How to Build A Girl

March 14, 2016 Nicola

A Caitlin Moran book (any, I’m not fussed) has been on my reading wish-list forever.

Gatwick Airport, back in the hazy summer of 2015. Instead of perusing WHSmith's reading selection fastidiously I flew about recklessly grabbing magazines from the shelves as if I were a contestant on Supermarket Sweep, buying an over-sized bottle of water just to nab a free Telegraph and seizing the first book within reach. Knowing full well I was due in Departures NOW.

"Ah, a Moran!" said my brain, as the bright lemon cover of How to Build a Girl caught my eye. "That'll be a good start". (Swiftly followed by "Argh, where's my sodding boarding pass?!").

Well, what a cracking start to #MissionMoran it proved to be. I chomped through HTBAG in two days flat on holiday, effectively ignoring my husband on the Santorini beach as he splashed about in the sea dejectedly with a snorkel and a sunburnt back. Under the cool shade, I snorted with laughter. Blubbed. Reminisced. Felt exuberant. Wrote a whole blog post about it rather than just a section on My 2015 Media Diet.

Off the bat, I knew this was my kind of book and that Johanna Morrigan was my kind of protagonist. She is inquisitive, imaginative, bright as a button and eager to learn about EVERYTHING on the fringe of her, at times, rather shit life on a Wolverhampton council estate with an unconventional family. When we first meet Johanna she is fourteen and wants to build a new girl. She escapes to London to work in the music press. It is the 1990s.

This is why I loved it.

There are laugh-out-loud bits in abundance. ‘“My life is basically The Bell Jar written by Adrian Mole” remarks Johanna. There are references to Mark Curry and DJ Mike Read of Radio 1 fame which sparked fond memories of being an awkward adolescent and growing up in 80s/90s Britain. Dogs that look like Limahl. Pebble Mill. McDonald’s’ Hamburglar. Family weddings where Star Trekkin’ by the Firm is played. Biscuit tins that emit a piggy snort when a biscuit is taken (“which even my balmy exuberance can't help but interpret as slightly judgemental”). There are way too many funny bits to mention here without ruining your fun, it is swarming with them. The whole book is a funny bit.

Yes, there is bleakness, inequality and the class divide but dealt with in a brilliantly witty way. It’s been said there are semi-autobiographical undertones to HTBAG, reflecting Moran’s own upbringing in a council house in Wolverhampton and a career that started in music journalism, but she is insistent in the Author Note that it is a fictitious work. Desperate to escape the drudgery of daily life and shoplifting black Rimmel eyeliner from the chemist, Johanna’s key goal is to move to London and be hot; fourteen of course being the age when looking hot is everything. She imagines London will be like a very large room and “on walking in, the entire city will go ‘COR! BLIMEY! YOU DON’T GET MANY OF THEM TO THE PAHND! like Sid James”. Back on the chic Greek beach, far far away from London, Sid and cockney accents and surrounded by bronzed, oiled goddesses drinking iced coffee, I laughed my head off.

There are touchingly affecting moments. Johanna’s family are skint, completely and desperately skint. She enters a competition for 'budding young Midlands' poets' to save the family and win a cheque for £250 which also includes the opportunity to read the poem out on Midlands Weekend, watched by pretty much everyone in the West Midlands. With a steely determination, a hugely clever brain and the worry of money hanging over her head, she wins. Moran’s description of Johanna’s TV appearance is lively, poignant and sharply observed but when Johanna sees herself through the camera’s monitor after not really having seen herself before (there are no mirrors at home) she sees an appearance she considers pale, round faced, fat and not beautiful at all and feels her heart break, it is a genuinely moving moment. Eventually, the £250 prize money goes to Johanna’s Dad - £190 to fix the car, £30 on the overdraft and £30 in The Red Lion.

There is heaps of unapologetic sex and masturbation - the latter on page one no less. Upon reviewing How to Be a Woman, Germaine Greer wondered if Moran would regret talking about masturbation so openly, but I applaud her bravery. To the best of my knowledge she is the only person who could include a reference to a googly-eyed draft excluder in a romping, raucous sex scene.

Yet, I was mostly drawn like a magnet to the music references which I soaked up like a sponge. When Johanna decides resolutely to upgrade herself, to build a new girl so as not to be her anymore, she creates an alter-ego named Dolly Wilde (after Oscar Wilde’s niece) and feverishly sets out to "be a self-made woman…to conjure myself, out of every sparkling, fast-moving thing I can see". She discovers records shops (which she observes are "not for womenfolk"), free music magazines, John Peel, NME and Melody Maker in the Central Library, the riot grrrl movement, and so much more and there she has it - her way out. After two years of building Dolly, she bags an interview at Disc & Music Echo and this is where the real fun and discovery begins.

