A Selection of Bloomsberries in Full Flood!


Crome Yellow by Aldous Huxley

As I admitted here recently, I’m a bit embarrassed to reveal that there are books on Mount TBR that have been there for over 30 years – and Aldous Huxley’s “Crome Yellow” is one of them… I picked up his collection of short stories, Mortal Coils, last month on a whim, and loved it so much that I decided to follow it with CY. I confess I was attracted to CY all those years ago because it’s regarded as such a roman a clef; a thinly veiled portrait of many of the Bloomsbury group, and all set in a house based on Garsington, the home of Lady Ottoline Morrell. The narrator, poet Denis Stone, is modelled on Huxley himself; the painter Gombauld on Mark Gertler; Mary Bracegirdle on the artist Dora Carrington; and so on.


CY is still being written about in these terms which in many ways is a shame, because this tends to obscure the book a little and make it hard to read without referencing the apparent source of the characters; and it’s a very good read in its own right.

The book opens with Dennis travelling down to Crome, a typical English country house of the period, to visit the Wimbushes. Priscilla is an eccentric woman, something of a patron of the arts and artists, and rushing from one fad to another – the current passion being for horoscopes and mysticism. Her husband Henry is lost in family history, and enlivens the narrative with a couple of wonderful tales of Crome’s previous inhabitants.

Also staying with them are a motley collection of guests and as soon as Denis arrives it becomes clear that he’s suffering from a passion for Anne, niece of the Wimbushes. However, he’s almost incapable of expressing any feelings in words and stumbles around trying to find the chance to confess his love. Meanwhile, Mary is trying to decide who she should resolve her issues about sex with, trying to decide between Gombauld and Denis as a likely partner. Anne seems somewhat detached from all men and simply wants Denis to be a friend. Then there is the wonderfully-named Mr. Barbecue-Smith, writer of fashionable books who manages to write 1,500 words an hour by going into a kind of trance and getting in touch with his subconscious. Mr. Scogan is a believer in a scientific future, and when the discussion about free love is taking place Huxley puts some remarkably prescient words in his mouth:

An impersonal generation will take the place of Nature’s hideous system. In vast state incubators, rows upon rows of gravid bottles will supply the world with the population it requires. The family system will disappear; society, sapped at its very base, will have to find new foundations; and Eros, beautifully and irresponsibly free, will flit like a gay butterfly from flower to flower through a sunlit world.”

It’s a way of reproduction to which Huxley would return in “Brave New World”.


“Crome Yellow” is satire at its best, and if it is a glimpse of early Bloomsbury characters, it catches them at the time when Victorian standards were collapsing, with people incapable of really deciding where to go next. Huxley is cruellest to Priscilla, in his physical description of her and also his lambasting of her various crazes; he’s also quite hard on Mary with her desire to resolve the sex question in a clinical manner. However, he can be forgiven because he doesn’t spare himself, giving Denis plenty of insecurities about his writing and his successes (or not!) as a writer and a man. And Huxley’s preoccupation with the process of writing is evident here, as it was in “Mortal Coils”.

Words are man’s first and most grandiose invention. With language, he created a whole new universe; what wonder if he loved words and attributed power to them!

Denis leaves Crome at the end of the book in a flurry, having failed in his love life and also feeling a failure as a writer. “Crome Yellow” was a clever, funny and in some ways touching read (I always find anything involving Carrington desperately moving); and it was more evidence of Huxley’s skill as a writer. Now, if I could only find where I’d put my copy of “Point Counter Point”….

The Seed Collectors by Scarlett Thomas – a Guest Post!


Which is not something seen on the Ramblings before, I think – but Middle Child has long been a huge fan of Scarlett Thomas’s work and so when I saw that NetGalley were kindly offering ARCs of her new book, I thought of MC. One request later, and Middle Child was reading away. I thought it would be nice if she could review it here, as Thomas is not an author I’d probably read, and so here are Middle Child’s thoughts on “The Seed Collectors”. seed collectors Nothing quite strikes panic into my chest like being told I ‘must’ read a book, especially when I’m given a deadline to read it. It’s what I like to refer to as my ‘Post Degree Stress Disorder’. My relationship with reading has been turbulent at times, with the page-counting months of University still haunting my enjoyment of reading. Therefore, when asked to write this post I initially froze, then felt angry, and then finally excited; because Scarlett Thomas is the only author that makes me want to read so fervently that nothing else matters.

