Book Club: Diary of a Nobody

Mr Pooter is an office clerk and upright family man in a dull 1880s suburb. His diary is a wonderful portrait of the class system and the inherent snobbishness of the suburban middle classes. It sends up contemporary crazes for Aestheticism, spiritualism and bicycling, as well as the fashion for publishing diaries by anybody and everybody.

The Diary of a Nobody by George & Weedon Grossmith is just that... a diary of a nobody. Mr Pooter, as per the blurb and title is an ordinary middle-class, white male - there's nothing particularly special about him and nothing out of the ordinary really happens.

As a result, I can't really decide what my final thought is on this book. I can't say there was an amazing twist or a unusual character or even exquisite writing because its whole purpose was to be anything but extraordinary. For this reason, the characters aren't particularly likeable; they are all realistically flawed and some are on the cusp of caricatures that Grossmith puppets, largely to poke fun at the middle classes.

What I really liked about the novel was the humour, exposing the ridiculous in the banalities of everyday life and the eccentricity and honesty of our own internal dialogues. I couldn't help but laugh every time Pooter relayed an occasion when he delivered a truly exceptional joke, especially when it's clear from his diary that no one around him found it that funny... story of my life.

The satirical aspects did keep me reading but did it do quite enough to make this an exceptional reading experience? Not really, but being original serialised in 1892, it's not surprising I didn't relate entirely. Saying that, there are, surprisingly, still some relevant social observations in this novel for the modern reader.

As an exploration of the 'ordinary man', this novel reminded me quite a bit of Dickens' Sketches by Boz, helped I'm sure by the similar line drawings that illustrate Pooter's diary throughout. Also,The Diary of a Nobody, like a number of Dickens' works, was first published as a serial in Punch magazine. I couldn't say that this was quite as intricate as anything of Dickens' but, despite being a little dry (as is inevitable when focussing a whole book on the 'diary of a nobody'...) it should probably be read.

I give it a 5/10

What does this tell us about the state of the world?

Bet you were thinking wow, this blog's gone a bit intellectual, a bit philosophical one might even say. Afraid that day hasn't come quite yet. The title of this blog post refers to the news revealed a couple of days ago about the Oxford English Dictionary Word of 2013 being awarded to... the "Selfie".

Dear dear dear. Flashing images of my 13 year-old self desperately trying to catch myself in the frame as I my camera out in front of my trying to create a suitable "selfie" (sorry I just can't not use quote marks for this word..." for my myspace page. You know, the kind that says intelligent but not dull, pretty but not sexy, not self-conscious but not narcissistic either. If I could talk to my 13 year-old self I would tell her right now. 1) Not possible, honey. 2) STOP TAKING PHOTOS OF YOURSELF and 3) If you are going to take photos of yourself, wait a few years when they invent cameras on the front of your phone so you don't look like even more of a moron taking the photo as you do posting it to your facespacewitter page.

Nice little wordy nugget for you there. I'll leave you with this bewildering yet genius article highlighting some of the other words that have made it into the OED hall of fame - and yes, "twerking" is there. All I can say is thank you OED for providing me a distributable link for the next time someone asks me what it means... scarred. for. life. OED words 2013

Victor Hugo and Vianden

One of the reasons I've been so pathetic with my blog this November, other than just being extremely important and busy obviously, is that I have been off inter-railing. Translated that basically means taking a lot of trains. In Europe. And essentially spending a whole lot less time reading and a whole lot more time cycling like a moron around poor unsuspecting European cities, eating an embarrassing amount of stroopwafel, filming a Euro-pop music video (don't ask) and consuming a considerable number of beverages.

Right, back to the books. I did read. Hoorah! Excuse me while I congratulate myself... Anyway, what I read and when is not what I'm going to ramble on about this time - that will come later. I have decided instead to ramble on for a couple of paragraphs about a very big literary name and a very small town in a very small country.

