cost.

The empathy message may have been laid on a bit thick this time round, but it's hard to take offence when it's so well-meaning and good-natured.

Front Desk by Kelly Yang is for the older end of the junior fiction spectrum - probably 10+ and is loosely based on her own experiences as a new immigrant to the States in the early 1990's. Yang wanted to tell her son about how she grew up and what it was like being an immigrant. In a letter at the front of the books she says,

I grew up in a motel. I didn't have any toys or nice clothes. My parents were struggling...and life was very, very hard for us; it was hard for everyone in our motel, from the immigrants we hid at night to the guests who stayed by the week, folks who got mistreated by the police and were stuck in the same sad cycle of poverty.

I had been searching for a way the right way to tell my son all of this, a way that didn't scare him, but inspired him....Draft after draft, I dug deeper and deeper until the shame and pain and joy of my childhood were so open and exposed, it scared me.

For such a hard won story, it reads lightly and easily. Diversity is celebrated, as is a strong sense of family and friendship. Belonging, perseverance and hard work are standards held up for admiration. Disadvantage and racism are sadly also on show and not just from the American population, Yang also subtly shows the tensions between mainland Chinese immigrants and Taiwanese Chinese.

One of my new favourites though is Louisiana's Way Home by Kate DiCamillo. Her writing is stunning as always and Louisiana is a delightful, spunky creation. Suddenly, without explanation, Louisiana is on the run with her Grandma. What follows is a journey of major self discovery as Louisiana learns some painful home truths and discovers just how strong and resilient she really is.

We all, at some point, have to decide who we want to be in this world. It is a decision we make for ourselves. 

Forgiveness, hope and courage are DiCamillo's calling cards - they shine very brightly in this tender, bittersweet story. And it wouldn't be a DiCamillo story if we didn't also learn about the kindness of (some) strangers (although don't get me started on the grandmother!)

Perhaps what matters when all is said and done is not who puts us down but who picks us up.

I'm starting to loose track of ALL the princesses-turned-monster-fighting-superheroes in The Princess in Black series by Shannon Hale but #6 and the Science Fair Scare is still full of all the fun, derring-do, go-girl attitude of the earlier stories.

It's hard NOT to be charmed by these sassy young things with their alter-ego monster-fighting persona's. But I guess at some point, I'd like to see these girls (& the dashing young Goat-Boy) come out from behind their masks and let the world see who they really are all the time.

Book 6 feels like a transition point. Everyone now seems to be 'in' on the secret and it would be nice if the girls didn't have to pretend to be pretty, prim princesses in public any more.

I love junior fiction at this time of year. It's entertaining, easy reading. But they're not always light on topic or emotional impact. These books feature BIG themes with BIG heart. They are books that can be enjoyed by adults just as much as the younger people in their lives. There is way more to junior fiction than the Wimpy Kid and Dork Diaries, and I for one, am very grateful for that!

Kitchen by Banana Yoshimoto

I've loved Japanese literature for many years now, but since visiting Japan earlier this year, my fascination and interest has exploded! Kitchen by Banana Yoshimoto popped up on several lists as a great contemporary example of Japanese literature.

Kitchen is a slim book containing two stories - Kitchen and Moonlight Shadow - both deal with death, grief, mothering and healing. Kitchen is the longer of the two and I was enchanted from page one. The language is deceptively simple and at times I worried that it was too simple. I wasn't sure if this was a translation issue or part of Yoshimoto's urban grunge charm. Except that somehow, very quickly, with no fuss or bother, Mikage's tragic tale crept into my heart and stayed. 

Yoshimoto has created two beautiful, tender tale about loss and how to move forward from it. Her writing is suffused with innocence and warmth. Although her characters experience discontent and confusion, loneliness and urban angst, ultimately there is hope and love. 

In her Preface, Yoshimoto says,

Growth and the overcoming of obstacles are inscribed on a person's soul. If I have become any better at fighting my daily battles, be they violent or quiet, I know it is only thanks to my many friends and acquaintances.

Both these stories are testimony to this belief. Friendship acts as a band aid for heartbreak. Being connected and making room for others in your life is what gets you through the tough days. For Yoshimoto's characters, this connection often occurred around the rituals of food, eating and tea drinking.

