Books

Amsterdam just doesn't give me the energy levels London did so rather than being out and about a lot, I prefer to stay in most nights. A glass of red, a hot bath, Spotify and a book are perfect companions on those occasions. So despite no longer commuting by public transport, book or Kindle in hand, I still finish one book after another. And recently I read a couple I really enjoyed.

The Help is set in Jackson, Mississippi in the sixties, and is told from the perspective of two maids and a daughter of a cotton farmer. Skeeter, the cotton farmer's daughter, mourns the loss of the maid who was with her family for most of her life and is struggling to accept the racial views of her peers. Aibileen loves the child in her care more than the mother does, and Minny often gets in trouble for speaking her mind. Their stories come together when Skeeter decides to write a book with stories of the Jackson maids and asks Aibileen, her friend's maid, to help her. It's a wonderfully written book, painful to read at times, even more so when you realise how recent this history is, and how for some it's not even quite history yet (think KKK). It's touching and funny and I just loved reading it.

When I visited Washington DC last May I made sure to spend some time in Kramer's, one of my fav book stores. One of the titles I picked up was The Imperfectionists. It is basically a series of portraits of employees of an English language newspaper in Rome. The characters are so well defined, and the stories often so funny, it's hard to put the book away. It's an amazing debut by Tom Rachman. In several of the stories, the last few sentences completely change the picture you'd been painting in your mind. Very clever and charming.

Ian McEwan is very much hit and miss for me. I've loved some of his books yet almost hated others. A few reviews I read made me buy Solar. And I enjoyed this story of a womanizing scientist whose life went downhill after he won the Nobel Prize for his research. He sometimes made me cringe, in the way that David Brent from The Office does. But just like I would keep watching The Office, I kept reading Solar. There's a certain charm in the dodgy scientist, and the way McEwan portrays him troughout the book is brilliant.

Finally, having read a fair bit about the flick, I picked up One Day at a recent visit to Waterstone. A guy I follow on Twitter said he'd found it touching and I can see what he means. It tells the life of two friends on 15 July of every year from their graduation date onwards. A drunken snog then turns into a friendship where he becomes a womanising tv-personality while she dates an unsuccesful comedian, slaving away in a Mexican theme restaurant for years. It's a very easy read, and great company on grey autumn days.

Four positive reviews. Have I read any crap books recently? Not really, I think. Next is the Fry Chronicles, and I have high expectations of that one too!

Preparing for my move

Birthday cards, Clippers organic tea, Merchant Gourmet lentils, loads of chocolate, HP sauce, marmelade, lemon curd, Lizi's granola, coconut flakes, dried pineapple, books, books, books and quite a few clothes. My coping mechanism is to surround myself with Englishness when I return home in two and a half (!!) weeks. I can't bring my gym instructors, colleagues or favourite restaurants so I will settle for what I can bring. The movers will probably think I'm nuts (as dI think did the check out girl at Waitrose when she saw all the cards) but he ho. I like the idea of having my english stuff around me in my Amsterdam flat in a few weeks' time. Strange feeling that this time in three weeks, I will have pretty much unpacked....

Oh, and to balance it out: four big bags full of no longer worn clothes for the Marie Curie charity shop and counting....

Books

One of the best things about traveling by myself is being able to spend days reading without having to talk to someone. I must have gone through about 12 books on my last hols. Fair few detectives (Jonathan Kellerman, Faye Kellerman, Ian Rankin, Michael Connely, Janet Evanovich, Henning Mankell) and a couple of 'proper books'. And good ones at that.

First I read Three Cups of Tea, the remarkable story of American mountaineer Greg Mortenson, who after an failed attempt to climb K2, started building schools for girls in northern Pakistan (that's a massive shortcut - read the book for the full story!). The story is about friendship, about courage and about rural Pakistan. It's very touching, and incredibly fascinating. Without being an expert, I also strongly believe how educating kids in these schools will help balance the indoctrination of poor kids in many of the Saudi-funded madrassas. His second book is on my Amazon wish list, I cannot wait to read it.

