Home

“…culture belongs…in its original context.” #kafka #20BOS26 Book 29

August 19, 2026

kaggsysbookishramblings Uncategorized , , , 16 Comments

As I do keep saying, books lead to other books… I was unsure what to pick up after the Borges/di Giovanni and did spend a little time reading up on the state of Borges’ literary estate. And this reminded me that I had a book lurking on the TBR which explored another issue of contested literary heritage – “Kafka’s Last Trial” by Benjamin Balint. Obviously this was going to be the perfect next read…

Literary estates have always been a torrid subject; from the burning of Lord Byron’s journals by his publishers through to Ted Hughes’s somewhat cavalier treatment of Sylvia Plath’s papers, it’s an emotive subject. Kafka’s legacy, however, is a knotty one, and it’s the opposite of the two cases I quoted. As is well known, Kafka died young from tuberculosis and left instructions with his friend Max Brod to destroy all of his papers and unpublished writings. Brod famously ignored those instructions, edited and published the writings, and because of that we have “The Trial”, “The Castle” and so much more. Brod always claimed that he had told Kafka he wouldn’t burn the papers, so you can read that as you will – but what can’t be argued about is the fact that Brod saved the papers and so we have Kafka’s works.

However, the posthumous life of Kafka’s manuscripts was a complex one, with many of them travelling with Brod to Palestine and then ending up in the care of his secretary Ester Hoffe after Brod’s death. On Esther’s death she bequeathed them to her daughters; this legacy was contested by a number of countries who all felt that the papers should not be held by individuals but that Brod had intended them to be held by an institution. Bitter legal wrangles ensued between the Hoffe family and those interested institutions; and in his book Balint explores the whole history, from the time of Kafka’s life through to the court proceedings in this century. It’s a complex and gripping story.

Kafka is usually described as a German-language Jewish Czech writer and he was born in Prague, which was at the time part of the Austro-Hungarian empire was something of a melting pot. The family were middle class and assimilated, and Franz himself worked for an insurance firm. As he died in 1924 he missed the horrors visited upon his people in the Second World War (although many of his family members did not); Brod and his family managed to escape just in time. Balint, however, does not tell this story in a chronological manner, Instead, he begins with a chapter on the final trial in Israel concerning who will get Kafka’s papers, and in subsequent chapters moves backward and forwards in time exploring different angles of the story.

Much of the court proceedings seem to centre round the validity of the various wills and bequests; these are often woolly, and it isn’t clear, for example, which parts of Brod’s papers he intended to pass on to Hoffe, or which he wanted to go to an institution such as the National Library of Israel. It has to be born in mind, too, that there are descendants of Kafka’s family still living, and you would expect them to have something of a say in the issue too (although they don’t really appear to). In the end, though, things boil down to an underlying issue – should Kafka be considered a German writer or a Jewish writer, and which country has the strongest right to be custodian of his papers.

That’s actually a really knotty problem, and Balint explores it in some depth as it isn’t that straightforward. Although Kafka was Jewish, it’s never really clear whether he could be considered a Zionist, and had he lived there’s no certainty he would have escaped to Palestine like Brod; in fact, the latter considered moving to American like so many others did (Hannah Arendt springs to mind). Although Kafka flirted around the edges of the movement, he stated he was alternately attracted and repelled by it. Balint explains the forceful attitude of Israel towards becoming custodians of all Jewish heritage, but they did seem late at wanting to hold onto Kafka’s relics, and Balint highlights the fact that for a long time Israeli culture was completely indifferent to Kafka’s work.

To consider Kafka as a German author is equally problematic of course, particularly as his three sisters perished in the Holocaust. Balint explores the post-war attempts by Germany to make cultural reparation, but it just somehow seems inappropriate for that country to hold Kafka’s papers. Really, Balint has criticisms for both sides and he brings a personal angle into his whole discussion of the issue as he considers the emotional effect on the Hoffe family; the descriptions of the state things were when the papers were removed from Ester’s daughter Eva Hoffe’s residence make it clear that manuscripts like this need to be stored properly and not in a domestic setting, but the family were personally devastated by all the litigation.

On a wider level, the book ties in with the issue of literary legacies, and how they’re contested, and this is not a new subject; I recalled reading Henry James’ “The Aspern Papers” pre-blog, and of course Borges has been the victim of problematic estate behaviour. I’ve often heard more recently of writers depositing their papers with libraries and the like before their death, and I can’t help thinking that’s a good way forward. Personally, I know a lot of Kafka’s manuscripts are held at the Bodleian Library in Oxford and frankly that seems that’s a neutral place for them to be.

“Last Trial” was a fascinating read from start to finish, and although the structure is perhaps unusual, it certainly keeps you glued to the story. I also found myself deeply saddened because of what is happening in that part of the world nowadays; at one point Balint quotes Brod as saying.:

The Jewish state we wanted to prepare “over there,” in Palestine, was to be founded on justice and selfless love between individuals and included, as a matter of course, offering friendship and help to our next-door neighbors, the Arabs

Eight years on from the publication of this book, and decades after Brod’s comment, we seem as far away from that ideal as possible. Putting that aside, though, “Kafka’s Last Trial” is a brilliantly constructed book which explores so many issues and certainly I’m still thinking about it a long time after finishing it. A fascinating read, and I definitely want to continue exploring the newer, re-edited and re translated editions of Kafka’s works.

