The Turn of the Screw - Henry James

Henry James – The Turn of the Screw (1899)
Novella – 110 pages – my copy (paperback; 1998) bought for £1 from a charity bookshop in Derriford Hospital, Plymouth, late 2008
- 3 nods

The late Victorian novelist had something of a craving for tales and things that go bump in the night. The celebrated novelist Henry James was a fan of mystery, many of his books based on the ghostly and the strange, of which this – a short novella – is one of his most famous.

The Turn of the Screw is the Worm’s introduction to Henry James. The plot, in a nutshell, sees a governess caring for two children (including the eerie Miles). On spotting the ghosts of previous care-takers upon the stately home grounds, the governess tries her hardest to protect those in her care; yet her actions only serve to alienate them further away. It ends with the governess becoming ever more erratic and emotional, and upon seeking a resolution it ends with a disastrous result… but to continue babbling would mean to spoil the book’s end.

As the title suggests – the turning of the screw, ever tighter and tighter – James’ novella is one of mounting tension. In many ways, it is a psychological thriller, and one can already see a Hollywood version starring Nicole Kidman in the governess roll. Yet, despite being born in the States, James shares many viewpoints of English writers, his adopted country. The tension is real, but the drama is subtle. Furthermore, there is no exact conclusion to the tale – anathema to Hollywood audiences!

Although tension is created, one of the book’s chief failings is the constant utterances of the governess. She becomes tiring, while there is little relief for her (and the reader) other than to share her fears and secrets with the housekeeper. One of the Worm’s main gripes is in the setting out of the narrative itself: the beginning, which frames the governess’ tale as a story within a story, carries with it greater questions about the ghost story’s authority. Sadly, it is never returned to; in great contrast to James’ contemporary writers, most notably that of Joseph Conrad in his Lord Jim. An opportunity lost, perhaps, but James' novella stands and remains as an essential in the Victorian ghost-tale canon.

Dribble! - Harry Pearson

Harry Pearson – Dribble! (2007)
Sport – 280 pages – my copy (paperback; 2009) bought for £2 from The Works in Plymouth, April 2010
- 1 nod

Hailed as, and quite literally, ‘the unbelievable encyclopaedia of football’, Dribble! is the random writings of Harry Pearson. It is a spoof book on the loveable world of football (yes, a book review themed for this year’s World Cup!), referencing a whole host of jokes and lies from Mickey Mouse signing for Manchester United to imaginary players such as Keith Beast. There is even room for Bob Dylan whose song ‘I Shall Be Released’ was sung after being given a free transfer from US “soccer” team, Duluth Foot Servants.

There is no narrative – or indeed, much sense – here, other than the attempt of gaining as many laughs, from the letter A, all the way to Z. Yet there is a chief problem here: there are not many smiles to be found. Although interesting and funny at first, Dribble! fast becomes annoying and dull. As early as the letter D the Worm knew he had a long slog ahead to reach the final summit. And the final entry: ‘Zenith Readymix Biscam. Recently announced as the Official Grouting Material of Fifa World Cup 2010’. Hardly worth holding in breath for.

In many ways, the Worm admits the book was never designed for a full reading, rather a dip in and out of when the whimsy took him. However, such is the lack of excitement or laughter; such a whimsy would be near to infrequent as to be non-existent.

Ultimately, Harry Pearson’s Dribble! is pointless and a waste of time. It is the Christmas present to the uncle one sees twice a year, the book destined to hit the shelves of charity shops, or – even more fearfully – the bottom of recycling bins. If undeterred from my lone nod, I suggest you run and catch it now, while it remains in print!

A History of Histories - John Burrow

John Burrow – A History of Histories (2007)
History – 520 pages – my copy (paperback; 2009) bought for £12.99 from Waterstones in Plymouth, April 2010
- 3 nods

A historian speaks with his book publisher about his next book idea.
Historian: ‘It’s about the Romans.’
Publisher: ‘It’s been done before.’
Historian: ‘Or about the Greeks.’
Publisher: ‘Read it already.’
Historian: ‘The Normans?’
Publisher yawns, checks his watch.
Historian: ‘The Tudors?’
Publisher stands up and puts on his jacket.
Historian: ‘A history of histories?!’
Publisher is intrigued and gets out the check-book.

That historian is John Burrow, proclaimed (as the inside cover boasts) ‘one of Britain’s leading intellectual historians’. His catalogue of work hints of snootiness – sorry, intellectualism – as goes the title of ‘A Study of Victorian Social Theory’. This, A History of Histories, goes beyond one time period, one war, or one man: it is universal in the largest sense of the word.

Such a book is a big ask, from Herodotus to Eric Hobsbawn, from the Peloponnesian War to late twentieth century Micro History. Burrow tries his damned best to give us a description of the Greek historians (such as Thucydides), the Roman historians (Livy and Tacitus), Crusader and Medieval chroniclers, all the way down to the twentieth century’s peculiar strands of Marxism and increasing professionalism. Not only is the timescale immense; Burrow’s own background reading of all these historians, their works as well as their lives and times is impressive. Just glance at the bibliography and prepare to be dazzled.

