Strange Meeting by Susan Hill

Synopsis:

 In 1914, John Hilliard, reticent and aged from his inaugural experiences of the war thus far, is haunted by nightmares whilst on sick leave. Hilliard is disillusioned with those at home for their naive ignorance and detachment from the grim reality of war. Upon returning to France Hilliard meets David Barton, an exuberant new recruit not yet sullied in battle or from the atrocities of war.

Hilliard, previously so reserved and detached, cannot grasp why he is so instinctively drawn to Barton, whose openness and magnanimity is as foreign to him as the backdrop of the French battlefields. The bond between the two men soon deepens into an ambiguous love - one which Hilliard cannot articulate even to himself - and one which is perpetually in threat of being destroyed through separation in death, with the prospect of being killed in battle ever present.

 Thoughts:

What resonated with me most throughout my reading of Strange Meeting was the stillness to the narrative, imbuing the novel with a sense of poignancy - the futility of war when looked at against the backdrop of senseless death. Susan Hill doesn't engage the reader in elaborate battle scenes, nor does she concern her story with the minutiae of war. Instead the narrative is focused on its trivialities (in comparison to bloodshed and political manoeuvrings) - which are therefore mundane, such as that felt by Hilliard in the 'rest periods' of soldiers on leave. 

Deaths in Strange Meeting are by nature accidental and trivial. No one passes in a blaze of glory, no harrowing scenes of bloodshed and no closure. This serves to permeate the narrative with a numbness and begs the question - what is the point? Hill brilliantly turns traditional historical fiction towards the psychological impact of war - the isolation felt by Hilliard when he is back 'home' (not to mention the irony that home has become the battlefield with his fellow men), or the brilliance of Barton's gregariousness cruelly stolen by war and replaced with an almost tragic numbness.

Of course the crux of Strange Meeting is the relationship between Hilliard and Barton. An ambiguous love or at least a deeply strong mutual attachment, develops out of an unconscious need from each man. Hilliard, already aware of and succumbed to the atrocities and futility of war is in dire need of hope - a reason to continue, an emblem to prove that their endeavours are worth it. Barton is this emblem, shiny and new without the taint of battle. On the other hand Barton is naive and artless in the ways of war. Hilliard, for all his experience and wisdom provides the grounding and guidance Barton will need.

Strange Meeting never makes the relationship explicit - to either Hilliard and Barton or the reader. Whether it will be physically realised lingers silently at points, though Hill is careful not to steer the reader towards this presumption. Instead the relationship is innocent and undergoes a role reversal, with both Hilliard and Barton becoming what the other was to him. Barton, upon losing his brilliance through experience, becomes world weary and dejected to the dismay of the now rejuvenated Hilliard. 

Strange Meeting is a poignant tale of deep rooted friendship in WW1, with a rich narrative focused on the triviality of loss.

Dear Lupin - Letters to a Wayward Son - Book Review

"Dear Lupin" is the collection of delightfully witty and wry letters sent to Mortimer Jr. from his ever exasperated father Roger, a racing pundit for the Sunday Times. Chronicling the various scrapes and escapades Charlie finds himself in, Roger is always a source of sound advice, humorous anecdotes and world weary remonstrations in the vain attempt to keep his errant son in check.

 Much of this stems from the generation gap between father and son, with Charlie more at leisure to peruse the fruits of life more flagrantly than his father would like. Holidaying with deplorable friends or else dabbling in drink and drugs is at odds with the more mundane chagrins of Roger's life, including dull acquaintances at dinner parties, the excessive drinking habits of Charlie's' mother and the ever salient fact of growing old. 

"I had a bad and painful attack of gout last week and now I have a throat infection and am partially deaf. Getting old is revolting and I hate it."

  Roger Mortimer's letters never failed to make me grin with delight as he litters his correspondence with random digressions and stories of oddball relatives, the exploits of a family pet or the death count of a nearby car accident. Despite the numerous allusions to his disappointment towards Charlie's foibles and shortcomings, including many a failed (or lack thereof) attempt at respectability, Roger's affection for his son is never in doubt. As Charlie flits erractically from one job to the other, Roger is the steadfast guardian, never failing to be the constant in his son's life.