“Translation is an art.” #borges #20BOS26 Book 28

August 17, 2026

kaggsysbookishramblings Uncategorized , , , 22 Comments

It was inevitable that after finishing “Trafalgar”, with its echoes of Borges (amongst others), that I would be drawn towards a book by or about him; and I realised I had the perfect title on the TBR which chimed in with my current reading mood completely. That book is “The Lesson of the Master: On Borges and his Work” by Norman Thomas di Giovanni, and it’s a relatively recent arrival at the Ramblings. I came across mention of it when I was digging about online to try to find out what other translations of Borges were available, specifically by di Giovanni; from what I’ve seen, his versions are very highly regarded by some readers, and when you add in the fact that he actually worked alongside Borges for a number of years on these, that makes his work very appealing. I’m still on the hunt for his translations, but this volume, which brings together a series of essays and memoirs about the great writer, sounded perfect.

Borges and di Giovanni met in 1967 whilst the Argentine writer was lecturing in Harvard; they hit it off and the younger man spent four years with Borges, working on a series of major translations of his prose and poetry into English. The first section the book, “In Memory of Borges”, covers this time; as well as recalling how they worked together on the writings, di Giovanni paints a wonderful picture of Borges’ everyday life and even tells of how he helped the older writer flee from his first wife Elsa, as the marriage had broken down. It’s a fascinating, revealing memoir, and worth the entry price of the book alone.

Section two contains four essays which explore different aspects of Borges’ writing; whether considering how the Argentinian’s work has been interpreted, discussing his sources and his success (or not) in his biographical writings, as well as his playing with reality and identity, each essay makes for thought-provoking reading. Di Giovanni knew Borges and his work so well, and is able to draw on his experience alongside the elder writer.

The final section has three essays which mostly focus on the process of translating Borges. These were particularly compelling, especially as di Giovanni takes some in depth looks at varying renderings of the fictions into English; it’s worth remembering that Borges was fluent in the English language himself, so the fact that he worked alongside di Giovanni to produce their versions of the Spanish originals does indicate to me that they ought to be the preferred versions.

Intriguingly, one piece Borges and di Giovanni worked on was an ‘autobiography’ by Borges, which was published in a particular collection of short stories the two men had prepared. The story of how di Giovanni had to nudge Borges into producing this is revealing, and I’m going to have to do some digging about to see whether I can track this down as the collection it appeared in is out of print. And that leads onto the story which is somehow the undercurrent all the way through this book…

From what I can tell, Borges and di Giovanni had an agreement that they each would receive 50% royalties from the books they produced together. When Borges died in 1986, his second wife Maria Kodama became his literary executor, and apparently her administration of his estate was controversial. She rescinded publishing rights for all previous collections of his work in English, including those prepared with di Giovanni, and commissioned the new translations by Andrew Hurley – the ones which I’ve read. I’ve heard criticism of those, although I’m not in the best position to judge as I’m a monolinguist; however, I’m a strong believer in supporting translations where the original author is involved (Italo Calvino and William Weaver come to mind).

Di Giovanni does touch on these matters, and in some of the comparisons he shows, he makes a strong case for many of the translators of Borges having got a LOT of things wrong. All of this adds interest to what is already a fascinating read, and it left me very much having to restrain myself from going off exploring down a number of Borges rabbit holes. But this aside, these essays are wonderful, giving an insight into Borges himself and different aspects of his life; I found it absolutely compelling reading.

So, where does that leave me know with regard to reading Borges? Well, I read my way through the Hurley versions, and did enjoy them. But I’m very curious, and do want to read some of di Giovanni’s versions to see how I like them, as basically you can never have enough Borges. Alas, most of the books they did together are out of print and very expensive, although I think it is probably possible to source illicit e-book versions. It seems that I may have no choice but to go down that Borgesian rabbit hole…

“You could…write a story with each one of my trips” #WITMonth #Trafalgar #20BOS26 Book 27

August 14, 2026

kaggsysbookishramblings Uncategorized , , , 34 Comments

…aaaand inevitably, my plans go out of the window… As I mentioned at the end of July, I had made a modest pile of books for August’s Women in Translation Month, and for two titles I’ve stuck to my plans. However, I saw mention online (I think via a Penguin newsletter) of new editions of fictions by Angelica Gorodischer, and I recalled that I had an earlier copy which came as a review book from the publisher when they were launching a little sci fi series (back in 2020!!). The books is called “Trafalgar”, translated by Amalia Gladhart; and having sat on Mount TBR for far too long, it was the perfect time to drag it off for WIT.