As a Reader in Creative Writing at Kent University, Thomas is an expert in weaving tales. With protagonists that quite often centre on students or adults in academia, her novels struck a chord with undergraduate me, and every Christmas when I was taking breaks from revising yet another Medieval Romance, I would retreat to my room with an unread Thomas.

Thomas is endlessly curious, having explored quantum physics, consumerism, mathematics, religion, sexuality, tragedy and postmodernism to name a few. Her most recent jaunt into the unknown takes the form of The Seed Collectors, which explores the world of botany, nature, enlightenment, and desire. You will learn about nature. You will feel illuminated. You will leave wanting more.

Author Scarlett Thomas

Author Scarlett Thomas

“Great Aunt Oleander is dead.” This is what most people start with when describing this novel, because really, it is one of the only certainties of the story you can rely on.

The Seed Collectors is almost a collection of moments, following the characters after their family key-stone Oleander has passed. As you are swept along at an incredible pace through the lives of the Gardener family, there is rarely a chance to stop and ‘Breathe in. Breathe out.’ There is Bryony, the collector of empty mantras sold to her by fad diets, wearable technology, anti-aging cream and Château Pétrus, and James, her vanilla husband. Ollie and Clem, a mid-life-crisis University Lecturer and his wife, a film-maker with a penchant for time-lapse. Charlie, the ‘cool Uncle’ and a-typical bachelor. Fleur, who must pick up the pieces at Namaste House after its guru Oleander has passed, and find her own place in amongst revealed secrets. And behind it all, a family tree more complicated that any botanical language that you can find in these pages, and the mysterious disappearance of the majority of a family generation: Grace, Plum and Briar Rose.

The narrative is beautifully crafted, a nod to the modernist stream of consciousness style, saturated with powerful imagery, cross-pollinated with cruel postmodernism and its up-the-garden-path trickery. There were sections of the book where I was unsure who was talking, when an event was taking place, or if it even mattered to the plot. It all created a feeling of oneness and unity, rather than linearity and structure, which was a resounding take-away message from Thomas.

Everything I try to vocalise about The Seed Collectors sounds a bit fluffy, so let me be clear. This book will not make you feel good. This book will not give you answers. What it will do is take you on a treasure-chase to the edge of your understanding, and lead you to the realisation that it was never about a destination, but the journey.

Thomas’s novels are always oozing with contemporary resonance, so read it. Now.

Many thanks to Middle Child for the excellent review – I’m almost convinced I should read this! “The Seed Collectors” is published on 2nd July  – thanks also to NetGalley and publishers Canongate for providing the ARC!

Shuffling off…..


Mortal Coils by Aldous Huxley

It’s confession time. Although I have a sizeable chunk of books by Aldous Huxley on my shelves, most of which have been there for over 30 years (gulp), I’ve never actually read any of them…. Which is pretty poor, really, as I love 20th century literature and I love the Bloomsberries, so Huxley ticks both boxes. Simon has been reading and reviewing Huxley recently, which brought him back to the forefront of my mind – so when I was hesitating between books recently, I grabbed this collection of his short stories and just started reading!

Huxley, of course, is well-known for a number of things apart from being associated with early Bloomsbury – his Wikipedia entry says: Aldous Leonard Huxley (26 July 1894 – 22 November 1963) was an English writer, philosopher and a prominent member of the Huxley family. He was best known for his novels including Brave New World, set in a dystopian London, and for non-fiction books, such as The Doors of Perception, which recalls experiences when taking a psychedelic drug, and a wide-ranging output of essays. Early in his career Huxley edited the magazine Oxford Poetry, and published short stories and poetry. Mid career and later, he published travel writing, film stories and scripts. He spent the later part of his life in the US, living in Los Angeles from 1937 until his death. In 1962, a year before his death, he was elected Companion of Literature by the Royal Society of Literature. Huxley was a humanist, pacifist, and satirist. By the end of his life, Huxley was widely acknowledged as one of the pre-eminent intellectuals of his time. He was nominated for the Nobel Prize in Literature in seven different years.


