The Eye of the Sheep by Sofie Laguna

Meet Jimmy Flick. He's not like other kids - he's both too fast and too slow. He sees too much, and too little. Jimmy's mother Paula is the only one who can manage him. She teaches him how to count sheep so that he can fall asleep. She holds him tight enough to stop his cells spinning. It is only Paula who can keep Jimmy out of his father's way. But when Jimmy's world falls apart, he has to navigate the unfathomable world on his own, and make things right.

Told from the mesmerising point of view and in the inimitable voice of Jimmy, this is an extraordinary novel about a poor family who is struggling to cope with a different and difficult child.

High scores all around could take this month’s book to the top of our list this year.

Consistent remarks such as, ‘Well written’, ‘great insight’, and ‘brilliantly portrayed’ went around the table, with everyone feeling much empathy for Jimmy and his whole family, even the father, whose struggle with alcohol and domestic violence would not normally get a great deal of sympathy from our group! We all thought Robbie a wonderful big brother and Paula a sad, yet endearing character whose only fault was she loved too much.

It was thought that Laguna found a unique way to tell a child’s story through his own autistic view of the world. It was left up to us, the readers, to fill in any gaps which, with Jimmy’s frankness and precision, we found easy to do (although some found it all a little overwhelming).

There were many social issues addressed in this book … mental health, domestic violence, education, community services and generational dysfunction, so if you are even a little sensitive to familial turmoil, you might find the contents a little disturbing.

But there was also an uplifting side to this novel. It gives good insight into children on the spectrum, their joys and challenges, and there is also hope and throughout the book, love … misguided at times, but love nonetheless.

The only criticisms were the repetitive nature of Jimmy’s narration, (which we realise was necessary for a true portrait of who he was) and the fact that certain problems associated with such a dysfunctional family were glossed over, or not addressed at all. In other words, it could have been so much worse!

Then again, without exception, everyone in our group knew of or had experience with an autistic child, either professionally or personally, an they all believe that Laguna got it right.

So if you pick up The Eye of the Sheep and don’t shy away from its confronting aspects, you’re in for a powerful read!

The Hare with Amber Eyes by Edmund De Waal

264 Japanese wood and ivory carvings, none of them bigger than a matchbox: Edmund de Waal was entranced when he first encountered the collection in his great uncle Iggie's Tokyo apartment. 

When he later inherited the 'Netsuke', they unlocked a story far larger and more dramatic than he could ever have imagined.

From a burgeoning empire in Odessa to fin de siecle Paris, from occupied Vienna to Tokyo, Emund de Waal traces the netsuke's journey through generations of his remarkable family against the backdrop of a tumultuous century.

It is possible that our group has found a new favourite non-fiction author in the guise of Edmund de Waal. His prize winning The Hare with Amber Eyes (Costa Biography Award 2010) impressed us on many levels.

Of course the historically accurate tracing of his family history through their nestsuke collection was well written and researched, but we also found the read to be informative and compelling on the Jewish culture and their struggles during the Nazi occupation of Austria.

We all lamented the quality of the writing, although some would have preferred the vocabulary a little less academic … then again, some enjoyed the discovery of new and somewhat tricky words!

It was mentioned by a few of our group that it took a little while to get into The Hare, but once snared (pun intended) it is a trap you are happy to be caught in. In fact, one member is in no hurry to finish and is purposely taking it slow and extending the enjoyment.

Everyone found themselves researching ‘nestsuke’ in an attempt to learn more about these miniature carvings, and we all hoped to discover the secret of the little hare with amber eyes. But to our disappointment, this cute little critter, although in his family’s collection, was no more special than any of the others. Why the title reference? We are none the wiser!

We then went on to have a lively discussion on a few related topics … collecting of trinkets and the familial attachment they can hold, the history of Jewish culture and anti-Semitism, and the fate of classic art during WWII, its survival and destruction.

Though there were some of us who found the timing for this subject was slightly off for them personally, the scope of material for discussion was more than adequate for yet another interesting monthly meeting, in which we all came away smiling. Thank you ladies!

The Signature of All Things by Elizabeth Gilbert

5th January 1800. At the beginning of a new century, Alma Whittaker is born into a perfect Philadelphia winter. Her father, Henry Whittaker, is a bold and charismatic botanical explorer whose vast fortune belies his lowly beginnings as a vagrant in Kew Gardens. Alma's mother, a strict woman from an esteemed Dutch family, is conversant in five living languages (and two dead ones) and her knowledge of botany is equal to any man's. 

