Review of the Reading Year 2024

 2024 was a good year for the quantity of books read - 38 - if not outstanding for quality, impacted by some iffy reading group titles and some injudicious 99p buys on Kindle. There were slight majorities for authors new to me (55%) and for male authors (57%), though male authors managed to provide a clean sweep of the picks of the year - see below.

This year brought to an end the Bookpacking reading journey, which staggered to a halt in Iceland after  seven years and 21 books set across the world. Attention now turns to the Book-et List, which in 2024 knocked off only the final (original) Rebus novel, leaving ten of the planned fifteen to go at.

There are seven best books of the year for 2024, which are (month of the full review in brackets):

The Killers of the Flower Moon - David Grann. A fascinating and harrowing exposure of a scandal, long-forgotten in the US, whereby the Osage tribe were systematically controlled, exploited, and murdered for their oil-based riches. (May 24)

Reservoir 13 - Jon McGregor. A beautifully written, engrossing account of the rhythm of lives lived in beat with the natural world around it, as a rural community comes to terms with a tragedy on its doorstep. (May 24)

Bournville - Jonathan Coe. From VE Day in 1945 to its seventy-fifth anniversary in Covid hit 2020, seven decades of change in English society, told in seven snapshots of the same extended family, narrated with style, wit, and no little pathos. (May 24)

Pity - Andrew McMillan, Another book addressing generational change, set in a mining community in Barnsley, and told sparingly using a clever mix of writing styles. (June 24)

Mythos - Stephen Fry. The Greek myths given a retelling in the author's inimitable style mixing erudition and wit to great effect, (June 24)

The Pier Falls - Mark Haddon. A collection of not-so-short stories that showcase the author's talent and imagination, with a pleasing variety of settings and characters that only have one thing in common - jeopardy. (August 24)

The Wager - David Grann. A revelatory and gripping account of an ill-fated voyage, part of a British naval expedition to round Cape Horn in the 1780s, which ended in shipwreck, survival (of some), and recrimination. (November 24)

When the Lights Go Out - Carys Bray

 A domestic drama played out against a background of global catastrophe. The latter, in the shape of global warming, increasingly affects the suburban life of Emma and Chris, married with teenage sons, Dylan and James. Emma does what she can, what's practical, to mitigate climate change - repairs, reuses, recycles. But Chris sees that as fiddling while Rome burns. He sees the bigger, overwhelming picture and has to convince people that radical action is the only way. That takes time and effort, but he has that to spare as his garden maintenance business is being ruined by winter flooding and summer droughts.

The marital tension increases as Christmas approaches and Chris's widowed mother moves in when her mobile home finally succumbs to the bad weather. Her blind faith in religion is a long-standing bone of contention with Chris, exacerbated now by its irrelevance to what he sees as the end of the world. For Emma, having the mother-in-law staying is, if not the last, then the penultimate straw.

With Chris's sister and family also due for dinner, it makes for a houseful on Christmas Eve. But they can cope, until the power goes off, the lights go out, a rabbit gets sick, and more ...

Bray does the domestic drama pretty well with understated words heavy with unspoken meaning. Chris and Emma are both engaging and demand empathy even in their conflict. The rain sodden backdrop is bleak in more ways than one, contributing to the mood of impending disaster.

While not a comforting read, it is well constructed and draws the reader forward to its climax.

Shrines of Gaiety – Kate Atkinson

It is 1926, and Nellie Coker emerges from a short stay at Holloway prison to take back control of her nightclub empire. Out in force to greet her are her brood of six. Eldest is son, Niven, semi-detached from the family business, his outlook on life shaped by his years in the trenches. Then come three girls, young women now. Edith is her mother’s capable lieutenant, whereas Betty and Shirley are her projects, improved by college education and destined to marry well. Younger son Ramsey suffers from his place in the pecking order, ahead only of teenager Kitty, who borders on the feral.

The Coker clubs are in Soho, a magnet for girls whose actress ambitions have been downgraded to hostesses paid by the dance. A recent recruit, runaway from York, is fifteen-year-old Freda Murgatroyd and her friend Florence. Sent south in pursuit is family friend Gwendolen Kelling, spinster librarian, whose enthusiasm for life has been on hold until now, when newly parentless and in possession of an inheritance, she is more than ready to go to London and take up the challenge.

Then there are the police. Detective Chief Inspector Frobisher, sent to Bow Street to clean up the rife corruption, embodied, he suspects, by Inspector Maddox and Sergeant Oakes. He also has a rash of disappearances of young girls to deal with, some of whom end up hauled dead from the Thames.

Quite a cast of characters, and Atkinson sets out to ensure paths are crossed, connections made, and alliances forged. Deals are made, and renegued upon. As they all jostle for attention, drifting in and out of prominence, it is a challenge to keep track. Even 500 pages seems insufficient to give them each their head, or indeed to come to a neat conclusion.

The character sketches are of trademark quality, and the 1920s period is convincing. But against the high bar of expectation a Kate Atkinson novel generates, this falls a little short.

The Creak on the Stairs – Eva Bjorg Aegisdottir

The book-packing journey staggers to a finish in Iceland in this Scandi-style crime novel.

Police detective Elma, after a few years working in Reykjavik CID, has returned to her hometown of Akranes, to the west of the capital. It is a knee jerk response to the breakdown of a relationship, but she has steered clear of her parents’ house, opting for a smart but soulless apartment in town. And now her transfer has come through and she starts her new job with the local police investigating a body on the waterfront near the lighthouse.