Surprisingly, Dear Lupin doesn't include replies from Charlie (or Lupin, the moniker handed to him by his father after the erstwhile son in Diary of a Nobody). Instead Charlie provides small footnotes letting us know what points in his life Roger is alluding to. These too are a small source of laughter, as Charlie plays the part of the hapless, wayward son with real life panache. The collection also incorporates a handy go to list of people and places mentioned throughout the correspondence.

Dear Lupin is a unique, heartwarming vignette of the relationship between a father and son spanning from the late 1960s onwards. Not only are we granted an intimate look at one family's idiosyncratic life, but also the social context in general. Roger Mortimer has a wonderfully acerbic and eloquent way of writing, infusing Dear Lupin with a sepia toned melancholy for the lost art of letter writing.
 

Note: Dear Lupin is just one of three collections of letters from Roger Mortimer, with Dear Jane: My Father's Life and Letters and Dear Lumpy: Letters to a Disobedient Daughter the two remaining installments in this familial saga of correspondence.

The Love of My Life by Louise Douglas - Book Review

 

Synopsis: After the sudden death of husband Luca, Olivia [Liv] finds herself bereft of her companion in life. Spurned by their families for the embarrassment and emotional ramifications of their ill advised union and subsequent elopement, Liv makes the gut wrenching decision to relocate back to where she and Luca first met. The Love of My Life is set to the picturesque beach front town of Watersford, home to Marinella's, the family restaurant and backdrop to Liv and Luca's early life, both together and apart.

With no family or friends to speak of, and only the almost tangible memories of Luca to console herself with, Liv finds solace in the company of the only Marinella who doesn't express disdain at her arrival - Marc, Luca's twin brother. In their desolation and grief, the pair develop a mutual need for one another, both physically and emotionally.

 

Juggling her grief and guilt whilst enduring the perpetual hostility of her in-laws, Liv begins a job as a research assistant at the local university, working for a taciturn professor on his controversial biography of a Watersford author. The Love of My Life takes us through Liv's past and present, both with and without Luca and her struggle to find her new place in life.

Thoughts:

Douglas has taken a straight forward plot, and stock characters (i.e. the death of a spouse, inhospitable in-laws, extra marital affairs) and shaken off the usual literary stereotypes and assumptions one would usually associate with them. For instance, the affair is refrained from being regarded as anything sordid or disrespectful to Luca's memory. Liv expresses guilt and remorse for her actions and her grief is at times all consuming to the point where it isn't a far stretch to feel sympathy at her situation. Isolated and chastised for her decisions, both in the past and present, Liv is almost a social pariah, judged for the indiscretions and mishaps of her youth that have doggedly clung to her reputation as an adult.

As the story progresses, Douglas flicks back and forth through Liv's timeline, alternating between the present, newly widowed state and Liv's younger self.  The narrative is at times melodiously written, which I found myself thinking was quite odd for a first person perspective - it seemed out of keeping with the accessible style of Liv's tone. However as the story reminds you towards the end, it is in fact a written log of Liv's life post-Luca. Upon this realisation, I appreciated Douglas's knack of commenting on the smaller facets of a scene to create a world for her character that we're permitted unfettered access to. I never felt it to be a biased narrative, as although Liv discusses what could easily be perceived as a checkered past (through noone's fault but her own), she has no qualms in accepting her blame where due.

I personally would have preferred a bit more development for the supporting characters. Much of what we have is from Liv's perspective and from her younger self we know that naivety is not always lacking. I was intrigued by Nathalie, Liv's sister-in-law and Marc's wife, who is especially thorny to Liv and her return. Although we are given justification and insight into her motivations and attitude, I would have liked more interaction between her and Liv. 

Have you read The Love of My Life?