An independent girl with a thirst for knowledge, it is not long before Alma comes into her own within the world of plants and science. As Alma's careful studies of moss take her deeper into the mysteries of evolution, the man she comes to love draws her in the opposite direction - into the realm of the spiritual, the divine, and the magical. 
Alma is a clear-minded scientist; Ambrose is a Utopian artist. But what unites this couple is a shared passion for knowing - a desperate need to understand the workings of this world and the mechanisms behind all of life.

It would be a safe bet to say that most of our group were surprised by Elizabeth Gilbert’s latest novel. With her Eat Pray Love reputation preceding her, Gilbert’s Signature explores a completely different take on writing style. Most found the botanical history very interesting and loved the inclusion of Banks and Darwin within the pages. There was plenty to learn here, both historically and for the naturalist. To learn from a novel is something our group always happy to do.

It is also safe to say that the majority of us found the novel itself too long, that became quite exhausting in the end. Characters Alma and Henry were strong and clear, but so much energy was given to plants that there was little left for the other characters.

Regardless of these rebuffs, the scores were on the high side, with nothing below a five out of 10. So it cannot be said this book was a failure in the enjoyment stakes. If anything, we believe it worth the read, even if only to confirm that Gilbert is not just about fluffy, self affirmation (my words entirely!).   

Monsieur Perdu can prescribe the perfect book for a broken heart. But can he fix his own?

Monsieur Perdu calls himself a literary apothecary. From his floating bookstore in a barge on the Seine, he prescribes novels for the hardships of life. Using his intuitive feel for the exact book a reader needs, Perdu mends broken hearts and souls. The only person he can’t seem to heal through literature is himself; he’s still haunted by heartbreak after his great love disappeared.

Finally  Perdu hauls anchor and departs on a mission to the south of France, hoping to make peace with his loss and discover the end of the story. Joined by a bestselling but blocked author and a lovelorn Italian chef, Perdu travels along the country’s rivers, dispensing his wisdom and his books, showing that the literary world can take the human soul on a journey to heal itself.

We have started the year with a positive response to this month’s book. Everyone, without exception, found Little Paris Bookshop to be a delightful read that scored high in the enjoyment stakes. Mind you, there were varying degrees of enthusiasm – from extreme pleasure to mild enjoyment.

Either way, we had a wonderful discussion concerning many points, such as … the quirky, flamboyant characters, the ‘oh so French’ sense of place, philosophy, lyrical prose and the question of translations (Paris was translated from German) and how they interpret, to name just a few.

As a whole, our group loved the idea of Perdu and his floating library. The connection between books and people is always a popular theme with us and we love references to reading material in novels. Some of us would have liked this explored a little more, but this small remiss did not distract from the story in any way. If there was any real criticism it would be Perdu’s self-absorption, with a tendency towards repetition when it came to the loss of his one true love, Manon.

A large majority of our group have travelled in France and felt the description of the country side, canals, lochs and villages were very well done. So much so that one just wanted to ‘close your eyes and open them again in France!’

High praise for a light, yet intelligent novel that is a big contender for best read of 2016 … although it is early days yet!

It is 1922, and London is tense. Ex-servicemen are disillusioned, the out-of-work are demanding change. And in a genteel house in the south of the city, its inhabitants still recovering from the devastating losses of the First World War, life is about to be transformed.

Widowed Mrs Wray and her daughter, Frances  find themselves obliged to take in lodgers. The arrival of Lilian and Leonard Barber, a young couple of the ‘clerk class’ brings unsettling things with it – gramophone music, colour, fun. Open doors offer glimpses of the newcomers’ habits.

As Francis and Lilian are drawn into an unexpected friendship, loyalties begin to shift. Secrets are confessed and dangerous desires are admitted.

The most ordinary of lives, it seems, can explode into passion and drama.

If a bookclub’s year is set by the success of its first meeting, we are in for a beauty!

From ‘Loved it!’ to “Lacks direction’ and ‘Bloated narrative’ … these few comments sum up our group’s differing views of Sarah Waters’ latest novel The Paying Guests.

Our discussion focused mainly on Waters’ writing style. Some loved the way she is able to build tension and through narrative alone, create a perfect depiction of 1920s London … its people, class structure and political direction. Not an easy thing to do, but Waters does it not only well, but with real skill. The suppression experienced by Frances in England’s post war society is well represented and research for courtroom procedure spot on.

Some feel that Waters is a brave writer who has no fear in subscribing to the reader a duty of prediction and projection. No tidy little parcels tied up with bows and ribbons. Her characters and their situations read authentic, and as in real life, there are few precise outcomes. It is left to the reader to decide how such lives will continue.

