A Fall Full of Books

It’s almost fall here, my friends. Not truly fall, but it feels like fall first thing in the morning. Almost sweater weather, you might say. My favourite time of year. Almost sweater and blazer weather. Almost curling up by the fire with a good book weather. Time to get the supplies in so we’re all ready for a fall full of books.

And in preparation for getting the book supplies in, I want to tell you about some books I’ve read recently and some I’m still anxiously awaiting.

I’ve read a few books lately that I was waiting for with great anticipation. Tim Sullivan’s The Tailor did not disappoint. I like Sullivan’s DS George Cross series. George Cross is brilliant, eccentric, and extremely difficult to work with if you expect him to behave like a neurotypical person, which he is not. Once other characters in the book take the trouble to get to know him better, his behaviour becomes fathomable, and he himself becomes almost endearing, and definitely worth the trouble. Several former students of whom I was very fond, and a couple of much loved family members, are on the autism spectrum. And trust me when I say life on the spectrum is not easy.

I love that George’s latest case involves a murder on a train, in fine Agatha Christie tradition. How many of her mysteries involved trains, do you think? I’ve never counted. After reading Paula Hawkins’ The Girl on the Train a few years ago I wrote a whole post about books involving girls/women on trains. You can read that here, if you like.

In his latest case George has to immerse himself in the world of bespoke men’s fashion. The victim is a tailor, as the title implies, and George does a deep dive into the tailor’s business and his working life, even going so far as to have a bespoke suit made for himself. Like George, I found the process of creating a bespoke suit fascinating. I love it when an author goes deep into a back story. Sullivan also did this with the world of second-hand and rare books in his last mystery The Bookseller.

You know, I’m thinking perhaps I might not have found these diversions so interesting if the victim had been, say, a podiatrist. Ha.

Another book, for which I’d waited, kind of disappointed me. Mark Billingham’s third novel in his new Detective Declan Miller series was a let down for me. I loved the first book, The Last Dance, as well as the second one, The Wrong Hands. This third book, The Shadow Step, trots out the same issues which interested me in the first two books. But which for some reason simply annoyed me in this one.

It seems that everything fell flat for me in this book: Miller trying to get over his wife’s murder, talking to her ghost about his problems, his ballroom dancing group, his pet rats, building a relationship with his wife’s daughter who is an addict and homeless, and his alienation from his colleagues except for his partner Sarah Xiu, whom he calls “Posh.” I found the lame jokes just lame instead of charmingly quirky. The violence was over the top for me. And the fact that Declan always pulls a rabbit out of his hat with respect to solving cases seemed suddenly totally unbelievable.

And that’s a pity. I usually like Mark Billingham’s books. Still I must admit that I grew tired of his Thorne series too. Sometimes we just want the writer to move his recurring characters along in their lives. I also became fed up with Ian Rankin’s Rebus after a while.

However, my aversion to Ian Rankin is at least partly due to Rankin’s being such a jerk to the audience at an Ottawa Writer’s Festival event I attended a few years ago. He and Stuart MacBride giggled together as if there was some private joke between them, neither read from their latest works, and they were just generally smart-asses the whole evening. The only bright spot was listening to Denise Mina.

I know writers must grow sick and tired of these events. The boring church halls, the same tedious questions over and over. But, come on. At one point when Rankin responded condescendingly to a question from an audience member, I wanted to stand up and say, “Watch your tone, young man.” As if I were admonishing a grade nine boy in my class. I followed Rankin on Twitter at the time, back when it was still called Twitter and I still used that platform, and later in the evening he posted that he “regretted the scotch(es) he’d had before the evening’s event”… or something like that. And I remember thinking, “That’s no excuse, Ian. No excuse at all.”

I also recently finished the much awaited new Elizabeth Strout novel. Strout is one of my favourite writers. I just love her characters and her style.

I find I settle into each of her books with a sigh. Like coming home to a hot strong cup of tea and a long rambling conversation with your best friend or your mum. Imagine those winter days when you don’t get home from work until after dark. You immediately put the kettle on, then change into a cosy pair of old sweat pants, that soft holey sweater you love, and pull on heavy warm socks. Once the tea has brewed you pick up the phone. That’s what opening a new Elizabeth Strout book feels like for me.

Not that there’s not trauma and drama and sadness in her books. There is. It’s just that her books give me hope that there’s kindness and empathy in the world. That we might not be able to make sense of life, but there’s value in trying to make sense of life.

I’m not going to go on about what I think of the book because I’m still ruminating about that. I will say that we’ve all had a lovable, ethical, “almost dopey” teacher like her main character Artie Dam. And that they changed many lives in the course of their teaching career. I think what I loved most about this book were Artie’s interactions with his students. I encourage you to read this review from The Guardian. And then read the book.

Another book that I highly recommend is a reissue of an early Peter May book. The Man with No Face is set in 1979 and was originally published in 1981. In an introduction to the book May says that his publisher urged him to have a look at this one with an eye to republishing it. May said he was pleasantly surprised when he reread the book, and with a few minor revisions he agreed to reissue it. He does warn the reader that his depiction of the child with autism in the book reflects what was known about autism at the time. And not known, as the case may be. I could see what he meant as I read, but his depiction does not detract from the book in my opinion.