I’m not sure how much attention I was paying when the book arrived (this *was* in the pandemic days), but a quick look at the blurb was enough to intrigue me this time round. Gorodischer was an Argentinian author whose work crossed genres, often with a feminist slant, and she sadly died in 2022 at the age of 93. Born in Buenos Aires, she spent most of her life in the Argentinian city of Rosario, and this is the place which serves as the base for the title character of the book – one Trafalgar Medrano. An intergalactic trader who can’t help falling into tricky situations, he’s defined by his love for his city, black cigarettes and bitter coffee – as well as an obvious desire to share the stories of his adventures.

So in a sequence of nine stories we follow Trafalgar’s escapades, and these are vivid and entertaining. On one world, he lands in a particular city and setting, only to find out the next day that everything is completely different. These changes happen nightly, until Trafalgar comes to understand the strange structure of the planet. On another, the very underdeveloped residents seem to be ruled by a strange music which infects one of Trafalgar’s fellow travellers. A longer journey takes our intrepid adventurer to what appears to be a mirror galaxy of ours, where the Earth equivalent is at a different period of its history, and unfortunately Trafalgar can’t help interfering with Christopher Columbus…

In truth, Trafalgar seems to travel to an endless variety of planets; on one trip he finds a place where the dead refuse to stay where the should be; on another, an inhabitant who appears crazy is actually the sanest person there; and unexpectedly, he manages to develop a family. Trafalgar is nothing if not a great storyteller!

I went into this book not really knowing what to expect, and I was absolutely knocked out by it; I couldn’t put it down and devoured it in big gulps. I’m generally selective about my science fiction reading, preferring to avoid the hard, space-opera type, but this was nothing like that. Reading as a kind of cross between pulp, noir and retro sci fi, each story is related by Trafalgar himself, but Gorodischer cleverly varies the method. In some, he tells his tale to a narrator (perhaps the author herself), who plies him with coffee (often in a bar called the Burgundy) and cigarettes, nudging him when he gets distracted. Sometimes other friends are present or are recipients of the story, and one is related via the narrator’s aunt. In one he even tells the story directly himself! So there is variety in the presentation of the adventures and the book is never dull.

But although these stories might ostensibly just present as space adventures, there’s a lot more going on. As well as the inventiveness of the various worlds Trafalgar visits, Gorodischer builds in discussion of a number of concepts (some of which did stretch me in places.) For example, one story mentions arborescent universes which Wikipedia tells me are “a tree-like, hierarchical branching structure of reality. The term combines “arborescent” (branching like a tree) with cosmological or philosophical multiverses where timelines, choices, or space domains split progressively outward from a single origin or root.” That’s just one example, but it’s a clever way to incorporate larger concepts into your work by building them into a series of adventure stories.

As I was enjoying this book, I did have echoes of other writers I love; the space adventure element made me think of Stanislaw Lem’s Ijon Tichy, who whizzes around the universe often getting into scrapes. And the inventiveness of the other worlds which Gorodischer creates suggested both her fellow countryman Borges, and also the wonderful creativeness of Italo Calvino and his multiple invisible cities. Those comparisons shouldn’t be read as insulting, but actually an indication of how highly I rate Gorodischer’s creativity.

So as you can tell, this was unplanned hit for my Women in Translation month reading. Interestingly, I believe Gorodischer is best known for a book called “Kalpa Imperial”, which is also being reissued by Penguin in a translation by Ursula K. Le Guin (which has instantly gone on my wishlist). Strange to say, “Kalpa Imperial”, which was published *after* “Trafalgar”, gets a mention in the earlier book – has the author been time-travelling?? Certainly, there are quite of meta elements in here, with the narrator mentioning several times that she was going to write up Trafalgar’s adventures. Putting all that aside, however, I highly recommend exploring this book; even if you’re not a particular fan of sci fi, I think you’ll get a lot out of it. I did!

“…waiting for an inevitable disaster…” #WITMonth #20BOS26 Book 26 #intothewhirlwind

August 12, 2026

kaggsysbookishramblings Uncategorized , , , 32 Comments

I seem to have spent a lot of time recently involved in books which deal with the horrors of the 20th century; maybe it’s a reaction to what’s happening in our current world where it seems that the human race hasn’t moved on at all since then. Today’s book is a title I’ve had on the TBR in one form or another for a good number of years and have got close to reading several times – “Into the Whirlwind” by Eugenia Ginzburg, translated by Paul Stevenson and Manya Harari. As Simon commented on my end of July post, I own two copies of this book so there really isn’t any excuse not to get to it for Women in Translation month; as a Virago-adjacent publisher (Persephone), it also counts for All Virago/All August.

Born in Moscow in 1904, Ginzburg and her family moved to Kazan in 1909. Here, she studied, became a teacher and was a loyal, card carrying member of the Communist party, supporting Soviet society. By the 1930s, her second marriage to the mayor of Kazan, Pavel Aksyonov, who was also a member of the Central Executive Committee of the USSR, should have seen her safe and settled. But nothing was sure in 1930s Russia, and the assassination of a government minister, Kirov, in 1934 led to the Great Purge and show trials of the period, where hundreds of thousands of citizens were interrogated, tortured, killed or transported, rarely with any evidence at all. Because of her association with someone who had been accused of running a counter-revolutionary group, Ginzburg was arrested, interrogated and eventually imprisoned. Here, she tells part of her story.