A dream-like almost mystical element imbued her work as well. Both stories have a dash of magic realism or other-worldliness, that I found to be appealing in a very Japanese way. The emotion is subtle and subdued and the cast of characters quirky and eccentric in a 1980's version of Harajuku style. I suspect that this particular version of Japanese gender fluidity might meet with some raised eyebrows by current Western thinking, however it felt culturally and historically appropriate to my burgeoning knowledge of Japanese society.

Yoshimoto said that her two main themes are 'the exhaustion of young Japanese in contemporary Japan' and 'the way in which terrible experiences shape a person’s life'.

I'm not really sure that I spotted the exhaustion of which she speaks, but there was certainly an ennui and disconnect with the more traditional values of Japanese society.

I decided to not include any quotes in this post, because when I tried, they didn't work out of context.

If you enjoy minimalist, zen-like Japanese literature, then I think this will work for you. But if Murakami, Yoko Ogawa, Hiro Arikawa or Takashi Hiraide are not your thing, they stay away from the Kitchen!

In 1987 Yoshimoto won the 6th Kaien Newcomers' Literary Prize for Kitchen. In 1988 the novel was nominated for the Mishima Yukio Prize and in 1999 it received the 39th Recommendation by the Minister of Education for Best Newcomer Artist. In 1988 she also won the 16th Izumi Kyōka Prize for Literature for the novella Moonlight Shadow, which is included in most editions of Kitchen.

First published in 1988 and translated into English by Megan Backus in 1993.

Dog Stories

I delightful batch of dog stories have turned up at work this month. I loved all three for different reasons, but my favourite of the batch was The Tales of Mr Walker by Jess Black.

Based on a true story, Mr Walker is a delightful illustrated chapter book about the Labrador Ambassador at the Park Hyatt in Melbourne.

The books is full of charming, funny and heart-warming tales. Featuring his first day in the hotel to helping out with a marriage proposal, to preparing for a charity ball, stopping a gang of thieves and entertaining a celebrity pianist. Mr Walker spreads love and happiness wherever he goes.

It's a wonderful family read aloud book or a treasure for your favourite 7 yr old to curl up with.

Royalties from the sale of this book go to Guide Dogs Victoria.

The Dog Who Lost his Bark by Eoin Colfer is a darker dog tale for a more mature reader.

When I was little, my mum had to ban me from watching Kimba the White Lion and Lassie as I used to get too upset whenever Kimba or Lassie got lost, scared or in trouble (which seemed to happen every episode!) Even now, I struggle with books or movies that feature animal violence or cruelty in any way (The Lion King makes me blubber every time).

So the first two chapters of The Dog Who Lost His Bark were very tough going for me. P. J. Lynch's sweet black and white illustrations helped me keep going though...a dog this cute and adorable had to be okay in the end surely.

Sensitive souls beware though, the first two chapters are harrowing.

However the pay off is worth the initial angst. Without giving anything away that the cover doesn't already tell you, our cute adorable dog finds a happy home AND finds a way to show his gratitude for being rescued and loved so well, when things go wrong for young Patrick.

Colfer has created a heart warming, gentle story that is perfectly complemented by Lynch's realistic drawings.

I loved it.

Good Rosie! by Kate DiCamillo is a picture book suitable for younger readers.

Rosie is a good dog, but she's also a little shy and nervous about leaving the house and playing with other dogs. The park is a bit too busy and the other dogs too noisy and active.

This is the story of how Rosie overcomes her fears and embraces new friends. Charming and delightful with some slightly odd-ball moments, Good Rosie! is a picture book designed as an early graphic novel with nine short chapters.

All three books have illustrators who have captured the movement and poses of the dogs to perfection. The dogs are portrayed in such an authentic, loving way, that it's impossible not to love them simply from their front covers. As you get to know each one via their stories, the pictures highlight their adorable little quirks and ways that make them unique.

I have spent most of my life being scared of dogs - too big, too boisterous, too many teeth. But I have always responded strongly to dog stories (as long as they don't talk! But that's another story). These three dog books celebrate a dog's life through the eyes of the dogs themselves. When the world seems like a cold, harsh, unloving place, a good dog story can save the day.

