I remembered the book from the 1970’s BBC TV series that I watched as a child. I particularly remembered the scene where Flashman, the school bully, roasts Tom in front of an open fire. But although the struggle against a bullying culture is a large part of the book’s message, I was surprised to realize that it’s main message was the growth of a normal, English boy into an English man.

The opening chapters deal with Tom’s early childhood, and describe country life in the Vale of the White Horse. The people we see there are held up as examples of good, honest working folk, the best that England can produce. The author certainly does not approve of modern customs.

Tom is sent to Rugby, a public school, and we find that he is no better than average at his lessons, but masterful at getting into and out of trouble: he comes home late after a long run; he falls foul of a gamekeeper and a local farmer; and he is involved in a famous fight. The School’s headmaster despairs of him, but he hatches a plan to pair Tom with a “good” boy who will need his protection, and so we meet George Arthur.

For me, this is where the book loses a great deal of its fun. It becomes a catalogue of virtuous behaviour as Tom learns to try properly at his lessons instead of using a crib, to pray nightly as he was taught, and to value honesty and “Christian” manliness. My strong impression is that this second part of the book represents the meat of what Thomas Hughes has to say to us. I found it more than a little priggish and proselytising, and was made distinctly uncomfortable by the overtly Christian message. For instance, one of the scenes that had the greatest effect on Tom was talking with Arthur , who had narrowly survived a bout of fever. The dream that Arthur recounts isn’t at all subtle in its portrayal of Christian ideals, and yet it strongly affected Tom. It would have had me sticking two fingers down my throat if I’d been in Tom’s position.

Nevertheless, I am glad I did re-visit this book. I now have a much deeper appreciation of what it really is. And most importantly, I have a deep pride in what I have made.

Allow me to clarify. How many terrorists are there in Great Britain? One hundred? One thousand? I don’t know, but 1000 seems on the high side. How many of them would be stupid enough to use a camera suspiciously and openly? Now ask yourself how many busybodies, or even public spirited citizens who have been scared by the Government’s misguided demonization of Muslims, will think they have seen something suspicious that should be reported. Every day. It’ll be chaos. I give it a month for the problems to become evident, and six months before they abandon the campaign. It’ll only be that long to save someone’s face.

What a farce!

Erotica, my arse! This is pornography plain and simple. The characters barely attain two dimensions, even Fanny herself. Most are thin and sketchy, and little more than caricatures. Good characters are all uniformly good looking, and give Fanny a good time sexually, while bad characters are ugly, and they bore and pain her. Worst of all, to my mind, is Fanny’s intolerance of male homosexuality, even though she is thwarted in her attempts to have the only two men she ever sees together arrested for their “crime”.

I didn’t like this book at all. I finished it, just. I made the effort to finish it in tribute to the LibriVox readers who volunteered their time, and partly also because it is so well known that there must be something to it. I kept hoping that there would be more to the book than mere titillation, but the story finished before the quality arrived. My loss. Don’t let it be yours. This book is a warning that notoriety is not a good reason to read a book.

Verdict: no (and only just escaped being a NO).

This is a pot-boiler, as you might guess from my synopsis. It was a lot of fun, and kept me turning the page, but it certainly wasn’t very substantial fare. The plot went slightly beyond the line of credibility, the characters weren’t caricatures but neither were they fully rounded, but the situations were amusing. I’m glad I borrowed it from the library rather than buying it, but I don’t regret the short time I spent reading it.

Verdict: yes.

The poem is written in iambic pentameters. A long time ago I learned to scan Latin poetry, so I thought I knew about this: mixtures of spondees (DUM DUM) and dactyls (DUM DI-DI). I was stunned to find that almost every foot was a spondee or a trochee (DUM DI). When I thought about English doggerel, however, with its characteristic dum-di-dum-di-dum-di-dum-di-dum-di-dum rhythm (recall Hiawatha!) I realized that my preconceptions were just that, and that I should discard them.

But I did look through the poem, just to be sure I knew how to read it, and I found a couple of lines where an odd or archaic pronunciation would be necessary to keep the meter. For example the first two lines are

The frost performs its secret ministry
Unhelped by an wind. The owlet’s cry …

in which the word unhelped must be pronounced with three syllables instead of two to keep the meter of the line intact. Interspersed was similar, requiring four, not three syllables. Imagine me now muttering the poem with my fingers beating on the desk in time with each syllable, as I checked every single word to see whether I should say any more of them in that odd way. I found these: populous, numberless, fluttering, and articulate I said with only two syllables each; tower had only one syllable. There were a few others, but you get the picture.

The other challenge in reading the poem was to prevent myself from reading it line by line instead of in meaningful phrases.

What I’ve described makes it seem as though reading the poem was quite an effort, and you’d be right, it was. But I actually found the effort well worth it. By spending so much time on it, and thinking about how I was going to read it aloud, I found that I understood it so much better than I did on first reading. I thought at first it was a little rambling and pointless; by the end I appreciated the circular route the poet had taken, and understood his desire for his child to have a better life than he had had.

It was definitely a positive experience for me, one I wouldn’t have had if I hadn’t decided to volunteer at LibriVox. In fact, even when I did volunteer I never imagined I would read poetry, and still less did I imagine that I would enjoy it. Thanks Hugh.

In a parallel thread, we follow Jimmy Pirano, the Company representative on the planet, and incidentally son of the CEO of the company. Jimmy is given the job of increasing the planet’s catch of fish by an impossible amount, and a good deal of the book is devoted to his struggles to do so.