Dark Places by Gillian Flynn - Book Review

Synopsis:  

Libby Day is the sole survivor of the horrific massacre which claimed the lives of her mother and two elder sisters. Serving a life sentence is older misfit brother Ben Day. A reserved 15 year old, rumoured to have been associated with a satanic 'gang' at the time, Ben has yet to deny his involvement in the murders.

Having lived off the charity and monetary good will of the sympathetic, Libby has forged herself a reclusive (although not a content) existence. With funds depleting, Libby reluctantly agrees to make a 'special appearance' for the 'Kill Club' - a group of unsolved murder 'super fans.' Libby is initially embittered and dismayed to realise that the club is campaigning for Ben's release, believing him to be an innocent scapegoat for the massacre.

In exchange for cash, Libby embarks on a grim trip down memory lane, revisiting those connected to the events surrounding the murders. Already a dubious witness to the crime for being so young and most likely having produced a heavily scripted testimony, Libby pieces together exactly what happened and why.

** This Post Contains Spoilers **

My lasting impressions of Flynn's work is that she establishes and deftly maintains a strong thread of suspense throughout her narratives. As with Gone Girl, 'Dark Places' switches the perspective with each chapter, alternating between present day Libby, a sardonic and far from well adjusted adult, and the past Ben and Patty Day - the family's pallid matriarch - on the fated day in question.

What is admirable in Flynn's storytelling is her ability to run the present and past at parallels. She creates a slow building climb through the past, as it crawls out of cloaked truths simultaneously to Libby's own recent discoveries. She has a tight grip on the narrative, able to scatter events and scraps of information across the two timelines to converge at a watertight conclusion.

Ben possesses burgeoning resentment at what he feels to be the ever humiliating emasculation from living in a dilapidated, female dominated household. Ridiculed by his errant father for being effeminate, and constantly at pains from his mother to appease his sisters, Ben becomes quietly determined to assert his masculinity. Thoughts of 'annihilation', befriending a group of erstwhile drifters, including girlfriend Diondra and friend Trey, both with a penchant for the macabre and bloody, all contribute to the picture of a prime suspect.

When reading 'Dark Places', what stuck in mind was the feeling that Flynn staunchly pushes the point that everything can be explained. In essence, a few coincidences equated with the truth. Incriminating evidence is often neatly explained away, and although this provides the story with some satisfying twists, it sometimes felt these were robbed of impact for being mundane.

As with Gone Girl, I felt that the more obvious conclusion and assumption would have been the most apt. Sometimes I prefer the straight forward explanation as opposed to a plot rife with red herrings. Ultimately, I would have preferred if Ben HAD been guilty to a greater extent than the plot provides. It would have opened a more interesting psychological aspect to his character. Instead I felt the truth of the massacres to fall slightly flat. Although still horrific and haunting, the end seemed to suddenly shift direction in a way that although made sense, was not too endearing.

What I also found disappointing was that Ben's interest in the dark and satanic is never fully explained, even though we have his perspective at our disposal. Flynn seems to glean over Ben's growing attraction to this unsettling preoccupation. Instead, his thoughts are spontaneous and little elaborated on. Even in his incarcerated adult state, Flynn refrains from exploring the effect of Ben's involvement with the satanic in his later years.


 I did thoroughly enjoy Flynn's work but have twice found that the endings fall short of the rest of the plot. I would like to see her provide us with the more anticipated conclusion, leaving the rest of the story to deal with the ramifications.

(Note: I'm thinking a bit of Broadchurch here. There was much debate on why the show lacked the huge 'whodunnit' twist, when instead it was directed towards examining the consequences and emotional ramifications resultant of the crime.)

Have you read Dark Places or other Gillian Flynn novels? What are your thoughts?

Engleby by Sebastian Faulks - Book Review

 
Mike Engleby, a working class undergraduate attending one of the country's prestigious universities, is our observer to the aftermath of the disappearance of popular student Jennifer Arkland.

Fueled with expectations of a taut thriller and dubious narrator and only 'Birdsong' as my previous foray into Faulks-ian fiction, I was taken aback by the stark difference in rhetoric style employed in Engleby. Whereas Birdsong is melodiously written, entrenched in beautiful (and equally devastating) descriptions of the most minute character expressions and surroundings, Engleby is almost devoid of such narration.

