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I Could Read the Sky.
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I am the son of Irish rural immigrants who at the age of nearly eighty already occupies several vanished worlds myself: London in the 1950s and 60s, the old world of the European peasantry, and a time when the greatest war in human history was still a daily presence. I spent most of my life as an academic historian writing books for an academic audience. Then, to my surprise, at the tender age of seventy, I discovered that I could write prose that had a certain grace and dignity and which seemed to move people as well as inform them. So, I began a second career as what is called a “writer.”
Josef Roth is now recognized as one of the greatest German writers of the twentieth century. As a historian myself, I was entranced by reading it by the way in which the book catches the vast temporal arc of the transformation and then fall of a society that had for centuries been a major force in European history, the Austro-Hungarian Empire. Now forgotten, this was the world of Vienna’s great resplendence, then fall.
The story is told through the generational story of one family, the von Trottas. Impending loss is conveyed alongside great affection as a whole world is lost in the disasters of the First World War. The book was first published in English in 1933. In the words of another of Josef Roth’s books, “I was there,” which he was.
THE RADETSKY MARCH is subtle and touching study of family life at the end of the Austro-Hungarian Empire. Writing in the traditional form of the family saga, Roth nevertheless manages to bring to his story a completely individual manner which gives at the same time the detailed and intimate portrait of a life and the wider panorama of a failing dynasty. Not yet well known in English-speaking countries, Joseph Roth is one of the most distinguished Austrian writers of our century, worthy to be bracketed with Musil and Kraus.
I am the son of Irish rural immigrants who at the age of nearly eighty already occupies several vanished worlds myself: London in the 1950s and 60s, the old world of the European peasantry, and a time when the greatest war in human history was still a daily presence. I spent most of my life as an academic historian writing books for an academic audience. Then, to my surprise, at the tender age of seventy, I discovered that I could write prose that had a certain grace and dignity and which seemed to move people as well as inform them. So, I began a second career as what is called a “writer.”
Norman Lewis was what is usually called a travel writer. Today’s travel writers, however, pale beside him.
I read this book when it first came out in 1984. It describes the three summers in the late 1940s when Lewis lived and worked in a very remote fishing village on what is now called the Costa Brava. He records with utmost sympathy and acuteness of observation the last days of the old world of Mediterranean Spain before it became completely obliterated by mass tourism.
The book touched me deeply, for I had seen the last vestiges of other parts of Spain only a decade or so after Lewis. The book is a kind of monument for all parts of the world submerged by mass tourism.
After World War II, Norman Lewis returned to Spain and settled in the remote fishing village of Farol, on what is now Costa Brava. Voices of the Old Sea describes his three successive summers in that almost medieval community where life revolved around the seasonal sardine catches, Alcade's bar, and satisfying feuds with neighbouring villages. It's lucky Lewis was there when he was. Soon after, Spain was discovered by its neighbours in a more prosperous northern Europe, and the tourist tide that ensued flowed inexorably over the old ways of the town and its inhabitants.
I am the son of Irish rural immigrants who at the age of nearly eighty already occupies several vanished worlds myself: London in the 1950s and 60s, the old world of the European peasantry, and a time when the greatest war in human history was still a daily presence. I spent most of my life as an academic historian writing books for an academic audience. Then, to my surprise, at the tender age of seventy, I discovered that I could write prose that had a certain grace and dignity and which seemed to move people as well as inform them. So, I began a second career as what is called a “writer.”
This is French peasant life in its last days, a life rendered from the outside by one who became an insider.
Berger went to live and work among the peasants of the French south in 1962. This world, like that of Spain at much the same time, saw the death of the old peasantry. It is not a work of observation like Norman Lewis’s book but a series of fictional stories. It treats peasants as human beings, on an equal standing with all others in society. They have depth and gravity. Just like us all.
How awful most writing about peasants is. This stands out proudly from that awfulness.
With this haunting first volume of his Into Their Labours trilogy, John Berger begins his chronicle of the eclipse of peasant cultures in the twentieth century. Set in a small village in the French Alps, Pig Earth relates the stories of skeptical, hard-working men and fiercely independent women; of calves born and pigs slaughtered; of summer haymaking and long dark winters f rest; of a message of forgiveness from a dead father to his prodigal son; and of the marvelous Lucie Cabrol, exiled to a hut high in the mountains, but an inexorable part of the lives of men who…
I am the son of Irish rural immigrants who at the age of nearly eighty already occupies several vanished worlds myself: London in the 1950s and 60s, the old world of the European peasantry, and a time when the greatest war in human history was still a daily presence. I spent most of my life as an academic historian writing books for an academic audience. Then, to my surprise, at the tender age of seventy, I discovered that I could write prose that had a certain grace and dignity and which seemed to move people as well as inform them. So, I began a second career as what is called a “writer.”
