Killing the Mockingbird

I’m still here! I haven’t blogged for far too long, mainly because I’ve been finishing off my year in France, doing exams and moving back to the UK. But now I’ve got a long summer ahead of me so expect many posts to come!

It was probably the recent news about Michael Gove’s proposed changes to the national English Literature curriculum that kick-started me back into action. If you’re from the UK and haven’t been living under a rock for the past week, you’ll have heard that the education secretary proposed to ban American classics such as To Kill a Mockingbird and Of Mice and Men from the GCSE syllabus in an apparent attempt to promote British literature. On second thoughts, it’s probably the ensuing backlash that we’ve heard more about rather than the actual proposals.

I accept that many people may be ‘jumping on the bandwagon’ of criticising Gove for the sake of it, and stories of this kind relating to politicians have a tendency to completely blow up until something new comes and redirects our short-lived attention.

But while I try to understand these views and see through balanced lenses, I can’t help being critical of the suggestions. In fact, the more I reflect on it, the more it frustrates me. It’s far from an original argument, but I can’t leave it out: it is often the 20^th-century American classics that inspire sixteen-year-olds to study literature to a higher degree, or at least to take more of an interest in reading. Don’t get me wrong, I value the importance of studying classic novels by Dickens and Austen and consider it imperative that Shakespeare retains a central place in the study of English Literature (something for another time; I could talk for hours on Shakespeare!) but so many students say that it’s the more modern American (or British) writers dealing with new ideas that provoked an initial reaction in them. Look at the incredible tribute we’ve seen to the American author (and so much more) Maya Angelou over the last few days following her death.

If Harper Lee and co. encourage young people like me and so many more to pick up a book or even to pursue writing seriously, then she has succeeded in her aims and we should embrace it, not turn our backs on it.

The central themes of the works of these American authors are often colossal: racism; violence; poverty; injustice; the ‘American Dream’. It’s not only a question of literature but also of history, society and progression and it’s essential to educate students on these issues. I love Jane Austen as much as the next bookworm but much of her work is so highly idealised – we aren’t all going to find Mr Darcy and live happily ever after. So we need these grittier novels with their imperfect characters and their social challenges to give us a dose of real life and allow us to appreciate the often appalling situations of the past and indeed those that still exist today. Surely it is only with this understanding that we can continue to fight against the issues which these vital authors brought to light.

'The Help' | Kathryn Stockett

I’m very late to getting this book under my belt but if like me, you missed out on all the excitement around The Help when it first came out, let me tell you: you NEED this novel in your life. Whether your thing is suspense, humour, sociology, history, politics or anything else you can think of, Kathryn Stockett manages to draw everything together in a tale about the lives of African-American maids working for white families in the town of Jackson, Mississippi, which is as touching as it is page-turning.

Set in the 1960s, The Help alternates between first-person narration from the three main characters: Aibileen, a hard working maid, Minny, her outspoken friend, and Skeeter, the daughter of a wealthy white family with aspirations to become a journalist rather than following the other women of Jackson by marrying early and spending her time planning social events and playing bridge.

After Aibileen confides in Skeeter about her son Treelore’s dreams of writing and publishing a book about the lives of the black communities in the Deep South, Skeeter comes up with a radical and risky idea to compile, with the help of the maids who work for her own friends, a documentation of their experiences working for white families. It takes a while for Skeeter to convince the maids to share their experiences, for fear of being fired by the very employers they are describing – though eventually the will to tell their important stories brings them round to the idea. But in a town steeped in racism, prejudice and divide, it is vital that the contributors remain anonymous, not to mention the difficulties of getting such a controversial piece published.

The Help conveys an important message about the completely contrasting lives of the two worlds in Jackson, despite the fact that the two work and live alongside one another every day. As well as being beautifully and uniquely written, it tells you a lot about the history of prejudice and fear in the Southern American states.

