Anca Segall
I'm a big Le Carré fan, and love nerding out on the lives of authors I love, so I was very excited for this biography. It is a fairly encyclopedic and relentlessly chronological dive into David Cornwell's life. I found it picked up steam after a few chapters (I started it in late 2020 then put it down for a while, and picked it up again in earnest about a month ago), especially once Sisman got into Cornwell's professional life – his recruitment into MI5 and onwards. Each novel Cornwell wrote was addressed on its own, which may be a bit over the top for some. I enjoyed the snippets of Cornwell's correspondence, the insights into his writing practice and how he searched for stories and characters, and to some extent his interactions with his publishers and agents, though Cornwell became peevish and demanding once he'd become well known. One of the highlights for me was his interaction and friendship with Alec Guinness, who played Smiley in the BBC series of Tinker, Taylor and Smiley's People- in my opinion, both masterpieces, and in the case of TTSS, superior to the more recent movie. Even Gary Oldman, as much as I love him, doesn't top Alec Guinness as Smiley. Other highlights are the bits about Graham Greene, another one of my author heroes, and
I would say this is not a book for casual readers of Le Carré, but for the die-hard fans, I found it fascinating and more intimate look into an author I will truly miss. The biography also reminded me of the Le Carré books I will want to re-read, as well as the few that I still need to read.
Paris Requiem, set in 1940, successfully weaves the dark tapestry of Nazi-occupied France, particularly Paris, through characters that are gritty, realistic, and frequently hopeless. Many are venal, ready to take advantage of those weaker than themselves. Some cling to their humanity with all they can muster. Others are stuck between a rock and a hard place, and find that doing any good deed is risky not only to themselves but to their loved ones. Eddie Giral, the detective at the center of the novel, is fully realized, fallible and self-aware and sometimes very vulnerable.
Chris Lloyd has done his research. Occasionally his writing can get a bit bogged down, but there were plenty of surprising turns and twists to pull me along, together with the atmosphere and characters. I enjoyed this book enough to look forward to reading the other two in the series (I started with the second by accident; the third is due out soon).
This book opened my mind to and challenged “old saws” that I hadn't even realized were myths—the Ellis Island renaming was foremost here. Another deep dive and retake was Horn's treatment of the place Anne Frank's Diary holds in literature, and of more recent books about the Holocaust in general—there's a coyness to the way some of these books treat the issue, almost a romanticized view that turns away from the blood and guts and real human tragedy of it. This is extended into her analysis of various shooting incidents, and the difference in how they are treated by the media when they affect Jewish communities versus non-Jewish ones—as if the media is “mansplaining” the horror of the violence and smearing the victims with justifications that are irrelevant and worse.
I happened to read Dara Horn's book just after finishing a fictionalized account that based on Varian Fry's efforts to smuggle artists out of Nazi-occupied and Vichy France: The Postmistress of Paris, by Meg Waite Clayton. That book led me to a blog about Varian Fry, and to Ms. Clayton's credit, she hewed closely to the historical facts. What Dara Horn opened my eyes to, in addition to adding more detail about specific artists rescued by Fry and his group, was frankly deeply embarrassing and nearly incomprehensible: when Fry, after returning home, reached out to some of his famous “rescuees” to ask for their support in the form of their voices and to a lesser extent their financial help for continuing the effort to help refugees, he was ignored. How inexcusable!
Unlike Ms. Horn, I am 100% Jewish by birth, tradition, and culture, but not by religion. I was raised atheist in Romania, by atheist parents who believed (at the time) that atheism and the socialist dream would save their Jewish community. They were wrong, but I haven't seen any reason since then to revoke my atheism. I still hold religion as more of a problem than a solution, though fully support, in all wa, everyone's right to their own religious beliefs. However, although I don't resonate with Dara Horn's religious echoes, I feel pulled in by the threads she makes to Judaic culture and traditions, and feel less disconnected from them than she might think (or I suspect, give me credit for). I feel indebted to her and this book, and appreciate so many lessons in it. We are still not part of the greater community around us, and we forget or ignore that at our own peril.
Hmmm... i let this one sit for about a week after reading it. Murder mysteries is one of my favorites, but I would not recommend this one. It was a recommendation by a barista in a Barnes&Noble Starbucks, who said she loved it. It followed all the prescriptions of the genre, but was long on plot and short on depth and interest.
[Interrupt for a general announcement: this is the third time I type this review because I lost the first two. WTF, Goodreads?]
1) Protagonist detective is likable enough.
2) Other characters were fine but almost none was truly three-dimensional or had lives of their own, other than in the service of the plot.
3) Props to the author for strong women, a character trait sketched very superficially, and which made the lack of depth even more annoying.
4) The writing was smooth enough, to the point where I'm wondering if it was authored by a human or a Google DeepMind AI?
5) Most annoying was that each French phrase, clearly added for atmosphere, was translated into English, which was nearly obnoxious and interrupted the train of reading. If you're going to use French but not trust your readers to figure it out (most of these were no more than 5-word easy, obvious phrases), then don't bother.
So... no P.D. James here, nor even Agatha Christie or any of the other grand dames of crime.
