Favourite books of 2023

1 Tomorrow and Tomorrow and Tomorrow – Gabrielle Zevin

2 A Canticle for Leibowitz – Walter M Miller Jr

3 The Wolf Border – Sarah Hall

4 Finding the Heart of the Nation – Thomas Mayor

5 Too Much Lip – Melissa Lucashenko

6 In Ascension – Martin MacInnes

7 Telling Tennant's Story – Dean Ashenden

8 Ducks – Kate Beaton

9 Factfulness – Hans Rosling

10 Spaceships Over Glasgow – Stuart Braithwaite

Full list of 2023 reading here.

Favourite books of 2022

1 Islands of Abandonment – Cal Flyn

2 Free – Lea Ypi

3 The Ministry for the Future – Kim Stanley Robinson

4 The Book of Form and Emptiness – Ruth Ozeki

5 Apeirogon – Colum McCann

6 Luckenbooth – Jenni Fagan

7 Light Perpetual – Francis Spufford

8 A Shock – Keith Ridgway

9 Sea of Tranquility – Emily St John Mandel

10 Twenty-one Nights in July – Ianto Ware

Full list of 2022 reading here.

Books of 2012

Been thinking about my favourite books of the year (and records, but more of that later) and realised that I never made a list for 2012. I don't think I did one for 2011 either, but that seems like an eternity away, and for some reason 2012 feels like it just finished. Probably something to do with the speed that 2013 seems to have passed by at.

Anyway, here is the top ten, with basic statistics underneath. Apparent again is a heavy bias towards fiction, male authors and books published in the last three years; although with an interesting peak from the early noughties mainly due to my Russell Hoban obsession.

Top 10
1 That Summer – Andrew Greig
2 Sightlines – Kathleen Jamie
3 Open City – Teju Cole
4 Gods Without Men – Hari Kunzru
5 Hawthorn and Child – Keith Ridgway
6 The Emperor of All Maladies – Siddhartha Mukherjee
7 The Gone-Away World – Nick Harkaway
8 Not the Last Goodbye – David Servan-Schreiber
9 The Hundred-Year-Old Man Who Climbed Out of the Window and Disappeared – Jonas Jonasson
10 Backroom Boys – Francis Spufford

Statistics
Total: 41 books
Fiction: 29 titles
Non-fiction: 12 titles
Number of authors: 36
Male authors: 31
Female authors: 5
Published in 2012: 6
Published in 2011: 16
Published in 2010: 4
Published in 2009: 2
Published in 2008: 0
Published in 2007: 1
Published in 2006: 1
Published in 2005: 0
Published 2000-04: 8
Published 1990-99: 2
Published 1980-89: 1
Published before 1980: 0

And because I love a good graph, or three, here is the last three year's reading broken down month-by-month:

Which looks all right, not hitting my target of 52 books a year, but still not too bad for someone at my stage of life, with a heavy iPad Scrabble habit.

However, things start to look a little less rosy when you compare this to the number of books acquired over the same timeframe (noting the different scale on the y-axis of course):

And then the really scary one:

Assuming I manage to survive for another 30 years what this tells me is that I need to stop buying any books (or asking for them as Christmas presents) in about 10 years. Either that or start to read quicker.

Ghost libraries

Lovely short piece about ebooks in the November 3 London Review of Books (I am only currently one issue behind in my reading, which for me is pretty good going, but anyway you don't read the LRB for its topicality ...) by James Meek. It is only short and you can read it in full on their website, but some choice quotes below.

Once there were private libraries; then there were public libraries; now there is the ghost library, where poltergeistic fellow readers may not only be reading the same book as you at any moment but actually underlining the page of the book you are reading seconds before you get to it. They may be next door; they may be in Kamchatka; they may be anywhere, so long as they have Kindle and wifi.

The lightness of the ebook medium, literally and figuratively, holds a terrible allure and an insidious threat to the heavily booked-up among us. How many marriages, seemingly held firm by the impossibility of moving several hundredweight of vinyl or CDs out of a family-sized home, have already foundered post the digitisation of music? How many more will break if apparently inseparable and immovable matrimonial libraries become something that anyone can walk out with in their pocket?