Next there was The Family Way, recommended by a friend. I'd heard of Tony Parsons of course, but had never read his books. I really enjoyed this novel about three sisters and their struggles around having kids. Sister 1 can't conceive, sister 2 does not ever want to be a mom (or does she) and sister 3 ends up pregnant after some fun between the sheets with an random Australian. Impressive how a man puts himself in women's shoes so well. And with humour too. Again, some of his other books are on my wish list.

Purple Hibiscus is Nigerian Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie's first novel. I read her second, Half of a Yellow Sun last year and loved it. I am glad I read than one first. Despite it being set in Nigeria's civil war, I found it less gruesome than Purple Hibiscus at times. That said, it is a fantastic debut. It tells the story of a 15 yo girl and her brother, who grow up in a wealthy, catholic Nigerian family. Their father is a religious fanatic and does the most awful things to them, emotionally and physically. In his eyes, he does them a favour punishing them for their sins as he helps them become good catholics. Her aunt and cousins show the reader another Nigeria. Working for the university, the aunt is struggling financially, but the happy household full of laughter is a world away from the one of the main character. Both come together and split again several times throughout the book. Read it for yourself. It's brilliant.

And I managed to save the best for last. The Lacuna is the first book I've read by Barbara Kingsolver. It's the story of a half Mexican, half American boy-grows-man who spends part of his teens and twenties with Frieda Kahlo, her painter husband, and the guests of their household, Trotsky being one of them. When he goes back to the US at some point, he becomes a very succesful novelist. Until his past catches up with him as J. Edgar Hoover's witch hunt for unamericanism gets him in trouble. The story slowly unfolds through the main character's notebooks and letters. The Lacuna is rich, colourful, and incredibly well written. Best book I've read in a while. Lucky I noticed it at Island Bookstore during a recent visit to Amsterdam!

And didn't I read anything rubbish? Oh yes. Number Ten, by Sue Townsend, a gift from a friend at my farewell party back in '08. The title refers to Downing Street. The Prime Minister is said to be too estranged from the people, and decides to travel the country, disguised as a woman. Worst book I read in ages. What a waste of time.

Eight more sleeps!

For the past three weeks I have stopped myself from starting to pack my suitcase. As of tonight, I have given up. Too much excitement. Like a quarter back at the prospect of being in the cheerleaders' dressing room. A priest on his way to a playground (appropriately timed, this comparison, as the pope is almost on his way here). Or the good old kid walking into a candy store. The excitement that comes with the prospect of something big. In my case, a trip to my beloved Asia. Malaysia and Singapore, to be precise. In eight sleeps. With a busy weekend and week ahead (busy in terms of visitors, diners and lunches that is). So I allow myself to start packing. Eight books at the bottom of my back pack. Two books in the carry on luggage. Beauty products. Bikinis. I do tend to get my priorities right. All I need to do next is wack in some underwear, clothes, pack my camera gear and Bob's your uncle. Kuala Lumpur, here I come! Almost!

Dinner with Mugabe

I finally finished the book on Mugabe I was reading. Dinner with Mugabe, by journo Heidi Holland (who jokes her next book will be Out to Lunch with Ahmadinejad). It's a fascinating insight in the transition from freedom fighter to tiran. It doesn't make excuses for what he has become but it tries to understand and explain. At the end of the book, the writer finally manages to interview Mugabe himself. She asks him how he would like to be remembered. His response?
"Just as the son of a peasant family who, alongside others, felt he had a responsibility to fight for his country. And did so to the best of his ability. And was grateful for the honour given him to lead a country and be remembered as one who was most grateful for the honour that the people gave him in leading them to victoria over British emperialism. Yes, for that I want to be remembered."

The man is a total and utter nutcase. But it makes for fascinating reading about the country I so loved when I visited it in 1997.

Books

What is it with this guy Russell Brand? He wears make up. He talks funny. The couple of times I have seen him interviewed he talks shite on top of that. Yet his book My Booky Wook (now what kind of title is that....) stares at me from every bookshop in town. Get lost! Go away! Now a book that should be staring at every one, silently saying 'buy me, buy me' is Netherland by Joseph O'Neill. One of the best books I've read in years. Longlisted for the Man Booker Prize and favorite of the bookies. A story of London and New York post 9/11. About The Hague, about love, about friendship and to a lesser extent about cricket. A must read. Forget stupid wookybook...