There were so many things I could relate to in sixteen year old Johanna, now as a thirty-seven year old woman, whose version of the Central Library in 2016 is Spotify, Twitter, online magazines and going to gigs and soaking up everything there is to know about old and new music.

Going for an interview as a music journalist in London is exactly what I wanted to be doing when I was a mid to late teenager, possibly a direct result of having read every single issue of Smash Hits magazine religiously before it went out of publication. I was already in the Big Smoke of course, but wearing a Benetton jumper and sporting a crunchy perm. Inspired by the grunge movement I then started wearing clumpy boots and being morose and listening to Nirvana and going to parties with my friends and head banging to impress the boys at our youth club. Then having to have a can of Deep Heat sprayed on my neck the next day to ease the pain of turning my head from side to side.

When Johanna attends her first ever gig as a writer to see The Smashing Pumpkins it is described so gorgeously (only Moran could take the intense, pushing, leading dance of a mosh to be a tradition for the opening song and compare it to ‘Oops Upside Your Head’ at a wedding when everyone rows across the floor), that it evoked memories of me covering my first ever gig for Jazz FM. I was ridiculously excited, terrified, out of my depth, scribbling words into a notebook, drinking copiously. Grinning a lot at strangers.

Selfishly, I also thought it was only me who went to gigs and got slightly angry with everyone else for being into the singer they thought was their special secret. When Joanna attends John Kite’s gig, after striking up a friendship with the boozy, filthy, voluble singer and falling hopelessly in love with him, the description is dreamy and powerful and perfectly evokes the ‘EVERYTHING IS SO UNBELIEVABLY AMAZING AND IMPORTANT’ feeing that dominated my early teens (and hormones). I read this passage at the top of a rock on Ancient Thera, an antique city on the ridge of the Messavouno mountain on Santorini, surrounded by undulating rocks and the twinkling Aegean Sea as we waited for the mini bus in the shade sheltered from the blistering sun. Yet in my head I was in the loud and hot Irish theatre watching John Kite from the sidelines, crying.

So, in summary, HTBAG, made my heart hurt with happiness and at times, despair. Let’s face it, we’ve all been Johanna Morrigan at some point in our life, trying to be someone we’re not and learning painfully but excitingly along the way. Maybe we still are.

It is hard to put into words how enjoyable it is and in fear of sounding too effusive, I’ll leave the clever words to Moran. All I know is this book which moves with such velocity with its humour, intelligence and bang on take on modern feminism made me feel inexplicably, ridiculously happy and light.

Often my regret in not going to university, instead deferring my place at Chichester to study Women's Studies and English Literature and never going, rears its ugly head. Then I recall from an interview that Moran didn’t go to uni and, well, she's a f***king genius so who the heck cares.

Newly added to the Moran wish-list is Moranifesto, which I understand features 'the same old ass-hats'. I can't wait.

WEBSITE

My 2015 media diet

March 13, 2016 Nicola

I've put myself on a media diet in 2015.

I'm cutting back on my Facebook intake and devouring books instead.

Here's a bookworm's account of the year.

(Read more about this here)

1. Caroline Kepnes - YOU (January 2015)

Devoured in a week: reading in bed, on the commute, walking along the pavement. Dark, often shocking and gripping tale of obsession in a modern world. Made me reconsider my tweets and consider whether I detested or sympathised with the main protagonist. Think Kepnes could have gone all out and made Joe even more repulsive. Great Book / Wine Club fodder as I think it'll divide opinion.

2. Jack Kerouac - On the Road (February 2015)

It didn't change my life like it changed Bob Dylan's and everyone else's, and at times I experienced travel fatigue and longed to get off the road. Yet now the journey has ended, just like Sal Paradise and his hero Dean Moriarty, I'm twitching to get back on it and experience once again Kerouac's richly evocative descriptions of America. 'The sun goes down long and red. All the magic names of the valley unrolled - Manteca, Madera, all the rest. Soon it got dusk, a grapy dusk, a purple dusk over tangerine groves and long melon fields; the sun the color of pressed grapes, slashed with burgundy red, the fields the color of love and Spanish mystery'.

