July ‘book to look forward to’: Live a Little. Howard Jacobson (Cape). Kindle edition. £9.99

The brief description added on the Literary Review Calendar of ‘books to look forward to’ for MONTH 2019 said:

‘A funny, provocative novel about falling in love at the very end of your life, from the Man Booker winner’.

I hadn’t noticed the ‘very end of your life’ in the Guardian Literary Review description of this book.  I expected it to be about people in later life falling in love and for me, I guess, later life equated to 60’s or 70’s so it was a particular delight to find that our main characters are, unusually in fiction and even less so in love stories, nonagenarians and this is so much more than a simple love story. 

Alex Clark posted an interesting and story detailed (so some spoiler potential) review of the book which can be found here

With the exception of mention of finding the book to be an occasionally difficult read (as I did), the summary of Clarks review draws attention to key points to note about the book – the urgency and bleakness, the humour and style, the tenderness and thought provoking narrative and as I couldn’t agree more or have put it better myself there is no point in trying to and I recommend a trip over to his lovely review.

Why do I always imagine ‘older’ as only very slightly older than myself?

Reading this quite lovely book made me think about why I imagined ‘older’ as slightly older than myself, and why initially, before I had even read a word of it my enthusiasm for it was a little dulled precisely because it was about older people.  Was that just ageism on my part or something else?  Was it, as Ashton Applewhite argues in her TED Talk have origins in my own fear of my future self?  Was I afraid of the possibilities/probabilities of older age (some of them already manifest) such as body degeneration, loss of people and faculties, significant lifestyle changes and poor care?

Books create a magically open window through which to see the world a little differently and maybe affirm or change our held views. We learn and develop through virtually everything we read and plough this learning back into our engagement with the world. There are plenty of great books which feature older protagonists – Driving Miss Daisy, The Remains of the Day, Love Again – which of course are just the ones that come to mind. 

These book though do have an element of ‘looking backwards’ about them, as if there is not much left to look forward to.

I very much hope to have lots to look forward to 70 and beyond. The reality is though that these tend to be books specifically about ageing and the imminent presence of the grim reaper.  I do not know how the majority of fiction/contemporary novel book characters might be categorized but generally they seem to me to be childbearing to young-ish middle age.  I have three novels on the go at the moment (two crime, one up-lit) and whilst the age of all of the characters is not specified, actions suggest no character falls out of the 30 – 50 age range.  I was intrigued to read an article by Saffron Alexander in the Telegraph about so-called ‘boomer lit’ – that is, literature for the baby boomers of the 60’s who are now in their 50’s and 60’s.  Boomer lit apparently ‘addresses what matters to (boomers) as they enter into their ‘Second Adulthood’*. Typically, such literature deals with transition, and the management of change – ‘The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel’ is given as one example. 

Jacobson’s book, quite apart from being a delicious read, prods me to add ‘older characters’ to my growing list of ‘things often missing in novels’ so that I can be active in making sure characters I create in my fiction writing are fully representative of all communities.

*There is a whole blog post which could be written about the so called ‘second adulthood’ if only I did not loathe every element of patronising twaddle I have read about what it actually is!

June ‘book to look forward to’: The Heartland: Finding and Losing Schizophrenia’. Nathan Filer. (Faber) Kindle edition £7.19

The brief description added on the Literary Review Calendar of ‘books to look forward to’ for June 2019 said:
‘The former mental health nurse’s non-fiction follow up to his Costa book of the year-winning novel’.

Back in the early 1980’s, living in a shared house a group of us young lefty student ‘radicals’ (we thought we were, but as it turns out, we were just young) debated ‘the troubles’ as we called the situation between Britain and Ireland back then.  Some of us referred to terrorists and some freedom fighters – the debate about where each of these sat of course depended on one’s perspective.  Being earnest young things we decided to become properly informed so we wrote to each of the political parties on each side of the divide to ask for manifestoes and leaflets etc.  We had a right old laugh at how many of the envelopes that subsequently arrived had been “damaged in the post” and appeared to have been opened but I don’t think any of us could truly imagine they had been.  One day I was on the phone to a friend. It was a proper old phone, fixed to a place by a flex with a handset that tied to the phone itself by way of a curly cord.  We were having a natter about nothing very much but it was a terrible line.  Suddenly I heard the conversation I had just been having played back to me!  The call – I – was being recorded. I shouted to another housemate to come and listen and then the phone cut off, line dead.  I am not sure who was doing the recording but a house full of women must have been quite tedious to listen to.  It was the first time I experienced paranoia and was glad two other people heard the whole thing.

