The Perks of Being a Wallflower - Stephen Chbosky

This is one of those times where I was introduced to the book by a movie trailer...stumbled across the book in one of my bookshop crawls and bought it, read it, have yet to actually see said movie version and the other night when DB saw it on the T-Box movie list, actually suggested he NOT download it that night on account of him looking, at that point for something light - and having read the book...this is not light material, and the movie trailer is somewhat misleading...

Let me start by saying that I really loved this book. There was much about it that was quite unexpected. I wasn't expecting it to be in epistolary style...and even that had a twist because the letters - although written as letters - are more like a diary. This reminded me of John Marsden's Letters from the Inside - and that sense became stronger the further I read. There are some quite clear parallels between the two books.

The inner lives of teenagers are providing much fodder for writers, particularly teens who are on the perimeters of teen society. In this case the protagonist, Charlie, is something of an anomaly - the things that make him 'different' only become obvious by degrees through the story. He suffers quietly, an exceptionally bright student with social issues...this is the first indication that there's something a little different about him. Then his lack of friends among his peers...and being picked up by an older crowd at school. And then comes his relationship with two individuals in particular - a brother and sister who are not, in fact, actual brother and sister - being steps an a blended family... He falls desperately in love with Sam but because she is pretty, older, and popular, never dreams that she could think of him that way and, as it happens, in a conversation at one point during their friendship, she suggests that he shouldn't feel tat way about her. Charlie has a teacher who has great faith in him - seeing beyond the issues and social ineptitude, feeding him an extended literature course to try and broaden his exposure to life via a, perhaps, gentler means than simply throwing ihim out in amongst people - which is how school works of course...and which Charlie avoids.

Then there is Charlie's family. They're a pretty regular, apple pie kind of American family - on the surface. Mom, Dad, three kids, nice house, etc... Charlie's the youngest. He gets on well with his older brother - who is leaving for college. He's convinced his sister hates him - his sister is at the age where being different is totally toxic so she is hugely challenged by Charlie and is constantly on the attack - while at the same time, desperately needing an ally against The Parents within the household and Charlie is her default ally... His parents struggle to deal with him - don't really get his brilliance because they're more preoccupied with the things about him that make him odd. There is mysterious Aunt Helen - who is at once fairy godmother and black sheep, but no one really knows why...the kids, at least.... Family gatherings with the extended family on both sides are fraught in different ways. There is always a sense of secrets being kept.

Charlie goes through many of the typical teen rites of passage in the course of the book, albeit with significant twists. There is always something a little unexpected and it's always a little - sometimes more than a little - dark and twisted. This is not light reading. It's a teen novel, but it's not a pretty story really. There are redemptive moments, but if you're going to read it, be prepared to find yourself having quite disturbed moments. Seventeen has read this one, and agreed with my assessment when we had a brief conversation about it.

It is very well written and I really didn't want to put it down. at a bit over 200 pages of smallish font, it was a fairly quick read. Engaging, surprising, and left me thinking. Recommended.

Must get around to checking out the movie adaptation...

And a little more bookcase porn....

The possibilities of dedicated reading spots are just endless... The Artist just posted this pic on Facebook for me:

Part bunk beds (on steroids!), part cubby house, part ultimate hideaway, a whimsical, fantasy construction...! It's quite amazing, isn't it? You would need a very large room to make this work. I think - if I'm honest - what I really want is a room, a whole room, to fit out as a library, with bookshelves to the ceiling and a ladder to reach the high ones, a cosy couch and a couple of deep armchairs, cushions, rugs, a window overlooking something lovely in the way of a view...

...sigh...

The great book pile up

Hello people! I have succumbed to the great contemporary curse of being 'too busy'. There was an article not so long ago in our local paper all about this that made some telling points about just what that busy-ness really is and how much of it we might legitimately be able to let go. I'm working on that...