3. Jeanette Winterson - Why Be Happy When You Could Be Normal? (March 2015)

I found Winterson's memoir, an account of two parts, deeply moving. Part one reflects on her adoption, the horrors of her bleak upbringing (including an attempt to exorcise her sexuality after taking up with a second girlfriend) and the solace she found in literature and education ('my mother didn't want books falling into my hands. It never occurred to her that I fell into the books - that I put myself into them for safekeeping'). Part two fast forwards 25 years later where we learn of Winterson's recent relationship end, her breakdown and attempted suicide and the process of finding her birth mother. Hardly a barrel of laughs I hear you say, but she writes with great warmth and humour and an almost Alan Bennett-esque style which peppers the memoirs with very English idioms that had my chuckling out loud on the tube, such as anecdotes about her repressive adoptive mother ('she was one of the first women to have a heated corset. Unfortunately, when it overheated it beeped to warn the user. As the corset was by definition underneath her petticoat dress, apron and coat, there was little she could do to cool down except take off her coat and stand in the yard'). A sad, but hugely enjoyable read that leaves you feeling empathy with all the characters you meet, even the despicable ones.

4. Kim Gordon - Girl in a Band. A Memoir (March 2015)

I found this book fascinating. Initially, I thought it would give me the opportunity to be, vicariously, what I’d always secretly dreamed of being - a girl in a band. It provided much more than that; an educational road trip filled with music, art, fashion and feminism. The super intelligent Gordon - bassist, guitarist and vocalist of the alternative rock bank Sonic Youth - begins her memoirs with the end, the painful separation of her marriage to SY guitarist Thurston Moore thanks to the involvement of another woman. What follows is a candid, sometimes painful, but always fascinating account of her California upbringing, her love of art and the unconventional, her formative years and cool NY living and what it really feels like to be a working mum in a band. Impressive references are made to the world of art, music and fashion (Patricia Field’s on Eighth Street in the East Village, her friend Marc Jacobs ) and the book provides some striking photos of the poster girl for indie rock. What I really took away though was that Gordon has a hell of a lot of substance to go with the style.

5. Roald Dahl - Matilda (April 2015)

A couple of years ago I declared in a Material Whirl blog piece that Matilda was the ultimate role model, aged four. Having re-reading this magical children's classic I’m sticking with my declaration. Although feeling a bit awkward reading a children's book on my daily commute, I soon forgot my shame, lost in Dahl's hilarious, sad and wise tale of a child genius being supressed by her stupid parents. One of the things I adore about this book is the very grown up themes that lurk beneath the surface; the adult jokes, and life lessons that are still relevant. Like the rare advice dished out by the awful Mrs Wormwood - ‘I’m afraid men are not always quite as clever as think they are. You will learn that when you get a bit older’. This is for book lovers (the books list on page 15-16 will put any adult bookworm to shame), farcical comedy lovers (who could forget Bruce Bogtrotter and the cake and the platinum-blond Man), gruesome word lovers (foul carbuncle, poisonous pustule!) and unforgettable character lovers (Mrs Trunchbull, Miss Honey, Eric Ink to name but a few). It took me back to days of innocence, silly words, eating tea at 7pm and being tucked up in bed with a Dahl. A sweet and exciting time. Matilda left a lasting imprint in my mind – the book ultimately celebrates intelligence and good teaching but for me it conjures up a great cluster of emotions just by turning the page. It is a funny, warm and intelligent story which sends out an empowering and brilliant message that it is OK to want to be clever and better and not have to look good, just because you are a girl. So, ghastly grown ups. Try out Matilda yourself. It’s a marvellous medicine to swallow.

You can read my views on Matilda as the ultimate role model, aged four, here.

6. Virginia Woolf - To the Lighthouse (May 2015)

I'm ashamed to say, as I hurtle towards the latter end of my third decade, that Lighthouse was my first vintage Woolf. I have other VW novels on my bookshelves, collected over the years and still waiting in line to be read, but I've just never got around to them. Brasher, bolder, newer titles have jostled for my attention and won. That is until the day when I finally felt the pull of the book that Margaret Drabble describes as one that 'transcends time'. The moment had come select To the Lighthouse from the shelf.

At first, I struggled. I found the serene pace a bit too slow, the introspection a little too profound and the lack of action distracting. On the tube, I kept putting it down, skim-reading a few lines, sighing and flicking through the nonsense in the free papers instead which made me feel a bit traitorous. I persevered though, and thank goodness I did

I slowly fell in love with the language ('The lights were rippling and running as if they were drops of silver water held firm in a wind') and with how the most ordinary things - dining, the appearance of water, the seasons - were so exquisitely depicted by Woolf. The novel gives the reader only two days but they are separated by a passage of ten years and structured into three parts. I'll let you read it yourself, but Part II: Time Passes gave me such a strong feeling of absence and loss (and weirdly, déja vu) that my skin prickled.

Arguably, To the Lighthouse could easily get elbowed out of the way by the Gone Girls, The Girl on a Trains, the YOUs of our modern times, as they satisfy our craving for immediate stimulation and a can't-put-it-down fix. Yet, this it is an innovative, beautiful and powerful book and to overlook it and resist it would be a real shame.

