The Race

Brett Hoffmann's not very popular around here at the moment. Or rather he is with me but not with Farmdoc.

I just got hold of Brett's new book - his second thriller involving Australian Wall Street analysts, Stella Sartori and Jack Rogers - and I can't put it down.

'Are you ready?' 

'Mm...Coming...'

'Did you hear what I said?'   

'Mm...Stella...'

‘We’re running late.' 

'Mm...Jack...'

'Can you put that book down for a minute!' 

'Mm...coming...'

Well, you get the picture.

About two years ago, when Brett's first book, The Contract, came out, I worried that I wouldn't like it and wouldn't know how to tell him. I was so relieved that I loved it. This time I didn't worry. I knew this novel would be at least as good as its predecessor. I think it's better. 

I was engaged from the first scene, lulled into a state of mellow enchantment by the prose. A postcard photographer is hovering in a helicopter above Nice. 'It wasn't a hot day but the sun had the freedom of the sky...' How lovely, I thought, and then wham! an explosion rocks both me and the book and I was hooked.

That explosion destroys a private jet carrying the heir to the Aretino empire, and in the aftermath of that and other disasters to befall the family and its businesses, the Aretino's bank calls on Stella and Jack to investigate why the family is losing money.

The Aretinos are an ancient Italian family with an ongoing link to the Order of St John and an involvement in Formula One racing.  This is a case that calls for skill and discretion, which makes it ideal for Jack and Stella’s new consultancy. But a series of murders shakes everybody, and Jack and Stella find themselves under surveillance, their own lives now at risk. There is obviously a dangerous conspiracy behind all these events, but they have no idea who’s responsible.

Jack and Stella’s fight to save themselves and discover the truth is told in spare prose, with just the right details chosen to set the scene and portray the characters. The settings and background are all obviously meticulously researched. We are whisked back in time to ancient Malta and then forward to the Grand Prix at Monza.  The book’s not called The Race for nothing!

The story is intricately plotted, with seemingly loose threads picked up and woven back into the story in ways that I for one didn’t see coming.

I could feel my heart thudding as I sped along narrow mountain roads or battled alongside Stella (not that she needed my help!). The ending was unpredictable enough to surprise me but at the same time it felt very satisfying. I was sorry when the book finished but now I’m left wondering about Jack and Stella’s relationship and what they'll get up to next. I know Brett's hard at work on the next novel in the series: The Cure.

The Race would make a great Father day gift. And if you buy it at Dymocks they have a buy The Race get The Contract free. How could you resist?

‘Ok, Farmdoc, what was it you wanted? Farmdoc? Farmdoc?...Oh bloody Brett Hoffmann and that infernal book! Can’t you read it later?’

Otherland

Gorgeous weather here in northern Tasmania. Perfect for sitting on the kitchen deck with a cup of tea and a good book.

I've just finished reading Otherland by Maria Tumarkin. This is an account of Maria's trip back to Kharkov in the Ukraine, a city she'd emigrated from about twenty years before as a 15- year-old schoolgirl. She is accompanied on this return journey by her daughter, 12-year-old Billie, and the book is as much about their relationship as it is about the trip itself and the politics and often tragic history of the region.

Otherland is engrossing. It jumps around in time and space, never getting bogged down in travelogue or historical accounts or political explanation, though it includes all these things.

The book is written in a clear conversational style that makes it easy and mostly enjoyable to read, although it does deal with some dark episodes such as the Siege of Leningrad where over a million people starved to death, and the murder of 33,000 Jews at Babi Yar.

The inclusion of Billie's diary entries is delightful, but I did wonder, as a mother myself, whether Billie, as she enters more fully into adolescence, might not feel exploited.

Towards the end of the book the pair visit the apartment block where Maria had grown up. Billie is disappointed in the dvor, the communal courtyard she'd heard so much about, 'where the old and young coexisted in their separate corners of the same world'. Instead of the garden she'd imagined, there was 'to tell you the truth...a rubbish tip.'

But Maria does not wish this trip to be about pitying the poor deprived Russians. She writes:

We are born into spaces and we grow up in them. We are blessed not to know any better...We play with the puddles in which grown-ups step, cursing bad roads and general disorder and decay.We fit whatever size is given to us. And the dirt is much more fun to play with than the sand. We are not deprived. We are not to be pitied. We are on top of the world.

The journey (and the book) is an attempt to synthesise the life in Russia that Maria didn't live with the life she lives in Australia; the world she grew up in and that formed her and the world where Billie lives. It's hard to know about the trip - after all, although Billie is delightfully intelligent and sensitive she is also a typical Aussie adolescent and homesick most of the time for friends and comforts - but at least the book is a success.

Reviewed

My book has been out for nearly three months now and, though I've had some terrific reviews, I'd given up on seeing one in the Melbourne Age.

I was disappointed at first. Alzheimer's: a Love Story is such a Melbourne story, I think. One of the best parts of writing it was learning about a Melbourne that has now vanished. I loved hearing my father's story of running out of petrol during the rationing period soon after the Second World War, and how he had to push the car through the city, up Lonsdale Street where his factory was, to the Russell Street Police Station, where he was given enough petrol to get him home.

And the story of the time before Father's Day one year when the Myer store ran out of Gloweave shirts. Dad parked his car right outside the store's main entrance and he and Baillieu Myer themselves carried the cartons of shirts up to the sales floor.

There were many more stories that brought the past of this city alive.

Anyway, I told myself I didn't care that my hometown newspaper wasn't interested in reviewing my book. I've done very well, I told myself. Don't be greedy.