Frankenstein by Mary Shelley

Reading Frankenstein for the first time was a curious thing. We all think we know the story. At least, I thought I did. I was expecting a slock-horror story full of scary, lurking, creeping monster moments with lots of people screaming and fleeing his terrible claws. I didn't get this.

I also hadn't appreciated that it would be an example of Romantic era thinking. I'm not a huge fan of romanticism, described by wikipedia as,

an artistic, literary, musical and intellectual movement that originated in Europe toward the end of the 18th century, and in most areas was at its peak in the approximate period from 1800 to 1850. Romanticism was characterized by its emphasis on emotion and individualism as well as glorification of all the past and nature, preferring the medieval rather than the classical. It was partly a reaction to the Industrial Revolution, Rationalism and Classicism of the Enlightenment. 

I'm all for exploring character emotion and psychology, but I often feel that Romantic writers are out of touch with own their times and their story often suffers for it's lack of reality. Frankenstein was certainly a curious and unexpected mix of nostalgia, scientific advancement, individualism and gothic melodrama.

I didn't expect that the monster would learn to talk in the same cultured tones as the narrator. I didn't expect all the murder scenes to be off-page. I didn't expect that Dr Frankenstein would be so self-absorbed and so unaware and so thoughtless. His utter lack of responsibility or understanding about his role in the monsters maturation, right to the very end, was astounding.

Shelley obviously had a lot to say about absent parents in this story. I'm finding the bio on both her and her mother by Charlotte Gordon fascinating and revealing...thoughts and review to come later though.

Like Shelley, the monster just wanted to be loved and to belong. Dr Frankenstein and the wider society denied him that opportunity. His reaction can, therefore, be seen as a normal response to such an all-encompassing rejection. Except that these actions then meant that he would forever be on the outside of the regular society he desired to be in. Just like Shelley herself, perhaps?

Dr Frankenstein meddled with science without thinking through the consequences. He was after personal glory rather than thinking about the betterment of society as a whole. The individualism admired by the Romantics has negative consequences when viewed through the prism of the larger community. One man's selfish actions can have ongoing and tragic effects on the people around him.

Dr Frankenstein and his monster were two tragic cases of misunderstanding, miscommunication and lack of personal responsibility. The reader is given more than enough detail to understand how both got to the point that they got to, but you're also left with a sense of frustration by their inability to walk in the others shoes. They might follow and track each other all around Europe, but it's a physical journey not a journey of discovery or enlightenment.

I did enjoy my #Frankenfest reading experience, but it wasn't what I expected. It felt quite juvenile and self-indulgent and certainly not the horror story I was anticipating. I'm now more inclined to agree with Gremaine Greer's opinion that I noted in my Preface post (link below). Frankenstein is not a great novel, but it was a fun October read for the Classics Club #ccdare.

As noted in previous posts, I'm noticing lots of bookish references to grief and loss, that reflects my own personal journey right now. Frankenstein revealed this,

'but is it not the duty of survivors, that we refrain from augmenting their unhappiness by an appearance of immoderate grief? It is also a duty owed to yourself; for excessive sorrow prevents improvement or enjoyment, or even the discharge of daily usefulness, without which no man is fit for society.'

My Frankenstein - Preface post

Romantic Outlaws: The Extraordinary Lives of Mary Wollstonecraft and Her Daughter Mary Shelley

by Charlotte Gordon

What To Do When I'm Gone by Suzy Hopkins & Hallie Bateman

I'm glad this is a book I don't actually need right now. What To Do When I'm Gone: A Mother's Wisdom to Her Daughter is exactly what it says it is. When Hallie had one of those moments during her early twenties when she suddenly realised that one day her mum would die, she felt devastated by this future loss. She discussed it with her mum, who promptly sat down to put together a list of things to do and not do in the event of her death.

Told in diary form with graphic style illustrations, Suzy proceeds to give advice on how to handle the days after she is gone. The first 8 days contain all the stuff Suzy feels a young woman would need to get through that phone call, that first day, the funeral. We then jump days to include things like that first birthday, the first dream as well as all those times when a young woman turns to her mum for support (the break up of a relationship, having kids of her own, changing jobs, growing older, bad days etc).