The book almost reads like a diary - one long narration from Mike, who initially we have no reason to distrust as our eyes and ears to the world he inhabits. Talking us through his undergraduate days, Mike often pulls us back to his troubled school past, coupled with obscured peeks into his ambiguous home life.

Soon, Mike's actions become increasingly more confusing and uncomfortable to the reader - even more so for the indications towards a deeper investment in Jennifer's personal life. It becomes clear that Mike is not the most stable of individuals, continuously engaging in some morally ambiguous endeavour. In particular, his voyeuristic objectification of women is a disconcerting facet to his character.

Always providing some abstract justification, it's clear Mike is (or at least considers himself to be) a very smart individual, although a manipulative one, and well practiced in throwing us off his moral misdemeanors with his abstracted manner towards storytelling.

 I was disappointed with Engleby and this is probably more a reflection on my own understanding of the novel than the actual story itself. I found it hard to keep up with the narration, as it often felt as if I were overwhelmed with a more intellectual voice. Now this only added to the unease of trying to understand Mike and his thoughts, which is great for the novel as a thriller, but in terms of reader satisfaction, I felt quite lost.

I wouldn't necessarily discourage potential readers from picking this up as their next read. In fact I've made a promise to myself to come back to Engleby with a fresh mind one day and see if I can't appreciate it more on a second attempt.

... I'd quite like to see Engleby adapted for the screen, as I got a Inspector Morse/Lewis-esque mood from the book!

Wessex Tales by Thomas Hardy - Book Review

This is a great introduction to those unfamiliar with Hardy's work. Easy to digest and never 'bogged down' with allusive or flowery language, this is Hardy stripped down. Each tale possesses its own element of scandal, with characters embroiled in extra-marital affairs of the heart, illegitimate children and jealousy. What's all the more tantalising is often Hardy refrains from being so explicit. Much is revealed through the gossipy aside from an otherwise irrelevant stock character, with the seed planted for the reader to let their speculation grow.

Hardy loves a good plot twist, so for those who like a bit of suspense in their classic lit, this is the perfect read.

Below are my thoughts on my favourite of the tales

The Imaginative Woman

An unfulfilled housewife, her intellect unchallenged by her blasé husband and her want of passion unmet, becomes infatuated with the absent tenant of a room she is temporarily occupying. With only the thinnest of associations between them, Ella Marchmill becomes increasingly desperate in her attempts to orchestrate a meeting - one she vainly hopes may turn a correspondence into something more real. In this short tale, Hardy paints a passionate vignette of unrequited love laden with irony.

I loved the irony in this tale. Hardy perfectly evokes the maddening desperation of an unrequited 'relationship' - made all the more desperate considering that the 'couple' never physically meet or actually see each other. I'm always drawn to the timelessness of a story's sentiment or message, and in an updated version, this same tale could be told in the modern world of social media and 'Facebook stalking' - though the premise is a lot more eloquently put in 'The Imaginative Woman'! This was surprisingly straight forward to read, and for those not yet familiar with his work, a brilliant first foray into Hardy.

Have you read 'The Wessex Tales' - which are your favourites?

Simon and the Oaks by Marianne Fredricksson - Book Review

Having already watched and posted my thoughts on 'Simon and the Oaks' here, I've been itching to read and review the novel. Originally in Swedish (an English translation is available - I found mine on Waterstones' Marketplace, a treasure trove for anyone looking for rare or out-of-print books), the translation at times lends to a slightly disjointed syntax, with occasionally odd word placements. Nevertheless, I wasn't disappointed.

 

 

Note: I would recommend that you watch the film before reading the book. I felt the novel to be a bit keen in revealing key twists early on. Had I known about these crucial turning points when watching the film, I know I would have felt slightly let down.

The novel is much more a saga than the film, chronicling Simon's life from early boyhood into young adulthood and far beyond where the film takes us. Whereas the film ends in Simon's onset into adulthood, the novel takes us into the unexplored regions of his later life including time served in the army and his later archaeological career.