The last paragraph is particularly lovely, but I will let you read that for yourselves.

Romanno Bridge

Sometimes I am up for a bit of heavy-duty non-fiction, experimental novels or multi-layered literary fiction with fractured timelines. Sometimes though, all I am looking for is a cracking yarn.

Andrew Greig's Romanno Bridge certainly doesn't disappoint on that front. Reprising his characters from The Return of John MacNab a few years on he entangles them in a far more dangerous and brutal adventure. John MacNab had a very genteel sense of British fair-play compared with Romanno Bridge ...

Starting out with a suicide deep in Rothiemurchus Forest the plot plunges headlong into ancient secret societies and the search for the real(?) Stone of Destiny, racing all over Scotland with diversions to London, Canada and Norway.

Often with this type of story the reader has to allow the author a bit of leeway to get beyond some of the more far-fetched elements, but even so there can't be any holes in the plot or characters with defects or who aren't believable. Some of the characters do seem to turn-up in exactly the right place at the right time and I had heard comments from some who felt that Kirsty could only ever exist in a male novelist's head. There are elements of her that are almost too good to be true, but it was never a problem for me. I wanted to believe, so it all felt real.

Of course everything works out all right by the end and the good guys prevail. Even so he keeps you on your toes right up to the last pages and the ending avoids any whiff of sentimentality. It just feels right, and sometimes that is exactly what you need from a book.

Alex's Adventures in Numberland

Last time I looked Alex Bellos was The Guardian's correspondent in Brazil and his one published book was a wonderfully idiosyncratic and entertaining look at Brazilian football (or futebol as the Brazilians would say) which actually turned out to be a pretty good historical and sociological primer for the whole country. Read along with Peter Robb's A Death in Brazil there probably isn't much more that you need to know about this most intriguing (at least to me) country.

So, getting back to the point, I was mildly surprised to find out last year that he had written a book about mathematics called Alex's Adventures in Numberland. However, it turns out he has a degree in philosophy and mathematics (they didn't mention that in the blurb on the football book!) and a boundless enthusiasm for seeking out the quirky and fascinating amongst the numbers and equations.

Starting out with Munduruku people living deep in the Brazilian Amazon who still lead a hunter-gatherer existence and have no words for numbers greater than five. Mainly because, as Alex demonstrates, they don't have any need for them. And even these five numbers aren't a precise match for the quantities one to five translating more correctly into one, two, threeish, fourish and a handful. This leads into a fascinating discussion on how children learn to count and understand numbers. Studying young children and isolated indigenous peoples gives a fascinating insight into innate mathematical intuition compared against taught concepts. (The numerical equivalent of Steven Pinker's The Language Instinct.)

From there we move through number systems, numerology, Vedic mathematics, Pi, algebra, number games, the golden ratio, probability, statistics and on to infinity (the concept not the size of the book ...). He has a journalist's eye for an interesting story and the writing is always clear and intelligent, even when he gets into some fairly high level concepts. Pleasingly, the text is also accompanied by plenty of well-drawn diagrams, illustrations and photos which help with the explanations and let you see what mathematicians really look like. There are also plenty of equations, but what did you expect? It is about maths after all.

Along the way he tracks down some fascinating characters, some well known, most not. For example Wayne Gould, a retired judge from New Zealand who found a Sudoku book in a Tokyo bookshop and although he couldn't read any of the instructions he managed to work out how to solve the puzzle. He then spent six years writing a computer program to generate Sudokus and went on to sell the idea to newspapers in the USA and UK sparking a craze which now has over 100 million regular players. I had always presumed that Sudoku was an ancient Japanese puzzle which was just popularised recently in the West, but it turns out to have been invented by Maki Kaji, a Japanese puzzle-maker who refined a puzzle that he had seen in an American puzzle magazine which had in turn been created by Howard Garns, a retired architect from Indiana.

At 450 pages he covers a lot of ground, but it flys past and I was very sad to see it finish, although my head was hurting a bit by the end. By the last chapter we are up to non-Euclidean geometry, hyperbolic crochet, Georg Cantor's 'set theory' and the Hilbert Hotel. Luckily he also has an excellent blog where he updates some of the stories that appear in the book and any other interesting mathematics that he finds.