Meantime, the books are piling up. I have a work-at-home day ahead of me, so have committed the ultimate work-at-home no-no by getting onto the computer still in pjs (no pics of THAT will be coming to you via this platform!) and getting started before it all looks too overwhelming. But as part of my general run around to clear the decks before I started I sorted the books that were everywhere. DB was heard to mutter last night dark things about living with someone who leaves books lying around all over the house...personally, as a decorative item, I think they have to come higher on the list than teenage gym shoes, sundry electronic cables, various backpacks that lurk with the express purpose of engineering broken necks, and any number of other items waiting to be put away, but there you go! The photo below - taken before the stack was sorted into its respective piles - is the current backlog waiting for attention here before being shelved.

This stack does not include the books I read but didn't feel moved to write about. The three at the right hand end are the to-be-reads; the next three are the reading in progress; the rest...ouchies....are those waiting for blog posts... Clearly, I need to get less busy with other things so I can get more busy with my blog! Equally clearly, I need more bookcase space, because there is a much larger stack on the floor next to one of the other bookcases and there's no space for them on the shelves.

I have 3,000-3,500 words to write today for a freelance assignment that isn't yet started, so that's it for now as far as blogging is concerned today. But, I will leave you - this is an idea from Arabella over at The Genteel Arsenal - with a quote from one of the current reads, The Winter of our Disconnect by Susan Maushart:

In my day, if you wanted to play violent interactive games, watch inappropriate content and converse with dodgy strangers, you had to wait for a family reunion.

Intrigued? Watch this space....

Another free library idea - at a bus stop

A friend posted this pic on Facebook for me the other day, and it reminded me of the free tiny libraries I posted about a few months ago. It makes me wonder just how many freely available bookshelves there might be scattered around the world, where they are, and who is accessing them. At work - St James' Anglican Church in King Street, Sydney - there is a bookcase in the crypt (no dead bodies down there, it's all very cool funky spaces that are used for all sorts of things, including the parish library) for the express use of the neighbourhood's homeless people, who are also catered for with a lunch on Sundays by a team of volunteers from the parish.

So, if you have pics, or know of free 'libraries' like these let me know and I'll post them here - it would be great to see where they are.

A Secret Kept - Tatiana de Rosnay

I bought A Secret Kept on the basis of having read de Rosnay's Sarah's Key after seeing the movie of the same name. Some time, I'll go back and re-read that one and do a post on it as well. A Secret Kept is a beast of a different colour in some respects - the underlying subject matter is quite different. Having said that, de Rosnay uses a similar structural device - memory, different time zones and personal perspectives of the one story mean that the whole story unravels unpredictably, out of sequence, and isn't complete until the very end.

The narrative begins in a drab waiting room of a provincial hospital where Antoine, shocked and alone, is waiting to hear whether his sister Melanie will survive the car crash they've just had while driving home from his surprise long weekend for her fortieth birthday. Antoine's internal dialogue is the spine of this section, setting the pace for the rest of the novel, which centres largely on Antoine's journey of discovery about the secrets of his childhood - secrets that began when his mother died.

Antoine and Melanie had, up to that point, enjoyed a happy childhood with their loving, if slightly distant father, their mother - whom both children idolised - and their sternly traditionally upper class grandparents and aunt, with whom they shared the annual family holiday to the island where the siblings had spent their long weekend. Antoine took Melanie there to begin a process of uncovering the mysteries surrounding their mother's death, which have begun, increasingly and in the wake of his divorce, to haunt him. He wants Melanie to join him on his quest, to help him find the truth of his mother's death and why in the aftermath she became a complete non-topic in their lives and their father withdrew so totally from them.

Melanie is ambivalent, and it is partly this, and a secret that she alludes to in the moment before, that cause her to loose both focus and control of the car.