But is it really the ‘tour de force’ hailed by many critics? Despite being enlightening, Burrow fails on a primary level: simple readability and lack of entertainment. Rather than being a breeze to follow, his prose is dense. The reader is given dose after dose of historian, yet they all – disappointingly – become mixed into one. Furthermore, his Western bias (admittedly, self-confessed) fails to give us a full, meaty and authoritative work. Ultimately, the scope is too wide for one historian; perhaps such a work would be better served with various articles from many pens.

A History of Histories is a book for those interested in the process and writing of history, rather than those interested in history proper. Such a market, sadly, is waning with the decrease of history students in this country. History, it appears, truly is becoming history.

So You Want To Be A Politician - Shane Greer (ed.)

Shane Greer (ed.) – So You Want To Be A Politician (2010)
Politics – 300 – my copy (paperback) bought for £14.99 from Plymouth Waterstones after the 2010 General Election
- 3 nods

The question is: well, do you want to be the next Blair, the next Brown, or God forbid, the next Bush? If such political aspirations tickle your fancy, Shane Greer’s So You Want To Be A Politician may just be the very book for you.

This book is a breezy collection of articles and essays on the goings on of the political machine; from wanting to become a councillor, to the selection process of the Labour party, campaigning, fundraising and even mastering debates. It is a faced paced book, never lagging, with each of the chapters there to inspire and not bog down the next political wannabes.

The book never takes itself too seriously; and as such, it fails to be an essential in anybody’s political kit. This is no Artists & Writers Year Book as for the budding novelist, nor the fun-filled and comprehensive Guerrilla’s Film Makers HandBook for tomorrow’s Spielbergs and Scorseses. But the book never sets it up to be such a permanent addition to the bookshelf.

The editor, Greer, has done a good job in assembling the key features of political life. More admirable is his defence of modern politics in the books’ introduction: ‘As citizens of a liberal democracy it’s all too easy for us to forget how rare and hard won the freedoms we enjoy really are…. Is our system perfect? Of course not. Are all our politicians’ paragons of virtue? Hardly. But for all our system’s flaws and our politicians’’ shortcomings, we still wake up in the morning and find that the battle to get to No. 10 is fought with words rather than weapons. That alone is something to be proud and fiercely protective of’ (p.5-6).

Okay, please forget becoming the next Blair or Bush. But how about the next Mandela, the next Lincoln or – in a contemporary setting - the next Caroline Lucas. This book is a lively introduction into such a world. Just please, for the Worm’s voting principles, make your choice the right one.

Wuthering Heights - Emily Bronte

Emily Bronte – Wuthering Heights (1847)
Novel – 290 pages – my copy (paperback; 1975) bought for 1.20 from one of the many charity shops in Liskeard, late 2008
- 5 nods

Ever heard the one about the reader who picks up a much hailed classic of a novel, to trawl through its musty, dusty pages, only to find it hard to read and bored to the point of tears. The ending to this story sees the book being packaged into a box headed for the nearest charity shop; only ten pages in and never to be opened again.

It is a story often repeated. And when I bought this book three years ago my intention was to finish off where I left off two years earlier sometime in 2006. Again, I made no headway. A problem with Wuthering Heights was the heavy imagery I carried with me: there were TV adaptations of the dashing and dark Heathcliff, there was the cold moor imagery of "up, that there North"; and, of course, there was Kate Bush’s ‘Cathy, I’ve come here, I’ve come home, oh oh oh, open up your window-oh!’.

But allow me to put the record straight here. This is a classic to be read and devoured. Sure, on the surface it has the feel of a BBC costume drama in-waiting; however, the dark undertones make this a psychological page turner. Not so much a love story, but rather an anti-love story. There is passion, there is death, there are lies and there is redemption.

The characters are strong and colourful throughout, from the housekeeper Nelly to Isabella Linton. Although one of the chief narrators, Mr Lockwood, is pale in comparison, the novel’s narrative techniques keep the book alive; the reader always asking how and why. Most of which questions revolve around the enigma that is trapped inside a riddle himself: Heathcliff. Brooding, dark and mysterious; yet not the typical male love interest. He is vengeful, mean and deadly dangerous. His eventual downfall is debatable; is it the rights cancelling the wrongs? Or rather Bronte’s submission to the happy ending cliché?

Yet disregarding this, Wuthering Heights is a stunning achievement. Without wanting to add my applause to the history of patronising comments, it is all the more remarkable coming from the pen of an insular female, rather than a person of world experience. The Brontes are everywhere celebrated, but let’s make this clear: Wuthering Heights is far inferior to the likes of the stuffy Jane Eyre or any of sister Anne's attempts. A Queen among greats; indeed, buy, beg or borrow a copy today.