It was windy, so that the leaves now and then brushed open a star, and the stars themselves seemed to be shaking and darting light and trying to flash out between the edges of the leaves.

7. Joël Dicker – The Truth About the Harry Quebert Affair (June 2015)

‘The Book of the Year’ according to Simon Mayo, Dicker’s novel has been translated into thirty-two languages, sold two million copies in a year and is the winner of French literary prizes. Yet, Sam Leith reviewing for The Guardian sniffly observed: “They see a masterpiece; I see a completely ordinary, amiably cartoonish and well aerated page-turner that does nothing interesting in literary terms at all”. Ouch.

Aerated it might be, but nonetheless I finished it in a week, gulping down the first half on a flight back from Madrid and polishing off the remaining half with no bother a few days later. I first saw the Quebert book advertised on a Tube poster; the striking cover leapt out at me, inlaid with Edward Hopper's dreamy ‘Portrait of Orleans, 1950′. With the shout line “It’s like ‘Twin Peaks’ meets ‘Atonement’ meets ‘In Cold Blood'” from Gaby Wood's The Telegraph review, well, they had me at Twin Peaks.

It was the Peaks parallels that kept me enticed. Small town, quaint setting, dark undertones. Disappearance and lost innocence. It’s 1975, and struggling author Harry Quebert has fallen in love with fifteen-year-old Nola Kellergan. Thirty-three years later, her body is dug up from the grounds of his seaside home along with a manuscript copy of the novel that secured his lasting fame. Quebert is the only suspect. Marcus Goldman – Quebert’s most gifted protégé - heads to New Hampshire to clear his mentor’s name and unearths a whole lot more than he anticipated.

For those who love a delicious murder mystery with no end of twists, turns and plot shifts (in this case, especially during the last one hundred or so pages), are nostalgic for Laura Palmer et al and crave a book that grips you tightly and won’t let go until you’ve read every last word, this is the book for you. If you’re seeking the next literary masterpiece, you may wish to move on but hey, don’t be snooty. Although arguably the ending was a little rushed, the novel is clever, hugely entertaining and thrilling to the end and I felt a little bereft when the last page was turned.

I really liked The Truth About the Harry Quebert Affair. It is crying out for a top-class TV adaption. Netflix, get a shift on will you?

8. Paula Hawkins – The Girl on the Train (June 2015)

I bought this book as a holiday gift for my dear Mum a few months back but, and please don't think me a terrible gift-giver, inwardly I was willing her to whip through it quick-smart so she could fling it my way. (Sorry Mum). The Girl on the Train topped The New York Times Fiction Bestsellers of 2015 for 13 consecutive weeks and spent 20 weeks at the top of our own hardback book chart. It was the book everyone was reading. The read of the summer. The new Gone Girl, they said. Well, I had to see what all the fuss was about didn't I.

The synopsis is this: Rachel takes the same commuter train every morning; on the same track, along the same stretch of middle-class suburban homes, stopping at the same signal every day which affords her ample view of the same seemingly perfectly couple taking breakfast on their deck. She even feels like she’s starting to know them, assigning her own names for them. Then during one fateful journey she sees something shocking and now everything has changed. The woman in the couple then goes missing and Rachel becomes inexplicably intertwined in their story. Maybe just a little too intertwined.

The Girl on the Train has a gripping first chapter. I instantly got on board with the familiar concept of travelling on a London train with dappled sunlight coming through the window and peeking into people's houses; wondering, assuming, over-imagining. Hawkins creates an eerie and claustrophobic tale with twists and turns, and I couldn't quite make up my mind if I despised, pitied or supported the main protagonist Rachel whose downward spiral into alcoholism and self-hatred caused by the breakup of her marriage transfers into a dangerous obsession.

Parts of the story made my skin prickle - 'I've been up for hours. I can't sleep. I haven't slept in days. I hate this, hate insomnia more than anything, just lying there, brain going round, tick, tick, tick, tick. I itch all over. I want to shave my head'. - and I read The Girl on the Train in exactly four days.

Wait, this isn't me being a big show-off pants about my reading skills but instead testament to Hawkins' great skill as a writer. I lost pockets of time absorbed in the story, often wondering if I'd blacked out like Rachel does. I would read it standing on the tube with one hand hanging onto the rail for dear life and all the way home until reaching the front door which meant I had no choice but to stop. Then at home, I would make any excuse to disappear so I could read some more - 'I'M JUST GETTING SOME MORE HANGERS' I'd fib to my husband as he hung out the washing, then sneak into our bedroom and read what I could in the feasible time it takes to retrieve a bunch of clothes hangers before suspicion is roused.