I finished it because—inertia—and give it a solid meh.
In a sort of postscript, Nick Cornwell, le Carre's (David Cornwell's) son writes that his father had made him promise to finish any novel le Carre may have left unfinished. On le Carre's recent death, the son was puzzled that his father had left unpublished a manuscript that was essentially finished, barring minor editing, and which had been written several years prior.
Darwin8u calls this a novella, and at roughly 44-45K words, maybe that's the best description for it. I finished it in a few days while traveling, and as much as I liked it, I wished several of the characters and events of the back story had been much more fleshed out.
The language was fluid and fleet, but the lyricism and depth of his earlier books, like Smiley's People, was lacking. It was beautifully polished but I can't help but think that had he lived, le Carre would have added several layers of complexity, and made this a fuller treat. It is a good and drinkable wine, but not as complex as we have become accustomed to.
I am grateful for this last gift from this magical author whom I frankly adore. He set such a high bar for himself that I grieve that there will no longer be new le Carre books. Luckily, rereading his books is providing as intense a pleasure as reading them the first time around, and so his work will continue to keep me company.
You shall be sorely missed, Mr. Cornwell.
I enjoyed this novel but it is not in the same class as many of my favorites. I'm not sure exactly why. Perhaps I found Nat, the protagonist, a little smug compared to Smiley and some of his other spymasters. Perhaps also the novel touches only on the cynicism of the British versus Putin and the American Putin wannabe. Is it possible that he couldn't really find, or delve into, the complexities of the current political chaos in the US? Was he too close in time to the events? Or too disappointed? At any rate, it was easy to sympathize with the earnest and naive Ed, and the much more sophisticated and deeper Florence. It's unfortunate that he did not center the book more around Florence.
Someone earlier mentioned that this might be a good introduction to Le Carre's more intricate novels. Had I started with this one, I'm pretty sure I would not have continued: nothing special here, move on. If you have limited time and wish to choose, you could safely skip this one. I do very much wonder if he had been ten years younger, how he would have treated these same events/characters.
I have just finished reading/listening to The Pigeon Tunnel. There are other, better and longer reviews of the book itself, so I'll mention a few of the things that struck me after or during the read. Listening to his mesmerizing voice makes for such a personal, intimate experience—I highly recommend springing for the audiobook as well. I listened to some of it while reading the book, and other times just listened, as if I were sitting at a table sharing a drink, or more likely, at a nearby table in a pub, overhearing his conversation. His talent for story telling comes through just as much here as it does in his novels. One thing I wasn't prepared for is his talent for mimicking various accents (American, French, Russian and others). That shouldn't surprise us, given his talent for rendering dialog.
He is self-deprecating, sincere and funny, about himself and others in his long life. However, again not surprisingly, it's clear he has a drawn a curtain, a line beyond which we are not allowed into his life, whether to protect the innocent, the guilty, the unsuspecting, or most likely all of the above. He openly mentions difficulties in his first marriage but does not go into any details, and really why should he? But, perhaps in self defense or as an inherited trait, you the reader get the feeling that you will never truly penetrate below the top layer. It's such a rich layer, it's enough, and will have to be. Perhaps at some point we'll learn more from his sons in the future. Until then, I'm happy to read the origin stories behind some of the characters and stories that I love so very much.
I'll go back to reread this memoir—more slowly, savoring the language and art as much as the stories themselves—but it also very much makes me want to read Sisman's biography of him. Perhaps, despite the subject, Sisman may have managed to illuminate some of the corners a little more.
A mix of realism with magical realism from Eastern Europe
I was drawn to this book because it is about a place that is close to me—Romania—and about leaving it during the Communist dictatorship of Ceausescu. I wanted to see another take on the subject, and this gave me what I looked for. I wasn't entirely fond of the magical realism aspect, which seemed tacked on, not fully woven through the story. The novella (novel?) switches between very realistic parts and a more folkloristic look at old Romanian folkways that were submerged under Ceausescu. I couldn't quite figure out whether the magical realism was covering up parts that couldn't be addressed by the author, or whether it was added on as a way to beef up the story and add interest for Western readers. Others I'm sure will love this aspect of the book (I do not dislike magical realism—read One Hundred Years of Solitude and thought it beautiful). The tone of the realistic parts sounded more honest and heartfelt to me. Because the book nevertheless delivered on the promise that first drew me to the book, to show me the life of an ordinary couple under Ceausescu and what happens when life in Romania becomes unbearable, I rounded up to 4 stars.
Two interwoven story lines several hundred years apart, one about the intellectual and personal journey of a young Jewess who serves as a scribe to a blind rabbi at a time when women were not permitted entry into the realm of the mind, the other about an elder historian, suffering from Parkinson's, who works with and barely suffers a graduate student to untangle the mysteries of centuries old papers found in a cupboard, which give insights into the
Jewish community of London in the mid 1600s. There is much to appreciate in this novel, particularly in the history of the scribe Ester Velazquez and her trials but also in the delicate treatment of the aging historian and the challenges women face in the competitive largely male world of scholarly pursuits and publishing. If I have any qualms about the book, it is that the long-windedness of many descriptive passages does the novel a disservice and makes it more difficult to enter—shortening it by 20% would make it much crisper while losing neither substance nor flavor. I would recommend it especially for its journey into an under-explored community.