What could become an overly intense internal monologue, given the focus is so weighted by Antoine's experience is rescued by interspersed letters - in italics and with no introduction or other context-providing devices - from Antoine's mother to an unknown party. It gradually becomes clear they were written to a lover during that last summer holiday before she died, but the identity of the lover isn't disclosed. Initially, they are a disembodied extra voice, but as Antoine progresses with his search, running the gauntlet of his antagonistic stepmother to brave his ailing father, bearding his grandmother, and enlisting the unwilling help of the reluctant Melanie, the voice from the past in the letters comes to be stronger and more embodied.

Antoine, crippled by his love for his now remarried wife has all but shut down on his life at the point where the story begins. He has to deal with his increasingly alienated children who arrive for their regular weekends but appear to be growing away from him fast. At the hospital with Melanie, he meets the enigmatic, motorcycle riding mortician, Angele, who seduces him and opens his eyes to the possibility of a life post-divorce.He digs and delves for clues about his mother, using the project as a means to re-activate his life.

While there is an end point to the search and he does uncover the story, it is the search and the often surprising other, unrelated discoveries along the way that ultimately become the more important element of this novel. On reading this, my second de Rosnay novel, I'd have to say that stylistically, she is particularly adept at creating a gripping narrative from the smallest and most mundane elements of ordinary lives. The most obviously dramatic moment in the book is the crash at the beginning, but that is really just a catalyst that shakes Antoine out of the living rigor mortis he's allowed himself to reach in his funk about picking himself up after his divorce, his apathy about declining relationships within the family and a shrinking circle of friends. It was an absorbing read, and one I'd recommend for one of those quiet afternoons when you want something that will hold you without requiring the more rigorous energy of an old classic.

The Stella Prize - inaugural award for women's literature

Everywhere I look - in the papers, online, etc - there are shortlists for literary prizes...it's that time of year. One that has caught my eye is the inaugural Stella Prize, named after Stella Miles Franklin. It is not, as the original Miles Franklin Award is, an open award; it is intended for women writers only. The latest article from this weekend's Sydney Morning Herald, contains some interesting statistics about the representation of women writers in literary awards, including the Miles Franklin, and some discussion about the possible reasons why women continue to be under-represented in award shortlists, let alone on the winner's podium.

Reading the article reminded me of a conversation I was part of many years ago in my mother's living room. Present were my mother and a number of her friends, including an old family friend who was very well read, and male. The discussion centred around the ABC radio programme Life Matters, compered by Geraldine Doogue, which covers (I think it's still running) a myriad of topics. There had been a programme that week about literature and Doogue had interviewed someone - can't remember who it was now - and they discussed the difference between the work of male and female writers. Again, memory is failing me, but either Doogue or the interviewee made the comment that, by and large, they only read women writers. Old Family Friend was quite agitated by the very idea... A vigorous discussion ensued as to the various merits of men and women's fiction, of - to his way of thinking - the limited experience to be had by reading the work of only one gender, and that someone should be on the radio admitting to being so limited! It all got a bit heated at one point - and I must confess to not helping with that... At the time, I was up to my eyes in a visual arts degree course, and was hitting the wall in history subjects that appeared contain few, if any, women artists - at a time where the backlash of feminist history publishing was at its height - so I weighed in from a feminist viewpoint, which clashed badly with a number of strongly held generation viewpoints!

So, here are two quick snaps of two of my bookcases:

The top one is part of my adult fiction collection and the bottom is part of the children's literature. Taken randomly - shelf choice was governed purely by how clear the shelves were, as there are a number of extraneous objects that shouldn't be on the shelves elsewhere that I haven't yet cleared away!

If you click on the images you can make them bigger, and hopefully read the spines. Both collections are skewed more to women writers. This isn't intentional, and I'd not thought about my own collection of books in gendered terms until all the things that came together in my head this morning prompted me to write this post.