What struck me most about the novel is the time it devotes to all characters involved, as opposed to the film which places Simon as very much the focus of its story. Whereas we see much from his perspective, the novel commits a mini psychological study to each character, providing a deeper insight into the motivations driving their behaviour. Nobody is without their personal demons, and whereas the film prefers to depict the characterisations rather simply - i.e. Simon's father as a pragmatic and domineering man, the novel is more forgiving. This is especially the case with regards to Simon's mother. The film's characterisation has her imbued with sadness, whereas the novel complements this by emphasising her strength and endurance.

This is a psychologically driven novel, which the film only hinted at by way of the timelessness evoked by music and nature. There is a Jungian undercurrent to Simon's characterisation, which Fredricksson reflects in Simon's dreams. The point is put across all the more explicitly in the following quote -

"Children are of the earth, she thought, with the ancient history of the earth in their cells and the entire wisdom of nature in the circulation of their blood."

With some further reading into Jung, there are various parallels between the psychologist's early life and Simon's. Both struggle with the enormity of obeying God's will and the burden of being so in tune with one's unconscious. This is particularly evident in a shared disillusion both Jung and Simon express with priests. (See Jung's 'Memories, Dreams, Reflections' for further reading). There are even hints of Milgram, in the novel's expression that there may be, "... a sergeant in all of us..." Whether this is a deliberate literary device by Fredriksson or not, it adds to the historical entrenchment and universality of the novel's themes of war and the human condition. 

The Longest Journey - E.M Forster (Book Review)

Rickie Elliot, a Cambridge graduate, grapples with his existential ideals and literary aspirations with the unpleasant practicalities of life. 

I have to admit upon buying this book I committed the age old sin of judging by its cover. If there's one thing I love about TK Maxx, it's scouring through their book section. Amidst the cook books and travel guides, you're guaranteed to find a random literary gem. A quick scan of the blurb and an impulse purchase was made - little did I realise how poignant it was that I came to choose The Longest Journey at the time.

Completing my final year exams, I felt disillusioned with life in general. It felt odd not to have the comfort of knowing I'd be returning to education in September to alleviate any guilt from a somewhat idle summer. Neither did it help that the overwhelming task of properly starting a 'working life' had become more apparent than ever before. I immediately missed the library and the silent camaraderie of that environment. I really appreciated that this revision period would be the last of my life, and I would never really engage in learning in quite the same way again.

The Longest Journey has been the perfect read for such an ambivalent time. Centred on Rickie Elliot, the protagonist of the novel and a recent graduate of Cambridge, the story follows his endeavours to appreciate and understand the philosophical ideals of truth and beauty, his search for a higher purpose and his ill-advised marriage to the object of his infatuation, Agnes Pembroke. The novel is split into three parts, tracing Rickie's journey from university, his engagement to Agnes and relationship with the morally dubious Aunt Emily, to his reluctant career as a public school teacher.

Rickie is an idealist and indulges in the solace he derives from the common purpose he and his friends share at Cambridge - the quest for higher knowledge. Grappling with existentialism, Rickie deplores that he has yet to possess the same grade of thinking as his peers. Yet what he might lack in philosophical acumen, Rickie makes up for in a more personable appreciation of the human condition - specifically, the fragility of relationships.

"But he was not cynical - or cynical in a very tender way. He was thinking of the irony of friendship - so strong it is, and so fragile. We fly together, like straws in an eddy, to part in the open stream. Nature has no use for us: she has cut her stuff differently. Dutiful sons, loving husbands, responsible fathers - these are what she wants, and if we are friends it must be in our spare time.

'I wish we were labelled.' said Rickie. He wishes that all the confidence and mutual knowledge that is born in such a place as Cambridge could be organised. People went down in the world saying 'We know and like each other; we shan't forget. But they did forget, for man is so made that he cannot remember long without a symbol; he wishes there was a society, a kind of friendship office, where the marriage of true minds could be registered."