“Mortal Coils” is a collection of 5 short stories, published shortly after Huxley’s success with “Crome Yellow”. The first, “The Gioconda Smile” is famous, and I had the feeling I may have read it somewhere before… Nevertheless, it’s an excellent tale, the story of Janet Spence, who has the smile of the title, Mr. Hutton and his invalid wife (plus his variety of lovers!), with a murder and plenty of twists built in. It’s an excellent piece, and deservedly lauded!

Then there is “Permutations Among the Nightingales” a very funny little playlet (you could almost consider it a comedy sketch, I suppose); it follows the romantic shenanigans of a (various) group of people staying in a hotel, and you could almost see it as prefiguring the bedroom farces of later years. I laughed a lot, anyway!

“The Tillotson Banquet” is about the word of art and art collectors; Spode, an aptly named young man writing about the arts, discovers that Tillotson, a famous painter from the 1800s, is still alive, albeit decrepit and destitute. He and his patron decide to throw a benefit lunch for the painter, which again somewhat descends into farce – though not without making a few pithy points about trends in art on the way.

The penultimate story, “Green Tunnels” is set in Italy, where young Barbara is staying with her father and some dull neighbours. Bored out of her mind, she sees a glimpse of romance with a local dashing Italian, but all is not as she perceives it…

Aldous Huxley smoking, circa 1946

And finally, “Nuns at Luncheon”, a really clever and brilliantly told story. The narrator is lunching with Miss Penny, a famous journalist (and something of a character). She relates a story over lunch about a nun who nursed her when she had appendicitis and who ended up disgraced while trying to convert a criminal; but the story itself becomes irrelevant as the narrator and Miss Penny discuss how the story would be told by a novelist and in effect deconstruct the whole writing process. It’s witty and very smart, and actually rather ahead of its time, and features some wonderful imagery:

Miss Penny threw back her head and laughed. Her long earrings swung and rattled – corpses hanging in chains; an agreeably literary simile. And her laughter was like brass, but that had been said before.

You might have guessed that I found my first experience of reading Huxley a wonderful one, and I’m asking myself why it took me so long to read him! His prose is lovely; witty and yet evocative, he nails a character brilliantly in a few words, and catches the essence of a place just as easily. His portrayal of Barbara’s bored teenage mind in “Green Tunnels” was particularly impressive. Huxley’s one of those writers who tells his story in a deceptively humourous manner, because underneath he’s always got a point to make or something to tell you about human nature. “Mortal Coils” was one of the best short story collections I’ve read recently, and I have to say that “Crome Yellow” is calling rather loudly from the shelves…


It’s worth mentioning that while reading this book I was reminded of their fragility. My copy is an old orange Penguin that I’ve obviously had for ages (it has one of the book plates I used in the 1980s in it!) and the pages are getting very brown and crumbly – so much so that bits came off in my hand two or three times and I was a little afraid to keep reading it. If there was only a way to preserve fragile paperbacks for a bit longer…. 😦

Shuffling the immediate TBR


Actually, calling it a TBR is a bit of a misnomer – I have no *physical* TBR in that all of my books are muddled together, read or unread. This is not always helpful when trying to decide what to read, or indeed find a specific book… A case in point being “Point Counter Point” by Aldous Huxley which I knew I had and couldn’t find till yesterday when I realised I had moved my Japanese books to the front of a double stacked shelf and some unread books (including the Huxley) to the back of the same shelf, out of sight….

This set me looking at the shelves downstairs where I keep kind of current books and I had a bit of a revamp. I’m *supposedly* in the middle of two self-imposed reading challenges (Proust and The Forsyte Saga) but I’ve come to a grinding halt, so I brought them downstairs. I took a lot of books away to stash in a spare room and now the current shelves look like this:

revised tbr

Note the Galsworthys and the Prousts displayed prominently! Next to the Galsworthys on the top right hand side is a little pile of poetry books. I need to read more poetry but I’m failing, basically. I’m considering setting myself another little challenge with verse (will I never learn?) If I go ahead, an explanatory post will follow…. Meanwhile, I shall try to decide which one of these books I’ll read next!

