At Home - Bill Bryson

Bill Bryson – At Home - A Short History of Private Life (2010)
History – 490 pages – my copy (hardback, 2010) signed by the mighty Bill Bryson himself in May, 2010
-3 nods

There is a back-story to the reading of this book. If the Worm may indulge his readership, he is eager to tell it:

It begins one sunny May day. The Worm ventured from deepest Devon to the town of Bath. There in the Topping & Co bookshop, the same very Mr Bryson was sitting signing books. One such lucky book was this copy of At Home. A treat indeed, for the Bryson adoring Worm.

At Home is a run through each of the room’s of Bryson’s Norfolk house, asking the questions of why we do just what we do (for instance, why the key condiments of salt and pepper, and not salt or cinnamon?). The author takes his home as the book’s basic structure as we, the reader, fly through centuries of history.

At first lovingly devoured, the first new release for years since The Thunderbolt Kid (the Shakespeare biography to be quickly forgotten), the Worm was ready for this read. Unfortunately, the book itself failed to live up to the adventure of the signature.

Yes, there are the usual hallmarks of Bryson: vast and interesting digressions, humour and wit, an unending fondness for small facts and an ever willing need to learn more about the world. But throughout many points in At Home the digression lingers into sterility and the wit vanishes. Yes, the small facts remain – however, the book takes the appearance of a series of cut and pasted Wikipedia articles.

Want to learn about the Eiffel tower? About the nouvel riches of powerful American families? Of, indeed, much beside private life – the very driving point of this book! Then this offering is for you. However, for those still in search of our private lives, we must search on.

Thankfully, Bryson warms up after two hundred pages. Yet the final assessment must be made that it is much too long – 490 pages! – and much too pointless. Where is the Bryson of former times, of the man who brought us The Short History of Nearly Everything? It raises a few questions: has Bryson gone off the boil? Or has the Worm lost his love for the bearded bard?

But a glimpse upon the row of Bryson's titles upon the "Bryson-Shelf" convinces the Worm that love is not lost. Too many jokes, too many adventures. Time can heal all wounds.

The Worm's Yearly Review 2009-2010

It was the best of books; it was the worst of books.

The Worm’s mission of devouring one hundred books fell a little short. After keeping up the pace until Christmas 2009, the Worm slackened in the New Year (blast gainful employment!). Yet the final figure – a handsome and rounded sixty-eight – was one full of many beauties, many fantastical reads, and, as always, the novelty and pointless.

First to the Worm’s top ten of 2009-2010:

1. Berlin Diary (1941) – William Shirer
The diary gives anyone with an interest in Hitler and Nazism a refreshing viewpoint. Based upon Shirer’s entries whilst in the German capital during 1930s, the author keeps his reader firmly entertained throughout. Unique and gripping. 5 nods.

2. Lord Jim (1900) – Joseph Conrad
Acclaimed as one of the prime writers in the English language, Lord Jim is arguably his finest achievement. A real heavyweight of literature. 5 nods.

3. Rights of Man (1792) – Thomas Paine
Required reading for anyone who seriously wishes to discuss liberty and all things political. An easy and accessible read. Paine remains a true legend. 5 nods.

4. The American Future (2008) – Simon Schama
The only “modern” 5 nodder the Worm read in the past year. Schama is rightfully known as a leading historian: opposite his analytical prowess is a talent to entertain. 5 nods.

5. Wuthering Heights (1847) – Emily Bronte
A true English classic. Victorian literature is known for its priggishness and clichéd love stories; but this Bronte does not fail to deliver a mesmerising and devastating tale. 5 nods.

6. The Annals of Imperial Rome (ed. 1956) – Tacitus
A history passed down hundreds upon hundreds of years. Tacitus’s observations remain valid to those in power today. 5 nods.

7. Macbeth (1606) – William Shakespeare
Shakespeare for the fast and furious: blood and gore and general overall madness. 4 nods.

8. The Selfish Gene (1976) – Richard Dawkins
Thought provoking prose from the equally heralded and despised Dawkins. Is chief failing is Dawkins overall storytelling. 4 nods.

