Lucy is a novella written by Jamaica Kincaid and is a coming of age story about a young girl who leaves her home in Antigua to work as an au pair for a rich family. There are themes of postcolonialism, identity and racism. Lucy becomes close to her employer, Mariah, who doesn’t seem to appreciate the cultural differences between them nor the privilege she has. It’s interesting the remarks Lucy makes about how Mariah regards people as her possessions. I don’t know if it was because I was reading the book too fast but there’s something about the writing that feels spiky. I don’t think Lucy is a reliable narrator. There were contradictory parts to the story. I liked the forthrightness of Lucy and her observations too. Some of them brought me up short.
There were parts of the stories that felt formulaic. Lucy makes a friend, called Peggy and has romantic relationships with Hugh and Paul, then there is the breakup of the marriage of her employers. I think where I could particularly relate with Lucy is in the relationship she has with her mother: how you are disappointed by how they behave, how they treat you differently from your siblings, and, in turn, how you disappoint them.
I know, I know I shouldn't get too excited about hyped up books because they inevitably disappoint. We Had To Remove This Post was more about toxic relationships than the initial premise that the book is sold on. There were points I thought oh good we’re getting to the crux of the story now, but no. The last 3/4 chapters I had what the fuck running through the head on a loop. As for the end … I didn't mindWe Had To Remove This Post, some of the writing I liked but it was very surface level. It was not what I was expecting and it made me feel uncomfortable.
Here, the passing of Varuz was clearly written on the land. Now and then, we saw some fragments of its former glory: an old villa, hidden behind a line of trees; the tumbling walls of what had been a thriving village; lines of apple trees that marked where an orchard had once been. But the villas were mouldering, their roofs gone and their halls open to the rain; the villages were empty and the fields they had once served untilled; the orchards overgrown and choked with weeds and ivy.
In the diminished city of Varuz, the Doctor is assumed to be someone that he isn't by those who rule the state. As the Duke and his wife await word from beyond the city boundaries, the Doctor is anxious to avoid a war. He wants the Duke to seek a peaceful solution with Conrad, and his army.
Mihail started. ‘This is not the whole of your force?’ ‘This?’ Conad smiled. ‘This is only the vanguard.’ he turned to Clara. ‘Aurelian does not lie. Guena does not lie. And nor do I, lady. When the battle is won, you will see that Conrad, for all his roughness, is as honourable a man as all the lords and ladies of Varuz.’
The Doctor and Clara are implicated in a plot against the current Duke by his wife. Clara is banished from Varuz, with an imposter The Ambassador. You could tell straight away he wasn't who he said he was. It turns out that he is a collector after the Glamour, which McCormack also wrote about in her book The King’s Dragon. There was no mention of the Doctor having previous experience with the Glamour, a huge technology. What the Glamour represents is interesting. It is addictive. It consumes you. It is a desire for something that is not quantifiable. These knights show up in Royal Blood, they have been on a quest forever for the Holy Grail and have not yet found what they are looking for. They are exhausted. The knights follow their leader Lancelot. Yes, King Arthur and all that. The Doctor takes the mickey, because they are just a story. They can't be real. The Doctor is a part of Royal Blood but barely does anything. He feels very much in the background.
Despite Varuz being a city on a distant planet, it feels very Earth-like, and mediaeval. The world building is great. Royal Blood is a very good story.
Communications established, the first thing the Doctor did, inevitably, was to start to complain. ‘Where have you got to? It’s hopeless without you. People keep thinking I’m being rude! I don’t know what you do to stop them getting angry with me.’
I was sure that I wasn't going to like The Pale Horse. It was the only Christie they had in the library, so I had to take it. I thought oh no when a list of names was found on the body of a murdered priest, because I’m terrible with names. Actually what lost me in The Pale Horse was when betting and the odds were mentioned. That went straight over my head. I am also terrible with numbers. Despite a slow start, The Pale Horse became enthralling reading. So much so that I thought witches had found a way to murder people through spells and sacrifices from a distance. Not so. The culprit’s methods for murder turned out to be very ordinary. The murderer was obvious. Now, after the reveal. I made plenty of wrong guesses.
Then I stayed in bed and smoked a few cigarettes ‘til noon. I didn’t want to have lunch at Celeste’s as usual because I knew they’d ask questions and I don’t like that. I cooked myself some eggs and ate them out of the pan. Without any bread because I’d run out and I didn’t feel like going down to buy some.
The Outsider by Albert Camus
The Outsider begins with the funeral of a man’s mother. Then expands to his relationship with his boss and some confusion to his request for 2 days off from work falling on a weekend. One other relationship he has is with Marie, once a typist at the office where he works. There are his neighbours, Salamano and Raymond. It is on Raymond that the second part of The Outsider hinges. ‘Just then my other next-door neighbour came in. Local people say he lives off women. When you ask him what he does though, he’s a ‘warehouseman’. Most people don't like him much. But he often talks to me and sometimes comes round for a minute or two because I listen to him. I find what he says interesting. Besides, I've got no reason not to talk to him. He’s called Raymond Sintes.’ It’s a curious statement of attachment to make. It felt like the way that I have sometimes wandered haphazardly (occasionally naively) into relationships.
When I imagined the sound of the first little waves under the soles of my feet, the feel of the water on my body and the freedom it would give me, I’d suddenly realise how closed in I was by my prison walls. But that only lasted a few months. After that, I thought like a prisoner. I’d look forward to my daily walk in the courtyard or to my lawyer’s visits. And I managed quite well the rest of the time.
The Outsider by Albert Camus
The narrative was him going about his daily life. I did not find the main protagonist very different, as other people have in their reviews of The Outsider. Is it not natural to be detached from our surroundings, to put a face on to fit in? Our protagonist actually doesn't do that. Goes with the flow of things. There was much fuss made about how unemotional the man was at his mother’s funeral. I liked the way that this was written. Straight and uncomplicated. Dour.
Sure, The Outsider might not be the most excitingly written story but I liked it nonetheless.
I was assailed by memories of a life which was no longer mine, but in which I’d found my simplest and most lasting pleasures: the smells of summer, the part of town that I loved, the sky on certain evenings, Marie’s dresses and the way she laughed. And the utter pointlessness of what I was doing here took me by the throat and all I wanted was to get it over with and to go back to my cell and sleep.