Wiki tells me that film rights have been acquired. Yay! Emily Blunt is reported to play Rachel. Double Yay! It’s been reported by the author that the film’s setting will not be in England, but the US. Boo!

This is a completely-lose-yourself-in the story kind of novel and I wish I'd saved it for my holiday lounger. The female characters stayed with me for a few days after, as I looked out of the window on my commute, rolled into London and peeked into those houses, wondering, assuming, over-imagining...

9. Robert de Board – Counselling for Toads (July 2015)

Admittedly, 'I'm reading a book about counselling that is a pastiche of Kenneth Grahame's children’s classic The Wind in The Willows' is not your average response to the 'So what are you reading at the moment?,' question. So I wasn't surprised when my sister replied via WhatsApp with ‘Eh? What? Toads?!' and messaged me a flurry of frog emojis to effectively labour the point.

This book was a bit of a deviation from the other novels that have made up my media diet so far, but it turned out to be a good 'un. Recommended by a friend ages ago, it'd never really been the right time in my life to give Counselling for Toads go. For some reason I’d alway assumed it would be too heavy, a bit too 'self-helpy’ if you catch my drift, but I'm so glad I finally did. I’m interested in counselling and coaching from a professional and personal perspective so it satisfied my curiosity in that respect, but it also helped me to analyse a few feelings of my own.

The premise is this - Toad (of Toad Hall fame) is very depressed and his good friends Rat, Mole and Badger are worried about him. Eventually they encourage him to have counselling (with Heron, natch) and as the reader we’re taken on a psychological adventure, joining Toad in his counselling sessions as he lays his soul bare - through the pain, the self-reflection, the meeting his rebellious child, the development of his emotional intelligence and the turning point where he can begin to move forward. It sounds completely wacky, I know, but this is a clever and engaging book and the tone is so light and whimsical in places that it’s never a chore.

Claire Rayner calls it ‘a joy' and who in their right mind would disagree with Claire. It was a lovely read and I was absorbed from the get go. It cleared my head, helped me to deal with a few niggles of my own that had troubled me for a while and I got to learn tons more about my Parent-, Adult- and Child- ego states which was pretty insightful. When I’d finished it, I felt like I needed a bit of lie down and some time on my own to reflect and mull things over; but I don't think that's a bad thing in this crazy world we live in.

Although I was looking forward to returning to some fiction once Toad and I were over, Counselling for Toads is a unique and interesting read and a brilliant vehicle for imparting the wisdom of transactional analysis through a light-hearted and humorous tale. 🐸

10. Jessie Burton - The Miniaturist - (July 2015)

Oh, The Miniaturist. A cover so exquisite, setting and subject matter so unlike anything I usually delve into and the hype so great (sold in 30 countries apparently), by the time the chance to read it was here I'd built it up to such a crescendo that, well, I guess it was inevitable I'd be a little disappointed.

It was only a tiny disenchantment though, miniature if you’ll pardon the pun, but I’ll come to that in a bit. Here’s a quick synopsis: it’s 1686, in Amsterdam, and the main protagonist 18-year-old Nella Oortman has married a well-heeled merchant named Johannes Brandt. We soon learn the marriage is no more than a convenient arrangement despite the splendour of his household, and his unwelcoming sister Marin, the fascinating but distant servant Otto, the mischievous maid Cornelia and a lack of physical attention from Johannes soon unnerve Nell and make her feel lonely and homesick.

Then everything changes. Johannes presents her with an unusual wedding gift - an intricate cabinet-sized replica of their home and Nella engages the services of miniaturist to furnish it. Not only is The Miniaturist a brilliant craftswoman, but a prophetic one too - the tiny miniature figures appear to be painting a picture of the future; and there are lots of secrets to tell. It's an enchanting story, with rich, intricate language that weaves a tale of dazzling wealth, oppressive religion and female empowerment in a time of adversity.

So the mini-disappointment bit - given the quality throughout, the ending kind of fades and was rather anti-climatic, but hey maybe that’s just me. Absolutely worth a read though. An utterly absorbing and fascinating insight into 17th century Amsterdam, the tiny world of cabinet houses and generally brilliant women.

11. Caitlin Moran - How to Build a Girl - (August 2015)

I chomped through How to Build a Girl in two days flat while on holiday, effectively ignoring my husband on the Santorini beach as he splashed about in the sea dejectedly with a snorkel and a sunburnt back. Under the cool shade, I snorted with laughter. Blubbed. Reminisced. Felt exuberant.

