Sally Jay Gorce tried and failed to run away several times in her teens, until her
rich, understanding and partly-wise uncle promised her that if she
finished college (that's university, in non-US English) he would allow
her two years to do whatever she pleases, totally funded by him. The
only condition is that she doesn't contact him during that time. Sally Jay heads for Paris, with the vague ambition to become an actress, and otherwise to go to parties and enjoy her freedom.
I love Sally Jay's voice. She's funny and knowing and clever and yet manages to delude herself about the intentions of men she likes. I love the backstory to her living in Paris, and she's decadent in a way that I find addictive in fictional characters - dying her hair pink and wearing evening dresses in the morning/early afternoon. She can't resist a party but she loathes the preconceptions other people have about her. She is done with education but wants to be an actress. She never thinks about what she will do when her subsidised freedom ends, and I liked that. I always worry about the future so it was nice to take a holiday inside the mind of someone without those concerns.
The Dud Avocado probably doesn't seem as feminist to us now as it would have done when it was originally published, but thinking about the stereotype of a Fifties woman and comparing that to Sally Jay makes what she gets up to seem quite shocking! There are a few more overt feminist touches - when Jim assumes that Sally Jay can cook just because she's a woman, I laughed. It's a ridiculous notion, but one that was probably quite prevalent in the fifties.
The story comes to rather a sudden halt, and if you prefer novels to have an obvious beginning, middle, and end (no criticism intended - I generally do), you might feel disappointed by the ending. However, as a fictionalised memoir, there never really is a strong,
clear, plotline, so it's easier to forgive than it might be for a novel
that was purely fiction, though I still felt that the narrator's life gets tidied up a bit too neatly.
I'm not sure how this book found its way onto my TBR. I think Sarra Manning might have mentioned it at some point. Maybe in the back of Nobody's Girl. I don't have a copy handy to check. In any case, I'm glad it did and I'll definitely be giving Elaine Dundy's other novels and autobiography a go!
The Dud Avocado was included in the Virago Modern Classics Designer Collection, and I'm quite tempted to get this fabric-covered hardback edition, if just because it would look so nice next to my copy of The Magic Toyshop by Angela Carter...
Good Bones is a collection of (very) short stories by Margaret Atwood, probably best-known and loved for her novel The Handmaid's Tale. I picked this up in hardback at a university book sale I organised a couple of years ago, having previously read The Handmaid's Tale and Negotiating With The Dead, a collection of essays about writing. I was already part way through a book of short stories at the time so it went to the bottom of my TBR, until I pulled it out to read on the train in March. I don't read short story collections very often but this year I've already read three. I think they're a great way to have a break from teen/YA books that isn't too long! I also think they're fantastic for commuting, because if you know your reading speed and choose wisely, you can read a whole story or more during one journey. If I'm part way through a really good novel I find it really annoying when I then have to go do something else for seven or eight hours before I can pick it up again, but with short stories, I can finish one a couple of minutes before I get off the train. Perfect.
The first short story collection I read this year was Wayward Girls and Wicked Women, and Good Bones was quite similar in that there were often feminist messages behind the stories that I had to try to puzzle out. Again, this was a nice change from YA, which is usually quite straightforward. Not that YA novels don't make me think, but it's a different kind of contemplation. Usually I don't have to wonder what a YA book is about, though I may ponder the issues raised in the story at length.
Good Bones is also quite a witty collection - some stories made me laugh, or at least had me smiling at their cleverness. I enjoy it when books make me smile whilst I'm on the train because other commuters always notice and I reckon it makes me seem mysterious but also happy!
My favourite stories were 'The Little Red Hen Tells All', which is a retelling of the children's story about the little red hen who planted a grain of wheat, and ' Gertrude Talks Back', which is from the point of view of Hamlet's mother, but I liked all of the stories. Most of them are only three or four pages long, even in my little hardback edition, so they're very quick to read. Unfortunately this makes some of them quite easy to forget, but on the other hand it seems to amplify the power of others.
I would recommend Good Bones to anyone who has enjoyed any of Margaret Atwood's other works, anyone who likes short stories, and most especially to anyone who wants to try reading more short stories.
I've been really busy since the start of February and the result is that I've gotten ten books behind in my reviewing. But today, this seems like serendipity rather than poor time management as I'm reviewing Wayward Girls and Wicked Women on its editor's birthday (she would have been 72!).
It's an anthology of short stories, all about women and girls who don't behave in the way that they're supposed to. Some of them just bend the rules of femininity, tiptoeing around scandal, others wander down morally grey paths, a few are borderline evil, but most of them show the irony of the title - the behaviour of their characters may be regarded as wayward or wicked, but they are just trying to live their lives. I can honestly say that I enjoyed every story in this collection, and all of them made me think. Some of them are still regularly popping into my mind two months later.
Wayward Girls and Wicked Women features tales of varied lengths and a couple of the longest, Colette's 'The Rainy Moon' and Vernon Lee's 'Oke of Okehurst' did drag a bit, though they are also two of the most memorable and interesting stories.
