Last year was a good one in many respects. It was a productive mixture of work and play, of solitude and socialising in perfect balance. Yet, this post isn't going to log all the highs and lows of 2008 - I thought I'd rather write about the books that made an impression on me last year.
So, in chronological order, the best literary bits of 2008.
1. Eeva Kilpi: Häätanhu.
I'd always thought of Kilpi first and foremost as a poet, not a novelist - until I got my hands on this book. Although it's probably aimed at a slightly older audience, I couldn't help but be mesmerised by Kilpi's magnificent language and her loving portrayal of the Finnish summer through the senses of a middle-aged woman. On the surface nothing much happens - in an isolated cottage there's even no one to talk to, apart from the dog - but underneath the semi-autobiographical narrator goes through her past with all its joys and disappointments, preparing herself for a new life in another country.
2. Bobbie Ann Mason: Feather Crowns.
Quintuplets were a rare occurrence in the 19th century. In her fictitious tale Mason also turns them into a media event powerful enough to stop trains. She has managed to weave into one narrative the tragic story of a Midwestern couple whose household gets turned upside down by the simultaneous arrival of five babies (and a horde of curious novelty-seekers) ,the effects of industrialisation on the American way of life, as well as the psychological journey of one woman through doubt and fear to serene self-knowledge.
3. Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie: Purple Hibiscus.
I very rarely follow book reviews because I find most of my books through trial and error, walking around in a library, browsing through the shelves, picking up interesting-sounding works and scanning them (and of course sometimes the cover is enough to convince me). This method gives me enormous satisfaction, and many times rewards me with true gems. Purple Hibiscus is one of those. Again, on the surface, it looks like a story a hundred times told: the struggles of a teenage girl to escape her oppressive home through self-discovery and first love. Yet, all the characters and the world they live in are depicted in such a lifelike way that one cannot help but be moved (and shocked).
So, in chronological order, the best literary bits of 2008.
1. Eeva Kilpi: Häätanhu.
I'd always thought of Kilpi first and foremost as a poet, not a novelist - until I got my hands on this book. Although it's probably aimed at a slightly older audience, I couldn't help but be mesmerised by Kilpi's magnificent language and her loving portrayal of the Finnish summer through the senses of a middle-aged woman. On the surface nothing much happens - in an isolated cottage there's even no one to talk to, apart from the dog - but underneath the semi-autobiographical narrator goes through her past with all its joys and disappointments, preparing herself for a new life in another country.
2. Bobbie Ann Mason: Feather Crowns.
Quintuplets were a rare occurrence in the 19th century. In her fictitious tale Mason also turns them into a media event powerful enough to stop trains. She has managed to weave into one narrative the tragic story of a Midwestern couple whose household gets turned upside down by the simultaneous arrival of five babies (and a horde of curious novelty-seekers) ,the effects of industrialisation on the American way of life, as well as the psychological journey of one woman through doubt and fear to serene self-knowledge.
3. Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie: Purple Hibiscus.
I very rarely follow book reviews because I find most of my books through trial and error, walking around in a library, browsing through the shelves, picking up interesting-sounding works and scanning them (and of course sometimes the cover is enough to convince me). This method gives me enormous satisfaction, and many times rewards me with true gems. Purple Hibiscus is one of those. Again, on the surface, it looks like a story a hundred times told: the struggles of a teenage girl to escape her oppressive home through self-discovery and first love. Yet, all the characters and the world they live in are depicted in such a lifelike way that one cannot help but be moved (and shocked).
4. Anne Enright: The Wig My Father Wore.
What is it with the Irish soil that it produces writers with such twisted views of the world? At first, Enright reminded me of Flann O'Brien, but the more I read of The Wig, the more impressed I became of her own, eccentric sense of language. To recount the plot would be missing the point; what sticks with me is the sheer brilliance of her acrobatic narration.
What is it with the Irish soil that it produces writers with such twisted views of the world? At first, Enright reminded me of Flann O'Brien, but the more I read of The Wig, the more impressed I became of her own, eccentric sense of language. To recount the plot would be missing the point; what sticks with me is the sheer brilliance of her acrobatic narration.
5. Iris Murdoch: The Philosopher's Pupil.
Murdoch has caused me some confusion in the past. The first book of hers I read was The Unicorn - a meandering work which almost put me off her for good. Fortunately, I became interested in Murdoch's life (through her husband's biographies), and experimentally picked up The Sea, The Sea which I enjoyed a lot. The Philosopher's Pupil is, in my view, a stronger work still, exploring the dark moralistic underbelly of a fictitious spa town, throwing in all kinds of weird and fascinating sub-plots (including the tortuous story of a half-Irish countertenor). As always, however, it's the language that kept me hooked.
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