Alas, no donations to the charity shop this weekend (life got in the way of more weeding out) – but I did find two little treasures in the Samaritans Book Cave:

zweig x 2

Two lovely Pushkin Press collections of Stefan Zweig short stories – *who* would want to give these away?? Nevertheless, they did and so they came home with me. I’ve read one story from each so far, and they’re utterly brilliant.  Zweig’s a deceptive author – what seems simple ends up packing such a punch. I’m going to ration them so as to appreciate them better by reading one when the mood takes me. But in the meantime – off to rummage in the TBR! 🙂

Jolly boating weather…..


Two and A Half Men in a Boat by Nigel Williams

There’s nothing like stumbling on a random book in a charity shop which turns out to be a great read! But that was the case with this lovely volume that I picked up last month in the Oxfam. Nigel Williams is known for working for the BBC and probably best as a writer for his “Wimbledon Poisoner” series of books. However, the title of this one caught my eye – I’m a sucker for “Three Men in a Boat” and anything spinning off from it (to the extent of watching silly TV shows where men mess about in boats in homage to Jerome, and even reading Connie Willis’ “To Say Nothing of the Dog”). So it went without saying that I would want to read Nigel Williams’ 1990 take on the concept.


The book opens with Nigel being terrified by a visit from Inland Revenue men (who come across more like the Gestapo or the Cheka). Traumatised by the whole experience, he mopes nervously around the house until one of his sons (no doubt fed up with his behaviour) suggests he takes a trip up the river. But who should he take along? After much debating, Nigel settles on JP, an extremely competent traveller and filmmaker, who thinks nothing of popping up Everest and is no doubt going to be ideal for any emergency. The third man is more difficult – Nigel settles on Alan (presumably Yentob, who I believe was his boss at the BBC at the time); however, Alan is a man so important and indispensable that he is committed for about a year ahead and has to have meetings about having meetings. What chance is there of JP and Nigel getting past his barrage of secretaries and pinning him down to a few days on a boat?

However, with a reluctant Lurcher called Badger in tow, JP and Nigel set off – and it’s telling that Badger attaches himself firmly to JP, despite being owned by Nigel, as he obviously recognises which of them would be the superior man in a crisis! However, the main issue initially is their lack of experience at rowing and the physical toll it takes them as they make their way up the Thames. There are run-ins with modern youth, angry lock-keepers and publicans who don’t like dogs. JP proves himself to be more than competent at just about everything, Nigel meditates on the ethics of being towed versus sticking to rowing, Alan makes a flying visit accompanied by a mass of friends and contacts plus Nigel’s family and a giant picnic, and eventually the group become Three Men and row on to their finishing point.

On the way, there’s space for plenty of musing on the way the world has changed since Jerome’s time and the need to get away from the hectic modern pace, gadgets, phones, answering machines etc. It struck me how much stronger than need would be now, with most younger people permanently attached to their phones or whatever mobile gadget they carry, and how this book, written in the 1990s and featuring the most basic of modern technology, is even more relevant today.

Cleverly woven into the book is a lot of background information about Jerome K. Jerome, his life and work, and the critical reception he had at the time. Much of this was new to me, and it seems that Jerome just wanted to be taken seriously as a writer. I wonder how he would have felt about being remembered for a humorous work? (although I have to say that I feel “Three Men” is much more than that, and has a lot of say about the human condition).

nigel williams

There is in “Two and a Half Men”, of course, plenty of humour. Williams is a very funny writer, and I think the opening chapters were some of the wittiest I’ve read for a long time – in the form of real laugh-out-loud writing. There were a lot of laughs in the latter parts of the book, but also some philosophising too (which matches the original book very cleverly). I liked Williams’ extensive use of footnotes too, which were funny and informative at the same time; and one chapter consisted of a single sentence plus several pages of footnote where he paid tribute to his wife’s amazing picnic which was more like a professional buffet served at the side of a river.