The early chapters of the book set the scene, with Ginzburg detailing her life as it was when Kirov was killed. From that point until her eventual arrest in 1937, all her old certainties are stripped away; her party card is confiscated; she is interrogated and expected to condemn others; and despite her attempts to clear her name, she’s blocked whichever avenue she attempts to go down. Eventually, she goes to trial and despite always denying the charges against her, Ginzburg is of course found guilty with a sentence of ten years imprisonment. In some ways, she was fortunate; she was arrested and interrogated at a point before physical torture was introduced, but of course her experience was still brutal.

I would be guided simply by the voice of my conscience. I would speak only the truth about myself, I would sign no lies against myself or anyone else, and I would give no names. I must not be taken in by Jesuitical arguments which justified lies and fratricide. It was impossible that they could be of service to the Party I had so fervently believed in and to which I had resolved to dedicate my life.

Initially, Ginzburg spent two years in solitary confinement, although she still managed to make contact with other prisoners, and learned a code of tapping on walls which the inmates used to communicate. She records her encounters – with those in charge, with the various guards, and how simple things like access to books can be lifesaving. Descriptions of periods in punishment cells are brutal; but somehow Ginzburg never loses hope. After two years in prison, Ginzburg is transferred to a camp, and this is going to be in the distant and brutal settlement of Kolyma, at the other end of Russia in the far north-east of Siberia. The journey in itself is an ordeal, with the women transported in goods vans in horrendous conditions; many do not survive this and when they do finally arrive at the transit camp after the endless journey, things look bleak. The story breaks off with Ginzburg learning the ropes in the camp, trying to call in favours and find a position where she can survive; and her tale apparently continues in the follow-up, “Within the Whirlwind”. We know, of course, that she survives the camps or these books would not exist, but they stand as a record of what she went through.

Nowadays, the Soviet camps are public knowledge, but when Ginzburg was writing (this book came out in 1967), this kind of information was only relatively recent; Solzhenitsyn’s “One Day In The Life Of Ivan Denisovich” had appeared in 1962 and had made facts which were secretly acknowledged more widely known. The impact must have been enormous and the book still makes incredibly powerful reading. Ginzburg pulls no punches, tells it like it was and relates the brutal, inhuman conditions in which she and her fellow prisoners tried to survive. I doubt I would have had the strength to cope with what she went through, so for that I applaud her.

However, one of the most fascinating elements of the book is what it reveals about human behaviour and the human condition. Ginzburg herself records the women she encounters, her fellow prisoners of all kinds, and this is incredibly revealing. There are those who appear to have done nothing wrong and definitely should not be imprisoned, like Ginzburg herself; she meets people she knew in the past whose paths unexpectedly cross with her again in detention; and then there are the party hard-liners, who still believe in the system, insist that Stalin can do no wrong and that this is all a huge mistake. These latter, blinkered women are perhaps the most terrifying; unable to think for themselves or deviate from the party line, they reminded me of the kind of people you meet nowadays who blindly believe what politicians or the media tell them. Plus ça change…

“Whirlwind…” is a compelling read, yet it isn’t all down or depressing; there are parts where Ginzburg and her fellows are uplifted, whether from a glimpse of the countryside, a random act of kindness or an unexpected treat. And throughout they’re sustained by poetry and the written word. Any access to reading matter is a tonic; and they memorise and share the great poetry of their country, reciting it to each other and bolstering their spirits. Literature reminds them they’re human and that’s often vital when the women have nothing else left.

I’ve so often talked about the right book at the right time, and this one really hit the spot for me. It’s an unforgettable read which, while telling an incredible story, also demonstrates how resilient human beings can be. What also stands out are Ginzburg’s memories of the women she shared her ordeal with; she records what she knows of them, how they behaved in confinement, the trials and tribulations they shared, and (alas) some of their sad ends. As a memorial to their spirit, it’s powerful. As our world continues to slip further and further into rigid intolerance and vile human behaviour, it’s vital to be reminded that we can behave bravely and nobly, and not like beasts. An important book, and I’m glad #WITMonth nudged me into finally reading it.

(A note on editions: I’ve had my ancient Penguin for decades, but as it’s a bit fragile I picked up the Persephone edition some years ago at the trip to their shop when it was still in London. The contents are identical as far as I can see, apart from an afterword in the Persephone by Rodric Braithwaite, but the Persephone was definitely physically easier to read!)

