My three memoir companion pieces are Viv Albertine’s Clothes, Music, Boys, Laura Sage’s Bad Blood and Maggie O’Farrell’s I am, I am, I am.
O’Farrell’s memoir is subtitled ‘seventeen brushes with death’ and in capturing her life through these numerous incidents, from muggings in Chile to her daughter’s life threatening allergies ( I was particularly moved by her essay on childbirth) she highlights the fragility of life, in particularly, a woman’s life.
My lovely friend Fran suggested Viv Albertine’s memoir for a book group. I approached Clothes, Music, Boys with caution as I didn’t know Albertine as The Slits‘ guitarist. In fact, I didn’t know The Slits. The book was a revelation and easily the best book I read that year. Albertine is fierce and forthright, revealing both the harrowing and humiliating. Not just from her early life in NW London and the violence she attracted in the British Punk scene, but also in her relationship with Mick Jones, the agonising failure of her marriage, her multiple IVF attempts and, where she is most caustic, her acting relationship with Liam Gillick. But strangely it is not a bleak book – her steering honesty jolts and awakens the reader. Plus, there is joy in her rediscovery of her musical voice.
This book may have started a mini publishing trend (Tracy Thorn’s Bedsit Disco Queen and Brix Smith’s The Rise, The Fall and The Rise were two others I read at the time) but Clothes, Music, Boys is in a league of its own.
And while this memoir is a complete pleasure in isolation, it can also take you on a culture trail, from The Slits to The Vermillion Border and on to Joanna Hogg’s film Exhibition.
Finally, Lorna Sage’s Bad Blood, which I read it over 15 years ago but stays with me.
I’ve heard Bad Blood recommended twice on A Good Read so I can vouch that it’s definitely a book that divides opinion. Sage is dark and judgemental. She tells the story of how she grew up with her estranged grandparents in their filthy vicarage, while her god-less philandering grandfather recorded his sexual conquests, including one of Sage’s teenage friends. Sage herself, pregnant as a teenager, worked hard to escape rural life and moves away to university. Yes, Sage is dark and judgemental, but this is an exquisitely written autobiography.
A few other great memoirs
Pulitzer Prize winning Personal History by Katherine Graham.
Why Be Happy When You Could Be Good by Jeanette Winterson.
My Life in France by Julia Child
I remember nothing and other reflections by Nora Ephron
Hons & Rebels by Jessica Mitford
Love Nina – dispatches from teenage life by Nina Stibbe
Once We We’re Sister by Shiela Koehler
But You Did Not Come Back by Marceline Loridan-Ivens
Wishful Drinking by Carrie Fisher
Find out more about Viv Albertine and women in punk
Here are my three companion pieces that I went away from invigorated.
First, Kurt Vonnegut’s If This Isn’t Nice, What Is? It is a slim collection of his speeches at school and university graduations. At the heart is the premise, adopted from his Uncle, that when life is good one must pause and say ‘if this isn’t nice, what is?’ It is a mantra that I have adopted and repeat to my son on holidays, on days when the air is crisp and the sky is blue, and when we are all tucked up together reading in bed. This phrase is an antidote to my pessimism and fits his natural zest for life.
I was prompted to read Vonnegut’s speeches by this letter to the US government, regarding his son’s consciousness objector status during the Vietnam War, ‘There’s no hope in war‘. I can only aspire to be this articulate, thoughtful and brave in my parenthood.
Next, Sam Philips’ Everywoman. Sam Phillips celebrates women. Her tone is upbeat, her anecdotes raw, real and often funny and she clearly aims to inspire. She’s beckoning to the women behind her to follow her lead. ‘If I can do this then so can you’, she practically yells from the page.
Each chapter is Phillips’ ‘truth’ on a theme – violence, equality, sisterhood, motherhood etc. – and her chapter ‘The Truth About Trolling’ is a great first person contribution to ‘The internet is a bad bad thing‘ .
I think every woman would go away from this book heartened.
My final recommendation is My Life in France by Julia Child. Her zeal for life is astounding and jumps from the page. She had me wanting to skip over to Paris to learn to cook at Le Cordon Bleu. But it’s not really about cooking or celebrity, it’s a book about love, partnership, passion and playing the cards that life deals you well.
My husband drunkenly ponders and lists the eight songs he would choose for Desert Island Discs (Pixies, Bowie, Can, Dylan blar, blar, blar…). ‘You are spoilt!’, I cry. ‘When I’m on A Good Read with Harriet Gilbert, I can only choose one book.’ ONE BOOK. The impossibility of such a task.
So in my ongoing quest to select the perfect good read for a show I will never be invited to appear on, here is my current short-list* of three:
The Book of Daniel by E.L. Doctorow. If I have to commit to my favourite novel, this is it.