Here, the lost world that is encountered is within the lives and beings of the characters of the three novellas that make up this book, lives and beings that are on one level from Modiano’s own biography but which, in his spare and beautiful prose become of universal moment.
The world in the book is that of the dark years of the Nazi occupation of Paris. That which is fleeting, easily lost, mysterious, and obscure haunts the pages of the book, reminding us of how evanescent and uncertain memory is but also how much our lives are bound by it.
"Elegant. Unpretentious. Approachable. . . . He is, all in all, quite an endearing Nobelist."-Michael Dirda, Washington Post
"Modiano is a pure original."-Adam Thirlwell, The Guardian
"A fine introduction to Modiano's later work."-The Economist
"These novellas have a mood. They cast a spell."-Dwight Garner, New York Times
In this essential trilogy of novellas by the winner of the 2014 Nobel Prize in Literature, French author Patrick Modiano reaches back in time, opening the corridors of memory and exploring the mysteries to be encountered there. Each novella in the volume--Afterimage, Suspended Sentences, and Flowers of Ruin-represents a sterling example of the…
I have been fascinated by the paranormal since I was young: always a lover of ghost stories, I have long felt the spiritual resonance in certain places; the energy and spirits of the past remain trapped within the fabric of certain buildings and the land, waiting for the sensitive to come along. I developed this passion by reading classic and modern-day ghost stories, going on ghost tours, and visiting haunted places. I listen to and record people recounting their experiences of real-life encounters. I write nonfiction books about the paranormal, specifically about Shakespeare’s ghosts and spirits in his county of Warwickshire, and novels that develop this theme.
I felt a powerful sense of tragic history and increasing pity and fear as this story progressed with its brooding, fateful, gothic atmosphere and hints of the supernatural in a gloomy, coastal house in Ireland. I became swept up by the gathering intensity and intrigue and the multiple shocks that arise from the main protagonist’s discoveries. I was absorbed in this compelling, thought-provoking story and captivated by its ingenious plot.
A gripping mystery with a classic feel, for fans of Agatha Christie
'Haunting and exquisitely written. Part intricate mystery and part ghost story. This book will stay with me for a long time' Anna Mazzola
'A stunning book, beautifully written' Ann Cleeves
The drive leads past the gate house and through the trees towards the big house, visible through the winter-bared branches. Its windows stare down at Harkin and the sea beyond . . .
January 1921. Though the Great War is over, in Ireland a new, civil war is raging. The once-grand Kilcolgan House, a crumbling bastion shrouded in…
I have been fascinated by the paranormal since I was young: always a lover of ghost stories, I have long felt the spiritual resonance in certain places; the energy and spirits of the past remain trapped within the fabric of certain buildings and the land, waiting for the sensitive to come along. I developed this passion by reading classic and modern-day ghost stories, going on ghost tours, and visiting haunted places. I listen to and record people recounting their experiences of real-life encounters. I write nonfiction books about the paranormal, specifically about Shakespeare’s ghosts and spirits in his county of Warwickshire, and novels that develop this theme.
I felt this was one of the creepiest tales I have ever read. Its creepiness penetrated my own mind with its portrayal of perverse behavior among the living, the increasingly deranged mental state of the main protagonist, and the fervor of the Goligher Circle as they purported to contact the dead.
Pity and terror combine in this story; my empathy was with those they lured, drawn by their grief and despair. Primitive emotions are stirred up by the threat of supernatural danger; I felt shocked by the ingenious plot twist near the end.
'A fiendishly clever tale of ambition, deception, and power' DERREN BROWN
Belfast, 1914. Two years after the sinking of the Titanic, high society has become obsessed with spiritualism, attending seances in the hope they might reach their departed loved ones.
William Jackson Crawford is a man of science and a sceptic, but one night with everyone sitting around the circle, voices come to him - seemingly from beyond the veil - placing doubt in his heart and a seed of obsession in his mind. Could the spirits truly be communicating with him or is this one of Kathleen's parlour tricks…
I’ve been deeply struck by the rise in violence occurring in Mexico because I have seen it evolve before my eyes while living in and out of the Mexican countryside, places where the wealth and power of drug cartels and their collusion with the state and its institutions, can be seen first-hand. I have come to realize that literature has been the most accurate means of capturing this phenomenon, which has become the zeitgeist of the country, an issue that has bicultural and cross-border connotations because the main consumer is the United States of America, while the ravages of violence are felt in Mexico daily
This brave thriller set in Mexico follows a reporter covering the grand schemes of collusion between government officials, government institutions, police and military forces, as well as United States agencies and foreign militias involved in the Mexican drug trade and the various levels of riches it has to offer.
