My
friend read a critical book arguing that John Christopher’s apocalypse novel
had been forgotten. Not by me, she said. “I read it in 1972, and I can remember every word - the terror of the
tale and how everything collapses so rapidly.” I immediately ordered The Death of
Grass and discovered an uncannily contemporary Penguin Classic, published
in 1956 and more frightening than Lord of
the Flies.
In this ecological apocalypse, the virus that kills all Leersia Oryzoides - grass, rice, wheat,
oats, barley, and rye - originates in China. The earth dies slowly, famine
looms, and civil society breaks down in three days. Two families escape from
London, seeking safety in a northern hidden valley. I read the book in two
sittings, thrilled, breathless, terrified.
A thought experiment in future-shock survivalism' Robert MacFarlane
'Gripping ... of all science fiction's apocalypses, this is one of the most haunting' Financial Times
WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY ROBERT MACFARLANE
A post-apocalyptic vision of the world pushed to the brink by famine, John Christopher's science fiction masterpiece The Death of Grass includes an introduction by Robert MacFarlane in Penguin Modern Classics.
At first the virus wiping out grass and crops is of little concern to John Custance. It has decimated Asia, causing mass starvation and riots, but Europe is safe and a counter-virus is expected any day. Except, it turns…
Why
isn’t there a question mark in the title? The bright cover caught my eye.
Vigdis Hjorth is a leading novelist in Norway. She creates three vivid
characters: Mother, Sister, Daughter, and this is a stalker story of familial
retribution.
The abused and abandoned daughter is our compelling narrator: she
seeks recognition and revenge. Hjorth
uses the metaphors from Scandi-Noir crime fiction: the cabin buried in the
forest, bitter cold turning to snow, a lone elk moving through the darkness.
The tension in this sinister emotional tale is almost unbearable, as the
daughter stalks her prey: spying on her mother’s movements, visiting the
father’s grave, hiding behind dustbins, plotting access to the flat. I felt
completely involved in this terrifying drama and wolfed down every page.
'To mother is to murder, or close enough', thinks Johanna, as she looks at the spelling of the two words in Norwegian. She's recently widowed and back in Oslo after a long absence as she prepares for a retrospective of her art. The subject of her work is motherhood and some of her more controversial paintings have brought about a dramatic rift between parent and child. This new proximity, after decades of acrimonious absence, set both women on edge, and before too long Johanna finds her mother stalking her thoughts, and Johanna starts stalking her mother's house.
Eliot was never married to her not-quite husband, the biographer and
scientist G.H. Lewes, but pretended that she was.
This elegant study of
Eliot’s life and writing and the scandals surrounding her every move is
written by a philosopher who has studied Eliot for decades. Courtship, marriage, and its vicissitudes are central to all of Eliot’s writing.
Carlisle’s book is
gripping, original – and fun to read. At one point, she has an argument with
her editor. Lewes has died, and Eliot is in mourning but about to marry her
financial advisor, a sporty, muscular type, twenty years younger. Carlisle and
her editor erupt in irresistible controversy!
An exceptional new biography that shows how George Eliot wrestled with the question of marriage, in art and life
When she was in her mid-thirties, Marian Evans transformed herself into George Eliot - an author celebrated for her genius as soon as she published her debut novel. During those years she also found her life partner, George Lewes - writer, philosopher and married father of three. After 'eloping' to Berlin in 1854 they lived together for twenty-four years: Eliot asked people to call her 'Mrs Lewes' and dedicated each novel to her 'Husband'. Though they could not legally marry, she…
Berlin, 1872. George Eliot, now famous and rich, meets one of her adoring
readers, Sophie, and her infatuated publisher, Max Duncker. I discovered years
ago that Eliot’s German publisher and I share the same name.
The coincidence
seemed too good to lose. I imagined both characters, the exuberant Sophie and
the passionate Max, with equal vehemence. The anonymous 21st-century narrator is skeptical concerning Eliot’s actions and motives, for the great
lady had a dark side.
She enjoyed having influence and control over other
people’s lives. She became famous not just for her writing but for her moral
wisdom; men and women begged her to advise them, console them, and direct their
decisions. She loved the power.
