Agnes Grey - Anne Bronte

In which the reader is subjected to the bleatings of a self-satisfied, holier-than-thou, sanctimonious, humourless, graceless bore and her tedious life, culminating in marriage to an equally unappealing vicar. Chuffing awful.

The Man in the High Castle – Philip K. Dick

It’s another alternative history and probably the most famous of them all, in which Germany and Japan won the war and occupy the USA. There are all the usual Dick caveats, primarily the fact that he doesn’t write very interesting sentences, but the world he has imagined in this novel is so superbly realised that I would say that it is his finest work.

The plot follows various individuals of various backgrounds and philosophies, and it’s notable that the American characters are just as likely to be venal or selfish as the Japanese or German characters.

There is also some convincing detail. A passing reference to “the Final Solution to the African Problem” gave me a real chill.

Memories of My Melancholy Whores – Gabriel Garcia Marquez

I read this almost entirely in one sitting whilst luxuriating in a warm bath, but the circumstances didn’t really help me enjoy it. Late, minor Marquez and reading a first-person account of a ninety-year old man’s lust for a fourteen year old can’t help but feel a bit tawdry. A major problem for me was that the girl has no voice - we never even get to find out her name.

Having said that, there is always beauty to be found in Marquez’s prose and insights, and I particularly liked this:

I confirmed with horror that one ages more and with more intensity in pictures than in reality.

Jacques the Fatalist – Denis Diderot

That’s fatalism as in “we can’t affect our destiny” rather than “I’ve got a very bad feeling about this”.

I thoroughly enjoyed this philosophical debate disguised as a rambling novel in the digressive vein of Tristram Shandy. In fact, there are a few incidents that Diderot has lifted directly from Sterne’s masterpiece, which could be seen as dodgy if the voice of the “editor” didn’t later intervene to berate the “author” for this very act of plagiarism.

The Yiddish Policemen’s Union – Michael Chabon

I once saw an interview with Lars von Trier about his movie Dogville in which he suggested that once you demand of an audience one major leap of faith (in that instance the unusual sets) then everything else needs to be as realistic and accessible as possible or you will lose their interest.

I thought of this when I was reading this novel because it sets a number of challenges to the reader, the first of which is the near-impenetrable plot. This is okay, as the novel is in part a pastiche of the Dashiell Hammett school of noir thriller so impenetrability is par for the course.

Next up is the alternative history setting in which the Jewish state is created in 1948 not in Palestine but in a grimly realised Alaska, leading one character to describe the residents as “The Frozen Chosen”.

The final barrier, which may not be so for everybody but was for a poor old English gentile like myself, is the prevalent use of Yiddish slang, much of which appears to have been made up by Chabon. For example, policemen are referred to throughout by the word “shammes”. A quick Google suggests that this is Yiddish for the sexton of a synagogue, which makes sense in slang logic, and it may also be a joke on the American use of “shamus” as slang for a private eye. This is witty and erudite, but towards the start of the novel I was feeling a bit overwhelmed with all of the information I was being asked to process.

Fortunately I stuck with it, trusting in Chabon to justify the effort he was asking me to make (The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay is one of my favourite recent novels). Of course it was worthwhile, very worthwhile.

Chabon is great with characters and, with the possible exception of ourpoliceman hero’s partner, all of the characters here are convincing and compellingly interesting. Motivations are clear by the end, and the character-driven plot clicks together nicely.

There is also some wonderful writing, mainly in the wisecracking noir idiom, for example when it introduces the central character as being “like there’s a film score playing behind him, heavy on the castanets” Occasionally, the tone changes and becomes altogether more moving.

Without giving away too much plot, there is a daring and intriguing political element involving terrorism and Islam, but not in the way you might expect. I wish I could say more about this, but I suggest that you read the book for yourself.

The Melancholy Death of Oyster Boy and Other Stories - Tim Burton

I'm a devotee of Tim Burton's movies, largely for their idiosyncratic visual flair, so I enjoyed the illustrations in this insubstantial collection. I am sorry to report, however, that most of the poetry is pretty awful. Check out this, from the story of Voodoo Girl:

She has many different zombies
who are deeply in her trance.
She even has a zombie
who was originally from France.

Ouch.

Treasure Island - Robert Louis Stevenson

Pieces of eight, yo ho ho, Long John Silver, Ben Gunn, Jim Hawkins, X marks the spot...

It was tremendous fun to finally read this classic. It's one of those books that you feel you know even if you've never read it, or, indeed, watched a movie version. I enjoyed the rollicking story and the characterisation of the various rogues and brigands, particularly the ambiguous Long John himself.

I read a great edition with illustrations from the ever marvellous Ralph Steadman, which added to the mood nicely.

Mr Norris Changes Trains - Christopher Isherwood

This is another book along the lines of Goodbye to Berlin, reflecting Isherwood's experiences in Germany during the 1930s. The writing is as good as in the later work and some of the characters are very vivid. The thriller plot doesn't quite work as well as the "sketches" in Goodbye to Berlin, but both books are highly impressive and each illuminates the other.

Therese Raquin - Emile Zola

I was expecting this to be a Madame Bovary style tale of adultery but in fact it's a study in sin and guilt like Crime and Punishment, or in the murderous pathology of a psychotic couple, like the MacBeths if they had been driven by lust rather than ambition. Which is to say, it's a bit of a bobby dazzler.

Far more explicit than any British novel of the period, Therese and Laurent's immoral behaviour is still shocking and the consequences are horrifying. Zola uses the tropes of Gothic literature - the dead returning to life, live burial, necrophilia - in a realistic setting, making for a really unsettling experience. The scene in a morgue, in particular, had me both utterly gripped and appalled at the same time. In a good way.

The Spell – Alan Hollinghurst

When the deus ex machina turns out to be a pill-popping bodybuilder called Lars, it’s a fair bet that you’re reading a Hollinghurst.

As with The Line of Beauty and The Swimming Pool Library, both of which I loved, The Spell details the hyperactive love lives of a group of middle class gay men. The plot is structured around a series of oppositions – old/young, country/city, E/alcohol – but Hollinghurst never chooses the obvious options and keeps the reader interested. He also remains one of the best line-by-line prose writers around, making The Spell a very satisfying read indeed.