It paints a realistic journalistic picture of the conflict and guides us with the pace of a crime novel into the very real dangers faced by journalists throughout a Mexican social landscape of violence.
'A wild ride' Ian Rankin 'Tough and uncompromising: you'll be glad you read it' Lee Child 'Hilarious, gripping, poetic. I loved it' Adrian McKinty, author of The Chain 'Gripping from beginning to end' Independent 'Intoxicating and chilling' Observer 'Pacy and exciting' Daily Telegraph 'Vivid and lyrical' Guardian 'MacGabhann paints an extraordinarily vivid picture of Mexico, in all its seething, sweltering madness and beauty' Irish Independent
Nobody asked us to look. Every day, every since, I still wish we hadn't. Jaded reporter Andrew and his photographer boyfriend, Carlos, are sick of sifting the dregs of…
I’m a novelist, essayist, and journalist who’s written extensively about the problems and consolations of faith, about belonging in and out of faith, and about the tribes of what I think of as the In Between. When you’re in between, you’re neither in it nor out of it, whatever “it” might be for you. You bear an “infinity of traces,” as the writer Antonio Gramsci called these formative influences. My first novel looks at these influences directly, while my second one looks at them indirectly. I’m late in the game with a third novel now—a detective story that investigates a murder along with these same themes.
Indispensable. And the scandal of this autobiographical novel hasn’t worn off in a hundred-plus years. Stephen Dedalus is our young man, the self-appointed artist-priest. We see turn-of-the-century Ireland through his eyes and Irish Catholicism, too, each with its special richness and oppressiveness. Ultimately, it’s Stephen’s desire to escape "these nets" that drives his story. He’ll find God in his own way or, failing that, replace him with Art.
A masterpiece of modern fiction, James Joyce's semiautobiographical first novel follows Stephen Dedalus, a sensitive and creative youth who rebels against his family, his education, and his country by committing himself to the artist's life.
"I will not serve," vows Dedalus, "that in which I no longer believe...and I will try to express myself in some mode of life or art as freely as I can." Likening himself to God, Dedalus notes that the artist "remains within or behind or beyond or above his handiwork, invisible, refined out of existence, indifferent, paring his fingernails." Joyce's rendering of the impressions of…
I love historical settings and detail – I love coming away from a novel feeling like I’ve also learned something about the world. But I also like lots and lots of plot and intensity. Historical fiction slash mystery novels hit the spot just right. Though my own work thus far is more on the historical fiction side, I do try to plot it like a mystery, with lots of questions, revelations, and discoveries to be made as you go along.
Like many, I came to know Emma Donoghue through Room, which was adapted into the 2015 film. But she’s mostly a writer of historical fiction.
This book (which also became a movie) is set during the Irish Potato Famine when an English nurse is called to examine a supposedly miraculous “fasting girl” who claims to have gone weeks without food.
Now a Netflix film starring Florence Pugh: In this “old-school page turner” (Stephen King, New York Times Book Review) by the bestselling author of Room, an English nurse is brought to a small Irish village to observe what appears to be a miracle—a girl said to have survived without food for months—and soon finds herself fighting to save the child's life.
Tourists flock to the cabin of eleven-year-old Anna O'Donnell, who believes herself to be living off manna from heaven, and a journalist is sent to cover the sensation. Lib Wright, a veteran of Florence Nightingale's Crimean campaign, is hired…
Understanding the demographic, technological, and cultural pressures that prompt migration fascinates me. What makes a person leave behind everything they have ever known to go somewhere they have never seen, knowing the move is probably permanent? What features of individual and group identity are most important when you are on the other side of the world from everything that previously formed that identity? Examining such questions makes me reflect on my life and what makes me me. For example, visiting Scotland for my PhD research made me realize that I was not ‘New Zealand European’ but a New Zealander, which is a distinct identity.
Data-driven migration research is my absolute favorite kind of migration literature. While this book excels at this, and a truly robust sample of migrants underpins it as a whole, the statistics that underpin the research are presented so that they wouldn’t scare a non-specialist reader.
It is a model of how to make data-driven research accessible to a general readership. I love how it is neatly divided into thematic sections by birthplace, but nevertheless avoids repetition. If I had to recommend just one book to someone about British and Irish migration to Aotearoa this would be it. I can’t recommend it highly enough as a general overview of the major trends.
This book explores the question of who New Zealand's Pakeha ancestors were. It presents and interprets the findings of a major statistical analysis of immigrants from the United Kingdom over a century and a half drawn from death registers and shipping records. The book looks at for the first time and in detail such issues as the geographical origins of the founding ancestors, their occupational and class background, their religions and their values. Did our forefathers and mothers come from particular areas of Britain, did they tend to practise certain occupations, were they Catholics or Protestants, working people or aristocrats?…