HTBAG, made my heart hurt with happiness and at times, despair. Let’s face it, we’ve all been Johanna Morrigan at some point in our life, trying to be someone we’re not and learning painfully but excitingly along the way. Maybe we still are.

It is hard to put into words how enjoyable it is and in fear of sounding too effusive, I’ll leave the clever words to Moran. All I know is this book which moves with such velocity with its humour, intelligence and bang-on take on modern feminism made me feel inexplicably, ridiculously happy and light.

I have dedicated a whole blog post to HTBAG - which you can read here.

12. Tina Seskis - One Step Too Far - (August 2015)

*REVIEW TO FOLLOW*

13. Stephen King - Mr Mercedes - (August 2015)

*REVIEW TO FOLLOW*

14. Peter Swanson - The Kind Worth Killing - (September 2015)

*REVIEW TO FOLLOW*

15. Harry Parker - Anatomy of a Soldier - (October 2015)

Generally speaking, I don’t tend to choose books about conflict, finding them a little too brutal and I can’t deny I had preconceptions when I started Anatomy of a Soldier. These assumptions dissipated by the end of the first chapter – Parker is a terrifically skilled writer, and his portrayal has great empathy and intelligence. Former Rifles Captain Harry Parker was on foot patrol in Afghanistan when he stepped on an IED (improvised explosive device) and lost his left leg. A subsequent infection later claimed his right leg and despite life-changing injuries, extensive operations and having to learn to walk again, he now moves confidently on prosthetics.

His debut novel is a work of fiction, rather than personal memoir, but draws on his own experiences in the conflict zone. It introduces us to Captain Tom Barnes, mostly known as BA5799, who is blown up by an IED while returning from patrol. We learn of the lead up to his injury, the aftermath, the local people and insurgents who planted the bomb and the friends and family that rally around him.

Yet, what makes Anatomy of a Soldier so extraordinary is the way Parker has chosen to narrate it – rather than offering us straightforward characters, instead forty-five inanimate objects provide the novel’s voice. These objects, including surgical equipment, his mother’s handbag and a pair of trainers worn by an insurgent cleverly show us the complexities and barbarity of war.

It’s unusual, I know, but it has to be read to be believed...

I was lucky to attend the London launch of Harry Parker's Anatomy of a Soldier at Goldborough Books in March 2016 - which you can read about here.

16. Hanya Yanagihara - A Little Life - (November 2015)

*REVIEW TO FOLLOW*

London Event - Launch of Anatomy of a Soldier

March 4, 2016 Nicola

"It's marvellously told and this way of telling it ... giving the inanimate a voice ... is both engrossing and distancing and I know of nothing quite like it". (Alan Bennett)

Last night I braved the Leicester Square hordes (and swiftly ducked down Cecil Court to elude them), and joined Faber & Faber and Goldsboro Books for the launch of Harry Parker's Anatomy of a Soldier, Goldsboro's March Book of the Month.

Anatomy of a Soldier has gained recognition over the past few weeks, with deservedly glowing reviews, tweets and features on BBC Radio 4 and BBC Breakfast News to name a few. I had been lucky to read a preview at the end of 2015 and was deeply moved by this astonishing novel. I was waiting for it to be Parker’s time and with a US publishing deal and the book being translated into other languages, it looks like that time is now.

Former Rifles Captain Harry Parker was on foot patrol in Afghanistan when he stepped on an IED (improvised explosive device) and lost his left leg. A subsequent infection later claimed his right leg and despite life-changing injuries, extensive operations and having to learn to walk again, he now moves confidently on prosthetics.

Yet, what makes Anatomy of a Soldier so extraordinary is the way Parker has chosen to narrate it - rather than offering us straightforward characters, instead forty-five inanimate objects provide the novel’s voice. These objects, including surgical equipment, his mother’s handbag and a pair of trainers worn by an insurgent cleverly show us the complexities and barbarity of war.

It’s unusual, I know, but it has to be read to be believed.

“It is a novel of concentrated ferocity and chilling accomplishments, tense and unflinching but alive to every nuance of feeling" (Hilary Mantel)

Generally speaking, I don’t tend to choose books about conflict, finding them a little too brutal and I can’t deny I had preconceptions when I started Anatomy of a Soldier. These assumptions dissipated by the end of the first chapter - Parker is a terrifically skilled writer, and his portrayal has great empathy and intelligence. Chapters seamlessly switch between the battlefield, the hospitals and treatment rooms, his family home and the pub with great effect.

Undoubtedly, the descriptions of Barnes’ injuries are shocking (‘the green blankets were flat where limbs should have been’) and there are heart-in-mouth moments throughout; exchanges between Barnes and other injured patients, when friends come to visit his family home to share a beer and he falls out of his wheelchair, and England, with its beauty, its tantalising familiarities and normality being so far away - surely none of us can imagine how that feels.