There are several great reviews of this biography already, so mine will be more of a personal note of why I found it compelling. I happened to see it in a used book store while traveling in Europe and it appealed. Who knows why? Yes, there's the mystique of SP & TH, but more than anything it was the fact that Malcolm was, if the title was any indication, going to address both of them equally. And, really, she did. I found the book fascinating and as compelling a read as any psychological thriller. And like others have said, as or more compelling for me was Malcolm's analysis of the writing of biographies and of biographers themselves as much as their subjects. Of course they can't not be influenced by their own background and lives, but Malcolm's book shows that without it being accusatory in any way. Above all, the book is humane—people are complicated, and forgetting that clearly obscures much that's interesting about anyone, much less about subjects of biographies. The book is extremely well written—lucid, without fluff, with much sympathy but no fawning. It was a model of biographies, and a gem.
An easy read for an easy summer day or a cold winter night when you don't feel like working too hard at your reading. It has both clichéd and heartwarming moments, fun for all the literary references which act as plot devices. It certainly puts reading front and center, and divides the world into the good (those who read) and everyone else. It has a #MeToo subplot that is critical to the main plot, but it was written in 2014 and it certainly does not tackle such hard issues (the consequences of a minor star author enjoying plucking the fruits of his minor fame, and the consequences he sows all around him). I admit it made me smile and chuckle out loud and cry—it definitely pulled my strings. I did not love the writing style, but it certainly did not drag. Another reader suggested it might be made into a Meg Ryan / Tom Hanks romcom á la Sleepless in Seattle, and I wholly agree - there's nothing wrong with indulging in the occasional cream-filled chocolate, is there?
A different take on LA noir
The characters definitely make this tale, spun in the streets of LA as the city and its denizens come alive - imperfect, most down and out but striving toward their dreams, whatever they may be and however unattainable. The writing isn't perfect but it's evocative, sincere and true - in all senses of the word. A good read. I look forward to reading the next one in the series.
Required reading
There is nothing I could add, I'm certain, to the reviews of F 451 that have already been written. I only hope my daughter, and all our children, read it alongside Orwell. It is a book with a message that should be indelibly tattooed on our consciousness. Its minor imperfections are trivial compared to its strengths.
I assumed I would not like this book, since “monster” books don't appeal. But it was a good deal at Oxfam in Cambridge, and I wasn't finding anything else appealing, so I bought it (plus the author, a woman in fact, is a professor of archaeology, so I thought I might learn something). What a nice surprise! Well-rounded, interesting characters, intelligently and sympathetically drawn, and a great mystery. The book is very well-written. I'll definitely look for more of her books. I'd definitely recommend it for mystery lovers looking for something a bit different.
Neverwhere is the second book I read by Neil Gaiman, after The Graveyard Book - after those two I am truly hooked. More recently I have added The Ocean at the End of the Road to these, and a couple of others. The writing is clean, sparse, and doesn't get in the way of his flights of imagination. For me, Gaiman straddles the thin line of the imagination of a child and that of an adult, appealing to both, transporting the adult back into the freer flights of fancy of the child while not treating his child audiences with condescension. Neverwhere was a moving and warm book, one that I would recommend to those who are feeling jaded and cynica, or depressed,l to bring you out of those doldrums with a fresh, charmed and charming look at the world.
A very nice collection of stories revolving around a place, the pedestrian mall of downtown Charlottesville, VA. The stories range from warm to poignant to funny, and most make you feel as if you were standing right next to the characters going about their lives. Some, deceptively no doubt, even make you feel close to the author. Among my favorites are Where There's a Will, Sad Eyes, War Souvenirs, and The Present. Decision Point reads as if it were a page out of a real life.
I really enjoyed this book. There were the occasional writing missteps but the story made up for it. Palestine is not your usual mystery location, but it's a great one, and the genre, when well done, is a great way to convey an atmosphere and character, and the manner in which real people live their lives. I look forward to more ( and even better) from the author; he certainly left this book at a great place to carry on.
Love stories come in many flavors. This novella is not only about the love story of two youngsters growing up in the hardships of Appalachian country, but a tender love letter to Appalachia itself, with its hardscrabble life clawing at the characters, keeping them rooted in place. The characters are vividly drawn, and the setting comes alive - I felt I was there on the river, looking on the abandoned trucks that double as a kind of balcony for our Kentuckian Romeo and Juliet. The story made me smile, cringe, laugh and cry. It felt real and immediate, like a snapshot album sitting on the shelf next to the non-fiction writings of Joe Bageant (Deer Hunting with Jesus) and Vance (Hillbilly Elegy). Kudos to Mr. ADAMS for this beautifully written, well-realized novella. I highly recommend it, and look forward to his next books.
I liked this book and its premise of weaving fascism and “bad” vampires with an adventure set, for much of the story, in Prague - a city I love and know well, and whose beauty and sad notes resonate with me. The book had some editing issues, but I very much enjoy Mabeuse's writing.