(image Regos-Kornyei via Upsplash)

Whoever would have imagined MI5 had recorded little old me? People might have thought I was insane for saying so.

Fast forward more than ten years. I was working in a secure mental health facility.  A patient told me that ‘star signs’ were accurate descriptions of different personalities because they were cultural descriptions of people from 12 different planets of the solar system.  An ‘Aries’ was a descendant from one planet and ‘Cancerians’ were from a completely different planet.  He was a Piscean and he desperately wanted his family to come and rescue him from Earth and take him home.  The patient had been diagnosed with schizophrenia and was said to be delusional.  Strangely he was the second person in less than a year to put forward the view that ‘star sign’ personality traits in humans were a cultural legacy of being from 12 different planets of the solar system. The person I first heard espouse this theory was the chief copywriter, editor and company director of a successful advertising and marketing company. 

I was reminded of each of these (true) stories when reading Filer’s remarkable book.

The heartland of the book’s title refers to schizophrenia – the ‘heartland’ of psychiatry.

Filer artfully draws upon compelling stories which encourage the reader to have empathy and understanding to and with those experiencing mental distress. He forces the reader to consider labels, descriptions and diagnoses – how they are arrived at and who they serve (rarely the patient it would seem). The language of mental illness and treatment is that of control and uniformity and it would be hard to disagree that for the most part, conceptually mental illness is problematic and does not serve those experiencing distress well.

That schizophrenia and indeed psychiatry are problematic and that the people who are most badly affected by the problematic nature of each are the patients labelled is not a new idea but this book certainly adds much to the discussion.

Filer uses clever language techniques (‘so-called’ schizophrenia) to cause the reader to really think about the label and how it is used. The reader can only reflect on the impact of mental ill health on those who experience it and ‘the rest of us’ – whoever that is. Filer talks about the problems in service provision and treatment strategies without coming down either way on simple for/against arguments which means the reader must engage with the text and consider – what do I think? It is a well-written book – lyrical and flowing and with a friendly conversational style. It is a thought-provoking book and one I would recommend to most people but especially anyone going into helping professions (especially doctors). I was pleased to read stories showing patients as humans with varying ideas and understandings of the world and how it is (also showing patients with insight) because usually, we hear of ‘the mad’. This is a great book.

Apparently, according to Niler, social media is replacing religion as the source of paranoid delusions. It would appear that some people think social media is manipulating us, using and gathering data on us. As if…

Date to note June: 23rd Bicentenary of publication of Washington Irving’s ‘The Sketch Book’ including Rip Van Winkle.

Dates to note in the Guardian Review literary calendar this month were: 

5th Women’s prize for fiction winner announced.

23rd Bicentenary of publication of Washington Irving’s ‘The Sketch Book,’ including “Rip Van Winkle”.

This month I chose the bicentenary to write about safe in the knowledge that every woman and her dog with interest in the literary world will have an opinion on the women’s prize for fiction winner.  I was unsure whether the anniversary of a book by a long gone Irving might have had similar interest but thought it likely not.

Most of us have heard of Rip Van Winkle but a quick vox pop of friends evidences that very few had much of an idea of the story other than it is about someone who falls asleep for a long period.

The story, inspired by folklore (there are many very similar variables of this story across Europe), is, in fact, charming, humorous and beautifully written and as so many enduring stories are, is an apologue of sorts. The story said to be about the demands of the British Empire (represented by the nagging wife) upon the USA (represented by Rip Van Winkle), is set in New York’s Catskill Mountains.  Rip, escaping the nagging of his wife, wanders into the woods with his dog where helps a peculiar man carry a barrel. They meet up with another group of odd beings who seem to know Rip.  He drinks with the group and falls asleep.  When he wakes his dog is gone, his gun has rusted, he has a long beard and everything is different.  He recognises no-one in his village and discovers that the American revolution has happened.  He finds most of his friends gone, lost to the war, his wife long dead and his son a grown man.  He is told he was missing for twenty years and that he was likely to have been partying with ghosts in the woods.