Cue a police procedural as Elma works with fanciable colleague, Saevar, to identify the woman (a stranger), work out what she was doing in town, and find out who done it. Cue also Elma’s attempts to find her feet back in the family fold, and to explore new, potentially romantic, relationships.

The setting is reliably atmospherically Iceland – dark nights, falling snow, and thick clothing. The plot is satisfyingly intricate with the case having possible links to a thirty-year-old unsolved death. Relevant flashbacks are teasingly eased into the main narrative as it progresses. The characters are lightly sketched, presumably leaving scope for development as the series (this is the opener) moves forward.

Though a resolution is reached in respect of the crime, elements of a full reckoning remain outstanding. A reason, along with the quality of writing, to move on to book two, and maybe tie up those loose ends.

The Man who was Saturday – Patrick Bishop

The eponymous subject of this biography is Airey Neave, best known (if only to older generations) for his escape from Colditz in 1942 and his political assassination in 1979. Patrick Bishop sets out to fill the gap before and between these bookends.

There is early posh boy stuff – Eton, Cambridge, Officer Training Corps, an incipient career at the Bar – before war broke out and a commission in the Army. Caught up in the defence of Calais, he was captured and became a prisoner of war, eventually ending up in Colditz. His escape from there gets a good airing, followed by his subsequent role running agents in occupied Europe assisting escaped and stranded (mainly) airman get back home. Whence his codename of Saturday.

Post war, he combined his legal work with continuing, unofficial, work with the secret services, until becoming (Conservative) Member of Parliament for Abingdon. The political life is touched on, largely unexciting, even against the backdrop of the Heath – Wilson years and the miners’ strikes. But then he finds himself managing Margaret Thatcher’s leadership bid, and landing (by choice) the role as Shadow Secretary of State for Northern Ireland.

His outspoken, uncompromising views on how to meet the terrorist threat marked him as a threat, particularly as the 1979 election promised to catapult the Conservatives into power. Before that could happen, the INLA planted a car bomb that exploded, spectacularly, as Neave drove out of the Houses of Parliament car park.

It is a readable account of a life that maybe peaked early and ended prematurely. But between those notable bookends, it seems unremarkable, and Bishop fails to make it seem otherwise.

The Wager – David Grann

The context: 1740 and the rivalry between the British and the Spanish empires has boiled over into war, the splendidly named War of Jenkins’ ear.

The mission: as a sideshow to the main theatre of conflict in the Caribbean, a British naval squadron are to set sail south, round Cape Horn, and harry Spanish ships and settlements on the Pacific coast of South America and the route to the Philippines, the main prize being the twice yearly galleon carrying untold riches of silver across the ocean.

The ships: four state of the art men-of-war – The Centurian, The Gloucester, The Pearl, and the Severn, plus a converted East Indiaman merchant vessel, The Wager.

The men: around two thousand on board the vessels, sailors, soldiers, and support staff such as surgeons, cooks, carpenters and the like. Among the key players in the drama to unfold are, aboard The Centurian, Captain George Anson, Commodore of the fleet, and First Lieutenant David Cheap, destined to be promoted to Captain of The Wager; aboard The Wager from the offset are sixteen-year-old midshipman John Byron, and a capable gunner, John Bulkeley.

The events: well, they have to be read to be believed, so no spoilers here. Sufficient to say they include sea battles, storms, scurvy, and survival of some to tell the tale.

Grann tells that tale rather brilliantly, using archive material and his fine writing style to compress some tasty nuggets of eighteenth century naval life and several years of adventure into a tight, gripping narrative of just 250 pages.

Read, marvel, and enjoy.

The Satanic Verses – Salman Rushdie

So, two blokes, Indian actors, not friends but acquaintances, rivals maybe, are in a hi-jacked aeroplane over the English Channel. The terrorist bomb is exploded, the plane breaks up, and the passengers are scattered to the winds to perish.

But not these two. Gibreel Farishta and Saladin Chamcha fall to earth on the shores of the Channel, landing gently enough to survive, though changed. Gibreel seems to have become an angel with a halo, while Saladin soon begins to show satanic signs, growing horns, hooves, and a tail.

Some inevitably odd adventures ensue in the English countryside and then in London. The initial physical changes disappear but psychological scars remain. More things happen in London, involving Gibreel, Saladin, various women of their acquaintance, and names and faces from the Indian film industry.

Periodically, the narrative switches to another place, another time. Is it Gibreel’s vision, memory, or imagination? Who knows! But it seems to be a parody (disrespectful for some, as events subsequent to publication testify) of the early history of the Islamic religion.

Another interlude in the narrative and location introduces a young woman, dressed in butterflies, leading a pilgrimage from India to Mecca that will involve passage, on foot, across the Arabian Sea. It was unclear to me how this episode fits in with things.

And so it goes on to a reckoning of some sort involving Saladin Chamcha and his estranged father.

Okay, it is magic realism, but I have three problems. One, in general, telling what is real and what is magic. Two, in this book, my relative ignorance of Islam and Indian culture and politics, probably meant there were satirical references that failed register. Three, the prose is dense, and the sentence construction is often unconventional or experimental, making it difficult to follow at times. Reading should not be such hard work.

This was read as part of my Book-et List reading journey – as a book I felt I ought to read. If you haven’t read it yet, my advice is don’t bother. After 550 pages I’m none the wiser as to its status as either literary genius or blasphemous tripe.