This style of course, does not suit everyone. Some of the group found the novel too long and wordy. It lacked a sense of direction. The love triangle was found to be soppy and contrived, and altogether too predictable.

Once our diverging views were aired, we continued with a stimulating talk on domestic violence and the defining role of women in society throughout the centuries.

Hard to argue against the significance of a novel when it spawns such lively discussion … thank you ladies and welcome to another great year of reading!

Walking Free by Dr Munjed Al Muderis

  

In 1999, Munjed Al Muderis was a young surgical resident working in Baghdad when a squad of Military Police marched into the operating theatre and ordered the surgical team to mutilate the ears of army deserters. When the head of surgery refused, he was executed in front of his staff. Munjed's choices were stark -- comply and breach the medical oath 'do no harm', refuse and face certain death, or flee.
That day, Munjed's life changed forever. He escaped to Indonesia, where he boarded a filthy, overcrowded refugee boat, bound for Australia.
Like his fellow passengers, he hoped for a new life, free from dear and oppression, but for ten months he was incarcerated in what became known as the worst of the refugee camps, Curtin Detention Centre in Western Australia.
On 26 August 2000, Munjed was finally freed. Now, fourteen years late, he is one of the world's leading osseiointegration surgeons, transforming the lives of amputees with a pioneering technique that allows them to walk again. 

Finding the right voice for telling a biographical memoir, particularly in stressful and traumatic circumstances, can be a hit or miss affair. Too much emotion and the facts of a story are lost, too little and it becomes just another non-fiction book loaded with specifics.

Where does Walking Free land in this literary minefield? Well, our group, although scoring it high, generally found Al Muderis to be a little too removed from his situation and those around him. While using his professional skills to help, our readers felt he never really empathized with any of his fellow refugees and in his own mind, felt himself above their station.

It was pointed out by some that this could well be the product of his up-bringing and cultural class system.

Nobody argued this view and if honesty is important here, then the author did not fail to conform. For instance, we commented that he could of easily omitted the finer details of his escape from the hospital and Hussein’s henchmen, but instead he truthfully retold his act of hiding for hours in a women’s toilet before fleeing for his life. Not exactly hero worshipping stuff! But then his amazing work with orthopaedic medicine could not help but impress us all. Some members knew staff who worked with Al Muderis while at Wollongong Hospital and all reports had been good. So, maybe a written account cannot always transfer a person’s true nature.

Everyone found the cultural history and details of Iraq very interesting and felt they came away understanding a complex and unfamiliar society a little bit better. We were moved into having an interesting conversation on refugees … their circumstances, choices and constraints and also the  options we have in providing a humane and just society of our own.

We love it when a book leads us into such a discussion … if the writing wasn’t brilliant and the author’s personality not exactly to our taste, it matters little. The pay off is a friendly, supportive environment where we can all feel comfortable expressing our thoughts and opinions. And for that, Dr Al Muderis, we thank you. 

The End of Your Life Book Club

During her treatment for cancer, Mary Anne Schwalbe and her son Will spent many hours sitting in waiting rooms together. To pass the time, they would talk about the books they were reading. 

Once, by chance, they read the same book at the same time - and an informal book club of two was born. Through their wide-ranging reading, Will and Mary Anne - and we, their fellow readers - are reminded how books can be comforting, astonishing, and illuminating, changing the way that we feel about and interact with the world around us.

 When does a loving tribute turn into a sentimental dialogue of soppiness? The answer to that, dear reader, is in the hands that hold the book!

Our group was polarised somewhat this month. One member loved this book so much she purchased a copy for her shelf. She found the book discussions between mother and son extremely interesting and their journey endearing, and to a certain degree, reassuring. She loved the fact that Will took time out of his life to transport his ill mother to treatment, help her with a blog and generally support her through a life-ending illness. Doing all this without a hint of regret or selfish regard really is a mother’s greatest wish. We could all be so beholden!

Then there was the opposite side of the pole … these views found the saccharine discourse repetitive, dreary and simply too good and sweet to believe. Rather than feeling empathy for Mary Anne, they felt inadequate (the woman must have been a Saint!) and some felt the author gave into the urge to glorify his mother’s life. Therapy writing? Maybe … but most of our readers could not summon the empathy needed to consent to such a faultless accolade.

Grant it, these comments did not come without a certain amount of guilt … everyone felt they should have had more sympathy for someone fighting cancer so stoically. But then again, isn’t that the writer’s job …to arouse these emotions in us?

It was decided that the book itself was meant to pay homage to the author’s mother and heal a heart that had lost someone special. A nice thought, but something more honest, without the name dropping may have generated just a little more empathy within our group’s more stringent members.