Irving, born of British parents but settled in New York City (1783-1859) began his writing career by letters and commentaries to newspapers and literary magazines. After his grand tour of Europe, he returned to the States and studied law but increasingly became involved in writing and publishing through which his reputation grew.

(Portrail of Washington Irving by John Wesley)

The story ‘Rip Van Winkle’ appeared first in Irving’s ‘The Sketch Book’, in 1819 to great acclaim and the subsequent instalments of volumes from the series equally so.  Following their great success, Irving travelled Europe and published more work which was also moderately well received.  Following his successful writing career Irving was appointed as a Minister to Spain, work he did not especially enjoy, before returning to the States where he died aged 76. 

The bicentenary has not caused the bedecking by bunting and launching of fireworks in many places though the town of Sleepy Hollow in Winchester County, USA, is hosting a series of celebratory literary and arts-based events and Tarrytown where Irving lived are also hosting activities and local tours.

The bicentenary is indeed a date worth celebrating. Rip Van Winkle is an enduring story which has been adapted for theatre and film, television, animated films and cartoons several times. The story has influenced comics and music and paintings. Bing Crosby and Al Jolson can be found on YouTube singling ‘who pays the rent for Mrs Rip Van Winkle’. The Rip Van Winkle Bridge spans the Hudson River, near Catskill where the story is set. There is even a Rip Van Winkle Bourbon whiskey. It seems to me there is a lot worth celebrating. (Photograph by Anthony-22, 2017).

My personal favorite inspired work though is a poem by Carol Ann Duffy.

Mrs Rip Van Winkle

I sank like a stone
into the still, deep waters of late middle age,
aching from head to foot

I took up food
and gave up exercise.
It did me good.

And while he slept
I found some hobbies for myself.
Painting. Seeing the sights I’d always dreamed about:

The Leaning Tower.
The Pyramids. The Taj Mahal.
I made a little watercolour of them all.

But what was best,
what hands-down beat the rest,
was saying a none-too-fond farewell to sex.

Until the day
I came home with this pastel of Niagara
and he was sitting up in bed rattling Viagra.

© Carol Ann Duffy ‘The World’s Wife’. Picador. 1999

May ‘book to look forward to’: Sandetti Light Vessel Automatic. Simon Armitage (Faber). £7.79 (Kindle edition).

The brief description added on the Literary Review Calendar of ‘books to look forward to’ for May 2019 said:

‘Newly awarded Queens Gold Medal for poetry, Armitage brings together his commissioned and collaborative work in this collection.’

Sandettie Light Vessel Automatic is a lightvessel stationed in the North Sea, named after its location on the Sandettie Bank In the Strait of Dover.  (Wikipedia).

I read in the press that Andrew Motion, poet laureate from 1999 to 2009 said the role was ‘entirely thankless’ had damaged his writing and had given him writers’ block. I ordered Simon Armitage’s book from the Guardian Review’s literary calendar of books to look forward to before the news broke in early May that he is to be the new poet laureate after accepting an invitation to take over the role from Carol Ann Duffy.  Having been unable to do anything but binge read this excellent book I very much hope his work is not impacted in the same way.

I have seen Simon Armitage perform poetry at an event sometime in this decade.  Ridiculously I cannot remember where or when or how I ended up there – it may have been Hull, Barnsley, Leeds, Bradford, Halifax or Todmorden. It might have been Brighton.  I remember the venue was dark like a night club and seated.  I remember that he was on a very slightly elevated stage and some other poets performed too but where or when eludes me.  What I can recall with absolute clarity is how captivating his words were and how seeing him scooped me back to a time of punks and zines and radical politics. Back in the day (the 80’s) I used to go to venues in Hull (shout out to fans of the Adelphi) to watch punk poets – Attila the Stockbroker, Swift Nick and somewhere or other (clearly my memory for venues has always been a bit dodgy) I saw John Cooper Clarke a couple of times too.  Armitage’s live poetry has the same ability to carry the listener into different worlds and different ways of seeing things.  His readings are punchy, delicious and extraordinary, but (and forgive me for saying so) his poetry is in a different league – highly sophisticated, subtly powerful, comic, thought-provoking, economic and extravagant. 