I also really liked 'Violet' by Frances Towers, 'The Long Trial' by Andrée Chedid, and 'The Earth' by Djuna Barnes. I'd read Angela Carter's own contribution, 'The Loves of Lady Purple' before, as it also appears in one of her own collections, Fireworks, and of course in the collected short stories volume Burning Your Boats (I own both), but it's a story with wonderful atmosphere and I really liked the way that the author summarised it when giving an overview of the stories in her introduction to the anthology.
My copy is one of the old green covered editions which is cool in a retro way, but I really like the design of the reissue, both in hardback and paperback.
Introduction to the book by Lennie Goodings, Publisher at Virago.
When I opened the First Look jiffy bag from Virago last month to find a copy of Living Dolls, by Natasha Walter, I was really excited. I had read quite a few reviews of this book online, and was intrigued. I was also pleased to see that the Virago Book Club would be including non-fiction titles, it's great to see such a variety of works chosen for the group so far.
Living Dolls is a book that argues that society in the UK is moving backwards, actually becoming more and more sexist, as suggested by the subtitle 'The Return of Sexism'. It is divided into two sections. The first, 'The New Sexism', looks at the impact of the sexist aspects of our culture on girls and women, and the second, 'The New Determinism', examines the so-called science used to justify maintaining the status quo.
I found the first section the most interesting as Natasha Walter spoke to many different people to find out what they thought about the increasingly sexualised culture, and what impact it has on had on them. The descriptions of the way in which the marketing of toys and clothes to little girls has changed recently really resonated with me. I remember that I, growing up in the 1990s and early 2000s, practically lived in jeans until the age of 18. The Disney store didn't arrive until my sister and I were already too tall for the princess costumes. As a small child, I used to stare enviously at the racks of velvet or chiffon dresses hanging on racks in the formal corner of the children's departments in shops, but I knew full well that I'd rarely wear them, they just weren't practical, whether I was running about the garden, climbing at the playground, or curling up with books. I didn't want to confine my everyday movements to activities that would keep my clothes nice. It's not as if I were a rebel either, there were very few ostentatiously girlie girls that I knew, jeans were cool. Yet girls today seem obsessed with pink. It's rare that I see a girl wearing jeans and no pink whatsoever, and I suspect that if I were growing up today I'd probably be as pink and frilly as the next wannabe-princess.
The second section is drier, as Walter questions the scientific method behind various psychological studies which have been held up in the press as proof of enduring and natural differences between the sexes. I was a bit shocked that I, who only did A Level Psychology, could easily pick out the flaws with the described studies before she did so in the text, and yet the press take the conclusions of the research at face value. One thing she did describe that I hadn't really thought of before, is the way that when female politicians are criticised for being unfeminine, or not attractive enough, it makes them seem less human, like they're breaking the rules of nature by having unperfect hair. I'd noticed this type of criticism before, and struggled to ignore it, but I'd never thought about it as making them seem inhuman, so that was interesting.
I do have a couple of criticisms of Living Dolls. Firstly, I thought that in the first section she devoted too much time to other people's opinions, and neglected to include as many of her own thoughts. I was often nervous, waiting to find out where the author herself stood, as she'd bring in an argument and quote various sources, but wouldn't say how she felt about it until several pages later. Although I don't agree with Melanie Newman's suggestion that Natasha Walter contradicts herself (I thought that it was perfectly reasonable for her to criticise mainstream pornography whilst acknowledging that there are alternatives to it) I can see where's she's coming from, as Walter gives so much space to general critique and doesn't discuss explicit sexual materials outside the mainstream, all she does is mention that they exist.
I also had trouble with (and this is where I do agree with Melanie Newman's review for the f word) Walter's idea that promiscuity is now seen as as an acceptable choice for teenage girls, and is even celebrated to the extent that it makes girls feel like they have to act that way. It doesn't ring true for me, I think the reality is much more complicated. It would have been interesting if Walter could have spoken to the girls she met in smaller groups, and asked them what they thought of the different possibilities, rather than just about what choices they had made for themselves. I would expect that some of those girls that proclaimed their desire for short-term flings and nothing serious would be (probably cruelly) critical of the girls that wanted long term relationships, and vice versa. Also, although the promiscuity of young women may be tolerated by society in the short term, they are still expected to start chasing the ring, the big white dress and the cradle, eventually. Let us not forget that 3 out of the 4 central women in Sex and the City, which is apparently a inspiration for the teenage girls quoted in Living Dolls, got married in the end, and that the whole series (and two films) revolved around their relationships, no matter how casual, with men.
It's a relatively minor issue, but I found the cover to be a bit strange - it looks slick and modern but it kind of contradicts the text with its image of a slim white woman's body, and the pink banner. I know book blog readers love to debate covers, so feel free to comment even if you've never heard of this book before!