It's deeply personal, heart-breaking and so, so poignant. But it is also life-affirming, positive and feels very authentic. This book is designed to help younger women cope with loss and grief, but with an end date 20 000 days later, the advice and support within these pages could help anyone who has experienced death and loss. In a nutshell, it's resilience, memories and courage that will keep you going, keep you strong and keep you safe. Nothing unusual in any of that, but having it all together in a lovely book package can help it to feel like the great, big, warm fuzzy it sets out to be.

Even if you haven't lost someone close, reading books like this can prepare you a little for that time. In the middle of your grief, pages from this book may pop back into your mind to help you get through the next bit.

Book 5 of #20BooksofSummer (Winter) Drop-in title

16℃ in Sydney but the wind chill factor made it more like 7℃

15℃ in Northern Ireland

The Child in Time by Ian McEwan

The Child in Time was my latest book club read and one of McEwan's earlier works that I had yet to read. For this particular book club gathering we agreed to extend the meeting to include a viewing of the BBC movie starring Benedict Cumberbatch and Kelly Macdonald.

I thought it might be interesting to do a before & after type post to compare the two mediums for telling this story.

I finished the book last weekend. During the week I jotted down these thoughts about McEwan's 1987 Whitbread award winning book:

My previous experiences with McEwan helped me to ride through the consistently inconsistent feelings that his books always seem to evoke in me. I find him to be such a frustrating writer - moments of utter brilliance that leave me breathless and wowed followed by rambling, self-indulgent musings about time, memory and love. Normally I love rambling musings about time, memory and love, but McEwan struggles to find the point, any point, for the reader to catch ahold of (at least this reader anyway).

The car crash in The Child in Time had all the early makings of the infamous ballooning accident in Enduring Love, but somehow the scenes featuring the loss of the child left me cold. The pacing and voice wasn't quite right - I couldn't really engage. I fully expected to feel the panic, the fear and the disbelief but instead I was kept firmly at arms length. Perhaps it was McEwan's way of showing us Stephen's way of grieving. He kept busy, searching and questioning. By trying to fix the problem, bloke-style, he kept his grief at bay, sedating it with alcohol and routines.

Meanwhile Julie allowed herself to succumb to her grief. She embraced the grieving process, chick-style, although it also had the same outcome as Stephen's way, in that they both ended up isolated and alone. The difference being that Julie chose her isolation, it was part of her plan to deal with the pain and loss she was suffering.

Stephen floundered his way towards letting go and acceptance, whereas Julie understood that this was exactly the process she was going to have to work through.

There was some weird shit going on with time that almost made this a ghost story or a time travel story or even a homage to Benjamin Button. A dream-like or perhaps nightmarish quality infused the story. Puzzled by the whole Charles and Thelma storyline though.

The links between the loss of a child with governmental child care policy and the innocence of childhood felt rather clumsy to me. As did the comparison between (bad) city life and (good) country life. In the city we saw the breakdown of transport systems, the rise of poor people wearing beggar's badges to identify them and regulate their movements and invasive technology. Politicians practised disinformation and deception on their constituencies, authoritarian ideals were becoming the norm and the weather seemed to be unpredictable. Meanwhile our characters who returned to the country were searching for an innocence and purity of old. Nature acted to comfort and solace our characters. It worked for Julie, but not, ultimately for Charles.

I have no idea what year the book was set in? It felt slightly futuristic, yet old-fashioned as well. The badges for the poor added to this uncertainty. Beggars badges were phased out of the UK a century or so ago. But they provided another example of an authoritarian government. The kind of government that peddles in disinformation & propaganda & nationalistic policy. Sounds remarkably familiar!

Was the PM gay or was the PM a woman? No name or pronouns used. Was this McEwan's political novel, having a go at Thatcherite England?

I enjoyed the happy-ish ending. I didn't need to know the sex of the baby (but I assumed it was a boy - having another girl would have been too painful. I want Stephen & Julie to be able to enjoy this baby without constantly comparing it to the one they lost).