I never expect the same head rush from reading poetry

I am no student of poetry and do not understand its discipline or form.  I chose this month’s book as I was trying to stick to my ‘rule’ of achieving a balance between fiction, non-fiction and poetry.  May’s choice needed to be poetry and Sandetti was the only one suggested.  I am so glad it was. The book is a collection of commissioned works which share the broad theme that they are works for what the Telegraph reviewer calls ‘non-literary spaces’.  There are great poems in this book – the Henry Moore poems take me directly to the sculptures without passing go.

The most extraordinary poems though are those grouped under ‘The Not Dead’ and ‘The Great War – an Elegy’ which are powerful, evocative, shocking and tear inducing and probably the most incredible poems I have ever read.

Read this book*. Even if you don’t like poetry read this book. It is glorious.

*(Only do not read it on Kindle – the last section of the book is a comprehensive chapter of notes which support and complement the poems with background information and interesting detail. None of the poems have links to facilitate easy navigation between poem and note so it is tedious indeed scrolling backwards and forwards).

Date to note: 31st Bicentenary of birth of Walt Whitman

Dates to note in the Guardian Review literary calendar this month were:

6th Centenary of the death of L Frank Baum, author of The Wonderful Wizard of Oz.

20th Rathbones Folio prise awarded.

21st Man Booker International prize awarded.

23rd Hay festival opens until 2nd June.

31st Bicentenary of birth of Walt Whitman.

It is two hundred years since the birth of poet Walt Whitman and this is still relevant because…? I do not seek to be provocative: as usual with the Guardian Review literary calendar the dates are left to speak for themselves which they may well do to staffers of the Guardian Review or Guardian Books. It could be they present such dates as a simple list of facts, useful for the crossword perhaps but given that this list appears alongside ‘books to look forward to’ for the same month I think the lists are meant to be more than that (as an aside, I did write to ask – twice – but no one from the Guardian has responded).  So, as I have in earlier blog posts, I ponder on this date.

Whitman was an American writer, journalist and essayist but he is known primarily for his poetry. In particular, he is known for the audacity of his poetry, which, depending on the critic was considered either fearlessly bold or brashly unmannerly with some critics calling his work ‘obscene’. It would appear that Whitman took little note of his critics and was a self publicist who might today have been very comfortable in the playground of social media, sending his work to all and sundry, drawing attention to favourable reviews and indeed, even creating his own.

Is audacity alone reason enough to note the birth date of Whitman?

Like many people I readily recall ‘O Captain! My Captain’ written following the death of Abraham Lincoln in 1865 since is was used so marvellously by Robin Williams in the film ‘Dead Poets Society’ (the boys on the desks scene is still one of the best in cinema) and this poem as a stand alone is arguably good reason to remember him but he contributed so much more.  Whitman changed poetry.  He distained the poetic canons of historical tradition at that time primarily influenced through European history.  He wrote distinctly as an American for an American audience though his work was often contentious even to a home audience discussing as he did, nature, love, friendship, politics, sex and himself.  More important, arguably, than the content of his work is the free verse style he created which has had a huge influence upon modern poetry.  This was acknowledged by, amongst others, so called ‘beat poet’, Allen Ginsberg a devotee of Whitman who speaks to him directly in his own poem A Supermarket in California’.

My own favourite Whitman poem is I Hear America Singing’ which speaks of the different voices of America’s working people without romanticising their labour or refusing them the respect of individual agency.  It is a poem of celebration but also acknowledges difference and a right to belong – or not belong – and in that respect, it might be viewed as a distinctly political poem and one as relevant today as it was when it was written.  