I have to admit that it's difficult for me to judge how convincing Natasha Walter's argument is, because if she were so inclined as to find a choir to preach to, I would be in that choir. I agreed automatically with almost all her points as I studied media and cultural studies at university and have already read about a lot of the things she mentions in greater depth. However, I'm glad that this book has been published and promoted so well, as it is vitally important that people in general, outside academia, consider these issues that impact so much on all our lives. I read Living Dolls really quickly - I was done within a few days, which is unusual for non-fiction - so I expect that most readers would find it quite accessible and easy to read.
I'm going to do a related reading post because quite a few other interesting books were referenced by the author in this one, and there are also other books that I can think of just off the top of my head that are relevant, so watch this space!
We Had it So Good is a novel that has several main characters, but is focused on Stephen, an American who comes as a postgraduate student to Oxford in the Sixties. There he meets his future wife, Andrea, and her friends Grace and Ivan, and although he is scientifically-minded, he joins their hippie group and even starts to use his skills to manufacture LSD. It all goes well until he gets sent down (that’s Oxbridge for ‘expelled’) for tearing a page out of a library book, and is conscripted into the US army. Luckily for Stephen, Andrea is willing to marry him so that he can stay in the UK and avoid the draft, and so the novel follows this quartet as they grow up and move through life, finding careers, having children, and dealing with their family histories. Stephen and Ivan seem to find life the easiest, with families that are happy to look after them, whereas psychotherapist Andrea is trying to move on from her difficult childhood, and the glamorous, self-centred Grace is attempting to run away from her own past. The novel also features Marianne and Max, Stephen and Andrea’s children, as they begin adulthood in the present day.
I really enjoyed reading We Had It So Good. The characters were very interesting and believable, and although I found Stephen to be the least fascinating, I still thought he worked well as a focal point, with his family history playing such an important part in the way he sees the world. I thought that this novel had the right balance of description, emotion, and dialogue. Although the pace is slow, it works well with the style. The is not a novel with a gripping plot, there are some mysteries about the characters for us to chase through the pages, but on the whole the quality of the writing, and the themes of the novel, were what kept me interested. This is a portrait of a generation of the middle class (lots of reviewers just call We Had It So Good a portrait of a generation, but I have to point out that it’s a generation of the middle class, working-class experiences were different) that was full of contradictions. They start off their adult lives embracing counterculture, but end up almost defining convention, as middle-class clichés. They were lucky, but not grateful. They felt guilty about their children’s problems, but didn’t do anything much about them, perhaps considering them as inevitable as their own good fortune. I found it quite annoying that Stephen lacks ambition, expecting good things to just come to him, and doesn’t really make his own ‘big’ choices. His life is arranged at the start by his father, and later, his wife. It’s not that they control him, far from it, but that he lets them solve his problems, and ultimately design his life. Although she is an irresponsible, overly self-assured person, I actually had more respect for Grace because of this. I’m not sure whether this is exactly what the author intended, or if it’s just me being young and idealistic! I suspect it may be a combination of the two!
I only have one real criticism. The story is told in slightly-disconnected scenes, which is a very concise method of storytelling, but I didn’t really feel like I had a full sense of what family life was like for any of the characters. Stephen’s story pretty much begins when he leaves home to go to Oxford, and Marianne and Max don’t get much childhood in the novel, just a couple of scenes. This may just be a matter of personal taste, but I like to see how characters interact, and learn how they feel about each other that way. They all have definite opinions of each other – Stephen can barely stand Grace, Grace can barely stand everyone else, Marianne is afraid that her mother will make her analyse things she believes just are, Max finds his father too loud – and you do get to see Stephen and Grace’s irritation in action, but not very much of Marianne negotiating conversations with her mother, or Max enduring his father’s loudness. My favourite scenes were those that involved interactions between Stephen and his father, Si. I liked that Si was even more straightforward than Stephen felt himself to be, and that this made Stephen feel and act slightly awkward around him. I would have liked to know more about Stephen’s mother and his sisters, but to be fair, Stephen is on the other side of the Atlantic to them for most of the novel.
A much more minor thing that bothered me was the repetitive reminders of certain things. I hadn’t forgotten that Stephen had tried on Marilyn Monroe’s mink stole as a child 100 pages, or even 200 pages later. I hadn’t forgotten that Andrea had only ever gone to bed with Stephen either, yet that fact was repeated over and over as well. I guess that I was supposed to feel that these things were playing on the characters’ minds but the reminders weren’t accompanied by much in the way of contemplation.
We Had It So Good was the first title to be selected for the new Virago Book Club, and I received a copy to review through the First Look programme. If I’d never heard of Linda Grant, and was looking at bookshop or library shelves to choose something to read, I wouldn’t normally be interested enough in the subject matter and time period to take it home. However, I have read good reviews of some of Linda Grant’s other books, and I have a copy of The Clothes on Their Backs on my TBR, so I probably would have read We Had It So Good eventually. I am glad to have been sent a copy to review as I got to read it much sooner!
