On Enjoying Italian Crime with Camilleri, Shruggable Neutrality on Chekhov and A Little Bit Of Chopin

Hello there. Hope you're feeling well today.

Have finished The Montalbano Mysteries by Andrea Camilleri . An omnibus of the first three novels of the eponymous Sicilian detective. Well I loved it. Everything you'd want from a crime genre is here. A hero you'd root for, a sense of place, characters well drawn, a good plot. I finished the book wishing that I was a brilliant Italian detective with a love of food living near the coast who could take a swim everyday should he wish it.

And the thing about this omnibus was....I didn't get to feel it was an omnibus. There was no sense of a hard slog. I just moved from one novel to the next with ease and was only disappointed when they were all finished. Don't know when I'll next get round to reading a Camilleri novel but I do know I'll be looking forward to it.

Which is more than I can say for Anton Chekhov.

You may remember sometime back I suggested that for some writers a reader can be in literary Switzerland. In that he (or she) didn't dislike a writer but at the same time could not understand the mantle of greatness that is thrust upon them. The main author I used for this was F Scott Fitzgerald but I included Chekhov in this as well.

Having now read The Duel And Other Stories I now realise that my views on Chekhov are slightly different. I'm still neutral but I finished each story thinking "Is that all there is"?

NOTHING MUCH HAPPENS. And even when it does it seems to resolve itself quickly and for the most part quietly enough. Leaving aside the duel of the main story the only real action seems to involve people flouncing off or acting in a turn of the century huff at something or another....and that's just the men.

So clearly I just don't understand why he gets the high literary reputation that he has. There are two conclusions to this. The first is that I'm the bookish equivalent of the little boy pointing out that king has no clothes. Suddenly I'm viewed as the most perceptive reader ever. Fame at last.

The second is more simple. That I'm an idiot who has not grasped the nuances of the Russian master. Either is possible.

Which leads me to the third book I'm reading now The Awakening and other stories by Kate Chopin. When I started to read the title story was thinking "This is like Chekhov. Nothing much is happening". But what Chopin does is to lead you slowly through the issues faced by the main character. This is interesting stuff. I think the phrase is "a slow burn". Must admit am impressed.

Until the next time.

How Thomas Hardy Beat Bryan Adams

Hello there. Hope you're feeling well today.

I've oftened felt that where I differ from a lot of people is not in my likes or dislikes but in those things I'm neutral about. I've chatted before in this blog about the problems of being literary Switzerland regarding F Scott Fitzgerald, Anton Chekov and Jane Austen. But I can expand that further, the almost religious love for Star Wars is something that's passed me by, entertaining that it is. And as for The Simpsons? Clever, funny to an extent but not something I'm bothered about recording.

Musically speaking I realised that Canadian soft/hard/easy to chew over rock person Bryan Adams comes into my Swiss roll of neutrality. People seemed to like him or hate him. For me it was but a shrug.

Yesterday however he was challenging my reading.

I was working the afternoon/evening shift at work so the morning was free. And there was to be honest nothing to do. So I decided to spend the time reading.

Our friend whose house we're living in decided however decided that the morning was going to be spent cleaning the house and that she would listen to music to entertain her as she did so specifically the work of Bryan (and for the record I did offer to help but she turned that politely down - when you have a system someone else is a distraction).

Now let me stress something before I go on. Our friend has very kindly opened the doors of her home for us whilst we're purchasing our next one. Her house her rules. It was up to me to deal with it and adapt.

So I sat down and continued reading The Mayor Of Casterbridge by Thomas Hardy. Would I be put off from the novel by the Adams Family of tunes he's produced? Well you can guess from the title that I couldn't stop the thing I started.

The Mayor of Casterbridge is truly masterful. Slowly but surely Hardy maps out how a man, capable of emotional cruelty but rather flawed than evil, faces the consequences of his actions. All the characters are well rounded and multifacted. There are no simple heroes and villains in this novel.

Needless to say I was swiping the page oblivious to the life's work of Bryan. He didn't stand a chance. It might have been the 1812 overture and I wouldn't have noticed.

At their best books can do that.

After I finished that the next book was Summer In The City State by Eamonn Sheehy. An account of his time in Morocco. It was finished quickly. To be honest it was just an essay than a book and it was just too short. Really needed to have been longer.

And now the book is an omnibus edition of three crime Inspector Montalbano novels from Andrea Camilleri. Already I've finished one, The Shape Of Water and now am The Terracotta Dog. I finished the day at eleven pm pretending that I was the good inspector by eating spaghetti whilst reading in Bari. Even though the spag bol was frozen and I was in Barry. Ah well.

It was a good day for reading.

Until the next time.