With the children's literature, it may just be that more women write for children - I don't know. Anecdotal evidence suggests that girls tend to read more than boys, so perhaps that market has always been larger and more open to women writers. Conversely, perhaps that very fact has also tended to pigeon-hole women writers in the eyes of a largely (for a long time) male-dominated publishing industry. Rogue books/series such as J.K. Rowling's Harry Potter books create isolated phenomena that bring reading to the fore in a way it isn't generally as a popular recreational pastime, crossing both gender and age. The recent rise in vampire and fantasy literature that has made its way down into YA shelves has possibly also caught the imagination of a more balanced gender spread of readers. I don't know - I'm supposing here... Admittedly, what can be seen on my children's lit shelves is also skewed heavily in the vintage and classic eras, when there were definitely more women writing for children, and across much wider subject matter too - although, rather lacking in vampires! The 'boys' literature of the vintage and classic writers tended to be more heavily adventure based.

The top photo is a more balanced selection of both contemporary and vintage fiction - but again, I realise, there are far more women writers up there than men. I don't know what that says about me... There is a quote from the article I've referenced, by the only male judge for the Stella Prize, Rafael Epstein, who says, in summing up whether there is a huge difference in the way that men and women write (if you click on the link at the end of the quote, you can read the whole article):

Epstein, an avid reader of male authors, is wary of making generalisations, but after ploughing through scores of books by female writers, he has come to the conclusion that women do indeed write differently. ''They have more of an organic writing style, an ability to weave every aspect of life seamlessly into the character considerations rather than having a more singular focus.''
This is most noticeable when it comes to writing about sex. ''It is far more real, far more integral to the character and necessary to the plot.''

Read more: http://www.smh.com.au/entertainment/books/prize-fight-has-hidden-a-gender-20130412-2hqo4.html#ixzz2QOGVKZVs

I wonder if it is that organic, seamless and 'real' quality of women's writing that appeals to me subconsciously. It feels natural...after all, I AM female! It's not that I don't read men's writing - I do - on the stack to the right of my computer that are waiting to be written about, it's a fifty-fifty split of men and women's books. Although, the three titles I have listed in my diary as 'must go buy SOON' are all women's titles. The writer who, more than any other, inspires my writing is Drusilla Modjeska, another woman... I don't know. Ultimately, what I read is about personal taste, and if that means I'm reading more women writers, I don't see it as a hugely political statement.

I have no critical opinion one way or the other because to make one purely on the basis of gender flies in the face of what I believe to be true and fair - there are great writers of both genders, as there are some crappy writers of both genders. Ditto for practitioners in all the arts, and indeed, all areas of human endeavour. Is representation equal for both genders though...? History demonstrates that it hasn't been, and despite all the revolutions and legislation, the reality is that we still haven't reached a point where both genders are represented equally across the board in any field.

So over to you, my fellow readers...what's on YOUR bookshelves, and who are you reading?

Flower o' the Pine - Ethel Turner

I'm scraping in here with Arabella's reading challenge - vintage children's literature...which shouldn't have been a problem for me. I have bookcases full of vintage children's literature! However, the February/March period for the challenge coincided with the pre-Easter prep at work, and my blogging has taken a back seat to all of that!

However, here we go, with one of my very favourite Ethel Turner books. It's not one of her particularly well-known books - the Seven Little Australians trilogy are perhaps her best-known. Three Little Maids, which is loosely autobiographical is possibly runner up. I have a soft spot for Flower o' the Pine because it's set in Manly, where I was born. We moved away from there to the inner western suburbs when I was only three and a half, so I have no memory of living on the north side of the harbour, but I grew up on stories of my mother commuting to her city job on the Manly ferry and enduring morning sickness while pregnant with me on that same trip - alleviated by either Coca Cola (she only ever drank Coke when feeling squeamish) or a large dill pickle eaten out of a paper bag!