“…we…avoid any demonstration of feelings…” #WITMonth #albertinesarrazin #20BOS26 Book 25

August 10, 2026

kaggsysbookishramblings Uncategorized , , , , 26 Comments

For once, my reading plans are actually proceeding as expected. My first read for Women in Translation Month is a book which was on my pile of possibles and is a relatively recent arrival – “The Crib” by Albertine Sarrazin, translated by Sonya Moor. I first read Sarrazin back in 2019 for the #1965Club; the book was her most famous, “Astragal“, and although I initially was a bit hesitant about it, it eventually got very much under my skin. I said at the time that I’d like to read more of her work, but there doesn’t seem to be much in translation. However, last year when I was ordering a copy of Nicholas Royle’s “ Paris Fantastique” directly from Confingo Publishing, I noticed that they were also releasing this new collection of Sarrazin’s short works, so it obviously got added to my order – and it turned out to be perfect for #WITMonth!

As I’ve mentioned, Sarrazin had a short and troubled life, spending much of it behind bars, and the stories here take place in a variety of penal settings. There are four short stories plus a piece which details Sarrazin’s journey to Tunis in 1966 after one of her books had won a prize. The fictions, “The Launderer”, “Bibiche”, “The Holy Joe Affair” and “The Crib” take you right inside the French prison system at the time, and as with Sarrazin’s other work I couldn’t help thinking they were autofiction. Apparently, Sarrazin wrote them whilst behind bars, and the results are moving and memorable.

The opener, “The Launderer” is narrated by a young woman working in the laundry in prison; separated from her husband, who’s incarcerated in the men’s wing of the same establishment. Her focus is on trying to communicate with him, but while she schemes about ways to get a letter out, she reveals her daily routine, bemoans the drudgery and describes her fellow inmates. “Bibiche” shows us a slightly different look at imprisonment, narrating the story from three different points of view – the titular prisoner (who is surprisingly young and also *very* sassy and full of herself, an orderly and a guard). This one is quite an eye-opener, with the minor Bibiche being something of a hardened criminal already and not apparently that worried about her future.

“Holy Joe” takes its focus as something which is vital to the prisoners, and that’s coffee. The getting of anything decent to drink is taken seriously and leads to tensions between some of the women; when a cup of coffee is at stake, anything goes… The final fiction, “The Crib” is a moving story of a prisoner constructing her annual nativity from very little; scrounged items, bits of soap, matches, pieces of thread – from these meagre items, she builds a small world which contrasts to the bleakness of the larger world in which she lives.

The non-fiction “Tunis” made for particularly interesting reading; Sarrazin hailed from Algeria, which is right next to Tunisia, and it’s clear from her record of the visit that it felt very much like coming home. She was adopted and eventually taken to France, so this rediscovery of her roots was obviously important and this is a very poignant piece of writing. Tragically, Sarrazin died in a botched operation the year after this visit, and I can’t help but wonder what further work she would have produced had she lived longer.

“Crib” ends with a chronology of Sarrazin’s life, and it’s clear from this that there is other work of hers that’s not available in English, which is a great shame. Her writing is sharp, funny, vivid and moving, and each of her different narrators (perhaps all facets of her own character?) has a fascinating story to tell. They all, however, share a desire to retain their individuality and to refuse to conform. Prison will not break them…

I must applaud Confingo and translator Sonya Moor for bringing us more Albertine Sarrazin in English (and I think the book is still available from the publisher’s website if you want to track down a copy). I would mention that I found the type of this edition quite small – for comparison below, a page of “Crib” set against another book I’ve been reading – but apart from that, the book is well produced, with an introduction by the translator, and comes recommended by me. This was a great way to start Women in Translation Month, and if you need any ideas for reading, this would be a good choice!

“…fate is a huge joke…” #thenameonthewall #20BOS26 Book 24

August 7, 2026

kaggsysbookishramblings Uncategorized , , 25 Comments

Despite my best efforts to focus on the books which are languishing on the TBR, there are occasions when my eye is caught by a fascinating new title and I have to source a copy to read straight away. That happened recently when Grant shared his thoughts on “The Name on the Wall” by Herve Le Tellier (translated by Adriana Hunter). He’s an author I’ve meant to get to for ages, but the subject matter of this one sounded irresistible; so inevitably a copy made its way to the Ramblings and instantly bypassed the mountain of other books waiting to be read…

Le Tellier is probably best known for his award-winning novel ” The Anomaly”; a polymath whose talents cover journalism, mathematics, food criticism teaching and, of course, writing, he’s been a member of the Oulipo group since 1992. A number of his fictions have been translated but “Name…” sounded to me to be a little different. As the book opens, Le Tellier is looking for a new place to live, what he describes as a ‘childhood home’, in the Drome region of France. When he comes across a former coaching inn in the hamlet of La Paillette, it seems perfect, and in he moves. However, when the current occupant (a ceramicist) moves out, she removes a number of plaques from the outer wall, and one of these reveals a name scratched into the surface of the building – Andre Chaix. This is the catalyst which sets Le Tellier off on a journey of exploration that, as well as revealing Chaix’s past, explore wider issues affecting the France of WW2 and which are still worryingly relevant today.