Parker’s depiction of the detonation (recounted by the bomb itself) creates a sad juxtaposition for the reader - the sky a dome of stars as the dry mud about the bomb flexes, cracks down and pushes its metal strips together, creating a circuit that filled its wires. It functions, and all thoughts of glimmering stars are forgotten.

The objects themselves allow you to get close to the action, but at the same time you remain comfortably distant; numbly removed from the horror. At times they sound hostile and dangerous. The ending genuinely had me in tears. It reminded me that war is senseless - there are no real winners.

Surrounded by beautifully preserved first editions in Goldsboro’s bookshop, and after being introduced by Faber & Faber Editor Lee Brackstone, Parker spoke a few words of appreciation for those who had helped Anatomy of a Soldier come to life. He seemed visibly moved by the attention.

Afterwards I took the plunge and introduced myself to the author while I could; understandably everyone wanted to snatch a few words with him. I found Parker to be humble and self-deprecating; honestly, if I had even an ounce of his intelligence and modesty and had been able to transform an unthinkable experience into a moving, inspiring and unique novel I'd basically be a massive show off. Anatomy of a Soldier is an extraordinary, imaginative debut that draws on great humanity and heroism, about surviving the unsurvivable.

During his short speech, Parker said ‘I wish the book could talk, not me’. ‘It does’ said a representative from Goldsboro Books and I couldn't agree more.

Read this book, please.

Anatomy of a Soldier by Harry Parker is out now. (Faber & Faber)

HARRY PARKER

WEBSITE

FABER & FABER

GOLDSBORO BOOKS

Walthamstow Rock'n'Roll Book Club: David Cavanagh bids Good Night to John Peel

November 6, 2015 Nicola

Saturday 31 October 2015, Waterstones, Walthamstow, London

Please don’t hate me, but the truth is I didn’t listen to the John Peel Show.

In fear of retribution I present my defence. His entire Radio 1 career spans my life on earth so far. When I was born in 1978, John had already broadcast 11 years of his Top Gear programme and was 3 years into the John Peel Show. I have no idea what I was doing in my teenage years either, probably piddling about on Capital Radio, and I’m disappointed my all-consuming love for music and the fact I chomped through Smash Hits on a regular basis didn’t naturally fling me in his direction.

I am, though, old enough and curious enough to know exactly who John Peel is. To recognise his warm and distinctive tones in the rare moments they are revived, to remember him presenting the occasional Top of the Pops and to resolutely understand why he was, and remains, so fundamentally important to music.

My husband, a Senior Designer at Faber & Faber, gave me the heads up about David Cavanagh’s book Good Night and Good Riddance: How Thirty-Five Years of John Peel Helped to Shape Modern Life. I immediately added it to my Social Media Diet booklist, where it currently waits in the wings. My interest in John had already been piqued a few months back on holiday where I devoured Caitlin Moran’s smashing How to Build a Girl in one greedy sitting. The protagonist, inquisitive music-head and coming-of-age heroine Johanna Morrigan, reads about the legendary John Peel and his illustrious sessions on Radio 1 at her local library. The description of Johanna plugging in her Dad’s huge headphones in the radio when the rest of the house is asleep, using the Radio Times tuning information to find Radio 1 and finally, at 97.2 FM, finding a Liverpudlian drawl is so delightful it made me want to weep and laugh in equal amounts. 'This is it' Johanna says 'I’m in the door! This is Uncle Peel, of whom they all speak! I am, finally, going to hear the counter-culture of 1990 for the first time! This is where it all hangs out!’.

So when I stumbled across Walthamstow Rock'n'Roll Book Club's event on Twitter that would feature David Cavanagh’s book, and realised the author would be present (and red wine would be served), well, it was a no-brainer. The creation of Mark Hart, fellow Stow resident and self-proclaimed music-head, Saturday’s rollicking book club took place at Waterstones, on the toasty upper level that contrasted beautifully with a misty and crisp Halloween evening outside.

Being in a bookshop at night, after-hours, for me is the equivalent of being a kid in a sweet shop. I listened keenly at the front as Mark introduced David with a fitting preface before the author read the first of four extracts from the book.

He effortlessly whooshed us back through time. To 1969, where John Peel was playing the likes of Creedence Clearwater Revival, David Bowie, Elton John and Marc Bolan. While Radio 1 concentrated on playing chart hits, John was playing album tracks on a Sunday afternoon like a renegade. Onto 1979 and Neil Young has released his album On the Beach. Labelled by Rolling Stone Magazine as “one of the most despairing albums of the decade.” John heard re-birth, not despair and, using what David affectionately described as a ‘Peelian term’, appraised it as ‘a handsome work’.