9. War & Peace (1869) – Leo Tolstoy
Thrilling and gripping. But, of course, much too long. 4 nods.

10. Ghost Train to the Eastern Star (2008) – Paul Theroux
Theroux is the perfect travel companion. Take this journey with him across Europe and Asia. 4 nods.
Six genuine 5 nodders; unfortunately, a few other reads fell a little short. If these are the good, then the bad and distinctly ugly compete for the Worm’s Shredder Award. Entrants include the 1 nodders Great Political Eccentrics (1999) by disgraced former Tory MP Neil Hamilton, Ben Elton’s Popcorn (1996), Matt Forbeck’s fantasy novel Blood Bowl (2006), and Dribble (2007) by Harry Pearson. After much debating, the ultimate loser – or winner – goes to Matt Forbeck’s crazy and truly awful Blood Bowl (2006). I defended the novel in my review last year due to personal and long standing ties to the game – yet not even the Worm can save it from the shredder.

Apologies are sent out to Richard Dawkins’ God Delusion (2006), Bret Easton Ellis’ Less Than Zero (1985), and Walter Allen’s The English Novel (1954). All were marked severely by a scolding Worm; and subsequent nagging doubt has raised their final grades by a nod.

Whilst special mentions go out to Bill Bryson and the historian Niall Ferguson. Both kept the Worm’s eyes warm on many a night this past year, each contributing three books to the final number of sixty eight (Bryson: Mother Tongue, African Diary, Down Under; Ferguson: The War of the World, Empire, Virtual History). If these constituted personal favourites, there are many authors who will never be revisited, such as the dull D.J. Bercuson & H.H. Herwig, as well as the previously mentioned 1 nodders.

A total of 21,860 pages were read and fingered, resulting in an average of 321 page book average, ranging from Bryson’s small African Diary (60 pages) to Tolstoy’s door-stopper War & Peace (1,300 pages). 5 nodders constituted nine percent of the 68 books; 4 nodders twenty-seven percent; 3 nodders being the largest on thirty-seven percent; many 2 nodders on twenty-six percent; whilst 1 nodders, thankfully, remained on a low six percent. Works of fiction dominated the Worms’ reading: from novels to short stories. Equally high upon the list were history books, from the Roman Empire to Plymothian fascists. Further favourites were politics and travel; whilst science related reads were boosted by Paul Strathern’s accessible reads.

2009-2010 is now over. A vintage year of reading; but yet the show must go on. The Worm is not yet dead – Long live the Worm!

Full awards:
Book of the Year: Berlin Diary (1941) by William Shirer
Recommended Fiction Read: Lord Jim (1900) by Joseph Conrad
Recommended History Read: American Future (2008) by Simon Schama
Recommended Science Related Read: The Selfish Gene (1976) by Richard Dawkins
Recommended Travel Read: Ghost Train to the Eastern Star (2006) by Paul Theroux
Recommended Autobiographical Read: All Because of Him (1995) by Klara Anderson
Recommended Political Read: Rights of Man (1792) by Thomas Paine
Longest Book Award: War & Peace (1869) by Leo Tolstoy
Shortest Book Award: African Diary (1998) by Bill Bryson
Shredder Award: Blood Bowl (2006) by Matt Forbeck

The Blair Years - Alistair Campbell

Alistair Campbell – The Blair Years (2007)
Politics – 750 pages – my copy (paperback;
- 2 nods

Since the fall-out of this year’s General Election and the resulting decline of New Labour, a plethora of political diaries have hit the shelves. Yes, their Westminster careers may be other, but there is still plenty of money to sweep up in all good bookstores everywhere. With Mandleson’s book doing its best at heightening tension in those in the Labour camp, Campbell’s own The Blair Years is a comparatively lame affair. Written before the end of New Labour, it is lightweight against today’s heavyweight of revelations. Indeed, Campbell himself is bringing out a hard-hitting and clawed version of his diaries to keep at bay the hunger of today’s demand.

So, what is Campbell’s book worth now in the political climate of 2010? It remains an interesting look into charting the rise of New Labour: from the opposition benches of the mid-nineties, to the euphoria of the 1997 landslide win, towards the notable decline and, yes, of course, the Iraq war (Legal? Illegal? The debate drags on…). The Blair Years succeeds in the detailing of Campbell’s close relationship with Tony Blair. We get a picture of Blair seldom seen in public or press: nervous, indecisive and worrying of the future.

But these extracts don’t dish out the dirt as future editions might be expected. Sure, there are attacks on various former cabinet ministers – such as Clare Short – but the targets are notably lightweight. Only rumblings on the ruptures between Brown and Blair, between Brown and Mandleson, between Brown and, well, everybody. Their soap-opera entanglements are of course second to the real nitty gritty of actual politics, yet we, the public, still bang the drum for more revelations.

