Carpe Libris, The February Edition

Look into my eyes . . . you are getting the urge to curl up with a good book . . . and maybe a cup of tea.

Since Punxsutawney Phil predicted an early spring four days ago, I've been busy trying to race through my winter reading list. Like this summer, I've stumbled upon other books that have begged to curl up in bed with me these dark and dreary winter afternoons. And since I'm not one to turn down the offer of a good cuddle, here's what I've been snuggling up with in recent weeks. . .

 

 

The Snowman by Jo Nesbø
Lately I've been reading a lot of books by Nordic authors.  Perhaps it's the Stieg Larsson phenomenon that's making these writers more available in translation now.  Or maybe they've been out there all along and I've just overlooked them as I usually read books set in the UK.  Whatever the reason, I'm coming to enjoy tales set in the cold climes of northern Europe almost as much as those that take place in the British Isles.  

Almost.  

The mysteries, in particular, have been a pleasant surprise, barring the aforementioned Stieg Larsson.  I made it through The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo but stopped reading the second book in the trilogy when he started inventorying the contents of the desks in the Millennium offices.  I can't handle that much irrelevant detail.  But that's okay because I found Jo Nesbø who is a master of plot and offers the tight, sparse, sharp writing I want in a Nordic writer.    

Although The Snowman isn't the first in his Harry Hole series, it was the first book I read.  Combine a detective with the requisite brilliant mind and screwed up personal life, a creepy serial killer who builds snowmen in the yards of his victims (note to readers:  if a snowman suddenly appears in your yard and he's looking towards your house rather than the street, it's probably a good time to move), and some plot twists and turns and you get a compelling, well written story.  Part of Jo Nesbø's skill as a writer comes in creating tension in plot as well as characters. I finished the book wanting to get my hands on the earlier books to find out what made Harry Hole the flawed man he is, and then read the later ones to see if he finds redemption somewhere along the line. Unfortunately the first couple books aren't out in English translation yet so I'll have to wait for now.  And while I'm waiting I can always turn to Nesbø's Doctor Proctor series which includes the sure to be classic Doctor Proctor's Fart Powder.

Eowyn Ivey's The Snow Child is another story where a person made of snow is the harbinger of an unexpected guest.  Fortunately for Jack and Mabel, the central characters in this tale set in turn-of-the-century rural Alaska, the visitor isn't a sociopath, rather a young girl who appears with the first snow fall of each year and vanishes when spring appears.  As the childless Mabel struggles to figure out whether or not the snow child is real or a creature conjured from the sorrow and pain she has tried to deny, her heart begins to thaw and she comes to accept the girl's presence as a mysterious gift.  If the story sounds familiar, it's because it is based on the Russian fairy tale of the same name.  I won't give away the ending but will say that it's a charming tale that upholds the idea that no matter how difficult it is, the best way to love someone is to let them be who they are meant to be.

I don't read on Sunday evenings between 9 - 10 pm.  Like many I am camped in front of the TV, tuned to my local PBS station, having severe wardrobe envy while watching Downton Abbey.  est assured, there will come a time in my life when I will live in a place where I will dress for dinner.  Granted, it may be when I'm 85, living in a an old age home and show up to the communal dining room decked out in taffeta and a tiara. But I hope I'm with it enough to know what I'm doing because it will be grand.  Until then, I am fortifying myself with the witty words of the Dowager Countess of Gratham and books such as The Uninvited Guests and The St. Zita Society.  

Ruth Rendell's mystery focuses more on the realm of downstairs than up, following a group of servants in contemporary Sloan Square who meet regularly in their local and dub themselves The St. Zita Society after the patron saint of domestic servants. As with all the Ruth Rendell books I've read, and I've read quite a few, this story drew me into the lives of the characters almost immediately.  I was so wrapped up in their ordinary lives that I almost forgot that in order for it to be a mystery, a crime would have to occur.  And when it did, it didn't disappoint. 

The Uninvited Guests could also be described as a mystery although it's more about secrets and deception rather than criminal offenses.  Sadie Jones's story is set a generation after Downton Abbey in a slightly less grand estate with a slightly more middle class family.  Like Downton, the Torrington's home is in peril but the family put on a brave face for their guests as they celebrate eldest daughter Emerald's 21st birthday.  The uninvited guests indicated in the title then arrive, acting as a hammer that chips away at the fragile veneer of civility and good manners the family tries to hide behind.  The characters soon show their true colors, although without the dignity and wit of Lady Violet.  Fortunately there's the delightful character, Smudge, oft-overlooked little sister in the Torrington clan, who not only adds charm to the story but who gets herself into a predicament that redeems the family and guests -- invited and uninvited alike.  Jones's writing is also top notch and I found myself pausing to revel in some of her gorgeous images. 

Finally, I've been slowly working my way through this delicious book.  I admit I've got a major writer's crush on Owen Sheers but that doesn't color this review in any way.  True, he's an adorable Welshman, but more importantly he's a brilliant young poet and an extraordinary collector of poetry.  In this anthology, Sheers has pulled together poems corresponding to six categories of British landscape-- cities, villages & towns, mountains & moorland, islands, woods & forests, and finally, coasts & sea.  Reading the poems in order, you get a sense being taken on a journey. It's like a poetic Britrail pass, although without the crying babies and tepid tea.  I have tried to assemble collections of poems (on a much much smaller scale) that have the same sense of conversation and connection.  It is a tremendous time and labor intensive venture that Sheers makes look effortless.  You can hear him talk more about his intention and process in this video.

 

 

So how about you?  What books are keeping you warm these winter evenings?  Or offering you a bit of refreshment if you're in the sunny southern hemisphere?