The Girls’ Guide to Hunting & Fishing by Melissa Bank. This book is simply pitch perfect. Every sentence so beautifully wrought. Every vignette delightful.
NEW ENTRY! Clothes, Music, Boys by Viv Albertine. By turns hilarious and harrowing, it’s a searingly honest memoir from the guitarist of British punk band ‘The Slits’.
A single selection will be made when the producer calls…
*One of my rules is it can’t be a book already recommended on the programme, which rules out a couple of favourites – The Hours by Michael Cunningham and Hangover Square by Patrick Hamilton.
BREAKING NEWS: Disaster – Hadley Freeman chose The Girls’ Guide To Hunting And Fishing on A Good Read this week, so I’ve had to drop it from my list… But she loves it as much as I do, so all ends well.
I rediscovered Good Evening, Mrs Craven just before Christmas, and through happenstance was given Jan Struther’s Mrs Miniver not once, but twice for Christmas. The two are perfect bedfellows and now I only need to cast my mind about to find a third companion piece.
Mrs Miniver is a series of vignettes from the point of view of our eponymous heroine as she transitions from peace time into war, culminating in her writing her ‘1939 Christmas List’. Taken as a whole the novel is a celebration of life reported through the minutia of the everyday experience, from the fireworks at ‘Guy Fawkes’ Day’ to ‘London in August’. Mrs Miniver’s ‘delight in noticing things’ can be profoundly moving as Panter-Downes creates an intimate tapestry of personal moments that make up a ‘lucky’ life, which becomes all the more precious as time passes and war looms.
“And when the first rocket went up Mrs Miniver felt the customary pricking in her throat and knew once again that the enchantment was going to work. Some things – conjurers ventriloquists, pantomimes – she enjoyed vicariously by watching the children’s enjoyment: but fireworks had for her a direct and magical appeal. Their attraction was more complex than that of any other form of art. They had pattern and sequence, colour and sound, brilliance and mobility; they had suspense, surprise, and a faint hint of danger; above all, they had the supreme quality of transience which puts the keenest edge on beauty and makes it touch some spring in the heart which more enduring excellences cannot reach.”
As war then becomes a daily reality – queuing for gas masks, barrage balloons appearing over London and rehoming evacuees – Mrs Miniver expresses her hopes that some what she witnesses will become permanently embedded in London society.
I can think of a hundred ways in which the war has bought us to our senses. But it oughtn’t to need a war to make a nation… carry rear-lamps on its bicycles, and give all its slum children a holiday in the country. And it oughtn’t need a war to make us talk to each other in buses, and invent our own amusements in the evening, and live simply, and eat sparingly, and recover the use of our legs, and get up early enough to see the sun rise. However, it has needed one; which is about the severest criticism our civilisation could have.
I wonder whether it is too much to hope that afterwards, when all the horror is over, we shall be able to conjure up again the feelings of these first few weeks, and somehow build our peace-time world so as to preserve everything of war that is worth preserving?
You might think it wartime propaganda, but I believe that much of Struther’s writing is astute and illuminating, and this book deserves a wider readership today.
Banter-Downes captures so many facets of the war-time experience. She is a shrewd and witty writer and her short stories are varied, insightful and, by turn, funny and moving. In ‘Combined Operations’, the Butlers flee their friends and hosts, the Parsons, to head back to Blitz-hit London to the delight of all parties (the horror of unwanted guests is a recurrent theme in the stories, and even in Mrs Miniver her friend Lady J. insists on staying in London to avoid being a nuisance to her ‘awful’ son-in-law and ‘dreadfully country’ daughter). Pacifist Don Merril joins the army, not through heroism, but an urgency to eat and is thereafter forever alienated from his previous bohemian existence (Fin De Siegle). Ruth is broken, not by her husband initially shipping out, but by his almost immediate return and the strain of knowing they must part again (‘Goodbye, My Love’). A mistress must cautiously call her lover’s wife to determine if he is dead or if she has simply been discarded (‘Good Evening, Mrs Craven’)
This collection also gives a nod to her war time journalism for The New Yorker, which you can find collected in London War Notes 1939 – 1945. If you haven’t heard of or read any Mollie Panter-Downes, I do recommend starting with Good Evening, Mrs Craven, it is wonderful.
