Book Review: The Book Lover’s Guide to Edinburgh by Kate Stephenson

 

I thought this was a fun but rather limited guide to literary places in the wonderful (sorry, I’m biased) city of Edinburgh. The author splits it into three parts — some short walking itineraries on the city based around the works of famous authors, then a section on the city’s wider literary associations, and finally a section about museums and other sites with literary connections. 

It’s a quick read, and I did find it a little haphazard in places. The opening section has a lot of potential given the city’s literary connections, and I thought it rather sold itself short. Of the five authors considered the first three — Burns, Scott and Stephenson — can be strongly anchored to the city and there are plenty of associated sites. Diana Gabbaldon used the city as a setting but never lived there for a period and JK Rowling has often denied drawing inspiration from particular places. 

The walks associated with these latter two were very flimsy. The inclusion of the unglamorous Waverley Station, for example, on the grounds that “in all likelihood the Hogwarts Express would have passed through” felt a little fraudulent for someone expecting something interesting and different. 

The rest of the book was okay and interesting at the margins, though I felt there was a lot of information withh limited organisation and so found it a little confusing. 

I very much liked the concept of the book, but felt a little let down at the end, as there were plenty of places included which, frankly, are either inaccessible to the public or not worth the effort if visiting (in my opinion). 

Book Review: Mary of Modena by Justine Brown

 

Though I would consider myself somewhat of a history nerd there are inevitably large parts of British history about which I know very little. The short reign of James VII and II, along with its preceding period as heir to the throne and the subsequent years in exile, fall into that category. Even more shadowy is the role of his wife, Mary Beatrice of Modena, of whom I previously knew little but her name and the fact that there was controversy about the birth of her son, James, the future Old Pretender and father of Bonnie Prince Charlie. (At the time the lie was put about the he had been smuggled into her bedchamber in a warming pan, in order to undermine his legitimacy in terms of the future succession.)

This book is not, of course, a biography of James VII and II but of his consort, though he inevitably plays a major role in it. Through Mary Beatrice, Justine Brown sheds fascinating light not only on the Queen herself but on the goings-on around her and the role she was later to play in sustaining and supporting the Jacobite cause abroad — up to and including the first, ill-fated, Jacobite rebellion in 1715. 

With so much intrigue surrounding the succession, in which religion was a crucial determining factor, Mary Beatrice was inevitably at the centre of it; as with her husband, her stalwart Catholicism was perceived as problematic by many in a largely Protestant country. With the alternative candidates for the throne being James’s daughters by his first marriage, Mary’s relationship with her stepdaughters (and their own various entanglements with the friends who sought to influence them) becomes increasingly fascinating.

Without knowing more of the period its difficult to say how balanced this book is; its emphasis of Mary Beatrice’s qualities and focus on the the undoubted but possibly understandable shortcomings of ‘the other side’ made a little wary. It’s very unusual that ne side in history is all good and the other all bad and my sketchy knowledge of the period included the impression that James was perhaps rather weaker, and perhaps not as good a monarch, as the author portrays him. 

This triviality aside, I found the book fascinating in both its breadth and in its detail, and would thoroughly recommend it. 

Thank you to Netgalley and Pen & Sword Books for an advance copy in return for this honest review. 

Book Review: The Oldest Rocks on Earth by Simon Lamb

 

Okay, I admit it. I thought this book might be a bit niche, even for a rock enthusiast like myself, but I was wrong. Instead of being a dry trail through a lot of specialisms it was entertaining and engaging, as well as very informative. 

There seems to be a trend for popular science books to be as much about the people doing the fieldwork as it is about the work itself, and I really like this. The rocks in this book may be billions of years old but the discovery of them is entirely down to human beings. 

Simon Lamb focuses mainly on his fieldwork in the greenstones of Eswatini and elsewhere, and in doing so he not only enlivens a potential dull story not only through the stories of his many adventures, but also through his entertaining and accessible descriptions. 