This is my precious first edition, published in 1913. The colour plate pasted on the front cover is original, and there are several more full sized colour plates throughout the book. It's a classic Ward Lock book - heavy, fabric-covered covers and thick blotting paper weight pages. As is the case with many of the Ward Locks, it doesn't have a publishing date, but years ago, I was able to date all my Ethel Turners - discovering that this and two of the others were first editions, much to my delight. The covers are a little worn, particularly at the corners, and there is some foxing on some pages, but overall, given it's 100 years old this year, it's not doing too badly. Turner dedicated this story to Alfred Lord Tennyson and his wife:

Dear Lord and Lady Tennyson, - You gave me many flowers of England - the white flowers of sleeping under his roof - the fragrant flowers of our own friendship - the blue flowers of your woods - I have few keener memories of England than the first moment when we came on those magic carpet of bluebells in your woods. Will you take in return this rough little Flower of Australia that you, too, know and love so well?

The Flower in the story is a little girl, the youngest child of a family struggling to make a living far up the coast from Sydney in tropical North Queensland. Her three older brothers are growing up tough under their straightened circumstances, but little Flower is frail and it is feared that she won't survive to adulthood if she has to stay there. The story opens as the family are seeing her off to relatives in Sydney, where it is hoped she will grow stronger in the milder climate. She is facing the ordeal of going alone very bravely, but is secretly much afraid of the unknown relatives, only known by name and that they are unimaginably wealthy. The novelty of ship travel soon cheers her up and in her conquest of everyone on the ship from the Captain down sets a pattern for Flower's way with people for the rest of the book.

Ten year old Flower is a winsome, imaginative little grub. When she takes the Captain with her while she unpacks, he is treated to a detailed description of her travelling box:

"See that box? You couldn't guess what that was, could you, to save your life? ... It is two kerosene cases nailed together," said Flower. "First you plane them an put a lid on with hinges. Daddie did that. Then you get this nice sugar-matting stuff; only only it didn't come from sugar, it came on the box of tea from China. You tack it all over, very smoothly. Mother did that. Then you put a moulding all round to hide the tacks. Then you line it with sateen - sateen's a nice word, don't you think so - not so wealthy as satin, but nice and smooth like sateen. Then you put on a padlock, because people aren't always honest. Why aren't they? Then it's done and it gives you two shelves. Much handier than bought trunks. What do you think of it, Captain?"

The Captain is hers from then on!

In Sydney, our introduction to the Hume family - Mr and Mrs Hume, son, Dennis and daughter, Elizabeth, Flower's uncle, aunt and cousins - is by way of a quarrel between Elizabeth and her mother. A repeated quarrel, prompted by Elizabeth's frustration with their circumstances, her mother's seeming indifference, and what she sees as her father's weakness. The Humes live a life of deception and pretense - the great fortune they once had is gone, lost - so the elder Hume's believe - by Mr Hume's brother, Flower's father - who forgot to file the renewal of an insurance policy leading, after a fire, to the loss of the family business due to forgetfulness in the glow of his marriage to Elizabeth's young teacher. Since, the family in the north have toiled to repay the debt.

TheHumes have grudgingly agreed to take the child, who has no idea of the family schism and arrives in a glow of goodwill, excited to meet these mysterious relatives. She finds a household filled with tensions and secrets, resentments and ill-feeling, overseen by the enigmatic Yoshida, the family's remaining servant who is cook and housekeeper rolled into one. Routine is highly prescribed, according to the standards they were once accustomed to - one dresses for meals, tea is taken in the drawing room, dinner has many courses, even though the courses are characterised by their paucity and repetitiveness.

Mr Hume lives an oddly solitary life, warped by the loss, and making no effort to rise above it and rebuild. Mrs Hume is neurotic and introverted, staying home all the time. Dennis is at university - what money can be spared goes towards his fees, books, and an allowance to cover clothes and travel. Elizabeth is also at university - but no money is allocated to her, as she is there in opposition tovher father who doesn't believe she should be going, so her live is one of constant scrimping and saving, making her very bitter.

Flower makes a special friend of Dennis, who, realising how very lonely and out of place she must feel, takes pains to spend time with her, buying her a swimsuit and teaching her to surf, introducing her to those of his friends they meet on their outings so that her friendship circle expands, including the young man, medical student, Oliver Warren (Warry), a young man known to Elizabeth from university whom she scorns - mistakenly - in her prickliness, assuming him to be condescending simply because he is wealthy. In fact, he is wholly admiring of her intelligence and would like to kow her better, and has baggage about his own background.