Most of the pages note Campbell’s constant frustration and tiring of the job of propping up Blair and Co. A month doesn’t go by when he writes of his pending resignation. He refutes the accusation of Chief Spin Doctor, successfully detailing his side of events and his unwilling involvement in many media stories. But amongst this are cringing appraisals of Campbell’s work-rate, compliments mentioned from Bill Clinton, from Mrs Clinton, from Clinton’s aides and on and on and on.

Political diaries of the past prove of use for future evaluations of periods, the rock-bed of many a historian’s study. It would be stretching the truth to suggest The Blair Years will provide such a role; in appears condemned to be the poorer sibling of the more juicy out-pourings of Mandleson and the remainder of the New Labour cronies. O pity the poor historian.

Macbeth - William Shakespeare

William Shakespeare – Macbeth (1606)
Play – 200 pages – my copy (hardback; 1993) still kept from the Worm’s school days.
- 4 nods

4 nods? Why not the full 5! This is William Shakespeare, after all. For many years the Worm has resisted the need to relentlessly handclap Bill’s many successes. Yet the countless adaptations of Shakespeare’s plays – on stage, on television, on film, etc, etc, etc – clearly show how his work remains relevant. There are reboots and there are teen comedy translations; the reason why? Because these stories clearly delight.

Macbeth – otherwise called The Tragedy of Macbeth, or more commonly known with actors as ‘The Scottish Play’ – is an oddity in Shakespeare’s canon for being rather short. It is a play bristling with action, charting Macbeth’s dirty ambition to become ruler of Scotland. Nothing stands in his way, not mere men, not mere friends, nor even mere kings!

Of course, everyone knows the plot and its outcome. After butchering all who stand in his way, Macbeth himself is slain. It is a tragedy, with questions arising on free will and predestination. It is to the witches in which Macbeth’s ambition is born, turning a humble servant of King Duncan into his murderer.

The majority of characters remain simple vessels for the movement of story – such as the ill fated Duncan himself. But if the cast of Macbeth fail to scale the heights of Hamlet et al, the Macbeths themselves are enough to sustain the reader and audience member. Macbeth becomes rampant, whilst his wife – she who requested to become un-sexed – ends deluded: ‘Here’s the small of the blood still: all the perfumes of Arabia will not sweeten this little hand. Oh, oh, oh!’

The play ends and justice is restored. Yet perhaps the Stuart audience of the day misread the natural balance; two of King James’ successors would be disposed! Macbeth remains popular with the action fans of the theatre – and long may the handclapping continue.

The Wild Palms - William Faulkner

William Faulkner – The Wild Palms (1939)
Novel – 240 pages – my copy (paperback; 1991) bought for £2.50 from the Beardie’s Bookstore on Plymouth Barbican, summer of 2009
- 2 nods

Mr Faulkner is widely regarded as one of the great novelists of American fiction. He penned some of the Worm’s personal favourite books, such as As I Lay Dying and the majestic The Sound and The Fury. The late 1920s and 1930s were a time of dazzling creativity for Faulkner; but what of his later novels, such as The Wild Palms, coming in the year when Hitler decided to cause havoc across Europe?

The Wild Palms most striking feature is that it perhaps isn’t a novel at all, but rather two novellas cut up and pieced together. The two stories are Wild Palms, in which a couple decide to forsake their carved out lives in the hope of living – to borrow the book’s blurb – ‘life on their own terms.’ The second story, Old Man, finds an escaped convict who cannot adjust to the outside world, having been incarcerated for so long.

To be quite blunt, neither story is exceptional. Whereas Faulkner’s earlier novels stunned, The Wild Palms merely plods along. Why the break up of two stories? Despite some critical attempts at constructing a single idea – ‘All are prisoners, if only of themselves’ – there is nothing unifying other than they both came from Faulkner’s hand. A different story could take the place of Old Man and the book would be no better nor worse for it.

Of the two, Wild Palms is the better story. It has movement, it has characters and it has thought. However, at no point do the likes of Harry or Charlotte grab the reader in the same ways that the likes of Caddy or Jason do from The Sound and The Fury. Here, the speech is contrived; the settings too similar of Hollywood; Faulkner, the once daring novelist, now tamed by the riches of screen-writing.

Like all great writers, Faulkner appears to have his faults, too. The Wild Palms is not an especially bad novel; but it is one that does not stand up to the heavyweight heights of its other succesful siblings.

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.