Anyway. I recommend The Man with No Face. It’s set in the winter of 1979, in Brussels in the early years of the European Union, or the European Economic Community as it was called. I enjoyed visiting the world of no cell phones or computers, paper notebooks, and typewriters. The main character is Neil Bannerman, a talented but jaded Scottish journalist sent to Brussels to ferret out political stories. What he doesn’t bargain for is the murder of a British journalist and a top British minister. I really enjoyed the book. Lots of good character development, a tight plot, and an evocative setting in snowy Brussels. It’s classic Peter May before Peter May was famous. Good reading for a chilly fall evening in my opinion.

I’m sure you’ve all heard about the death of Gloria Steinem last week. In fact, Kristin mentioned her death in the comments on last week’s post. I’ve long been an admirer of Steinem’s even though I didn’t know much about her. Oh, I knew the broad strokes, her work at Ms. magazine, her going undercover as a Playboy bunny, her championing of women’s causes, her calm and utterly sensible voice in interviews, and, in the seventies, her iconic long hair, aviator glasses, and bellbottom jeans. She dressed like us, I remember thinking back then. A review in The Guardian of her soon to be published memoir, An Unexpected Life, took me down a Gloria Steinem rabbit hole this week. Here’s one interesting article where “feminist writers from around the world” speak about her.

Anyway, I came up for air a day or so later, and purchased her earlier 2015 memoir called My Life on the Road. I’m actually listening to the book. Steinem herself narrates the introduction and Debra Winger narrates the actual memoir. In her introduction Steinem talks about the fact that even though she spent years and years away from home, always on the road between one campaign or speaking engagement or another, she’d never written about her travelling. She said until this memoir, she’d written least about what she spent most of her life doing.

And wow, that woman can write. I’m captivated by her telling of her early peripatetic life with her parents and her sister, especially the depiction of her dad. Despite everything he wasn’t … he was kind. She says that was his gift to her. She learned the value of kindness. That made me tear up. Anyway, I won’t say more because I’m only part way through. I think I’ll be getting lots of exercise this upcoming week. Because sometimes for me walking the trail alone or sitting on my exercise bike is only an excuse to read or listen to a good book.

I’m also refining the list of books I can’t wait to read. Kate Atkinson has a new one set in 1949, postwar Britain called Our Noble Selves. Atkinson is one of my favourite writers, both of literary novels and mystery novels. Her novel A God in Ruins was wonderful. Our Noble Selves comes out next week in the Canada and the U.S.

I can’t wait for S.J. Bennett’s newest instalment of “her majesty investigates” series. I’ve loved every one of this really fun series. Death on the Royal Yacht is out in October.

And I am anxiously awaiting two books which come out in dreary November. Mary Lawson’s Solace in Winter is the follow-up to A Town Like Solace. Lawson is a Canadian writer and another one of my favourites. If you’ve not read her you should. Start with Crow Lake. Lawson’s characters are always complex, interesting, and just regular people at the same time. Her stories are often about trauma, but they are not traumatic to read. You don’t finish a Lawson book in despair that there is no hope for the world. Quite the opposite. The stories of people living their lives in the harsh landscape that is northern Ontario, where many of them are set, is always heartening to me, even if they involve loss or sadness. Her work reminds me of Elizabeth Strout’s, although their styles are quite different.

And I’m looking forward to William Boyd’s new Gabriel Dax thriller Cold Sunset, also out in November. I really enjoyed the first two, and highly recommend Gabriel’s Moon and The Predicament. I wrote about Boyd’s first Gabriel Dax novel here, if you’re interested.

There’s nothing like a good thriller to read in front of the fire while the November rain lashes against the windows. Not just any thriller. A good thriller. I am, in fact, not a big fan of thrillers. It’s just that William Boyd is such an excellent writer, I’ve made an exception for him.

Fall is indeed my favourite season. I love everything about fall. Almost fall, like now. When the chill in the morning requires a jacket or sweater, and it’s not too hot to wear long pants. Or when the leaves turn colour and, even though it’s sunny, tweed blazers and jeans with ankle boots feel just right. Or later when the sky turns leaden, and you know that cold rain is on the way. When the trees are bare, and the trail is slippery with leaves underfoot. When you have to wear that heavy turtleneck under your raincoat. Even then bleakness can be beautiful. Especially when weighed against the thought of a cosy fire, a strong cup of tea, and a good book.

I mean, okay, much of what I love about fall is about clothes. Tweeds, cashmere, boots, jeans, you know. But it’s more than that. Fall to me is about family and cosy fires. A glass of red wine. A hearty stew simmering on the stove.

And a few good books waiting for me to open them and step into whatever world the writer has created.

How about you, my friends. What books are you stockpiling to get ready for a fall full of books? Any you’ve read that you’d suggest as fall fireside reading for the rest of us?

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