It's passages like these I found comforting. If you're in the same ambiguous transition, you find an affinity with Rickie. For all his grandiose notions of seeking the ultimate good in people - an endeavour for which he is chastised for by his practical-minded friends -

'You think it so splendid to hate no one. I tell you it is a crime. You want to love everyone equally and that's worse than impossible. It's wrong.'

- he ironically hits upon the effect of such practicalities on our lives. We lose friends to make way for social convention and propriety, and this is what Rickie finds so lamentable - despite engaging in these conventions himself. This is evident in his engagement to Agnes and his later career as a school teacher - one that carries him further away from his real enthusiasm in becoming a writer.

The novel moves swiftly from one third to the next, though at times the narrative dwells just a little too long on scenic or architectural descriptions. This is quite at odds with Rickie's point of view, which is almost always concerned with moral propriety and higher ideals. To me it was always a way of reminding the audience of the contrast between Rickie's inner dialogue and that of his surrounding milieu.

Otherwise, Forster isn't too concerned with the intricate complexities of how relationships develop. He identifies the most significant moments and important transitions  and uses these to drive the story and Rickie's journey forward.

The Illustrated Man - Ray Bradbury (Post Pt. 1)

I hadn't read a collection of short stories in a very long time and I was a little sceptical that this wouldn't meet my expectations. I wouldn't say I was an aficionado of science fiction in any big way (other than being completely enamoured with the David Tennant era of Doctor Who) so upon realising Bradbury is a leading light in the science fiction literary realm, my hopes were slightly dashed.

 

But they needn't have been. Whatsoever. I loved it. I loved the idea of the Illustrated Man; a mysterious being with the most intricate and elaborate tattoos, each a vignette of what could be.

Bradbury's style is stark. There's a great dearth in detail and each story is stripped to the bare minimum - ironically in contrast to how vivid and complex the sight of the Illustrated Man is supposed to be.

This doesn't detract from the reader's enjoyment at all. The greatness lies in Bradbury's ability to haunt you long after the story ends. Some really chilled me, others made me think of the potential inevitability in his words. What happens if technology advances to the point where it can think for itself? What if we become so disconnected as a society that we can't see what it is right in front of us? What if we become so blinded by striving for the greater good, that we fail to realise the greater good is actually something rather sinister?

In particular, I loved "The Veldt" - a sinister tale of a children's playroom or 'nursery' with a mind of its own - and "The Last Night of the World"- a short retelling of a day in the life of a couple who learn that it is their last.

The dystopian, futuristic and outer space themes in the book really reminded me of 'The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust' and Bowie's excessive glam rock era. The idea of a fallen idol, who lived too fast and came to warn Earth of its impending doom really fit in with Bradbury's work.

 

As each story is so different and unrelated from one another, wouldn't it be interesting for The Illustrated Man to be re-made, each its own mini-film or short, directed and produced by a different person? Each completely different in terms of interpretation and style. A different cast. Different score.

I'm thinking a lot of the Imaginarium of Dr. Parnassus - I know there's only the one director in that case (I think Terry Gillam would be very apt!), but the idea of changing the actors for a single character is an interesting take; so a series of mini-casts would be endearing. I heard there are plans to re-make The Illustrated Man but this was circa 2007...

 

One of my next posts will be on a few connections I thought of between the stories in 'The Illustrated Man' to other literary works and film.

 

Father! Father! Burning Bright - Alan Bennett (Book Review)

I bought this book via eBay on a whim, having already purchased 'The Lady in the Van' - which I've yet to read but will post about soon! I've been a bit of a dilettante when it comes to Alan Bennett. The History Boys is one of my favourite films and the play really hit home with its portrayal of education fostering the ideal of learning for the sake of (and only for the sake of) passing exams; but I've actually yet to really delve into his exhaustive works.

 

I've been pretty swamped with Uni work of late  - my final year project deadline loomed over me this week, and so whenever I needed some light relief, I whizzed through 'Father! Father! Burning Bright!' It really helped that this book was so dinky for being pocket-sized amongst hefty textbooks and the two packed lunches I had equipped myself with for the day's library session!