The original “Three Men and a Boat” was about the need at that time to escape from the everyday and the rat-race; and although the trappings and the technology around us have changed dramatically, the basic need to escape has not. We humans still long for the simple life and a gentle trip up a river messing about on a boat. Williams’ book manages to be funny and profound at the same time, much like the original, and it was pure joy from start to finish!

Fragments of Genius


The Professor and the Siren by Giuseppe Tomasi di Lampedusa

Passing through London last month, I dropped into the LRB Bookshop and while happily browsing I stumbled upon this title. Having read and loved “The Leopard” earlier this year, I was keen to read anything else by Tomasi de Lampedusa, though I wasn’t actually aware there *was* anything else – my copy of “The Leopard” kind of implied that he wrote the one great novel and that was that. However, it seems that there are other surviving fragments (and when I dug about a bit more, there seem to be collections of letters too) – so “The Professor and the Siren” came home with me.


This slim NYRB volume contains three pieces – the title story, plus two shorter pieces called “Joy and the Law” and “Blind Kittens”; the book also has an excellent introduction by the erudite Marina Warner, which is essential for understanding some of the imaginary in the main story.

“The Professor and the Siren” is narrated by a young Sicilian journalist living in Turin. In a local bar, he encounters the Professor of the title, one Rosario la Ciura, a distinguished Hellenist and also a Sicilian. Despite their differences in age, the men are drawn together by a common heritage, and strike up a kind of friendship. As this develops, the journalist (who appears to be a descendent of the family in “The Leopard”) discovers that the Professor has some odd views about life and love, and one evening, shortly before his departure by boat for a conference in Portugal, La Ciura reveals the secret of his past to his young friend…

To say any more would spoil the impact of what is a strange and beautiful story; the Professor’s life has been formed by the events in his past, and despite the time that’s passed he’s still possessed by it. The journalist has no choice but to believe what he’s told, and the resolution of the story is entirely convincing. It’s a haunting tale, and one which had me thinking of it for a long time afterwards.


“Joy and the Law” is a lighter piece, about some good fortune falling upon a lowly clerk and the social niceties that decide how he has to deal with his luck. The final section of the book, “The Blind Kittens”, is most intriguing – conceived as the first chapter of a follow-up to “The Leopard”, it’s instantly recognisable as such, with a group of old and somewhat redundant aristocrats pondering on the wealth of a local merchant made good.

Tomasi di Lampedusa’s prose is just wonderful, and it’s such a tragedy that he didn’t write more. As it is, at least we have the greatness that is “The Leopard” and these lovely stories collected here are a welcome addition to that. Now to stop myself rushing off and buying his letters…

Portrait of the Artist as Political Animal


A Painter of our Time by John Berger

I confess to being partial to a number of independent publishers, and a recent discovery has been the left-wing imprint, Verso. They product a lot of very interesting-looking non-fiction (I am currently trying to resist the call of “NIghtwalking), but I was intrigued to discovery recently when they had a flash sale that they also publish fiction. A title which caught my eye was this one, by an author who’s probably best know for being behind the TV series (and book) “Ways of Seeing” – John Berger.

a painter

Berger has a long history in the arts, but the section on this novel on Wikipedia deserved picking out and reproducing here:

In 1958, Berger published his first novel, A Painter of Our Time, which tells the story of the disappearance of Janos Lavin, a fictional exiled Hungarian painter, and his diary’s discovery by an art critic friend called John. The book’s political currency and detailed description of an artist’s working process led to some readers mistaking it for a true story. After being available for a month, the work was withdrawn by the publisher, under pressure from the Congress for Cultural Freedom.The novels immediately succeeding A Painter of Our Time were The Foot of Clive and Corker’s Freedom; both presented an urban English life of alienation and melancholy. In 1962 Berger’s distaste for life in Britain drove him into voluntary exile in France.

I found in fascinating that the book should have been considered so subversive in 1958 that it had to be withdrawn; but then I remembered that the world was still in the grip of the Cold War, and that 1956 had seen the abortive Hungarian uprising. So it was a given that I had to pick up a copy to see what it was all about.