To 1987 where John’s show has been shamefully reduced from five days a week to three. Rough Trade Records has announced that Johnny Marr has left The Smiths today and, in John’s world, this is a huge crisis (he did bring The Smiths to Radio 1 after all). He said ‘…how this is going to work out frankly I can’t imagine, I’d prefer not to try and imagine it, I must confess but it seems to have been determined and that’s the way things are going to be and we just have to sit back and see what happens’. For him, it wasn't simply the departure of a key band member, it was a bereavement.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3QYu9yzr0Ao

Lastly to 1993, where a poll reveals the country is dissatisfied with a John Major-led Tory government, and it is the heyday of dance music. A young and enterprising Pete Tong has first dibs of all the new tracks, like the latest New Order, before Peel, and wears the sharpest suits. John stubbornly wears t-shirts of indie bands who had split in 1991 and plays Radiohead, Pulp, Cornershop and Therapy.

I found David's session instructive as well as compelling. I learnt new stuff, and stuff I thought I knew and then had validated. He has an encyclopaedic knowledge of John Peel (I guess that’s what close listening to circa 600 shows does for you; 260 were selected to feature in the book) and could proudly recite Peelian morsels off the top of his head with a warm and assured delivery, and cracking sense of humour to boot.

This is what I learnt. John was an independent thinker which did not always coincide with the thoughts and opinions of the music press. He would play Billy Bragg in direct support of the miner’s strike. He loved all genres of music and brought punk, post-punk and indie as well as African, Hip Hop and Dancehall to the masses. He had no favourite ‘era’ and wanted to avoid appearing anachronistic. He believed music belonged to women as much as it did to men. He was the first to play Grandmaster Flash’s The Message on UK radio in 1981. He liked rap. For the students, the school kids who wanted to make sense of the world he would treat them with intelligence and give them the chance to hear what was underground. His approach to the microphone was warm, discursive, self-deprecating and his delivery created a unique relationship with the audience. His rueful digressions were as entertaining as some of the records he played, like when he apologised for leaving his glasses on the train. The Fall were his favourite band of all time.

John Peel died 11 years ago, in 2004, at the age of 65. ‘The day the music died’ was how his untimely death was described by the Evening Standard that afternoon. The artists he had played, one by one, came forward which signified just how important he was.

When pressed by Mark why he had written the book, David said the question wasn’t necessarily why, but why it had taken him so long. A friend, in the hazy Olympian Summer of 2012, had sent him an email with a link to a John Peel show in 1980. He found it not just nostalgic, but significant. It was a two hour piece of radio history. He talked about sentences forming in his head without him helping it and rather than writing a short piece for a newspaper, he wanted to write tens of thousands of words. He noted that when viewing the song list for the Olympic's Opening Ceremony, Danny Boyle and Underworld had gone not for obvious Brian May, or George Michael, but instead Pink Floyd and Tubular Bells. It was in effect a John Peel show. It was for the mavericks.

David thanked the audience for listening and Mark invited them to share their Peel moments. An eclectic bunch and clearly music-heads themselves, there were mixed experiences and fond memories. One guy had been jabbed with a pen by John at a record fair while another remembers fondly voting in The Festive Fifty. One man’s mother listened to John Peel’s Home Truths religiously, one lady wrote John’s obituary and Mark himself had a gem - he was in a band and had the honour of having their record played on the John Peel Show, but sadly John was sick so his stand in, Steve Lamacq, did the honours instead. Crushing.

Despite the tantalising suggestion of a lock-in, sadly Waterstones had to shut and the night was over; the spell was broken. I considered what I’d heard on the walk home. John Peel was clearly a key post-war British cultural figure and his contribution was immeasurable. He came from a mythical era where DJs wielded the power, had the influence to change young kids' lives and set a band on the right trajectory before their music crossed over to the national mainstream. When it was vital for a song to be played on the radio, rather than becoming pervasive on social media in a matter of seconds.

I may not have been there in the glory days, I may not have really understood the relevance of The Festive Fifty until that night, but I have a greater appreciation of John Peel’s influence and an appetite to learn more. His show went beyond the music played - it reflected how the nation felt at the time, was a chronicle of social history and demonstrated how his tastes and thinking changed over the years to keep him at the cutting edge.

Quite simply, John Peel helped to shape modern life.

Good Night and Good Riddance: How Thirty-Five Years of John Peel Helped to Shape Modern Life

WALTHAMSTOW ROCK N ROLL BOOK CLUB

JOHN PEEL WIKI