THE FILM

So first - Cumberbatch - excellent choice for Stephen. He did that British, stiff upper lip, slightly weedy, prone to drinking too much when melancholy character so well. However, in the book, I found it hard to care for him beyond the surface empathy that his loss evoked. In the movie, Cumberbatch was able to convey so much more of Stephen's interior life via his gestures and expressions.

Extra scenes helped to connect the dot that were confusing in the book.

The film had to make some visual leaps of faith - they assumed the PM was male. They also made it clear that the new babe was a boy. The extra bits with the ghost-like boy gave the film a narrative cohesion that the book just missed.

In the film Charles refers his role in the Childcare Book as a joke book which gave me a clearer understanding of what his issues may have been. It didn't even occur to me in the book that his childhood may have been overly authoritarian and harsh, I assumed it was more of a mental illness affecting his behaviour, or perhaps I missed that bit?

The film was softer on the separation and distance between Stephen and Julie. They saw each other a number of times and had regular phone contact. In the book they were far more isolated and alone with their sorrows. The book highlighted how they had to work their own stuff out, on their own, so they could come together again at the end, stronger and more grateful. The film suggested they both just needed some space.

No car accident in the film. Why did they leave it out? Why did McEwan include it?

I felt more emotional throughout the film.

The film helped me to make more sense of the book. But the book explored the layers and themes more than the film. The film was a human drama. The book was more about ideas and politics.

The movie is well worth a watch, but pack a tissue.
The book is not my best McEwan, but it's also not my worst.

4/20 #20booksofsummer (winter)
 11℃ in the Blue Mountains
 18℃ in Northern Ireland

Kafka on the Shore by Haruki Murakami

I like to think that I have taken my 'what to read whilst travelling' choices to an inspired level of brilliance, but I really outdid myself with our recent trip to Japan. Reading Murakami in Japan now feels like the ONLY place to read Murakami!

Not only does the usual Murakami weirdness make sense when you're actually in Japan, but you also realise just how important the environment is to Murakami and his characters. His descriptions of the trees, forests, waterways and urban spaces are everywhere as you move around the country. As are the crows.

In this case, the boy named crow is a mentor to our young protagonist, Kafka Tamura, perhaps an alter ego, a Japanese Jiminy Cricket. Whatever crow is or isn't, right from word one, Murakami is flagging that symbolism, mythology and psychology will be our prime concerns in Kafka on the Shore.

In Japanese mythology, crows are seen as a sign of 'divine intervention in human affairs' (wikipedia). Western mythology tends to associate the crow with bad news or as a harbinger of death. They're selfish, spread gossip and neglect their young. And they're everywhere in Japan. They sit on telegraph wires, fence posts and roof tops. You often wake up to their cawing, even in the city.

Cats are the other creatures that dominant not only Murakami stories, but many Japanese stories, yet curiously I didn't see one single cat in three weeks, let alone a talking cat! The opposite of the crow, cats are creatures of good luck, although still often associated with death and hauntings.

Silence, I discover is something you can actually hear.

There is no denying that Murakami is on very intimate terms with kooky.

If the talking cats weren't enough, a cameo appearance by Johnny Walker and Colonel Sanders of KFC fame might tip you over the edge. A reference to the (fictional) Picnic at Hanging Rock as an example of another group loss of consciousness event caught my eye. Did Murakami know that it was an urban myth? Is that what he was implying about his own story? The sense of mystery and other-worldliness was certainly a shared atmosphere between the two stories.

I was also amazed by truck drivers who suddenly became classic music afficiandos, quiet librarians who turned out to be sex fiends and sex workers who quoted philosophers. What's not to love? The kookiness gets under my skin and into my head. Just like what happened to me with his previous books.

1Q84 is still roaming around in my head, Colourless Tsukuru less so, but it's still a memorable book experience.

Things outside you are projections of what's inside you, and what's inside you is a projection of what's outside you. So when you step into the labyrinth outside you, at the same time your stepping into the labyrinth inside. 

One of the really enjoyable aspects to reading Murakami in Japan is the place names. Suddenly they really mean something. Most of the action in Kafka takes place in Takamatsu on the island of Shikoku. 