Whitman broke the rules and rejected the then familiar traditions of poetry

His work has rhythm without rhymes, unusual informal and yet highly formal structure of long and short lines, lines grouped in new ways and arrangements which appear both wildly disorganised and yet acutely organised. Not all of his work is an easy read. I am unqualified to make any kind of assessment other than ‘I know what I like’ and some of Whitman’s work, it seems to me, has real relevance to current social and political discussion of diversity, place, belonging and democracy. 

The bicentenary of Walt Whitman’s birth is worth noting and deserves its place on the Guardian Review’s list. 

April ‘book to look forward to’: Black, Listed: Black British Culture Explored. Jeffery Boakye. Kindle edition £8.99 downloaded 18 April 2019.

The brief description added on the Literary Review Calendar of ‘books to look forward to’ for April 2019 said:

A writer and teacher examines more than 60 words, many hugely contentious, that are used to describe black men and women, with a particular focus on black masculinity’.

I had originally intended to read Naomi Wolf’s book on Sex and Censorship which I was keenly looking forward to – only the publishing date was changed to later so I had to pick another title from this months options.  It is fair to say this title both intrigued and intimidated me.  I have spent a lot of my academic and activist life considering oppression and diversity issues but I am mindful that whilst I identify as a working class, disabled, lesbian woman I am white and as such, privileged.  I have not given very much thought at all to masculinity except in relation to the impact of masculinity upon women and I can only be academically aware of the impact of race upon lived experience.  Would I find this book interesting to read or indeed, relevant (enough) to me personally?  I was acutely aware of and politically anxious about the nuance of my preference for Wolf’s book over Boakye’s.

With limited time and energy one much choose carefully where to focus and whilst books about masculinity are important I guess I have decided to commit my own time largely to books about and by women. This should not be understood as a single focus so much as more a positively gendered choice.  I am aware of the contradictions inherent in a narrowed focus.

As I have mentioned before in this blog, I see little merit in reviewing books already thoroughly reviewed elsewhere.  The aim of the blog is to consider the merit or relevance of the Guardian Review Literary calendar.  David Lammy, MP for Tottenham, gives a compelling, politically powerful, and mediated by his own experiences as a black man, review in the Guardian (15 April 2019) . It is a thought provoking read of itself.

I loved this book – I want to give it to dozens of friends, students and strangers…

I loved this book.  I loved, admired and envied the cadence and rhythm of the writing style which was musical and easily accessible whilst discussing challenging concepts. I found it to be a radical and compelling book – the kind I want to hand to dozens of friends, students and strangers and tell them to read it.   It was funny. I learned so much from it – things I had never known or understood – and things I really should have known or thought about but can hopefully, not now ‘un-know’.  I (re) considered the nature of language, labels, binaries, cultural homogenization and appropriation, loaded terms and the impacts of these and who is hurt most.  Some of it was uncomfortable reading (language as a weapon) and some especially thought provoking in relation to terms (of endearment? of ‘outlaws’? of politics?) I now often hear used/appropriated across communities. 

However – and I am mindful that as a white woman I am on wobbly ground here – there was one section that just didn’t sit right with me and that in his discussion of the naming of Melanie Brown AKA Scary Spice.  Drawing on an article by Chaedria LaBouvier ‘We Owe “Scary Spice” an Apology’ in which LaBouvier discusses hair – specifically black girls hair, Boakye repeasts her questioning of why a black girl was given the name ‘Scary’ which LaBouvier says is inherently racist.  Boakye suggests that as a nickname ‘Scary Spice’ is about blackness being frightening to white sensibilities.  In a HuffPost live conversation Mel B explains the origin of the name and why she still uses it – because she likes it and has never been offended by it. She acknowledges it was given to her by (female) journalist who, like Mel came from Leeds.  Whilst LaBouvier suggests Mel B may keep the name because she has no choice, nothing I have ever read about Mel B suggests she is a woman without agency.  I have always ‘read’ her name to be a manifestation of her Leeds girl, badass, could wipe the floor with you if she wanted to, take no shit, self-confident attitude (and indeed, in the interview Mel B suggests it is exactly this).  As Yorkshire born I have known, been scared of and achingly wished I was more like/as ballsy as Leeds girls/women as I grew from girl to woman. I understand that there is an ‘eye of the beholder’ issue here and that this is a discussion of different hues with no ‘correct’ answer but it was the only part of the book that that made me feel something was missing and I was unpersuaded by the depth of the point being made.  The focus felt narrow and possibly even, dare I say it, not respectful enough in according Mel B (women’s) power to make her own informed choices.