Casting my mind about for other great women writers of the period, I instead became fixated on Miss Roach from Patrick Hamilton’s The Slaves of Solitude. I will confess my love of Patrick Hamilton. I think Hangover Square is one of the finest novels of the twentieth century. And Kathy Burke thinks its a smasher too. Also, Hangover Square has the greatest last line in all of literature, but no spoilers here. So back to The Slaves of Solitude or ‘Hamilton’s greatest novel’ as my husband wrongheadedly claims. What makes The Slaves of Solitude a companion piece to Good Evening, Mrs Craven, and even Mrs Miniver, is Hamilton’s depiction of the bleaker side of London life during the war. Hamilton’s heroine Miss Roach is reminiscent of Miss Birch in Panter-Downes’ short story ‘It’s The Reaction’ where a lonely spinster rallies but fails to reconnect with her neighbours following the previously enforced intimacy of the air-raid shelter: “It was going to be another nice quiet evening after all, she thought hopelessly”.
In The Slaves of Solitude Miss Roach escapes the Blitz to lodge in a suburban guest house, which, like the novel, is dominated by the tyrant Mr Thwaites. After the lonely Miss Roach strikes up a romance with American GI Lieutenant Pike, her friend Vicki Kugelman becomes her love rival and Thwaites’ pitiless collaborator. Like many of Hamilton’s novels, the base cruelty of key characters, combined with the overall sense of Miss Roach’s isolation and helplessness, means it is at times an anxious and almost tortuous read. However, whilst bleak, the writing is terse and brilliant and the characterisation strong. The novel is also made more bearable by its satisfying denouement. Don’t let me put you off with ‘torturous’, it is a book that rewards more with every reading.
Beyond their London wartime setting, while the tone and class-focus differs, for me these three works are connected through a sense of immediacy, authenticity, eye for detail, and wit. There is a sense of reportage in much of the writing that, if sometimes bleak, is revealing of the multifaceted reality of London life leading up to and during the Second World War. And, as always in Companion Pieces, all three are the work of great writers.
Does every reader go through a Mitford phase? There is a heady combination of ‘upper classishness’, political extremism, rebellion and style in their lives and writing. Unity is in love with Hitler, Diana marries Oswald Mosley, leader of the British Union of Fascists, and Jessica is off with her young lover to fight the fascists in Spain – and look, there on the side, it’s the beautiful Jessica writing her brilliant novels.
If you haven’t yet had your Mitford phase, then here are three Mitford recommendations from me: The Mitford Girls by Mary S. Lovell, Hons & Rebels by Jessica Mitford and Wigs on the Green by Nancy Mitford.
Lovell’s The Mitford’s Girls is a definitive biography of all the sisters and is particularly good on the impact of the arrival of the Second World War on the sisters. Jessica ‘Decca’ Mitfords’ Hons & Rebels is autobiography, a brilliant companion piece to The Mitford’s Girls. She tells of how the sisters came to diverge politically, her self-taught socialism and talks very movingly of her complicated relationship with Unity. What also shines from Hons & Rebels is Decca’s adoration of Esmond, her young husband.
Even our best friends…. had for us an almost two-dimensional quality, for more and more we only really minded about each other. Perhaps most young lovers share in common to some degree this feeling of oneness, of having “eyes only for each other”; certainly literature of all countries and ages in full of such references. In our case, we had more reason than most to feel bound to one another in a way that excluded people around us. Estrangement for our families, the circumstances of our marriage, our constant wanderings about, the death of a baby, all had conspired to wed us into a self-sufficient unit, a conspiracy of two against the world.
The only area of my life which I could not share with Esmond was my attachment to Boud [Unity]. Perversely, and although I hated everything she stood for, she was easily my favourite sister, which was something I could never have admitted in those days, above all to Esmond.
From Hons & Rebels by Jessica Mitford (p209)
I cherish The Pursuit of Love and Love In A Cold Climate, but I have chosen Nancy Mitford’s Wigs on the Green for the final novel in this trio of books on a Mitford theme. Wigs on the Green is a merciless satire, telling the story of the rich and aristocratic Eugenia Malians and her ardent support of Captain Jack and the Union Jackshirts. Based on her sisters’ Unity and Diana’s admiration of Fascism, and Diana’s relationship and marriage to Oswald Mosley, the book (understandably!) caused a rift between the sisters and was out of print for many years as a consequence.
So with a focus on their politics, my three companion pieces on the Mitford theme:
The Mitford’s Girls – Mary S. Lovell
Wigs on the Green – Nancy Mitford
Hons & Rebels – Jessica Mitford
Why do a keep on buying books of letters? Last week I bought the Letters of Sylvia Plath inspired by a reading at the Southbank Centre. It is a very large book. The letters are brilliant. I will never read them. Same with The Mitfords – Letters Between Six Sisters, edited by Charlotte Mosley. I own it. It might be really good. I will never know…
I am addicted to BBC Radio 4’s A Good Read. I listen to Harriet Gilbert and guests in back to back episodes, pausing on my commute or interrupting my weekend potter to note down a particular novel, memoir or anthology. My bedside table strains under the weight of recommended reads.