Borders, REDGroup and Australian bookselling

In November 2009 I started a post entitled Is Borders evil? so as you may guess the news that they had placed themselves into voluntary administration on Thursday didn't cause too much heartache around here. As a chain-bookshop ex-employee I do feel sorry for the shopfloor staff who now face irate customers with impossible demands and the likely loss of their jobs.

I came to the conclusion that they probably weren't inherently evil as much as incompetently nefarious, so I never did publish the post, but charging well above RRP on about 90% of your stock did seem like a strange strategy for a bookshop looking for customer loyalty and longevity. The half-empty shelves, poor stock selection and lack of key backlist titles over the last few years also seemed to point to some problems with management and strategy.

Around this time the government was also looking into the parallel importation laws and book pricing in general, so there was plenty of media coverage about the disparity between book prices in Australia and those in the USA and UK, but bizarrely there was no coverage anywhere about one of the major book retailing chains over-pricing the vast majority of their stock.

It wasn't always like that, however, when Borders first opened in Carlton in early 2003 it was a well stocked and pleasant spot to browse. I still never bought much there, but occasionally one of their discounted bestsellers like William Gibson's Pattern Recognition or something more esoteric not stocked elsewhere would persuade me to get the credit card out.

Unfortunately in 2007 the Borders US group started getting into difficulties and the UK and Asia Pacific parts of the business were put up for sale. The Australia/NZ side was bought in June 2008 by the REDGroup who are in turn owned by Pacific Equity Partners (PEP), a private equity firm who clearly weren't buying because of a love of literature. The REDGroup already owned the Angus and Robertson chain in Australia and the Whitcoulls chain in New Zealand, so it was fairly obvious that PEP thought they could merge Borders into the existing business, streamline back office functions, maximise profit and sell it on as soon as they could get a good price. (The financial background is explained well in an article in yesterday's Sydney Morning Herald by Michael Evans.)

Straight away you could see the change in the shops: backlist wasn't replaced, shelves got empty, prices went up across the board and non-book products became more and more prominent. I am probably not the average book-buyer, but it wasn't long before I stopped buying anything from them and quickly realised that it wasn't even worth going in to the stores as it would just annoy me.

Not as annoyed, however, as I was when it was revealed soon after the announcement that Border's chairman Steven Cain had written to the government blaming them for the chain's failure because of the overseas internet shopping GST loophole and parallel importation laws. Sure, internet booksellers will have taken a some of Borders market, but the parallel importation laws have very little to do with the problems the REDGroup encountered. For their management to try to shift the blame from their failings to others over two issues which they were well aware of and should have had strategies for dealing with is pathetic in the extreme. It is also telling that Dymocks and other, smaller independent chains, like the ever excellent Readings, can survive in the current climate when they are dealing with exactly the same issues, albeit far more successfully.

Most of the articles about the collapse have made much of the impact of overseas online booksellers like Amazon and Book Depository (some even going so far as to predict that this is the beginning of the end for all shops!) who are undoubtably grabbing a bigger and bigger share of the market in Australia and many have pointed out that the widespread take-up of ebooks will squeeze the bricks-and-mortar bookshops further. Personally, I think that big and bland chains will struggle as more of their custom goes online, but am optimistic that smaller and more customer-focused shops should still be able to thrive. Their role will change slightly as all the bestsellers go digital, but provided they focus on the things that on-line and ebooks can't provide like author events, discussion groups and great customer service then I think they will be all right. Of course they may need a bit of help from the publishers in all of this, but that is another story which can wait for now.

There is bound to plenty more coverage over the coming weeks and the whole industry will be watching intently to see what happens. In the meantime, if you want to know more here are some of the best sources and stories:
John Birmingham – Borders' demise: why the book chains are doomed
Bookseller + Publisher blog – Things we keep repeating
Bookseller + Publisher blog – Round-up of stories on REDGroup entering voluntary administration
And my favourite, Ross Honeywill – How Mark Rubbo killed Borders books

Books of 2010

Complete list is in the sidebar way down somewhere on the right. 39 was quite a long way short of my stated goal of one a week. I started well, but quickly tailed off with a too-late surge in the last three months, as you can see from the chart below. This year I am going to aim for 52 again, but suspect that anticipated lack of sleep from late May onwards may make it hard to achieve again.