As the Wiki entry states, the book is narrated by art critic John, whose commentary frames the diary kept by Janos Lavin, the Hungarian painter of the title. Lavin, a Communist by belief, has washed up in London with his second wife Diana after a life spent moving around the continent: from Hungary, through Berlin then to France and finally on to Britain. His political beliefs and activities have been at the root of his constant movement, as each country becomes too hot to hold him, and he’s retreated from active politics, instead spending his time scraping an existence teaching, painting and being supported by Diana (who comes from a monied family and has a personal income, supplemented by work in a library). But although Janos seems to have cut himself off from the past, it is never as clear-cut as it seems; and as John reads through the diary, much of Janos’s past (previously unknown to John) is revealed. But where has Janos gone, and what prompted his disappearance?

“A Painter of our Time” was an absolutely fascinating read. One one level, there is a mystery, the solution of which gradually becomes clear as we make our way through the diary. However, the book is in many ways an extended meditation on the meaning of art; why we create, whether it’s relevant, whether political action is a better choice and so on. Janos, having abandoned political activism, puts everything into his work: his beliefs, his wish for the world to change, the accumulation of all his life’s experiences. And as his story is gradually revealed, like someone scraping away layers of old paint, it seems that he has indeed had a very active life; his memories of torture, betrayal and all the nastiness existing in the early part of the 20th century are powerful. All is not dark, though – there are hints of happiness with his first wife in the early days of their marriage, and of his powerful, comradely friendship with Laszlo.

As Communists we believe that we understand how, on a far more urgent and immediate level, we can make life better, richer, juster, truer with a speed that has never been possible before. I believe this despite the harshness, the treachery, the deaths. I believe it with Asia and Africa, for whom such an improvement is life and death for their own and the next generation. The point from which politics starts for me is hunger. Nothing less.

In fact, without giving too much away, Laszlo is a critical element of Janos’ tale; the events in Hungary during the 1950s inform Janos and Laszlo’s eventual destinies, and trigger pivotal decisions. I don’t want to say any more as it would risk spoiling the development of the book – but a basic knowledge of the Hungarian situation in the 1950s would help…

john berger

There is also a little light relief, to be found in the form of Len, a ‘Sunday painter’; a butcher by trade, he’s fascinated by the clichéd image of a tortured Parisian in a loft with a beret (rather reminiscent of Tony Hancock in “The Rebel”) and longs to paint his wife Vee in the nude, much to her bourgeois embarrassment. Len regards Janos as the real deal, and despite the man’s limitations, Berger is surprisingly kind to him and his artistic ambitions, almost as if he regards his naive aspirations as more honest than some of the posing of the so-called professional artists. The book also captures brilliantly the atmosphere of foggy, post-War London and Berger’s writing is quite evocative in places:

I can see the moon through the skylight, and somewhere there is an owl. It is surprising how many owls there are in London.Writing as I have done makes me nostalgic. Why do the lights on the Erzebet Bridge still flicker for me, whilst the recollection of sailing under it, lying on my back on the bottom of a dinghy, leaves me only incredulous about the way I lived then? Why do the lights on the Erzebet Bridge still flicker for me? The bridge has been destroyed, anyway.

Janos is very much an outsider, and you get the sense he has been all through his life. It’s only towards the end of the book, ironically, that his work gets an exhibition of its own and it seems as if his paintings might become fashionable and start to sell. However, unexpected events take over and choices have to be made.

“A Painter of Our Time” was an absorbing read, giving a fascinating snapshot of political and artistic life in the 1950s. I felt that Berger had really captured the dilemmas that must have been faced by intellectuals at the time. Janos is a man drawn in two conflicting directions, torn between politics and art – can they ever be reconciled? The book also hints at just how little we humans really know each other; John is chastened to find out how little he really knows about Janos, and if it hadn’t been for the diary he would have had no idea what was going on beneath the painter’s surface level daily life. I’ve definitely had my thoughts provoked by “A Painter of Our Time” and I think I might well nudge “Ways of Seeing” closer to the top of Mount TBR…

Nine out, one in – plus a library book


Without wishing to become a bore on the subject, I lugged nine more volumes to donate at the Samaritans Book Cave today (and was pleased to see some of my old volumes nestling in the shelves!)