He covers a lot of ground and some large-scale and very complex geological, geophysical and astronomical concepts — everything from the Milankovic cycles to plate tectonics via fractional crystallisation and the formation of the Earth’s core, and finishing up with the little matter of the origins of life on Earth. A lot of it is by nature technical but the juxtaposition of science and humanity makes it easier to understand than it otherwise might have been. I was particularly taken by his descriptions of the mining industry in souther Africa, and absolutely gripped by his account of his visit to the giant De Beers diamond mine at Swakopmund in Namibia.

It’s an excellent book, and one that I think can be read by those with a high level of knowledge of the subject but also enjoyed by those who do not. 

Book Review: Britain's Folklore Year by Mark Norman

 

I love folklore. As a result (and as you might expect) I've read quite a lot about it, and in quite a lot of detail. This book is best considered as an introduction. If you're looking for a something that delves into the social and psychological origins of folklore in any depth you will probably be disappointed. If, on the other hand, you're a folklore novice, or you just want a fairly simple round-up of local traditions, then this is pretty much spot on. 

It's a chronological consideration of Britain's folklore, beginning in spring (with more than a nod to both the ecclesiastical and agricultural calendars) and rounds off at the end of winter, and it looks at different traditions, where they occur, how they vary and what they have in common. 

It's wide-ranging in scope and therefore doesn't allow itself the luxury of looking at some of the more significant customs that persist in different variations across the UK (for example, the Mari Lwyd and Plough Monday are two ancient traditions that deserve a lot more exploration than the author has space for). But again: if it's an introduction you're looking for then that is what you've got. 

The range of traditions is also extremely wide, from the ancient pre-Christian rituals associated, in particular, with the transitions between the seasons, to very much more modern 'traditions' that are artificial and which, while they might one day become long-standing and historic, are currently very much what I would consider commercial events rather than folkloric celebrations. That includes such things as the World Stinging Nettle Eating Championships and the International Festival of Worm Charming. 

It's a quick, fun gallop through some of the quirkier aspects of the UK's heritage, some of it more authentic than other parts, and I thoroughly enjoyed it -- without, I have to say, finding myself hugely better-informed as a result. 

Book Review: Tracing Your Staffordshire Ancestors by Chloe O'Shea

It’s a bit niche, this one, but as I have an interest in history (and a shedload of Staffordshire ancestors, to boot) I thought I’d give it a go. I wasn’t sure what I was expecting from it, especially since my dad had done a lot of the legwork on my family tree in the days before the internet, and the framework of it is pretty much complete (enhanced a little by myself at a later stage), but I’m curious.

It’s actually a truly admirable and extremely thorough book. In the beginning I was yawning bit, but that’s because not was approaching the subject with the intention of helping those starting from scratch, and what seems glaringly obvious (when you’ve done a bit of genealogical research) isn’t (if you haven’t).

From the basics of births, marriages and deaths, however, the book moved swiftly on to reveal a whole host of other sources which had never occurred to me as possibilities. There are newspaper articles and court papers, manorial rolls, schools information, estate maps and records, company archives and so much more. For each source, Chloe O’Shea outlines what kind of material might be available, gives examples, and directs the reader to specific sources for those whose ancestors come from Staffordshire. It’s also realistic about the difficulties that a researcher may encounter and gives practical tips to avoid falling into a wide variety of traps that might lead down a blind alley — or, indeed, to someone else’s ancestor!

Despite its county-specific title, the book is of much wider value: it won’t be difficult to work out where to look for information in other English counties. It’s a pity I don’t have the time these days to go chasing the higher branches of my family tree. If I did I think I would be able to find much more than the basic information which I already have. I was unaware of the wealth of available information and how much it could add to an understanding, not just of one’s own family, but of wider social history in the local area. 

After a slow start, I definitely found this book a worthwhile read. 

 

Book Review: A Murder on the Mountain by Ellie Alexander

I don’t know it it’s just me (maybe it’s the books I’m picking up) but cosy crime seems to be trending these days towards the cosy and away from the crime. So it was with Ellie Alexander’s A Murder on the Mountain, and it’s fine, it really is, but…it’s just short on what I’m looking for in a crime novel. 