More worrying, however, as the following graph clearly illustrates is the gap between books read and books acquired. Luckily most of my 2010 Christmas books actually arrived in January, otherwise the gap would have been even more alarming.

Top ten is below, with statistics underneath. Apparent again is a heavy bias towards fiction, male authors and books published in the last three years.

Top 10

1 Let the Great World Spin – Colum McCann

2 Waterlog – Roger Deakin

3 The Magnetic North – Sarah Wheeler

4 A Lie About My Father – John Burnside

5 Started Early, Took My Dog – Kate Atkinson

6 Zeitoun – Dave Eggers

7 Zero History – William Gibson

8 The Stars in the Bright Sky – Alan Warner

9 The Broken Shore – Peter Temple

10 Men in Space – Tom McCarthy

Statistics

Fiction: 29 titles

Non-fiction: 10 titles

Number of authors: 39

Male authors: 32

Female authors: 7

Books published in 2010: 11
Books published in 2009: 13
Books published in 2008: 6
Books published in 2007: 4
Books published in 2006: 3
Books published in 2005: 1
Books published 2000-04: 1
Books published 1990-99: 0
Books published 1980-89: 0
Books published before 1980: 0

Child 44

A serial killer is on the loose in the 1950s Soviet Union, but the authorities don't want to know. Individual police forces pin the crimes on marginalised outsiders – the mentally ill, homosexuals – or cover them up as accidents and there is no coordination between different jurisdictions. By-the-book cop falls out of favour with his superiors and gets exiled from his privileged position in Moscow to the wastelands of a factory town hundreds of kilometres to the east. Unsurprisingly he is the only person to connect the murders and, fighting against the system, he manages to unravel the crimes and find the killer.

I am being a bit unfair: there are lots of interesting aspects to the story. For example, the way the police's function is to protect the interests of the state apparatus without any pretense of protecting its citizens and the problem of reconciling the existence of crime within in a theoretically just and equitable society.

Unfortunately, too much time has been spent thinking through the twists and turns of the story, and not enough time spent on the writing. The suffering and hardship (of which there is plenty ...) doesn't feel real and the awful events don't connect emotionally. It reads like he wrote it as the screenplay for a movie. The plot and the action is all there, but the characters are lacking in depth and personality, as if waiting for the actors to add this dimension to the story.

I play the drums in a band called okay

There aren't many good novels about rock bands: plenty of good true stories, but not many made up ones. In fact, even after consulting my shelves I can only think of one other which I would put in that category. And that isn't even really about a rock band. It is all about the band's frontman – allegedly based on Fish the ex-lead singer of Marillion (who didn't get his nickname because of his drinking habits but because he used to spend so long in the bath when working as a forester in Fochabers) – and how his life has dissolved post-band.

Published twenty-one years apart the covers are spookily similar, but they don't have much else in common. (You can see how far cover printing technology has come in that time – the embossed vinyl effect on the more recent title is a lot more convincing.)

Toby Litt's okay are a moderately successful Canadian indie band and this is their story from school-days formation up to and beyond the death of guitarist crab twenty years later. The story is narrated by the drummer – clap (the other members are singer syph and bassist mono) – who is, handily for Litt, the most sober and self-aware of the group.

Although the book manages to stay entertaining through all the overdoses, break-ups and excesses, what really makes it a great read are the two or three key moments related, which bring a depth and humanity to the story. Plenty is borrowed and modified from well-known rock myths – the fishing obsessed band member and the giving away of a suitcase of money to name two I noticed – and half the fun is spotting the ones you know, but it only really works because of the skilful way he has created a bunch of people that seem real, not like rock stars.

Also smart is the way Litt neatly side-steps the key point of what they actually sound like, letting you hear your own soundtrack. For what its worth, I thought they would sound a bit like a cross between Coldplay and Snow Patrol. (Coldpatrol or Snow Play maybe?) Horrific I know, but don't let that put you off reading the book.

Ordinary Thunderstorms

There is a great book in here waiting to get out. Unfortunately this isn't it. Don't get me wrong: I am a big fan of William Boyd and have read almost all of his novels. Unfortunately enjoying all the others more than this one.