This is a wonderful book – I have never read one quite like it.  I have read a lot of books about oppression and discrimination underpinned by (righteous) anger and the fury can be an infectious call to arms.  There are several hundred pages of book here which could be a call to arms but Boakye does not write with incendiary fury. He writes instead with the voice of a wise, funny and thoughtful teacher who must be heard.  His voice opens eyes and minds and I wish I could write like that. 

So far, the ‘books to look forward to’ list offered by the Guardian Review is proving to be (almost annoyingly) worthwhile – though, as I will discuss in a future post, somewhat unbalanced and skewed in relation to representation.

Date to note: April 22nd Fifty years since Booker Prize first awarded in 1969 to PH Newby

Dates to note in the Guardian Review literary calendar this month were: 

5th  – the release of The Sisters Brothers, starring John C Riley and Joaquin Phoenix, based on Patrick deWitt’s Booker shortlisted novel.  And Pet Sematary, the second version of Stephen King’s horror tale. 

21st – Bicentenary of the start of Keats’s “great year”, including most of his Odes.

22nd – Fifty years since Booker Prize first awarded in 1969 to PH Newby.

23rd – 300th anniversary of the publication of Defoe’s Robinson Crusoe, often called the first novel in English

Most readers have heard of the Booker Prize and, it is said to lead readers to books in numbers significant enough for it to still be important to publishers and writers.  However, a deliciously wry Guardian article by Rachel Cooke in 2018 cited an off the record bookseller who suggested that the shortlist was not the draw it once was and had stopped being a good indicator of readers choices.  The article suggests the prize has ‘lost its lustre’ and notes the withdrawal of sponsors from book prizes in recent years.  It is clear that the breadth, remit and aims of this prize  – and perhaps others – may be in something of a flux at the moment.  Nevertheless, the Booker Prize has a significant and important history of promoting and fostering literature and encouraging reading of high-quality fiction.

Has the Booker ‘lost its lustre’ or is it still important in promoting and fostering high quality literature?

My relationship with the Booker has been up and down.  I have actively worked at improving the quality of my (fiction) reading choices over the years (I have trash fiction taste if left to my own devices) via selecting from noted book prize shortlists, including the Booker.  Last year I adored the winner – Anna Burns Milkman – funny and astutely observed but read another which I thought was absolutely awful – could not even imagine why it had been published, let alone nominated or shortlisted.  2017 was a better year. Of the shortlisted six, I read one I loved – Ali Smith’s Autumn, and three others I thought were OK – the latter three did not strike me as magnificent, but I did finish them.  I had a similar experience in 2016.  Every year I have the hope for blow-my-socks-off reading only to feel somewhat let down.  I ponder on why this is.  Although an unashamed fan of crime fiction, I read a lot and broadly.   I am a committed reader and active in trying to expand my reading horizons and tastes and yet I never understand the selections or judge based outcomes.  I must be missing something. I only wish I knew what it was.

On the upside, In this 50th year I note the English Patient by Michael Ondaatje has won the special ‘Golden Man Booker Prize’ for the best work of fiction in the last five decades of the prize. I loved this book.  Well done to Mr Ondaatje – a worthy winner.

Note: PH Newby won for his novel Something to Answer For.  The book kept me reading to the end though it was a confusing and challenging read at times.  I am not sure whether Newby is a good recommendation for the prize or vice versa.

March ‘book to look forward to’: Invisible Women: Exposing data bias in a world designed for men. Caroline Criado Perez

(Chatto).  Kindle edition downloaded 7 March 2019, £9.99

The brief book description added on the Literary Review Calendar of ‘books to look forward to’ for March said:

‘The activist and journalist on the discriminatory consequences of men being treated as the default and women as atypical, in a book that casts new light on homes, workplaces and public buildings’.

