Always Running: La Vida Loca, Gang Days in LA, by Luis J Rodriquez

Reviewer: Catriona Troth

What We Thought:
Having just read Ryan Gattiss’s All Involved, his novel looking at the 1992 Los Angeles riots through the eyes of 17 members of the largely Chicano community of Lynwood in South Central LA, I thought I should look for something written by a member of that community. I found Always Running: La Vida Loca, Gang Days in LA by Luis J Rodriquez – a former gang member and now the Poet Laureate of LA.

While Gattis’s novel focuses on the 6 days of the riots, Rodriguez’s memoir takes place over more than three decades, and gives a broader view of the social, economic and political pressures that led to the rise of the gang culture and which continues to suck in the young.

I am in no position to compare Gattis’s and Rodriguez’s books in terms their portrayal of Chicano life. If there is a difference that struck me between the two accounts, it is that Gattis focuses on honour and revenge as a driving motive behind much of the violence he depicts, whereas the violence that Rodriguez experiences comes across, more often, as a random outpouring of rage against the poverty and injustice of their lives.

What both books share is the sense of wasted talent. Over and over, chinks appear in the darkness and Rodriguez starts to crawls towards the light. This intelligent, articulate, yet barely educated young man becomes involved, successively, in boxing, in urban art projects, in student politics. He even gets a book contract. But time and again, something hurls him back into the La Vida Loca. Sometimes it is his own demons of drink, drugs and despair. At other times it is the blind prejudice of the authorities, the violent aggression of the police or the bitter rivalry between different barrios that reopen the doors of hell.

In the end, Rodriguez escaped La Vida Loca. As he wrote, “There comes a moment when one faces the fresh features of an inner face, a time of conscious rebirth, when the accounting’s done, the weave in its final flourish, a time when a man stands before the world – vulnerable, nothing-owed – and considers his place in it. I had reached such a moment.”

Many years later, he wrote Always Running as a cautionary tale for his son, then 15, to warn him away from gang life – something which he failed to do. As he reveals in the foreword to the 2005 edition, his son is serving an 28 year term in jail for gang-related violence. But in other ways, the books has been vastly more successful. It has been recommended reading in schools, in prisons – and even assigned as part of offenders’ sentences. It is apparently one of the most checked out and most stolen books from US public libraries.

It has also achieved a spot on the American Library Association’s top 100 banned books list. That is perhaps not so surprising. Rodriguez’s account of La Vida Loca is raw – his depictions of sex, violence and drug taking sometimes eye-wateringly graphic. It needs to be. The life he depicts is real, and the young people the book is aimed at are living it.


You’ll Enjoy This if You Liked: East of Acre Lane by Alex Wheatle, Original Rude Boy by Neville Staple

Avoid if you dislike: Graphic depictions of sex, drugs and violence

Perfect Accompaniment: Large cheeseburger and fries and a stiff vodka

Genre: Non-Fiction

Available from Amazon

Dear Infidel by Tamim Sadikali

Reviewer: Catriona Troth

What We Thought:

Families gathering for a traditional celebration provide a familiar cauldron of emotions in which to brew up a story. But here, the setting is not Christmas or Thanksgiving, but Eid ul-Fitr, the Islamic feast that marks the end of Ramazan, the month of fasting. The place is northwest London and the time is November 2004, eighteen months into the second Iraq war and seven months before London’s 7/7 bombings.

Four cousins – two pairs of brothers who rarely see each other – assemble at the house of one of their parents. They grew up together, but adulthood has taken then in very different directions. There is Pasha, living in leafy Cheshire with his English girlfriend, disillusioned with Islam but nostalgic for the trappings of his culture. Aadam, successful enough, fond of the British, but tormented by the daily bombardment of news from the war. Nasneen, his wife, a sexually frustrated feminist in the process of rediscovering her religion. Salman, the most religious of the four men, desperate to bring his children up in a true understanding of Islam. And poor, lost Imtiaz, locked in a cage of his own making.

The story shifts between these five points of view, as well as moving back and forth between memory and the present day. It takes a few chapters to get into the rhythm of that, but each character is powerfully drawn, their perspective distinct and, before long, recognisable.

We get a taste of what it is like to be on the receiving end of endless news stories that magnify the impact of injuries to one group, while glossing over or ignoring injuries to another. But the book also celebrates the glorious amalgam that is second-generation immigrant culture. The first course of an otherwise tradition Eid dinner is leek and potato soup. An argument about Islamic dress is interrupted by a nostalgic viewing of Carry On Matron, before the cousins seize on the discovery of a favourite Bollywood film.