My favourite of his novels is Armadillo and Ordinary Thunderstorms sounded like it came from a similar vein, so I was looking forward to this one. Literary thrillers usually work best with a certain amount of suspension of belief, but even allowing for that the plot is just too full of implausibilities and there are too many annoying little errors for it to be a complete pleasure like Armadillo.

Straight off we are confronted with the main character – climatologist Adam Kindred – behaving totally out of character. Or, to be honest, behaving totally unlike any rational person in the world would. And since the whole book flows from this one incident that is a bit of a problem. Boyd works hard and has clearly put a lot of thought into trying to justify Kindred's behaviour, but it still doesn't ring true. Things do improve from here, but there are too many convenient, clearly flagged events and situations which later turn into key plot devices and much of the plot seems forced and dependent on setting up an already mapped out narrative.

There are lots of great bits: the way he works the Thames throughout the book from the opening scene through two deaths and on to the very last pages, the Church of John Christ, Mr Quality and Adam's love interest – the (lovely) Rita, river policewoman who lives on a decommissioned navy vessel moored at Nine Elms Pier.

The innocent bystander caught in a big conspiracy and fleeing for his life isn't a new idea, but Boyd uses the contemporary London setting to bring a new slant, highlighting and raising lots of interesting points about society, politics and our global economic structures on the way. I have come to the conclusion that he isn't capable of writing a bad book, but it is a shame that the flaws and problems with this one means that it doesn't match-up to his best work.

Turbulence

Giles Foden has a knack for unearthing fascinating side stories from real events and using them to construct novels and non-fiction. He's best known for his first novel, The Last King of Scotland, where a young Scottish doctor on a medical program in Africa ends up as the personal physician to Ugandan President Idi Amin.

Turbulence intrigued me for the most part, but was ultimately a bit of let-down. It is a literary thriller, based around solving one the most intractable scientific (or more specifically geophysical) problems of the Second World War: predicting the weather over six consecutive days to allow the D-day landings to be planned and executed.

Henry Meadows is a technical officer in the Met Office who is dispatched to Argyll in an attempt to retrieve crucial information from the reclusive Wallace Ryman. Ryman is an authority on turbulence whose work is viewed as crucial to aid the forecasters in providing accurate and reliable advice to the military top brass. Unfortunately Ryman is a rationalist and a conscientious objector who is indifferent to the project and whatever information he does share doesn't seem to be particularly relevant.

The first two-thirds, set in Argyll, when Henry is trying to befriend and get the information from Ryman works well. Then the story turns on a dramatic event which seems less traumatic than it should be. Henry's breakdown after isn't convincing and the book drifts off. Although events become more dramatic, they also seem less convincing and by the end very little seems to be real.

There is also the added distraction of a tacked-on, modern-day coda running throughout which doesn't shed any light on the historical events or add anything to our understanding of Henry or his actions. The final chapter is billed as an address to a conference about the forecasting for the landings and marking the fortieth anniversary. Again it seems unecessary and contrived, as if he didn't have the confidence in the core narrative and felt that it needed something extra. It is a great story and if Foden had concentrated on getting this right, ditching all the padding and authorial tricks then it would be a far more engaging book.

Booker longlist

No Amis. No Rushdie. No McEwen. Hurray!

The Booker Prize longlist was published last week and, although I haven't really been interested in it as prize since I stopped working in the bookshop (circa 1996), I had to take a look anyway. Just so that I could be mildly outraged by the judges narrow view of what constitutes literature and chuckle condescendingly at their predictable choices.

The last Booker winner I read was Alan Hollinghurst's The Line of Beauty in 2004 and I didn't rate that much. Life of Pi in 2002 was the last one that I actually enjoyed and before that it was Paddy Clarke Ha Ha Ha in 1993.

So, this year's list brought on an attack of slight incredulity including as it does two books I have already read that are fantastic (The Slap and The Stars in the Bright Sky), another that I can guarantee will be excellent (and is already on my to-read pile next to the bed – The Thousand Autumns of Jacob de Zoet) and another five which I quite fancy (C, February, In a Strange Room, Room and The Betrayal).