One of Harriet Gilbert’s good reads was Susan Hill’s Howards End is on the Landing. It might feel a little circular (A Good Read recommends a book from an author reading and recommending other authors) but it got me thinking about the three books that have inspired me to read more widely, which were also a good read in their own right.
For me the hero of the piece is Nick Hornby’s The Polysyllabic Spree. It’s the first in a series of anthologies of his writing (and reading) for Believer magazine. There is only one book in the series where it feels like he has wearied of the venture, but even then I enjoyed his exasperation at spending so much time recommending books when he could be writing ‘real’ literature. Sadly, I can’t remember which one, and I’m not willing to reread them all to identify the ‘bad’ one. Anyway, its not The Polysyllabic Spree or Shakespeare Wrote for Money so tuck into those two. Hornby’s reading is hugely varied and he (generally) only writes about books he has enjoyed so it’s a pleasure to enter his reading world.
Susan’s Hill’s Howard’s End is on the Landing is more memoir. She spends a year reading only the books found in her home and ruminates on her literary influences and preferences. Of the three books it was from Hill’s memoir that I personally discovered the most new authors as her choices were, on the whole, slightly more obscure works. Hill recently followed up this memoir with Jacob’s Room is Full of Books, which is more a diary of scattered bookish thoughts than memoir.
And if you think it’s a cheat that two of my three book recommendation companion pieces come from Nick Hornsby, then you should replace one with Andy Miller’s A Year of Reading Dangerously. The book title is still a complete mystery to me, but similar to Hill, Miller set himself a reading challenge for one year. His focus is on how reading the great novels from his ‘List of Betterment’ can bring wonder into his dreary life. Both books end with a definitive list of books to read in a year (or a lifetime).
The key difference is that while Susan Hill is firmly ensconced in the literary world and her memoir is full of sketches and anecdotes of literary figures, Miller’s challenge relates more to mastering the classics and creating a reading habit. Funny and inspiring, I’ve just added Miller’s book back to my bedside pile to read again soon.
And do these books work? Yes. Here are the books I can remember reading based on Hill, Hornby and Miller’s recommendations:
A Writer’s Diary – Virginia Woolf
The Blue Flower – Penelope Fitzgerald
The Wrector’s Daughter – F. M. Mayer
Skellig – David Almond
The Rights of the Reader – Daniel Penance
Poppy Shakespeare – Clare Allen
The Diary of a Nobody – George & Wheedon Grossmith
All brilliant, immensely readable books in their own right,Dave Eggers’ The Circle, Jon Ronson’s So You’ve Been Publicly Shamed andJarett Kobek’s I Hate The Internet combine to make a powerful trio that unpick the negative impact of the internet on our lives.”
The public shaming of Kobek’s fictional Ellen Flitcraft and the real life shaming of the likes of Lindsey Stone and Justine Sacco in Ronsen’s Shamed most clearly connect the books. Kobek builds on Ronsen’s exposé of the tyranny of Twitter, where our fleeting, collective outrage has the ability to wreak lives, in his dissection of the impact of unregulated capitalism on the internet – with social media organisations invested in enabling vile online abuse in order to monetise ‘heated debate’ through advertising.
Hatred towards women, corporate theft of intellectual property, the uber-gentrification and subsequent ethnic cleansing of San Francisco; Kobek’s writing virtually vibrates with rage. I Hate The Internet has been compared to Kurt Vonnegut’s writing. That’s a lazy review as it is no Slaughterhouse5, but it’s a great satirical diatribe on the modern internet-enabled age. Kobe’s repeatedly calls it a ‘bad novel’ but it is a joy to read.
And finally to Eggers’ The Circle where, in a hyper-connected, dystopian near-future, we have our heroine, Mae Holland, live streaming her life to the world. Mae works for an internet conglomerate (think Google buying Facebook and Microsoft) which promotes dictums such as ‘Privacy is theft’ and ‘Secrets are lies’ as it seeks to control the population through a form of relentless transparency that signals the end of personal privacy.
The Circle is at its best, for me, when Eggers skewers the insidious, all consuming nature of social media as he shows Mae’s struggle to maintain her social network in an increasingly futile yet addictive flurry of ‘smiles’ and ‘zings’. If you haven’t read the The Circle, it is the perfect companion piece to the Black Mirror episode Nosedive (S3:E1 on Netflix).
Did I miss the point of this literary triptych on the encroaching horror of social media when I tweeted my 140 character review of I Hate The Internet? Of course I did. But someone might have ‘liked’ it (me).
P.s. if you are ever publicly shamed then Max Mosley is your go-to man.