This is no straightforward historical retelling, however; instead, Le Tellier blends autofiction, meditation on the past, autobiography and the facts he can find out about Andre Chaix’s life to provide a compelling narrative which ranges widely. Chaix was a young man who was a French Resistance fighter and he lost his life fighting against the German invaders towards the end of the war. As Le Tellier digs deeper, he comes across physical records, including a box which, movingly, contains Chaix’s personal effects. Photos are shared throughout the book, of Chaix and his sweetheart Simone, as well as other members of the partisan group, documents and other mementos. Le Tellier does not exactly novelise Chaix’s life, but he explores a number of historical angles to try to show what the young man’s life was like, and that itself is extremely poignant.

The Third Reich was supposed to last a thousand years; it would manage twelve. But those twelve years were enough to mold some terrifying men and women. Nazism catalyzed an extraordinary aptitude for inhumanity present in some specimens of humanity. It endlessly asks us the question, what is a man and what shapes him?

This part of the narrative, however, acts as a kind of springboard for Le Tellier to dig more deeply into the reasons behind Chaix’s stance, and the fight he and his fellow partisans put up against Fascism. France fell quickly during WW2 and was occupied for a long time, so inevitably the subject of collaboration comes up, as well as the horrors perpetrated by the aggressors. It’s difficult from our standpoint to judge; how many of us really know how we would behave in a similar situation of occupation? What is clear, however, is that Le Tellier wants to speak out against the whitewashing which went on after the conclusion of the War, both on the side of France and of Germany; many of those who were culpable never came to justice and that needs to be remembered.

“Name…” is a dark and powerful book; Le Tellier doesn’t hold back when discussing the horrors of the Holocaust, the numbers killed and the sheer brutality of the Nazis. Yet it’s a book which also has hope, as people resisted them and eventually won. What’s sad, though, is that (as Le Tellier mentions early in the book) there is a need nowadays to look at the issues from that time once more and not to “skirt around the monster against which Andre Chaix fought”. We live in a world where Fascism is making a comeback and we need books like this which remind us what that word actually stands for.

There is no debating such ideas, there can be no polite war of words, but rather a true war waged against them. Because democracy is a conversation between civilized people; tolerance comes to an end with intolerance. Whoever sows hatred for another doesn’t deserve the hospitality of discussion. Whoever wants inequality in the human race has no right to equality in the discussion.

“The Name on the Wall” is a book which is fairly quick to read but for me had an incredible impact. By approaching the bigger subjects through the life and death of one man, Le Tellier makes his message even clearer, and demonstrates that we all need to be vigilant. I’ve turned to a lot of books recently which have dealt with WW2 and totalitarianism (in one form or another) and I wonder if that’s because of the threats I feel we’re currently facing. This was a timely read for me, highly recommended, and do go and check out Grant’s review too.

“…we’re observing it from a safe distance…” #MusicLessons #20BOS26 Book 22

August 5, 2026

kaggsysbookishramblings Uncategorized , , , 24 Comments

Back in 2018 I was lucky enough to cover a marvellous book from Notting Hill Editions, “How Shostakovich Changed My Life” by Stephen Johnson. A powerful and personal book, it touched on some big topics: wide ranging discussions of history and philosophy; touching encounters; compelling autobiography and personal experience; and a powerful belief in the transformative power of music. This all had a profound effect on me, and so when I saw that NHE were issuing a new book by Johnson, “Music Lessons: Seven Composers and What They Taught Me”, I knew I had to read it. And the book turned out to be just as affecting as the first.

The book is described as being about the cathartic power of music, and it’s just as personal as the first one. The composers featured. for reference, are: Anton Bruckner, Sergei Rachmaninoff, Johann Sebastian Bach, Lili Boulanger, Richard Wagner, Jean Sibelius and Ludwig van Beethoven. Taking a specific piece of music by each composer, Johnson explores the background to these compositions and the effect they’ve had on his life. And it’s clear from what Johnson reveals that his life has not always been easy.

As I mentioned in my earlier review, the author, who writes and broadcasts on classical music, had a troubled family life, growing up with a mother suffering from mental illness and a father who couldn’t cope. Johnson’s own problems were dismissed and swept under the table, with the overarching instruction being to not upset his mother. He found a kind of salvation in music, Shostakovich being discussed in the previous book, but here Johnson turns his focus to particular events in his life and how these pieces of music affected him at the time.

So for example, the opening essay on Bruckner takes Johnson back to a time at University where he had a serious breakdown; this particular piece of Bruckner music spoke to him at the time, and Johnson goes on to reveal the composer’s own background and struggles with mental health. He explores the music itself and its construction, always in terminology that I (as a non musician) could grasp and manages to convey beautifully the power of the music and how it touched him.

The chapter on Rachmaninoff was particularly interesting for me, as I find that the kind of classical music I enjoy most is the sort which would be thought of as dark or dramatic or depressing! It seems that Russian music is often considered this way because of being composed in the minor key, and so now I have an explanation of why the music I like sounds like it does! This chapter, which drew in many of Johnson’s experiences during periods spent in Russia, was really fascinating and again got me thinking deeply. And once again, the author explores how music affects the human brain, why we want to listen to sad music when we’re sad, and why what we might perceive as wallowing in gloom is actually helpful.