My take on The Slap is here and I will be banging on about The Stars in the Bright Sky at some point in the near-future. The bookies reckon Parrot and Olivier in America or The Long Song are in line for the fifty grand, but that only shows what turnips they are. My pick would have to be David Mitchell for The Thousand Autumns of Jacob de Zoet because lots of people reckon he should have won in 2004 for Cloud Atlas and although the judges say they 'put aside literary reputations and judge the novels on their individual merits' it is strange how often an author's past near misses help a book's chances.* And if I was a betting man I would put some money on Christos Tsiolkas for The Slap. I just have a funny feeling that it might be his year ...

*The fact that it is historical fiction won't hurt either.

The People's Train

My views on historical fiction tend to be the opposite of Booker Prize judges, but strangely this goes out the window for anything set in Russia especially around the October Revolution.

Unfortunately The People's Train is the exception that proves the rule.

Sometime last year I chanced across a review that  praised the book and mentioned that it was based on a true story about one of the minor protagonists in the Russian Revolution.  I have never read anything by Thomas Keneally (or Tom as his Australian publishers prefer), but he won the Booker for Schindler's Ark and is undoubtably one of Australia's best regarded and prolific writers so it seemed likely to be something I would enjoy.

The first two-thirds is set in Brisbane and is purportedly the English translation of the memoirs of one Artem Samsurov (Late Hero of the Soviet Revolution) – a protégé of Lenin's who escapes from prison in Tsarist Russia and makes it to Australia by way of Japan and China. The last one-third is billed as Paddy Dykes' Russian Journal and culminates in his account of the storming of the Winter Palace on 27 October 1917.

It is a brilliant idea to swap the perspectives in this way – the Russian exile narrating the Australian section (although with a great deal of back story and plot filling along the way) and the small-town Australian idealist reporting the momentous historical events he witnesses in Russia.

Unfortunately it just doesn't work. The characters are flat and unconvincing, the historical details are correct by don't come to life and the narrative trundles along when it should race toward the obvious conclusion.

At one point Paddy complains that Artem's bride-to-be 'Tasha didn't seem to exist beyond her reputation. She was most alive and was a real presence when she spoke at factories around Kharkov. In the Gubin house she was a bit like a ghost.' Unfortunately this could applied to a great many of the characters in the novel. And on top of this the writing can be clunky and laboured, almost as if he forgot to re-write all the material that his researcher came up with. It's a shame because Artem's story is incredible and I couldn't help feeling that it was short-changed by this book.

Misplaced childhood

My father told lies all his life and, because
I knew no better, I repeated them.

A lie about my father... A son's version of the truth...

John Burnside's memoir about his father is a brilliant, but brutal account of what it was like for him growing-up in the fifties and sixties in Cowdenbeath and Corby. As well as being a liar, his father is a drunk and a bully who is singularly ill-qualified for fatherhood, even by the standards of 1950s Scotland.

A Lie About My Father covers the time from John's birth to his early twenties when his dad dies. It is tough going – his dad burning his teddy bear at six, his mother bundling him out of the bedroon window late at night to avoid drunken beatings, the broken arm from a holiday in Blackpool that goes undiagnosed for three weeks, the teenage obsession with fire-lighting – but not at all gloomy. He seems to cope remarkably well with his lot and there is a complete lack of self-pity or wallowing in his predicament. Like millions of other teenagers he survives with the help of books, music and a complete rejection of his father's principles.

Of course, however, it all takes its toll and as the book ends he is diagnosed with mental illness, hospitalised and losing himself in serious drug abuse from which it takes him a decade to escape.

When they warn you about all that bohemian stuff, they always talk about the seductive properties of alcohol, or drugs, or loose morals, but they never say how seductive falling is, what a great pleasure it is to be lost. Perhaps they don't know. Perhaps only the lost know. Far from home, far from the known, the imagination starts to play beautiful, terrifying tricks on us. Maybe it is the road of excess that leads to the palace of wisdom – which is just another word for a certain kind of crazy. Being lost, being crazy: while I was falling, I knew I was on to something. I knew I wasn't anywhere near there yet, but I also knew that I couldn't get there from where I was.