Sadikali does what the media has so singularly failed to do - show us shades and variations within the British Muslim community. Not between extremists and others – but within one ordinary family. The events of the previous three years have shifted their relationship, not just with the country but with their faith and, one way or another, they are still adjusting. Unsurprisingly, the novel provides no easy answers. There is no real resolution for any of them.

Sadikali says in his author’s note at the start that the best writing advice he received was to ‘make every word count.’ I’d say, in this case, he has.

You’ll enjoy this if you like: Londonstani by Gautam Malkani, Psychoraag by Suhayl Saadi, The Namesake by Jumpa Lahiri .

Avoid if you don’t like: Novels that jump between different points of view, stories centred around a day of family celebration.

Ideal accompaniments: Halwa with masala chai

Genre: Literary Fiction

Available on Amazon

Raising Steam by Terry Pratchett

Reviewer: Catriona Troth

What we thought: Back in summer 2013, Terry Pratchett came to Beaconsfield Library. He and Rob Wikins, his close friend and assistant, had just sent off the first draft of Raising Steam to their editor. Rob read a passage from near the beginning, when the Discworld gets its first glimpse of a steam train.

“The bystanders, most of whom were by now byrunners, and in certain instances bystampeders, fled and complained, except of course for every little boy of any age who followed it with eyes open wide, vowing there and then that he would be the captain of the terrible noxious engine, oh yes, indeed!”

It’s clear on every page of this book that Terry and Rob are still at heart small boys goggling at a locomotive. The love of steam is woven into every passage.

Raising Steam sees the return of Moist von Lipwig, former conman and thief, whose gift of getting along with people of all species have led him to run, in turn, Ankh-Morpork’s Post Office, Clacks, Bank, Mint – and now the Ankh-Morpork and Sto Plains Hygenic Railway. Under the (largely) benign direction of Vetenari, he finds himself in partnership with engineering genius, Dick Simnel, and serial entrepreneur Sir Harry King, the King of the Golden River (formerly Piss Harry).

What begins as an idea to build a line from Ankh-Morpork to Sto Lat, to enable fresh produce to be brought to the city before it spoils, becomes a race against time to build a line all the way to Uberwald when the Low King of the Dwarfs is overthrown by extremists.

But like all Discworld books, this is so much more than a story about the building of a railway. With his sights as firmly as ever on our world, in this, his last adult Discworld novel, Pratchett tackles terrorism and religious fundamentalism. It’s perhaps not his most subtle dig ever, but when the grags – the deep dwarfs that want to bring down the modern world - destroy one of clacks towers on which Ankh-Morpork’s communications depend, Vetanari’s response is “This isn’t war. This is a crime.”

One theme that has run through all the Discworld novels is the redemption of species once regarded with fear and suspicion. Trolls, werewolves, vampires - they've all been given a chance to show that they, too, are just as human as the rest of us. And now it is the turn of the goblins, first introduced in Unseen Academicals and enlarged upon in Snuff, to complete their road to hero status. For it turns out the goblins are very good mechanics indeed, as well as determined fighters.

In fact the only species I can think of who have never been redeemed by Pratchett are the Elves, who in Lords and Ladies turned out to be very unpleasant indeed. Perhaps in the Discworld’s very last outing, Shepherd’s Crown, (the fourth and last Tiffany Aching book, to be published in September) they too may get their chance.

I can’t wait.

You’ll enjoy this if you like: Any of Terry Pratchett's books, especially the Moist von Lipwig stories (Going Postal, Making Money); The Titfield Thunderbolt (film)

Avoid if you don’t like: Satire based on a fantasy world.

Ideal accompaniments: A cup of tea and a bacon sandwich, cooked on the stoker's shovel.

Genre: Humour, Satire

Available from Amazon

How to be both by Ali Smith

Reviewer: by Catriona Troth

What we thought: Like Carol Shield’s Happenstance, How to Be Both is a book in two halves, and depending which version one has, the two halves are presented to be read in a different order.

One half is narrated by the real-life painter, Francesco (or is it Francesca?) del Cossa, painter of some remarkable 15thC frescos in the Schifanoia Palace (‘the palace of not being bored’) in Ferrara. The only reason we know about this painter is because of a letter he wrote asking to be paid more than other painters for his work on those frescos, because of his superior skill.

“Begging to recall to your highness, that I am Francesco del Cossa, who made those three fields towards the antechamber entirely by myself: so if you, your Highness really don't want to give me more than 10 bolognini per square foot, I'd be losing 40 or 50 ducats…”

The other half is narrated by George, ‘a child of the child of the sixties,’ a teenager struggling to cope after the sudden death of her mother who, the previous summer, had stumbled on the existence of Francesco and whisked George and her brother off to Ferrara to see the frescos.