Feminism and I unexpectedly tripped over each other in the early 1980’s and without getting into major biography, feminism changed every single element of my existence with enormous and enduring impact. Through the 80’s and 90’s I read every feminist book I could get hold of hitting strident radical outrage and non-violent direct action along the way. For the past 20 or so years, having bought the many and varied t-shirts (some of which have now become cleaning cloths – oh the irony) my interest in such books waned. I read the books I needed to read for my professional life dutifully, to ensure my power-points stayed relevant and current but I had mellowed beyond outrage and indeed, slogan t-shirts. I chose this book from the March ‘books to look forward to’ list because of the others in the non-fiction group it looked a) the least dull and b) my semi-un-conscious bias kicked in.

Everything about this book is quite simply wonderful.

This assertion might be dismissed with a roll of an eye and a weary ‘of course you would say that’ but in fact, the opposite would be true.  I am a well-read feminist and I have read some turkey’s, which frankly did the women’s movement(s) no favors, but this is very certainly not one of them.  I have read enough to know the difference and I loved this book! 

The book considers the absence of women in the data that defines and shapes the algorithms, policies, designs and laws in the world, our understanding of them across time. It considers our lives, opportunities and dangers inherent in it – and by ‘ours’ she means all humans. The ones most disadvantaged by the absence of women in data are of course women who have equipment which doesn’t fit or cannot be safely used because it is not made for their bodies, who cannot use public transport because the standard use which informs timetable planning is that of the male commuter and does not take account of carer responsibility and so very many other examples across the home, the workplace and in general public life. The book makes clear, however, that all of society are disadvantaged by the uni-focused narrative of male defined data sets.

The book has potential to be a preachy call to arms but it is not – Perez manages to make this eminently readable book engaging, humorous and informative.  She takes us to the heart of how we understand our world and in doing so highlights false assumptions and the absence of other perspectives.  At one point she asks (a little tongue in cheek) whether women are even human at all!  Her question comes from analysis of data about the evolution of humankind being predicated on understanding of the centrality of ‘man the hunter’.  What were women doing when humankind was being built, (allegedly), by hunters?  Do we even fit into this narrative and if so, in what ways do we influence that prevailing story?  She gives another example of a warrior skeleton being steadfastly identified and labeled as a male by museum curators, despite indisputable DNA bone analysis showing she was a female, simply on the grounds that she was found with weapons and high ranking afterlife kit.  They apparently were unable to comprehend the notion of a high-ranking warrior woman and so refused to believe it.  In doing so, the educative purpose of the museum is shamefully compromised and yet again, women are denied the opportunity to know our history.  Perez, sadly gives example after example after example.

This book is exhausting reading. It is hard not to have one’s feminist fury re-ignited by it.

Fury – rightful as it may be – is not the most useful outcome of this work. It is a very well considered, well researched, evidence based discussion. I hope it can contribute now to a broader discussion which always, always, always considers ways in which data is defined only by a male view with female perspectives being either silenced or ‘othered’. If we want to understand and learn and plan in the most healthy and positive ways for humanity and our planet we need the best data and this means inclusive data that from which male bias is eradicated. I am taking a wild guess about which gender(s) are the most likely to take this opportunity on board…

Note all images copywrite Chatto

  • Personal anecdote: I once worked in a secure mental health environment.  The women complained they wanted paper towels back because the newly installed, air-blow hand driers had been fitted by a six foot three maintenance man. When the women tried to use the too-high driers, it caused water from their hands to run down their arms and make their sleeves soggy.  I have noticed ever since how stupid-high most air blowers are in women’s toilets.

Date to note March: The London Book Fair, 12-14 March. Olympia, London. UK

Dates to note this month were limited to two items. Firstly the 1st of the Month release of Chaos Walking, based on Patrick Ness’s Guardian award winner The Knife of Letting Go and secondly, the London Book Fair.