So each of the chapters continues to explore a composition which is important to Johnson, and as I mentioned this *is* a deeply personal book. He explores his relationship with his parents, the issues they had as a family and the elders’ own mental health condition; and he also brings in the bond he has with his wife Kate, as well as some deep friendships. Johnson is almost apologetic about this in the introduction to the book, but points out that the intention of including the personal angle is to demonstrate how music really *can* be part of a healing process, and he definitely does prove that here.

As with “Shostakovich”, “Music Lessons” ranges widely, drawing in history, biographies of composers, philosophy and so much more. The choices of composer and musical piece was really interesting; although I had heard of six of the seven names featured here, the actual compositions were new to me and so I spent some time tracking them down to listen to them myself. The new name for me was Lili Boulanger, whom I’d not come across before. Johnson relates her life story, which was short and tragic, and the piece he features here is absolutely beautiful – I’m glad I came across it and her, thanks to this book.

“Music Lessons” is a powerful and emotional read which, I have to admit, triggered me in a few places; I was reading it as my own mother was reaching the end of her life, and as we didn’t always have the best relationship, it hit me hard on occasions. But it is a wonderful book, all about the transformative power of music, how it affects us and how it can help us, and of course the sheer joy which it can bring. Although I’ve always said that books are my coping mechanism, music is too, and I can’t imagine my life without either of them. Certainly in the coming days I’ll no doubt be seeking the kind of catharsis that music can bring me; and if you have a love of music and of brilliant writing, I can’t recommend this book highly enough.

(Review copy kindly provided by the publisher, for which many thanks!)

“…all of us…are primarily interested in murder and love-making.” #gkchesterton ~20BOS26 Book 21

August 3, 2026

kaggsysbookishramblings Uncategorized , , 20 Comments

I’ve always been fond of a good essay, and a search through the archives of the Ramblings would no doubt reveal a number of essay collections I’ve covered. Some of these would have been via indie publisher Michael Walmer’s ‘Belles-Lettres‘ series (Oscar Wilde, Winifred Holtby and Ouida) and so I was delighted to see that Mike was issuing a new book in the series – “The Defendant” by G.K. Chesterton.

Chesterton is best remembered nowadays for his Father Brown detective stories which are still immensely popular, including a recent TV adaptation. He also wrote some rather strange novels (two of which “The Man Who Was Thursday” and “The Club of Queer Trades” I can be sure of having read). However, I don’t think I was aware that he’d written essays too, and the ones featured in this volume come from early his career and were originally published in “The Speaker”. Sixteen of those pieces were gathered together in “The Defendant” and in them, Chesterton set out to defend aspects of society or culture which he felt were neglected or dismissed. The results are fascinating and often very funny!

From the start, Chesterton chooses subjects to defend which are perhaps in many cases unexpected – skeletons, any one? (although of course we all have one and when the outer carapace is stripped away, we are all the same underneath). The essay on penny-dreadfuls is particularly enlightening and digs deep into our love of simple adventure stories and the like. “A Defence of Planets” was a particular favourite of mine, in which Chesterton lauds our small blue-green planet hurtling through space, urging us to recognise how remarkable it is. And ‘Nonsense’ should need no defence, as it is simply fun, with Chesterton praising Lear as a much better practitioner than someone like Lewis Carroll.

The version of life given by a penny novelette may be very moonstruck and unreliable, but it is at least more likely to contain facts relevant to daily life than compilations on the subject of the number of cows’ tails that would reach the North Pole. There are many more people who are in love than there are people who have any intention of counting or collecting cows’ tails.

It might seem on casual examination that this is a flippant or ephemeral book, but it certainly didn’t seem that way to me. Under the humorous surface, Chesterton explores deeper issues from his own individual viewpoint and if nothing else, he certainly makes you look at things in a new light. Each of these pieces is a bite-sized take on subjects which were unfashionable in Chesterton’s time, dismissed or underrated, and yet all warrant consideration. Whether it’s detective stories, patriotism, baby-worship, slang, ugly things, useful information or china shepherdesses, Chesterton has something to say about them, and he really makes you think!

To insist that one type of face is ugly because it differs from that of the Venus of Milo is to look at it entirely in a misleading light. It is strange that we should resent people differing from ourselves; we should resent much more violently their resembling ourselves…But to call another man’s face ugly because it powerfully expresses another man’s soul is like complaining that a cabbage has not two legs. If we did so, the only course for the cabbage would be to point out with severity, but with some show of truth, that we were not a beautiful green all over.

“The Defendant” was a thoroughly enjoyable read from start to finish, and very thought-provoking. First published in 1901, it’s a book of its time, and as Mike Walmer mentions at the beginning, it does use terminology in a few places which is very much not acceptable nowadays. Wisely, Mike has left this in, providing a note of warning at the start of the book, and I personally think this is a sensible way to proceed. We are hopefully intelligent enough to know that these terms are bad things, but we need to be aware that this was once thought acceptable. Context is all and it’s important not to whitewash the past.