Gradually Flower wins over Mr Hume - demanding of him that he take her surfing when Dennis isn't available. Te exercise begins to have a positive effect on him and his outlook changes. She meets Warry's mother on holiday in Manly and engineers tea parties with Mrs Hume, despite Elizabeth's protests - Elizabeth who fears their poverty will be exposed. Eventually, she presses upon Mrs Hume to leave the house and go with her one afternoon to the Corso - Manly's promenade. Although still unwilling, Mars Hume eventually agrees. Finding themselves without money to buy tea, Flower runs back to the house to fetch a picnic and discovers Yoshida in the process of robbing the family of their money - the annual sum sent by Flower's father that is never banked, but is hidden in the house and sparingly drawn upon throughout the year for all their needs - the reason Mrs Hume normally never leaves the house. Yoshida, thinking he's bluffed Flower, puts together a picnic for them and agrees to take it to Mrs Hume while Flower stays in the house until he returns.

Elizabeth, returning home and taking the long, but free, walk up from the ferry is brooding on her difficult day, hoping that Flower might be home when she arrives - even her prickly surface isn't immune to Flower's charms. But what awaits her is Flower's crumpled form at the bottom of the large pine tree in the front garden; Flower with broken bones and terror in her eyes who cries only for Warry to come and make her better, and screams when Yoshida's name is mentioned.

Brave little Flower who, while Yoshida was away, had unearthed the hidden money and climbed to the top of the pine tree, only to be terrorised by Yoshida when he returned to find her there. Warry comes and sets her broken bones, and demands that Elizabeth nurse her. Mrs Hume breaks down under the loss of the bulk of that year's income and also requires nursing. Flower isn't questioned for a long time, and all the relationships between the various characters undergo many shifts and changes, until the day comes when Flower reveals that the money is still up the tree...

Flower slowly mends, but the hurt she has nursed all these long months being separated from her family, especially her bother Chippie, eats away at her. Eventually, Mrs Warren, Warry's mother, sends a cable and miraculously one day, Chippie arrives. Chippie, more aware of the genesis of his family's circumstances, isn't always discreet, and the senior Humes learn some truths about the way their relatives have struggled, doing without to send all they could every year, while they have merely sat and lived off that money, growing more and more bitter. Meanwhile, Warry's father has helped Mr Hume to some investments, which have borne fruit and writes a letter to Flower's parents, discharging their debt and begging them to leave North Queensland and come back to Sydney so that they can mend the family.

And all ends happily ever after!

Turner explores a common theme here that can be found in many of her books - the disparity between the haves and have nots and they way it affects them. Flower, who has grown up with nothing, and with parents who have every right to resent that all their hard work goes to support another family, has been protected by her parents from that information and is a sunny little soul wishing everyone goodwill. The Humes, blaming Flower's father and dwelling on their losses have become bitter and twisted, their attitudes tarnishing every endeavour and crippling them far more than the northern family's straightened circumstances and difficult life does them. Flower is the catalyst of change and ultimately, of redemption for most of the other protagonists in the story.

It is a whimsical tale, but for all the whimsy, it is underpinned by Turner's own experience of contriving and making do in order to keep up with Sydney society in her day. Her diaries reveal that she and her sisters spent their small allowances refurbishing dresses over and over because they couldn't afford new ones. I love it and re-read it regularly. I don't know how many editions were printed of this one, but it's not in print now - nor is it to be found in contemporary library collections. I ran my copy down in an antiquarian bookstore many years ago - I was on a roll discovering Turners at the time! It is quite delightful, and definitely one of my treasures.

Following a few queries, in addition to Sam's comment below, here's a link to a more general post I did on Ethel Turner and my collection of her books ages ago:
http://bookkunkiesanonymous.blogspot.com.au/2012/05/treasures-ethel-turner.html