A third thread follows Richard, who has never really been a proper Shaman. He has simply gone through the motions. When he is bitten by a dangerously venomous fish, he experiences an internal change so great that it allows him finally to become a real Shaman. Richard’s and Jimmy’s stories cross and are resolved in the final scenes of the book.

The fundamental driver of the first half of the book is the impossible demand to increase the quota of fish caught. The characters expend a lot of energy trying to find out what subtle and devious plans have resulted in the unexpected and unreasonable demand. When the reason for the impossible demand became clear, I was distinctly disappointed by a turn of events I thought unlikely to happen in real life. Without spoiling the plot, I can’t say much more than that I would have thought such momentous issues would have been more widely discussed than they were.

My favourite parts of the book were the mystical sections where Otto is discovering his vocation as a Shaman. He discovers his ability to carve whelkies, spirit guides in the form of animals carved from driftwood, that are given by Shamans to people who need help. The carving process is referred to as freeing the animal from the wood. Otto also discovers how to bless boats, and that it involves a small sacrifice of his own blood. It is the difference between Otto’s form of blessing and Richard’s that lets us know that Otto is the real deal and Richard is the fake. My enjoyment of the slow discovery of a personal vocation continues a trend for me with Lowell, as I also enjoyed those parts of his other books where Ish was discovering his own vocation.

On the whole, however, I don’t think South Coast worked as well as the Trader’s Tales, nor did I feel the need to devour it in a single day, as I did with them, and so I rate this book yes.

I’ll get the rating out of the way first: I loved these books. I couldn’t stop listening. I managed to discipline myself enough that I subscribed to the chapter-a-day feed on Podiobooks for Quarter Share, but about four episodes into Half Share I just released all the episodes and listened to them over the next two days. Full Share was downloaded during one night and listened to completely the following day, a week day! It’s clear that I found all the books very compelling, and I liked them very much, so I rate them YES!

The books follow Ishmael Horatio Wang, a teenager who has to learn to find his own way through life after his Ancient Literature professor mother is killed in an accident. Finding his way involves both seeking his vocation and replacing his family. He finds his vocation in space, and his family on board the ship he joined. It is these parallel searches that are the strongest part of the books for me. Ish’s searches resonated strongly and were probably the main reason I was so drawn in by the story.

There are, however, weaknesses in the writing. Lowell has written that he wanted to create a hero who wasn’t born heroic. Indeed Ish starts out right at the bottom of the ladder, and is in no way anything more than a commoner with no heritage to sustain or drive him. But Ish excels in everything he tries: he is literate and perceptive; he is a studying and test-passing machine; he is a great lover he can do any job he turns his hand to; he is good looking and sexy; he is fit; and he even makes superb coffee. He has no failings or weaknesses at all, which does tend to reduce the level of tension for me.

There is an element of mystery – almost magic – through the novels, which is odd to find in science fiction. Make no mistake, this is science fiction, not fantasy. The ship that Ish joins, the Lois McKendrick, has a ship’s spirit whom Ish trusts implicitly, and who is almost a full character in her own right. Another character, Sarah Krugg, is a shaman, and is credited with uncanny powers. I found the idea of magic in a science fiction novel strangely compelling, but I imagine that it might put some hard core SF fans off.

No review of these books would be complete without commenting on the reading. Nathan Lowell reads his stories with a warm, intimate voice that draws you in. The characters all have their own voices, each subtly drawn and distinct from the others. I found the reading excellent.

I would be surprised if Lowell could find a publisher for these books, because of the weaknesses I mentioned. I enjoyed them immensely, despite the weaknesses, but I think that it is because their plot and characters seemed designed to appeal especially to someone like me. I’ll certainly listen to anything else that Lowell writes and podcasts.

Part of the reason for making this record is to encourage me to think about my reactions to the book. I’ll summarize the text, without spoilers if that is relevant, and then I’ll say whether or not I liked the book. I’ll allow myself four levels of liking:

• N(O!) - I hated it, it’s a surprise that I finished it, if indeed I did.
• n(o) - I didn’t like it, and I may not have finished it.
• y(es) - not bad, but not one of my favourites.
• Y(ES!) - great! I’ll almost certainly re-read this one day and I’ll probably recommend it to friends.

This week’s book is Thornyhold, by Mary Stewart. Geillis (pronounced “Jillis” I think) is the daughter of a clergyman, who was generally unhappy as a child, with only a few bright spots: a short-lived pet; and the very infrequent visits of a magical “sponsor” (what else do you call an irreligious Godmother?) after whom Geillis is named.

When Geillis the sponsor dies, she leaves her cottage Thornyhold to our heroine, who moves into the house and finds the peace and joy that she lacked while growing up. She also discovers that a puzzle has been bequeathed with the house. With the help of a friendly boy, Will, and his father, and a cat called Hodge, Geillis tackles the puzzle and begins to live happily. Will she live happily ever after? The page I linked to, at my local library, lists the book’s genre as Romantic Suspense, so I don’t want to give away the ending.

I loved the book, and devoured it in only a couple of days. I liked Geillis’s indomitable spirit, which she maintained even after a thoroughly dispiriting early life. The magical moments felt plausible but dreamlike, and were a temporary respite from the awfulness that left me hoping for better for her. But the suspense was carefully handled so I wasn’t sure of the outcome until the dénouement, which was satisfying. I have no hesitation in giving it my top mark: Y