PS. My contribution to the 'no make up selfie' campaign, also to be found on Facebook! I have to say I was a little sceptical of this at first but seeing how much money has been raised by this alone I'm impressed at it's impact - it's not to say that selfies alone are beating cancer but every little helps and why not make donating and raising awareness a little bit fun?! So if you're reading this I nominate YOU for a #nomakeupselfie and to donate to Cancer Research or a cancer charity of your choice (online or text BEAT to 70007).

'Big Brother' | Lionel Shriver

Mum brought this back from the library while I was at home for a two-week university holiday and I’m SO glad she chose it – this is probably the best book I’ve read in 2014 so far.

Lionel Shriver provides an emotional and often shocking account of the obesity crisis in America through an autobiographical perspective.

Credit: Goodreads

Pandora, based loosely on Shriver herself, is a successful businesswoman meandering through an unremarkable routine and a middle-of-the-road marriage to obsessive, health-conscious Fletcher. When her brother Edison, a formerly successful jazz musician comes back into her Iowa life, hundreds of pounds heavier than when she last saw him, his obesity has an incredible and immediate impact on her marriage, family, household and state of mind. Pandora sacrifices all she has worked for to try and help her brother, implementing an extreme weight-loss regime and moving out of her marital home to give around-the-clock support.

But behind Edison’s obesity lies a cycle of depression and instability. Some reviews I’ve read have criticised Shriver’s characterisation and depiction of overeating and the problems attached to it, but personally I found the graphic and grotesque descriptions convincing and poignant. You feel like you need to find out whether Pandora and Edison are successful in their mission to get Edison back to his original size, and in that way Shriver held my attention for the duration of the novel.

Most importantly, reading this made me really think about our relationship with food – how we base our day to day lives around it, use it to celebrate and commemorate and enjoy, but on the other side of the coin, how the very thing that we depend on for sustenance can be wholly destructive. This is invoked from the outset when Shriver writes:

 "I have to wonder whether any of the true highlights of my forty some years have had to do with food. I don't mean celebratory dinners, good fellowship; I mean salivation, mastication and peristalsis." 

This sentence put the idea of obesity and why so many people overeat to an extreme degree in a new perspective and this idea is one that is emphasised throughout the rest of the novel.

Big Brother conveys an important message as obesity is undoubtedly one of the biggest problems for health and society of our time, particularly in the Western world. Shriver’s writing is nuanced, careful and gripping and in my opinion reveals something about why humans eat to excess and the rebounding consequences.

'Waiting for Sunrise' | William Boyd

Last week I mentioned my weekend in Brussels. A 400 mile trip across a massive section of France calls for a long train journey, and a long journey calls for a great book.

Luckily I had this gem in my bag waiting to be opened on the train. William Boyd is one of my favourite authors at the minute – his attention to historical, geographical and character detail, in particular, is second to none. On the subject, I’ve never read any of the James Bond books but was so excited to hear that Boyd has taken over the writing of the series and have been meaning to get my hands on Solo ever since. If you’ve read it, I’d love to hear your thoughts on how this spy novel measures up to Fleming’s originals!

Back to Waiting for Sunrise, and I was gripped from the start. The novel opens in early 20^th-century Vienna, where Boyd’s protagonist Lysander is being treated for a personal psychological problem by a protégé of Freud. In the waiting room, he meets Hettie Bull, with whom he begins an intense and incredibly problematic affair. Later he is arrested but placed under the supervision of the British Embassy on bail and flees.

Indebted to the British government, the next year Lysander has gone from established theatre actor to a spy in the war. But his seemingly simple mission has more links, danger and consequences than he Lysander could have anticipated. In the midst of the intelligence events Hettie returns and Lysander becomes caught up in yet more trouble.

Boyd retains the unfailing momentum of the plot by weaving adeptly between family life, wartime events, sex and scandal. He has evidently taken inspiration from the events of the time, including scientific developments, and used them to deftly craft a work bringing together mystery, drama and love. Electricity and peril runs from beginning to end – a wholly satisfying and riveting read. I’m already looking forward to reading my next Boyd novel.