We didn't get to Shikiko with this visit, but we did see one of the huge bridges, from a distance, that joins Shikoko to Honshu and we spent some time at the station that is the interchange for the JR line that goes to Takamatsu. Seeing the name of the city featured in my book up in lights suddenly grounded this surreal story into reality.

This is only my fourth Murakami (see my Author Challenge tab for details) so I'm not sure I can safely name all his common themes and ideas, but there are a few that I've clocked. Going into the woods/fear of getting lost, weird sex, talking creatures, dreams, random jazz references, loneliness and silence. And for me, the reader, there is an over-riding sense of bewilderment (WTF was that about?) as well as an overwhelming sense of wanting more (whatever it was a think I like it!) 

I'm caught between one void and another. I have no idea what's right, what's wrong. I don't even know what I want anymore. I'm standing alone in the middle of a horrific sandstorm. I can't move, and can't even see my fingertips.

Murakami doesn't wrap his stories up with a neat, tidy bow or resolve many of the story lines. This should be totally frustrating...and it is, but somehow you love being kept in the dark and confused at the same time. Perhaps it's the likeable characters? Or perhaps it's the not so subtle way he plays with your head? Or perhaps it is the hope that the next book he writes will bring you one step closer to understanding this maddening man and his ability to suck you into his world. 

Every one of us is losing something precious to us....Lost opportunities, lost possibilities, feelings we can never get back again. That's part of what it means to be alive. But inside our heads - at least that's how I imagine it - there's a little room where we store those memories.

Image source

Murakami likes to do the whole books in books thing. Kafka's backlist was an obvious start -The Castle, The Trial, Metamorphosis and In the Penal Colony in this case. But he also referenced The Arabian Nights, the complete works of Natsume Soseki, a book about the trial of Adolf Eichmann (I can only assume it was Hannah Arendt's Eichmann in Jerusalem), Electra by Sophocles, The Tale of the Genji and 'The Chrysanthemum Pledge' in Tales of Moonlight and Rain by Ueda Akinari.

So many tangents, so many connections, which one should I tackle next?

The Travelling Cat Chronicles by Hiro Arikawa

If I ever had any doubts about whether I was a cat person or not, The Travelling Cat Chronicles by Hiro Arikawa decided me! I defy even the most hard-hearted, adamant cat-denier to not be affected by the relationship between Nana (so named because of his tail that curled like a number 7) and his cat-loving friend Satoru.

Translated by Philip Gabriel (best known for his work translating many of Murakami's novels) this lovely, gentle story appears slight on the surface, but is actually power-packed with messages about the art of caring, love, friendship, loyalty and generosity. Not many books make me cry, but I shed a quiet tear at the end of this bittersweet story.

Arikawa makes her cats come alive. Anyone who has loved a cat of their own will instantly recognise the moods, behaviour and attitude of Nana and the other cats in this story. Not so common though, is having the cat as the narrator of the story. This gave Arikawa the freedom to indulge in all sorts of cat wisdom, that again, any cat-lover will recognise instantly.

'If you don't mourn a dead cat properly, you'll never get over it.'

'Satoru glanced at me in the passenger's seat, where I was now sitting in a tidy ball, my tail around my front legs.'

'I stretched up, placing my front paws on the passenger window, and enjoyed the passing scenery for a while, then curled up on the seat.'

'I sat up, rested my paws on the passenger-seat window and craned my neck to see out.'

'Among cats, when a female chooses a mate, it's a very clear-cut thing. Not just among cats, but with all animals, the female's judgement about love is absolute.'

'I arched my back as high as it could go and make my fur stand on end.'

'The curled-up chinchilla's tail had been twitching all this time, and it was obvious to me that what he was feeling was annoyance and irritation at the dogs' incessant chatter.'

'I purred till my throat hurt, rubbing the top of my head over and over against his body.'

Each chapter begins with a lovely black and white illustration as Satoru and Nana travel around Japan visiting Satoru's friends to see if one of them will be a good fit for Nana. We don't really know what the 'unavoidable circumstances' are that make it impossible for Satoru to continue to care for Nana, but our suspicion and concerns increase with each visit.