Midgley is a schoolteacher, facing the inevitability of his father's impending death and the frustration of him not actually.. well dying.

 I won't say much as this is such a short read, and anything else would be an unnecessary irritation of a spoiler. I will say that Bennett's infamous and expert handle on satire is unapologetic, stark and completely funny. I found myself stifling a small laugh every time I realised how blatantly Bennett calls people out on their prejudices, however harmless and benign.

 

Adapted from the TV film "Intensive Care" (starring Alan Bennett), the story moves swiftly from one scene to the next - and without warning, much like as if you were watching it on television itself.

It's rare that I find a book which will strike me as funny (in that I would actually laugh aloud), with 'Submarine' being the strongest contender (a recommended read!). This has prompted me to read more from Bennett - and possibly re-watch The History Boys. (Exam-time is approaching fast after all!) I've been wanting to read "The Uncommon Reader" for a good while now, though the ever increasing height of my "To Read" pile is warning me otherwise!

Are you an Alan Bennett fan? What are your recommendations?

 

Here is the first of 9 parts to BBC 2's "Intensive Care" via YouTube. (Link active at time of posting).

 

Be My Baby - Ronnie Spector with Vince Waldron (Book Review)

As you'll come to notice, I am a huge enthusiast of the 50s and 60s. Like many, I'm enamoured with the music and love finding autobiographies of people who were involved in that world. I'm always intrigued to learn where people started out - usually I find they're not worlds apart from yourself; and I love hitting on a common note with someone I admire, even if it's something as random as your parents sharing the same occupation!

I originally wanted to get my hands on "Be My Baby - How I survived Mascara, Miniskirts and Madness", but since it's largely out of print, the copies I've found online are out of my price range. I was holding onto hope that I'd chance upon it in a second-hand bookstore one day -but then I happened upon this gem in a Camden bookstore a year back. I'm not sure if there is much (or any) difference between the two (both are written in cooperation with Vince Waldron), or whether my copy is just a reprint - but I think it holds!

Be My Baby is a fast paced account of Ronnie's life, from her upbringing in the Spanish Harlem, the breakthrough of the Ronettes, through to her marriage (and breakdown) to mentor and producer, Phil Spector. What immediately struck me about Ronnie is that as much as she was enamoured with music, she was equally (and probably more so) with fame. She isn't shy in coming forward about her ambitions, and once hitting the proverbial 'big time', she relishes in it, regaling in stories of riot-inducing performances and strutting about onstage. Although for the most part her story isn't an easy one, and though at times slightly cocky, Ronnie speaks with a clear head and without self-pity. She recognises in retrospect her own faults and mistakes as well as rationalising those of others, which is applaudable once you know her life.

 What I can't fathom is why nobody has yet seized the chance to produce a Ronnie Spector biopic - the story is one with her at the epicentre of the sixties, floating in and out of everybody else's world. First hand accounts of Beatlemania, touring (and eating scrambled eggs!) with the Stones and even a 'romantic tryst' with Bowie, Ronnie is to me the Forrest Gump of her era. Her story would make a good game of "Six Degrees of Separation" - Cher, John Lennon (a recurring character!) and May Pang and even Bruce Springsteen make an appearance. What's more, her story is peppered with serendipity - there are a lot of 'right place at the right time' moments that would make for a more than decent film!

 

Playlist:

The Ronettes: Be My Baby
The Chiffons: One Fine Day
The Shirelles: Will You Still Love Me Tomorrow?
The Ramones: Baby I Love You
Frankie Lymon: Why Do Fools Fall In Love?
Ronnie Spector: Don't Worry Baby
The Essex: Easier Said Than Done
Back To Black: Ronnie Spector
The Ronettes: Baby I Love You
The Crystals: He's A Rebel
The Ronettes: Do I Love You?


In all, I would certainly recommend this to anyone interested in the era -  especially in terms of the music. (I always found another musician or person of note cropping up a nice surprise - especially the Beatles.) You really get a feel for how close knit the industry must have been back then.