His recent memoir Waking up in Toytown covers this lost decade and his escape into suburbia of all places. A Lie About My Father ends positively and, although I don't want to spoil the book for anyone, it is safe to say that he isn't going to repeat the mistakes his father made.

P.S. What is the difference between memoir and autobiography? I couldn't really have told you until recently, but according to Diana Athill (in issue number 7 of the consistently interesting Five Dials) the two have diverged recently and autobiography is the official, public version of events while memoir is the private version. Thus the key to memoir is that its success or otherwise depends on how true the account feels to the reader. A Lie About My Father certainly fits this description.

Things We Didn't See Coming

Maybe I wanted to love Steven Amsterdam's Things We Didn't See Coming too much. Unfortunately I finished it feeling that I should have enjoyed it more than I did.

The nine chapters (or are they actually short stories?) are inventive and disconcerting, challenging and constantly surprising; all set in an indistinct, post-apocalyptic future which at times seem temporally near, but at others extremely distant.

Initially it looks like we are in for an alternative reality, starting with a Y2K millennium panic that really does go bad, but then we start skipping through the twenty-first century glimpsing nine snapshots of lives that seem to reference what has come before but how it is hard to tell. The connections between the stories are too tenuous or not there at all and I was left lost and a bit puzzled by each subsequent one. The book group questions on his website suggest that all nine stories are narrated by the same person, but this doesn't feel right to me – it just doesn't make sense or ring true.

Individually the nine stories are all great pieces of writing – thought provoking and haunting in many places – but regrettably the holes and gaps and disjunctures meant that I couldn't believe in it as a complete narrative.

I do love the cover design: simple, but powerful and intriguing. And his website is a great example of how a you can make the most of a tiny marketing budget to enhance and promote the book. Just don't click on the What are you so worried about? link.

The Steep Approach to Garbadale

I've read all of Iain Banks' books, pretty much in the order he wrote them, starting with The Wasp Factory in 1988. The Bridge is one of my favourite books ever, one that I re-read on a regular basis, and his run of non-SF novels from The Wasp Factory to Complicity is arguably unmatched in British literature. I agree with him on most of his political views, am interested in all the same things and recognise much of what he writes about from my own background and experiences. Listening to him talk it is clear that he is erudite and fantastically entertaining (just listen to him discuss Transition with Ramona Koval on Radio National's The Book Show to see what I mean).

In short, he is a bit of genius and someone I admire greatly.

Unfortunately, and you knew there was a qualifier coming, his last four (non-SF) novels haven't been very good. So over the last 14 years I have gone from keenly awaiting each new release to mild interest whenever the latest title appears. After Dead Air I even sort-of-assumed that I might be finished with his regular fiction and considered starting into his SF works. I read some mildly positive reviews of The Steep Approach to Garbadale, but even then had no inclination to pick up a copy and probably wouldn't have been tempted apart from the fact that the excellent Fullers Bookshop in Hobart was selling the hardback for five dollars.

The characters are almost all caricatures (the poncey business exec with his Mercedes S-class and Zero Halliburton aluminium briefcase anyone?), mouthpieces for Banks' views on society and politics, so unconvincing they would have trouble standing up in a Jackie Collins novel.

Even more annoyingly there are enough flashes of his best writing to remind you what you're missing. The passages recounting the hero's teenage years are beautifully written, with a real feel for the miseries and joy of that age. Sadly, these sections only remind me of similar ones in his earlier and better books.

One of the better characters seems to be speaking directly to the author rather than the protagonist when she asks: 'What are you trying to achieve? What is it you really want?' In Banks' case unfortunately it looks like he has lost track of the former and found the answer to the latter so long ago that he can't really be arsed anymore.

Books of 2009

Complete list is in the sidebar on the right. 49 is quite an improvement on 2008's total of 26, but just short of my unofficial goal of 50 in total. This year I am upping the stakes and going for one a week.

Top ten is below, with statistics underneath. Apparent in the numbers is a heavy bias towards fiction, male authors and books published in the last three years.

Not many other trends in the top 10 apart from a fondness for Scandinavian crime novels (although I cheated by grouping all the Millennium trilogy together at number 2). More to come about that at a later date ...