And this week I only came home with one new book myself, in the form of this:

ask a policeman

I have at least one Detection Club from ages ago, but this is a recent release, with an introduction by Martin Edwards – so kind of essential, I think!

And this is the library book (which I’ve had on order for a while).


It’s basically (I think!) a book about a man’s obsession with the Tarkovsky film “Stalker”. I stumbled across it while looking up Strugatsky books online (as you do) and thought it might be intriguing.

We shall see! 🙂

History as Mythology


Red Fortress by Catherine Merridale

Even the most casual visitor to the Ramblings would soon become aware that I have more than a passing interest in all things Russian, whether history, literature or culture. As I’ve probably mentioned before, this started when I was in Grammar School, many moons ago; we studied the Russian Revolution, and I was fascinated, an interest which was further ignited by an unplanned encounter with the “Doctor Zhivago” movie. Russian history and literature books are ones I’m always returning to, and OH knows me well enough to have picked up this title for a Christmas gift!

red fortress

And rather strangely, I was at school with the author! Catherine Merridale attended the same school (and in the same year group) as me, ending up as Head Girl if I recall. She was always rather clever so it’s no surprise she’s ended up with an illustrious career; and I find myself wondering if her love of things Russian was stimulated at the same time as mine! But that’s by the by – onto the book.

This is in fact Merridale’s third major book about Russia, the first two being “Night of Stone: Death and Memory in Russia” and “Ivan’s War”. I haven’t read the latter, but the former has been lurking on Mount TBR for a long time…. “Red Fortress” is her most recent work and it’s garnered plaudits from all over the place. The book is subtitled “history and illusion in the Kremlin”, and it purports to be a history of the mythology and symbolism of the heart of Moscow and Russia; it is that, but it’s also much, much more.

The earliest record of the Kremlin dates from the 12th century, where there was a wooden enclosed fortress; however, it’s possible that Finns had been established there around the early 800s, well before the Slavs arrived. In fact, over the decades, the place was occupied by a dizzying variety of different peoples, constantly changing hands in the early days, until it settled into the hands of the mediaeval Tsars. Much of its history was dominated by religion (as demonstrated by the large numbers of cathedrals and churches which have existed in its precincts) and it was only very latterly that the secular leaders had more influence that the religious ones.

Merridale draws on extensive sources to give a rounded picture of the development of the great fortress over the centuries; from the early settlement, fought over by Mongols and Finns; via the mediaeval fortress with the early incarnations of the Tsars and Boyars, to the heart of the Romanov empire, becoming the symbol of the Soviet state and finally its current incarnation as the representative of reborn Russian nationalism.

The Kremlin has always been a symbol of power in Russia (before it was even Russia, really!), which is why it remained dominant even when St. Petersburg was temporarily the capital of the country. The Russian people have a reverence for the place; it’s a holy site, linked to their past, regardless of how fake many of the so-called historical treasurers stored there are. In fact, Merridale’s history is full of appalling losses, through constant fires, looting and plundering, neglect and outright vandalism; it’s actually amazing that any of it has survived, but there were times when I would have loved a time machine to take me back to see the place in its earlier versions.


Or perhaps not… This is not a tale for the lily-livered, as there’s an awful lot of battle, torture and slaughter going on – either in wars to defend the Kremlin from invaders, or from the rulers dealing with insurgents or just uppity peasants. Add in a plague or two, and some fearsome winters and famines, and it’s amazing there are any Muscovites left.

“Red Fortress” is ambitious in its scope, and inevitably there is a little compression in the story; let’s face it, the Soviet/Stalin era of the Kremlin warrants a book of its own, and the tale of Ivan the Terrible (he really *was* terrible!) has featured in many films and books. But Merridale seems to have had unprecedented access to records over many visits, both before and after the fall of the Soviet Union, and she’s drawn the story together brilliantly to give a wonderful overview not only of the Kremlin, but in fact of the development of Russia itself – because it seems one cannot exist without the other. The section covering post-Soviet Russia was particularly interesting, charting the fall of the various regimes and the reinvention of the Kremlin as symbol of power and historical artefact.

