Abandoned Books

Every so often I have to post about the books that I did not finish Abandoned books? I know, appalling for someone who’s barmy about books.

But I admit it, I sometimes don’t finish books – even those well-reviewed best sellers thrust upon me by bookish friends or praised by other book bloggers. It’s happening more and more often as I get older — you know the so little time, so many books theory.

The 50 page rule prevails — I’ll give any book at least 50 pages before I put it down…sometimes more. This cold rejection of an author’s herculean effort always tears me apart a little bit, and I put off writing one of these posts – as it feels somehow heartless.

But that’s why you’re here folks, so here goes.

Slipsworth by Simon Van Booy

This book was enthusiastically touted by Ann Patchett on her bookstore’s (Parnassus Books) Instagram feed. Ms. Patchett is one of my favorite authors, so I gave it a try.

From the book blurb: Following the deaths of her husband and son, Helen Cartwright returns to the English village of her childhood after living abroad for six decades. Her only wish is to die quickly and without fuss. Helen retreats into her home on Westminster Crescent, becoming a creature of routine and habit. Then, one cold autumn night, a chance encounter with an abandoned pet mouse on the street outside her house sets Helen on a surprising journey of friendship.

I got about 50 pages in and was struck by two things; the melancholy of this elderly woman without family or friends became just too sad and overwhelming, and then, when she becomes enamored with a mouse she lets into her home as a pet, I had to stop. It just became too silly and dare I say, trite.

Note: Also, I detest mice and I couldn’t get over the fact that she could care for one.

Lolly Willowes by Sylvia Townsend Warner

This book has been on my shelf and I took it down to read as it was recommended somewhere as a good Halloween read. It was written in 1926 and is considered a classic feminist novel…okay, I thought I’m in…

From the book blurb: When Laura Willowes’s beloved father dies, she is absorbed in the household of her brother and his family. There, she leaves behind “Laura” and enters into the state of “Aunt Lolly,” a genteel spinster indispensable to the upbringing of her nieces.

For twenty years, Lolly is neither indulgent nor impulsive, until one day when she decides to move to a village in the Chilterns, much to her family’s chagrin.
But it’s in the countryside, among nature, where Lolly has her first taste of freedom. Duty-bound to no one except herself, she revels in the solitary life. When her nephew moves there, and Lolly feels once again thrust into her old familial role, she reaches out to the otherworldly, to the darkness, to the unheeded power within the hearts of women to feel at peace once more .

I actually got more than halfway through this book, and found the prose beautifully written, and appreciated the biting humor describing Lolly’s/Laura’s predicament — being suffocated by controlling and overbearing relatives. Then when she finally breaks free, the descriptions of her newly found English countryside are wonderful. But wham! – the novel fell apart for me once she turned to witchcraft and even converses at length with the devil. It’s almost as if the first half of the book was written by one author and the other by another who hijacked the narrative and turned it into magical realism. Not for me after all.

The Lost Bookshop by Evie Woods

Now you all know I’m a sucker for books about books and bookshops, so I was pleased to get this from the library a couple of weeks ago. Again I gave it 50 or so pages and had to give up. Once again I stumbled into magical realism.

The premise held great promise – a lost bookshop in Ireland, a missing work from a Brontë sister, antique book dealing, and even a bookish romance at the ‘Shakespeare and Co.’ bookshop in Paris.

But there were just too many bizarre scenarios — magical tattoos, invisible characters, and shape-shifting houses — just to name a few. These elements jump in and around the narrative without much cohesion. I kept waiting for the plot to come together, but I kept getting more frustrated and returned it to the library unfinished.

The Life Impossible by Matt Haig

While, I adored Mr. Haig’s first novel How to Stop Time , I was not a fan of his second, The Midnight Library. So perhaps I only have myself to blame, had I read the reviews, of The Life Impossible, I might have realized I was getting into another novel of magical realism. But instead I was drawn in by the book’s blurb (I’m often susceptible and should know better).

When retired math teacher Grace Winters is left a run-down house on a Mediterranean island by a long-lost friend, curiosity gets the better of her. She arrives in Ibiza with a one-way ticket, no guidebook and no plan and searches for answers about her friend’s life among the hills and beaches of the island.

The Life Impossible is a one-sided conversation as Mr. Haig employs Grace’s 300 page email to a student describing all her experiences in Ibiza. The reader has to try to go along with it. The conversation is sweet and the message is a good one… but it’s all a bit wordy, a bit convoluted, and a weirdly out there.

We are asked to suspend belief with a tale of a magical light source found deep in a lagoon, and how the light transformed her and how she now sees her life in a whole new way. The reader tries to pay attention but in the end you are bored out of your gourd.

The Diary of a Provincial Lady by E. M. Delafield

Okay, I was sick of magical realism, so turned to my shelves to find something real, something I could sink into. Written in 1934, the day to day life of this provincial lady is not very exciting, she manages the household budget (badly), tries not to upset the staff or dote on her children too much, gets annoyed with the local ‘bigwig’, gets involved in local fundraising efforts, meets friends and enters writing competitions.

It is all told with a wry humor, which makes the book enjoyable, but I had to put it aside, after I read the first four chapters, it was just too slow and actually not very interesting.

I have since learned, this was never meant to be a novel, but was originally published in a women’s magazine as a series of anecdotes. I am undecided on whether to keep it or not – perhaps to dip into once and awhile. Yes, I am shallow and may hang on to it just for the lovely cover.