Then on Saturday there it was: a half page review accompanied by a coloured photograph of me. To be honest, my first response was not excitement but anxiety: surely in such along review there was bound to be at least one negative comment. And I knew that no matter how many nice things were said it was the criticism that would stick in my mind and whisper in my ear at night.

I was in Melbourne as it happened the morning the review came out. As soon as I had the paper in my hot little hand I rang Farmdoc to read the review to him. I approached each sentence with trepidation: uh oh, here it comes.

In the end I spoiled the moment for myself with unnecessary anxiety because there was not one negative word. On the contrary, the review compares me with Joan Didion (blush) and ends by saying 'It is eloquently written, beautifully observed and painfully honest, yet never sentimental or self-indulgent.' Yay!

If you click on the photo above you can enlarge it and read the review for yourself. Otherwise, in the next few days my clever daughter Meg will post it on my website and you can read it there, along with all the other kind things people have said about me and my book. Thanks for the photo, Farmdoc.

The First Review

Is it vain to blog about a good review? If I do then am I going to be honest enough to blog about bad reviews if and when they come my way?

Mm. I'm not sure, but surely there's an exemption for the first review! I've just had mine. It's in Bookseller and Publisher and describes Alzheimer's: a love story as 'powerful and rewarding'. The full review is on my website www.vivienneulman.com.

The reviewer goes on to say, amongst other lovely things, 'The author’s journalistic skills prevent the book from being bogged down by trivia or bathos.' I'm particularly proud of that. Deciding what to leave out, especially of my parents' fascinating history, was one of the hardest things I had to do. I often discussed it with my dad when I was interviewing him, and he understood completely. In future I might blog some of the stories that didn't make the final cut.

I recently read an interview with Lorrie Moore (pictured) where she discusses reviews: 'Book reviews have to be ignored, if possible, even if they are lovely,' she says. 'Book reviews are a conversation others are having. If as a writer you read them you will overhear that conversation.'

That seems like wise advice: eavesdroppers never hear good of themselves. But I do have to admit, reading the first review of my book did make me feel like a proper author, and I always adore listening in to other people's private conversations. That's bad, I know, but I find them hard to resist - that keyhole insight into someone else's private life.

Steering By Noah's Compass

I've always been a huge Anne Tyler fan. In fact I own most of her eighteen novels. My mother loved Anne Tyler books too, so when I saw there was a new one - Noah's Compass - I had to buy it. I have to admit it made me sad too, to know I'd be reading it alone.

But this time the magic didn't work for me, and I can't decide if it's Tyler who's lost the excitement of invention and is coasting along on auto pilot, or I who've lost my taste for her work because my mother's gone and I can no longer share it with her. Or because I'm getting old and grumpy.

Tyler's prose is just as faultless as ever, so it's not that. The story's interesting enough too, I suppose. Liam Pennywell, aged 60, has just lost his teaching job, and downsized into a small characterless apartment. On his first night in the apartment he's attacked by an intruder and, though he recovers completely, Liam can't remember the attack. In his quest to recall what happened to him that night Liam befriends an eccentric young woman and along the way realises that he can barely remember much of any of his life - that he's barely been present in it.

I don't think I really believed in Liam - or maybe I didn't care about him. Somehow, aged 60, he's managed to acquire (and lose) two wives, three daughters (one of whom is still a teenager) and two teaching jobs (or is it three?) without any of it leaving much of a mark on him at all. And I didn't believe in Liam's sexless 'love affair' with Eunice either.

He has a grandson too with whom he feels no connection. The title of the book comes from a story in the grandson's bible story colouring book. Noah, it seems, didn't need a compass because he wasn't going anywhere. He was - like our Liam - simply trying to stay afloat.

It might just be me, but although I could appreciate Tyler's mastery of craft, mostly what I felt while I was reading Noah's Compass was disappointment. The novel felt too cute to me, too self conscious. 'Oh no, don't go there,' I'd tell myself while I was reading it. But each time she did.

The Greatest Blogger in the World

OK, I have to be honest here. I wouldn't normally have read The Greatest Blogger in the World. Not because it's not good - because it is - but because it's aimed at kids aged between about eight and twelve. And that's a demographic I haven't fitted into for some decades now.

But Andrew's a terrific writer as well as being a terrific person, and besides, the book has one of the best covers I've ever seen, so I couldn't resist. And I'm glad I didn't because I loved this book. Andrew uses his many talents, which include a whacky sense of humour and great inventiveness, to tell an exciting story.

Charlie Ridge pretends to be dumb. If his schoolmates knew how smart he was they'd call him a nerd or a teacher's pet. Inspired by James Bond, Charlie wants to Be the Hero, Get the Girl and Save the Day, and the girl he wants to get - the fearsome Boots - is already the Teacher's Pet. She especially can't feel he's a threat to her position.

Charlie also wants to win the Greatest Blogger in the World competition, and that's when his troubles really begin.

The book poses many questions that draw the reader on: Can Charlie stop Cardboard from sharing his crush on the Boots? Will Charlie's best friend Phattius Beats ever forgive him? What are the school monitors really up to? Who stole the school mascot? Who is reading Charlie's blog? And will Charlie's little brother ever stop wearing a tuxedo to kindergarten?

The questions pile up, the characters are original and the story moves along at a cracking pace. It's hard to put down.

There are other underlying questions as well, that give the book a more serious dimension, such as should corporations play a role in schools, and can you be your real self and still fit in?

I enjoyed the book a lot; I laughed out loud at some bits. And then when I'd finished I found I couldn't stop thinking about the characters and wondering what they were up to now. I especially wondered about Charlie and what he'd be like when he grew up. Whether he'd be anything like Andrew McDonald, children's author and all round good guy?