Merridale’s writing is crisp and informative, with plenty of wry wit at the expense of the endless slaughter and continual fires that plagued the Kremlin. She occasionally drops in an anecdote about her experiences researching there over the years and I would have liked more of these. Nevertheless, this was a gripping, absorbing piece of history which was a great read too. The book also has some fascinating old maps and illustrations, and I wish I had access to larger versions; especially one very fascinating plan which is apparently 3ft square and charts all the various buildings that were ever part of the fortress.

My computer desktop background for many years has been a view of the Kremlin with St. Basil’s Cathedral in the foreground; the snowy image has always seemed to me to be very evocative of Russia and my love for it. But having read Merridale’s excellent book I will always look at it with very different eyes…

Short but not sweet treats from the British Library!


Capital Crimes edited by Martin Edwards
Resorting to Murder edited by Martin Edwards

The British Library Crime Classics series of books has been garnering praise widely of recent months (justifiably so!) and if the sales figures are to be believed, they’re going from strength to strength; obviously, reports of the paper book’s demise have been great exaggerated!

I’ve been lucky in that my local library has stocked many of these, and I was particularly keen to read “Resorting to Murder”, a collection of short stories themed around crimes taking place on holiday. Wonderfully enough, I was also able to read the “Capital Crimes” London-based collection thanks to NetGalley – the BL books are being issued in the USA by Poisoned Pen Press, and they kindly provided an e-book version for review.

capital crimes

Both these collections have been expertly put together by Martin Edwards, with an introduction by the man, plus individual pieces on each author before their story. And there’s a fascinating array of writing on show here. The stories range from shorter pieces (under 10 pages) to more substantial works verging on the novella. The authors, too, are wonderfully varied, from well-known names like Arthur Conan-Doyle (yes, Sherlock features!) to writers I hadn’t come across before, such as Henry Wade. And all are really high quality – I don’t think I came across a dud in either book!

It’s clear that Edwards knows his stuff and he deserves kudos and awards for collecting together some excellent reads. I was particularly pleased to discover Anthony Berkeley’s work – he’s a Golden Age author who’s been somewhat forgotten in recent decades, which is a crime in itself, because the two stories featured here are brilliant. The title featured in “Resorting to Murder” (a gem called “Razor Edge”) is actually so obscure that even the BL didn’t hold a copy so thumbs up to Martin Edwards for making it available to all!

Another particular delight was making the acquaintance of Reggie Fortune, doctor and detective, created by H.C.Bailey. His stories might well have been my favourites of both collections; he’s an appealing character; a little mannered and dated, perhaps, but very funny and his concerns and his abhorrence of cruelty make for a very powerful tale. The London-based story, “The Little Houses”, features a crime that initially seems slight, that of a lost cat; before long, however, events take a very dark turn. The holiday tale, “The Hazel Ice”, is a clever, twisty story set in Switzerland, involving mountaineering accidents and complex alibis. It’s odd and quite unaccountable why his stories aren’t more popular and I’ll certainly be exploring more of Dr. Fortune’s adventures.


The two collections, despite having linking themes, manage to contain a real variety of works. Some of my other favourites were “Cousin Once Removed” by Michael Gilbert (short and very, very clever), “Holiday Task” by Leo Bruce (a lovely pastiche), “They Don’t Wear Labels” by E.M. Delafield (yes, the Provincial Lady, telling a very chilling tale) and “The Avenging Chance” by Anthony Berkeley (a tricksy Roger Sheringham mystery). But in many ways it’s unfair to pick out just a few – there’s an embarrassment of riches here, and all the stories are excellent in their own way.

So I can’t praise the British Library and their crime classics, or indeed Martin Edwards, enough. The books are living proof that you can produce beautiful editions of interesting, entertaining and enjoyable works and that people will flock to buy them. They’ve rescued wonderful tales from underserved obscurity and so more power to their elbow – let’s hope the series has many more treats in store for all fans of Golden Age crime!

(Many thanks to NetGalley and Poisoned Pen Press for providing review copy of Capital Crimes!)

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