What on earth do people do in Luxembourg? It's the question that appeared on everyone's faces when I told them that was one of our stops and it's definitely what I was asking when we strolled around Luxembourg City one Tuesday evening and didn't see a single person for 25 minutes... The answer, it seems, is to get out of the city and get stuck in to the countryside. Luxembourg really is beautiful with its rolling hills, quirky Gothic villages and extensive vineyards and one of the places it is most proud of is Vianden, a small town (with city status it is keen to add) in the North East of the country. It almost seems as if the town itself grows out of the surrounding hills, now turning a beautiful orange and red with autumn, and at the top of this spiraling town, looking down on its citizens from up high is Vianden Castle, a striking, Gothic, Hogwartsy (yes that is an adjective) mansion, stealing the show.

Despite its obvious beauty, charming streets and haunting castle, Vianden could have remained almost entirely unknown were it not for some help from the literary might that was Victor Hugo. The French author best known for his epic Les Miserables stayed in Vianden on several occasions between the years 1862 and 1871 and there is now a museum showcasing some of his works as well as an impressive Rodin sculpture, as you can see in the photo above. Looking up at Vianden castle from the river on a sunny autumn day, it's not hard to see why such a place might inspire artists such as Hugo. During his stays he wrote prose, poetry and drew sketches to capture the town, its atmosphere, its people, bringing it out of the shadows and introducing it to the rest of Europe. Arguably a better legacy than the 1000+ word brick he wrote... I only talk condescendingly because it is my nemesis, staring down on me much like Vianden Castle from my book shelf still unread - the only difference being that I did actually conquer the Castle.. the book is still very much ahead of me.

P.s. I genuinely took these photos myself. That is not a request for compliments (although they will be both gratefully and gracefully received), but merely to show that this town really as beautiful as they say it is. Go see it next time, you know, you find yourself in Luxembourg...

The Bone People by Keri Hulme

Blurb: In a tower on the New Zealand sea lives Kerewin Holmes, part Maori, part European, an artist estranged from her art, a woman in exile from her family. One night her solitude is disrupted by a visitor—a speechless, mercurial boy named Simon, who tries to steal from her and then repays her with his most precious possession. As Kerewin succumbs to Simon's feral charm, she also falls under the spell of his Maori foster father Joe, who rescued the boy from a shipwreck and now treats him with an unsettling mixture of tenderness and brutality. Out of this unorthodox trinity Keri Hulme has created what is at once a mystery, a love story, and an ambitious exploration of the zone where Maori and European New Zealand meet, clash, and sometimes merge. Winner of both a Booker Prize and Pegasus Prize for Literature, The Bone People is a work of unfettered wordplay and mesmerizing emotional complexity.

My bezzie moved to New Zealand this year and for my birthday present she aptly bought me this, The Bone People by Keri Hulme. Hulme was the last New Zealander to win the Man Booker Prize before Eleanor Catton won the esteemed prize this year with her novel, The Luminaries.

I really loved this book. Not necessarily for its literal story or its specific characters, although both were extremely good, but for the tone it set and how I felt reading it, particularly the first half. New Zealand has an extraordinary landscape and has remained, for many, a mystery as Australia normally seems to win the tourists for some reason. This landscape and sense of the unknown comes across in abundance in this novel. With the risk of sounding like the biggest ponce, I'd go as far as saying you could almost feel the waves crashing on the sand - the novel's cover arguably helping me construct this image...

There are three main characters in this novel, all completely different and all adding something to the novel. Kerewin's eccentricity could perhaps have the potential to make her seem caricatured and unbelievable (which fits in with the book itself, which does, in places, touch upon the magically realist...) But despite and because of these slightly odd moments, Hulme has crafted Kerewin (and her world) wonderfully; her grace, her insecurities, her unique mind and her inner-conflicts all come across to create a very full, 'real' person that you can't help feel affection for.

If I had anything negative to say, it would be that I could have done without the author's introduction. As brilliant a writer as she is, she's definitely indulgent. The novel is long, with not much plot - and I liked that - but she's clearly a woman who is difficult to edit. Her preamble felt a little aggressive and a little self-consciously eccentric, which easily winds me up. Saying that, I don't know the woman but I do know her book, and I really loved it.