Most of us cat-lovers are sometimes left wondering if our beloved cats actually care for us as much as we care for them. The Travelling Cat Chronicles proves to us that yes they do!

The Battle of Waterloo the Victor Hugo Way

I can't believe that readers past and present have complained about the (lengthy) Waterloo scenes in Les Miserables!

Actually, yes I can.

Battle scenes are not for everyone. Jumping back in time and breaking the narrative flow also annoys many readers. The sudden appearance of the writer in the story can also disconcert. But this is Victor Hugo and after 3 months in his company, I've already learnt that everything has a purpose.

I first became interested in the French Revolution when I read A Tale of Two Cities in my late teens. Since then I've read loads of fiction and non-fiction about this era - from Jeannette Winterson's The Passion to some of Max Gallo's fictionalised biographies (I can't believe I jettisoned these books during one of my moves after only reading two of them! What was I thinking?)

Because I stopped reading these books before Napoleon had reached Waterloo, my memory of what happened is pretty much left to the lyrics of ABBA's song of the same name!

It's hard to know if  Napoleon was a genius or a tyrant, a gifted leader or mad. It often depended on which side of the battle lines you were on as to how you perceived him and his actions.

However there is no denying that he changed the face of Europe and the very heart of France. He will now always be one of the big names of history; one of those larger-than-life personalities whose self-belief, courage to embrace change and sense of destiny combined to radically alter the course of history. Napoleon also became another prime example of the dangers of hubris for historians, philosophers and storytellers alike. Certainly Hugo could not resist.

Hugo visited the area in 1861 so that he could write these Waterloo chapters for Les Mis. His fictional account of the battle has long been considered inaccurate, and it certainly reads as a patriotic piece full of the usual propaganda of war and nationalism. However he,

stirred French passions with his emotive prose and there is no doubt that he considered Napoleon’s downfall as a national tragedy. He also lamented the manner in which the famous soldier was defeated and thought that he had been brought down by lesser men who owed more to chance than skill, writing scathingly: ‘It is not the victory of Europe over France, it is the complete, absolute, shattering, incontestable, final, supreme triumph of mediocrity over genius.’

La Guard Recule

In honour of his literary efforts, a subscription was raised in 1911 to build a monument near the Hotel des Colonnes in Mont St Jean where he stayed in 1861. Two world wars and lack of funds stalled the progress of the monument, until 1956. It is still not finished - a French cockerel statue is meant to adorn the top of the column.

Artists have also been drawn to recreating significant moments from this battle ever since.

V2 B1 C2 - Hougomont

Hougomont. It was a fateful place, the beginning of disaster, the first obstacle encountered at Waterloo by the great tree-feller of Europe whose name was Napoleon, the first knot to resist his axe.

Defence of the Chateau de Hougoumont by the flank Company, Coldstream Guards, 1815 - Denis Dighton

V2 B1 C3 - 18 June 1815

Had it not rained in the night of 17-18 June 1815, the future of Europe would have been different. A few drops of water, more or less, were what decided Napoleon's fate.

Image source

V2 B1 C5 - The Fog of War

After the fall of La-Haie-Sainte the battle hung in the balance. This middle phase, from midday until four o'clock, is indistinctly visible, shrouded in the fog of war. We have a glimpse of huge turmoil, a kaleidoscopic picture of outmoded military trappings, busbies, sabre-belts, crossed shoulder-straps, ammunition pouches, hussars' dolmans, wrinkled riding boots, heavy fringed shakos, the black tunics of Brunswick mingled with the scarlet of England.

Windmill at Quatre Bras during the Battle of Waterloo - Carle Vernet (c.1815-36)

Once again, I found myself fascinated by the translation choices throughout the 19 Waterloo chapters.

V2 B1 C9 - The Unexpected

I begin with Denny's translation as I found it to be the most powerful & poignant translation. What do you think?