Unlike some of the other dates to note in the Literary Calendar I had at least heard of the London Book Fair, or as booky people in the know seem to refer to it as, ‘LBF’. It would seem that every man and his dog in the publishing world – according to the LBF (how easily we slip into it) – 25,000 publishing folk were expected to attend the event 12-14th March 2019. The LBF website notes it as a ‘global market place for rights negotiation and the sale and distribution of content across print, audio, TV, film and digital channels’. By content, they mean every aspect of possible content from academic to children’s to publishing rights, to digital and print and so on.

The London Book Fair had never especially caught my eye before today and it was playful of the Literary Calendar to add it as a date to note.

Certainly and obviously (once one ponders) it is an ‘of course’ date of enormous importance for everyone in the book industry. I imagine some members of the Guardian Book team chomping at the bit to be there, wearing their Guardian ID like bright golden sheriff stars, feted as celebrities by the publishing houses and authors keen to become pals. I have to say I envy them! If I had a Guardian press pass, I might even sashay a little at LBF.

Sian Cain (@siancain) of the Guardian was hot off the press in an article published on the the 13th March (https://www.theguardian.com/books/booksblog/2018/apr/13/london-book-fair-roundup-jrr-tolkein-naomi-alderman). The article is a list of books we can look forward to in 2020. It is an intriguing list and will no doubt feature to some extent in the Guardian Literary Review ‘calendar of books to look forward to in 2020’. Both Sian and Alison Flood also note increased interest of publishing houses in true crime and feminist fiction so we might expect to see this interest reflected in publishing lists next year.

LBF19 Day 1 highlights

Olympia heaving with agents, exhibitions a spectacular list of seminars and presentations and of course, enough books, of every shape size and description to bankrupt the majority of bibliophiles.  A seductive and delicious event for sure!

There is little to say more to say about this event not already covered in helpfully thorough detail by the LBF website https://www.londonbookfair.co.uk/About/

Tickets cost £45.00 or priority access £100 (each VAT inclusive). I cannot find information about what ‘extra’ the priority ticket gave attendees.

It would be great if disability access information had more prominence on the LBF website

On the LBF Facebook page, one attendee with disabilities wrote of his extreme frustration and his experiences of inaccessibility at the 2018 event. The information about accessibility and carer passes is buried a little on the website – I had to search for it. It would be useful if this information had more prominence in the future.

February’s ‘book to look forward to’

Late in the day. Tessa Hadley (Cape).  Downloaded on kindle 29th January £9.99

“A sudden bereavement reconfigures the lives and loves of two long-married couples’.

Note: Reviewed by Andrew Motion in the Guardian Review issue no 58, 23 February 2019.

With no real grounds for thinking so, I was looking forward to reading this book.  One of the things I most enjoy in books of any genre is when attention is given to the relationships between characters and the impact upon those relationships when something unexpected and significant happens.  A book where the focus is on long term knowing and the complexity of group dynamics seemed to me to have the potential for a delicious, cosy-up-with-a-cuppa type enjoyable way to spend time. 

The book is indeed about the complexity of relationships, which are left somewhat anchorless by the death of a central figure in the group; Individual relationships fray and the group dynamic shifts uncomfortably.  The stability and reliability of the group become jangled and rifts and crevices in the relationships open.

Hadley tells the story through the characters thoughts and in their interactions with each other and this is where I found the book difficult.

There are a lot of characters who Hadley knows well and they are allowed to ‘speak for themselves’, but I found it a challenge to work out who was who. 

I read a Kindle edition so I cannot give a page number but at 17% in I noted seven different characters mentioned on a single page.  At that early part of the book, I had not yet been able to gain a picture or a voice for  – or warmth for – any of the indistinguishable personalities.  Unfortunately, I never did.  The books seemed to me to be a middle class based narrative, and perhaps this explains why I felt on the outside of the story, unable to gain a foothold into the unfamiliar environment in which the experiences took place.  I found I could not care less for any of them.  Reading this story was somewhat underwhelming.

Despite this, it is still written beautifully with language used delicately and with subtlety.  The themes of the book – loss, change and how these impact on the very essence of us are important but perhaps a little neglected in the busyness of all the ‘stuff’ going on around the themes and through the voices of the characters.