The book is set in Portland, Oregon, where wannabe investigative reporter Meg finds herself with a job at an extreme sports publication. Here, naturally, she is required to become involved in extreme sports at which (of course) she is inexperienced and so, expectedly, gets herself into a lot of scrapes. During one of these, as she is covering the filming of an extreme sports competition, she witnesses one of the competitors falling past her to his death as she clings to the side of a mountain. 

It wouldn’t be cosy crime of Meg didn’t immediately need to get to the bottom of it, despite being warned off by both the sheriff and a mysterious personage we assume to be the killer. So far, so mainstream. 

The trouble is, I found it all a bit…twee. It’s not just that Meg is improbably ditzy for a reporter, and keeps getting herself into situations which would have been avoided if she’d done as the Sheriff told her and stayed at home. It’s that the crime itself is incredibly sketchy. There are no witnesses to see how the victims came to fall and yet the Sheriff concludes that it’s homicide. We never find out why. Most of the investigation is Meg digging around to find out  the background of the contestants which, let’s face it, is something the police would be perfectly able to do for themselves — probably rather better and rather quicker. 

What we did get, instead of the crime, was a lot of froth. We had the detail on what Meg snd her friends wear, and eat, and detailed explanations of where they live. The secondary characters — friends, family, suspects — are stereotypes and without depth. Difficult mother, grandmother into crystals and alternative therapy, handsome boss vs male best friend, successful female best friend with smug boyfriend — the tropes are all there but there’s nothing to make them any more than one dimensional. That said, Meg herself, despite being on the irritating side, does at least have a complex backstory with which I was engaged, though not enough to read on beyond the end of this book to discover more.

I loved the setting, though, and was following the action with Google Maps open on my phone. The descriptions were great and really evoked the awe-inspiring setting of the Columbia Rover and its gorge, and I did like the touch of including information about all the locations at the end of the book. 

Overall, though the tone veered way too much towards the frothiness of a light romcom for my taste. Cosy or not, I’m looking for a little bit more of an edge than this in a crime novel, I’m afraid.

Book Review: The Forty Rules of Love by Elif Shafak

I’ll be up front. Prior to reading this book my experience of reading Elif Shafak (two books, There are Rivers in the Sky and The Island of Missing Trees) propelled her right up near the top of my list of favourite writers. On that basis alone I was looking forward to The Forty Rules of Love. And maybe partly because my expectations were so high, I was disappointed.

The book is a dual timeline, balancing a journey of self-discovery for Ella, a middle-class liberal Jewish housewife in the States, against the historical story of the relationship between the thirteenth century Turkish poet, Rumi, and the whirling Dervish, Shams of Tabriz. I’m always a bit sceptical of this format, though normally Shafak does it well. Too often I find that one strand outweighs the other and so it proved in this case. Ella’s storyline felt dull to me and a faint echo of the historical story, rather than offering any kind of enrichment of it. I was less interested in her boredom than with the richness of what felt to me like the main story.

This, then, is a matter of historical fact in which the renowned Rumi becomes obsessed with his spiritual teacher, alienating many people along the way and inspiring many others, until events reach a tragic conclusion. Both Rumi and Shams are still quoted today and the book takes the reader through Shams’ Forty Rules of Love, showing us events through a lot of different points of view, which I liked.

So far so good, but I did find that for much of the book I was sucked into dense paragraphs and pages of philosophical exposition. The minor characters, who by and large don’t get bogged down in this kind of detail, are much the most entertaining and engaging (even the baddies). Shams comes across as alternatively too good or too bad to be true (perhaps that’s deliberate) and Rumi, the leader, seems overwhelmed by him to the point of neglecting family and friends. 

I found the religious debate and discussions o overwhelming that they were almost suffocating; too much of it felt as if I was being lectured, rather than encouraged, about a better way to live my life. When I compare that with the sparkling storytelling and clever construction of, say There Are Rivers in the Sky, I have to admit I was disappointed, and it took me a lot longer to read than I had thought. 

Just because this book isn’t as good as I expected doesn’t, of course, make it bad and I’m sure many other will people enjoy it. But for me, it’s not Shafak’s best.