So a really interesting and captivating read. Chesterton was a fascinating writer, and having recently enjoyed one of his Father Brown short stories, I’m thinking I should go back to his fictions. As for his essays, well they make thoughtful and provoking reading – definitely worth checking out if you like your mind stretched a bit!

(Review copy kindly provided by Mike Walmer, for which many thanks!)

A short absence…

August 1, 2026

kaggsysbookishramblings Uncategorized 107 Comments

I may be a little less visible than usual online over the next few weeks, as my mother sadly passed away this week following a long decline into dementia. It has been painful to watch her become not herself any more but in many ways it’s a relief to know she’s now at peace. Dementia is a cruel disease and I feel for anyone with a loved one who is going through this.

Markus Bernet, CC BY-SA 2.0 <https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.0&gt;, via Wikimedia Commons

Mum was always a huge lover of the Italian lakes so this image seems appropriate to celebrate her. Scheduled posts may continue to appear here, and I will be back following other bloggers soon. x

A month of chunksters! #July #20BOS2026

July 31, 2026

kaggsysbookishramblings Uncategorized , , , , , 43 Comments

For some reason, July ended up being a month in which I read a number of chunky books (which I hadn’t necessarily planned…) and so although the total of books read was less than usual, I think the number of pages compensates for that! And here they are:

As usual, here’s a list in case the photo is not clear. The numbers are for 20 Books of Summer, in the order I read them!

Music Lessons by Stephen Johnson (22)
The Defendant by G.K. Chesterton (21)
Prague Triptych by Johannes Urzidil (18)
Who Killed the Curate? by Joan Coggin (19)
Why Did She Die? by Joan Coggin (20)
The Magic-Lantern Murders by Carter Dickson (16)
Puzzles of the Parish by Various (15)
Guilty Secrets by Various (14)
From the Front Line by Vasily Grossman (17)
Vampire Tales by Various (23)

You can probably see certain themes in this month’s reads in that there’s a lot of GA crime – it was a bit manic before work ended for the summer, and so they were the perfect distraction as well as the necessary balance for the heavier-themed works. I’m also feeling fairly smug at having gone over 20 books for summer, although I knew that I would definitely read more than that number as I’m a pretty fast reader and usually do, even when I’m not taking part. But I shall continue to keep a tally and see how many I finally do read over the summer. No duds this month, and some really powerful books alongside some soothing GA crime – perfect!

So what about August plans? Well, there are two events I try to take part in during this month: All Virago/All August with the LibraryThing Virago Modern Classics group, and Women in Translation month, started by Meytal Radzinski. I try to read both Viragos and translated women all year round, but it’s definitely good to have events as a nudge to picking up those books.

I have an actual box of books with potential reads for WIT, but I often find myself making a big pile and getting overwhelmed. So this year, I have gone for a more modest pile of choices in the hope that I will get to at least one of them! Three are translated from French and one from Russian, as you’ll see, and the latter would also count for AV/AA as it’s a Persephone and we allow Virago-adjacent publishers in the event.

Let’s see if I get to any of these…

Another potential reading project which has been niggling at the back of my mind is some of the mahoosive collections I have of letters; I found myself pondering this after the recent arrival of a gigantic collection of the letters of Albert Camus and Maria Casares, for which I had been saving book tokens! This reminded me I had other collections of letters, diaries, essays and the like which were sitting looking overwhelming, and I suspect I have been avoiding them simply because the idea of reading through them in one go is perhaps a bit too much. But I do wonder if I should set myself up a little reading station with the Big Books sitting there so I can dip into them when the mood is right and gradually make my way through them. Here’s some of the possible titles – does this sound like an interesting project???

There’s a lot of Plath, plus Calvino, Camus/Casares, Ackroyd and Bishop…

Finally, I mentioned my collection of books by Jean Cocteau in an earlier post and kind of promised a picture of them all. Well, here it is:

The titles are below for clarity (and note that “Opium” is missing because it was on my review pile at the time!!)

From top left to bottom right:

The White Paper
Opera/Plain-chant (two poetry collections in French)
The Avant-Garde Reader (contains the monologue ‘The Fantom of Marseilles’)
Paris Album
Diary of a Film
Cocteau on the Film
Three Screenplays
Two Screenplays
Thirteen Monologues (with Georges Feydeau)
Les Enfants Terribles (Folio edition in slipcase)
Biography by Francis Steegmuller
Letter to the Americans
The Imposter
Round The World Again In 80 Days
La Machine Infernale
Les Enfants Terribles
Biography by Margaret Crosland
Professional Secrets
Past Tense (Diaries Volume 1)
My Contemporaries
Journals

I also have a bilingual version of ‘Plain-chant’ (‘Plain Song’) and ‘Angel Heurtebise’ as an ebook. That’s quite a lot of Cocteau but he’s one of my favourite creatives ever and I’ve been collecting his works since my 20s…

So that’s my July and tentative plans for August (although, as always, I shall follow my reading moods!) What about you? How was your July? How is your 20 Books of Summer going? And do you have plans for next month????

 

Older Entries

  • Privacy