What followed was appalling. This ravine, some fifteen feet deep between sheer banks, appeared suddenly at the feet of the leading horses, which reared and attempted to pull up but were thrust forward by those coming behind, so that the horse and rider fell and slid helplessly down, to be followed by others. The column had become a projectile, and the explosive force generated for the destruction of the enemy was now its own destroyer. That hideous gulf could only be crossed when it was filled. Horses and men poured into it, pounding each other into a solid mass of flesh, and when the level of the dead and the living had risen high enough the rest of the column passed over. In this fashion a third of Dubois's brigade was lost.

Donougher

This was a moment of horror. There, directly under the horses' hoofs, twelve feet deep between the double embankment, yawned the unexpected ravine. The second line drove the first into it, and the third drove the second. The horses reared then lunged backwards, landed on their rumps, slid with all four legs in the air, unseating and flettening their riders; unable to reverse, the whole column solely a projectile, the impetus gathered to trample the English now trampling the French. The inexorable ravine could only capitulate when filled. Riders and horses rolled pell-mell into the pit, crushing each other, together forming but one flesh, and when this trench was filled with living men they were trodden underfoot and the rest were able to pass. Almost a third of Dubois's brigade fell into that abyss.

Rose

The moment was horrifying. There was the ravine, unexpected, yawning right at the horses' hooves, two fathoms deep between its twin banks. The second row pushed the first in and the third pushed the second; the horses reared, threw themselves backwards, fell on their rumps, slid with their four feet in the air, knocking off and crushing their riders, no way of turning back. The entire column was now no more than a projectile, the force gathered to crush the English crushed the French, the inexorable ravine could surrender until it was filled, riders and horses rolled into it pell-mell, grinding each other, forming one flesh in this gulf, and when the pit was full of men still alive, they marched over them and the remainder followed suit. Almost a third of Dubois's brigade toppled into this abyss.

Fall at Ohain Road - image source

The Ravine of Waterloo (1895) by Ulpiano Checa 

What a ghastly way to die!

V2 B1 C13 - Catastrophe

The shadow of a momentous justice lay over Waterloo. It was the day of destiny, when a force greater than mankind prevailed....On that day the course of mankind was altered. Waterloo was the hinge of the nineteenth century. A great man had to disappear in order that a great century might be born.

Day of Destiny - David Cartwright 

V2 B1 C14 - The Last Square

By nine o'clock that evening only one square, at the foot of the plateau of the Mont St Jean, the slope scored by the hooves of the cuirassiers, was holding out against the concentrated artillery-fire of the victorious enemy.

The Battle of Waterloo, 16–19 June 1815, the Defeat of Kellerman's Cuirassiers - Thomas Sidney Cooper

Hugo finishes the battle scenes of Waterloo late in the evening of the 18th June with V2 B1 C19 - The Battlefield at Night. He tells us that

Every army has its camp-followers and it is these that we must look, to the bat-like creatures, half-ruffian, half-servant, engendered by the twilight of war, wearers of uniform who do no fighting, malingerers, venomous cripples, sutlers riding in small carts, sometimes with their women, who steal what later they sell, beggars offering their services as guides, rogues and vagabonds of all kinds.

Corpses Interred at Hougoumont 1816 - James Rouse

As I read this section I remembered Jeannette Winterson's The Passion which featured precisely these battlefield hanger-on-er's. It came as no surprise to see which one of our previous, less savoury characters was here, after the battle, picking pockets, with self-preservation and self-serving traits already on display.

And a new name - Pontmercy.

The battlefield of Waterloo was quickly turned into an historic monument. Just as quickly, different versions, opinions and interpretations were put about. All battles are messy, ugly, brutal places full of confusion and chaos. The loss of life is horrendous. The carnage and trauma is glorified so that all that loss and misery is not for nothing. Whether its the weather, fate, god, destiny or luck, reasons are looked for, as those left behind to deal with the clean up and their grief, try to find meaning and a sense of purpose.

The Lion Mound (Butte du Lion) was created from the ruins of the battlefield near Braine-l'Alleud, Belgium. Nearby is a rotunda that contains a massive panoramic painting of the battle by Louis Dumoulin. It consists of 14 panels. Two of the episodes are shown below.

Finally Facing My Waterloo

Birthday Check In

Week 2 Catch Up

Translations

Week 1 First Impressions

#lesmisreadalong