Most of the list is fiction apart from numbers 1 and 10, both of which would probably be classed as travel literature. One a walk around the M25 and the other a woman's journey to the northern areas of Pakistan.

Fairly international – three Scots, two Icelanders, two Americans, two English and one Swede – and three translations.

Top 10

1 London Orbital – Iain Sinclair

2 The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo/The Girl who Played with Fire/The Girl who Kicked the Hornet's Nest – Steig Larsson
3 The Draining Lake – Arnaldur Indridason
4 Ascent – Jed Mercurio
5 The Incredible Adam Spark – Alan Bissett
6 The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao – Junot Díaz
7 The Devil's Footprints – John Burnside
8 The Blue Fox – Sjón
9 The Invention of Everything Else – Samantha Hunt
10 Among Muslims – Kathleen Jamie

Statistics
Fiction: 34 titles
Non-fiction: 15 titles
Number of authors: 44

Male authors: 43
Female authors: 6

Books published in 2009: 4
Books published in 2008: 15
Books published in 2007: 13
Books published in 2006: 5
Books published in 2005: 4
Books published 2000-04: 7
Books published 1990-99: 1
Books published 1980-89: 0
Books published before 1980: 0

The Olivetti Chronicles

Eagle-eyed readers of this blog will have noticed the little LibraryThing widget about halfway down the column on the right seems to have been stuck, displaying the pensive visage of the legendary John Peel without fail for the last three months as numerous other book covers have come and gone. However, the problem has nothing to do with the irreproachable LibraryThing or even with my lax updating of the data which it requires to accurately provide this essential part of the Geography of Hope experience. No, it has all been down to the fact that I couldn't bear to finish this cobbled together, blatant (dare I say it) cash-in which is all that remains of John's wit and wisdom.

Like listening to John's radio show (which I have to confess I never did as often as I would have liked to pretend I did) you never know what is going to be up next. But it has been wonderfully comforting picking up this collection of articles and hearing in my head that gruff but reassuring accent musing on subjects as varied as Eurovision, Extreme Noise Terror, The Fall (not nearly as much as you would expect), football (lots of football), Cliff Richard, vaginal deodorants and Top of the Pops. Written for a diverse range of publications from Sounds to The Radio Times over a period of about thirty three (and a third) years it is actually the perfect memento of a singular and remarkable man whose love of new music rubbed off on a couple of generations of music fans.

The greatest pleasure in pop music derives, I believe, from the manner in which its very nature resists scholarship ... Pop is a car-boot sale, a parade of trinkets, junk and handicrafts, most worthless, some capable of giving a few moments of pleasure, with a few glorious items made more glorious by their unexpected appearance in this market. Then in an unpredictable double-bluff, the worthless can, within a few years, take on great worth and the glorious become merely laughable.

Hüzün

Istanbul is travel writing at its most pure. The author doesn't travel far, at most a few kilometres from the streets he grew up in and has lived in all his life. Backwards and forwards in time a bit too, but the real travel is done by the reader, transported to a beguiling and intriguing city that is as alien and strange as anything I can imagine.

Orhan Pamuk on why he writes:

I write because I can't do normal work like other people. I write because I want to read books like the ones I write. I write because I am angry at all of you, angry at everyone. I write because I love sitting in a room all day writing. I write because I can only partake in real life by changing it. I write because I want others, all of us, the whole world to know what sort of life we lived, and continue to live, in Istanbul, in Turkey. I write because I love the smell of paper, pen and ink. I write because I believe in literature, in the art of the novel, more then I believe in anything else. I write because it is a habit, a passion. I write because I am afraid of being forgotten. I write because I like the glory and interest that writing brings. I write to be alone. Perhaps I write to understand why I am so very, very angry at all of you, so very, very angry at everyone. I write because I like to be read. I write because once I have begun a novel, an essay, a page, I want to finish it. I write because everyone expects me to write. I write because I have a childish belief in the immortality of literature. I write because it is exciting to turn all of life's beauties and riches into words. I write not tell a story, but to compose a story. I write because I want to escape from the foreboding that there is a place I must go - just as in a dream - I can't quite get there. I write because I never managed to be happy. I write to be happy.

From Other Colours, 2007

And what does Hüzün mean? Well, you will just have to read Istanbul and find out.