In the version of the book I read, it opens with a visual stream of consciousness – words weaving back and forth across the page like The Mouse’s Tail in Lewis Carrol’s Alice in Wonderland. Francesco’s consciousness protrudes into our world, as he watches George sitting in the National Gallery, in front of the only one of his paintings on display in Britain. Thereafter we follow, and try and interpret, George’s behaviour, while at the same time experiencing memories of Francesco’s own life.

The other half is a more straightforward narrative. It begins at an earlier point in George’s life - midnight on the New Year’s Eve following her mother’s death. She is alone in the house with her little brother, in a bedroom with a leaking ceiling, listening to the fireworks going off. Gradually we learn enough about her life to make sense of what Francesco observed, as she creates rituals to help deal with the loss of her mother and relives that last trip to Ferrara.

This book explores grief and loss and the process of mourning. Both George and Francesco lose their mothers as young adolescents and end up reinventing themselves through the process of recovery.

But more than that, the novel plays with the idea of art, and our perceptions of art, and the act of seeing itself. What happens, for example, when you look at one thing really closely, be it a work of art or a subject under surveillance? And what power is there in subverting conventional ideas of art? 

Both Francesco and George’s mother are engaged in subtle acts of subversion. Francesco models his Graces on prostitutes, and includes, in his ‘The Triumph of Minerva’, a dark-skinned infidel dressed in rags. George’s mother is a founder member of the Subverts, a group using pop-up technology to subvert political things with art, and art with politics. Smith, meanwhile, subverts language, playing puns with minotaur and monitor, and riffing on the several meanings of plot.

Impossible not to wonder what it would have been like to read the book in the other order. To read George’s story first would arguably be more logical. More of what Francesco sees would make sense, if we already know George’s story. But would that rob the reader of a sense of mystery, of the urgency of wanting to know more?

As George’s mother says, in the context of the artists’ cartoons revealed beneath frescos damaged in a flood:

“But which came first ... the chicken or the egg. The picture underneath or the picture on the surface?

“The picture below came first, says George. Because it was done first.

But the first thing we see, her mother said, and most times the only thing we see, is the picture on the surface. So does that mean it comes first after all?”

Playful, beguiling, with layers of meaning that reveal themselves the more you think about what you’ve read, this is a book to be read and re-read.

You can read Ali Smith’s article in the Guardian, about how she was inspired to write How to be Both, here:
http://www.theguardian.com/books/2014/aug/24/ali-smith-the-finest-man-who-ever-lived-palazzo-schifanoia-how-to-be-both

And you can explore the work of Francesco del Cossa in the Palace of Schifanoia here: http://www.wga.hu/html_m/c/cossa/schifano/

You’ll enjoy this if you liked: Patrick Gale’s Notes from an Exhibition, Tracy Chevalier’s The Lady and the Unicorn

Avoid if you dislike: non-linear narratives, the playful mixing of the historical and the present day

Perfect Accompaniment: antipasto of asparagus and salami, coppiette rolls and a bottle of Barolo

Genre: Literary Fiction

Available from Amazon

The Girl Who Saved The King of Sweden by Jonas Jonasson

Reviewer: Catriona Troth

What we thought: Jonas Jonasson has a genius for finding the cracks in history, inserting his characters into them and spinning out of them a surreal shaggy dog story. His books read like A Series of Unfortunate Events for grownups.

The Girl Who Saved the King of Sweden starts in Soweto in the 1970s, with Nombeko, an illiterate latrine attendant with a special knack for numbers. Having had the misfortune to be run over on her fifteenth birthday by the Chief Engineer of South Africa’s secret nuclear weapons programme, Nombeko finds herself as a bonded labourer in his office, surrounded by barbed wire fences and guard dogs. The only glimmer of hope is that she is considerably smarter than her new boss.

Thousands of miles away, in Sweden, twins are born to monarchy-hating Ingmar Qvist, both of whom will be called Holger but only one of whom will officially exist.

Between those two improbable circumstances lies a web of bizarre coincidences and narrowly avoided disasters.

I am not quite sure how Jonasson gets away with putting the current Swedish Prime Minister, Fredrik Reinfeldt , along with King Carl Gustaf, in the back of a potato truck along with a bomb that was never supposed to exist. But somehow he does.

It helps if you know enough about 20th Century history to recognise when real world figures – such as Chinese President Hu Jintao – intrude on the story. But the story can be enjoyed even if you aren’t entirely sure where real life ends and fantasy begins.

You’ll enjoy this is you liked: The Hundred Year Old Man Who Jumped Out of the Window and Disappeared.

Avoid if you dislike: playing fast and loose with world history

Perfect Accompaniment: chicken casserole, potatoes and lots of vodka (and a small package of antelope meat)

Genre: Comic Fiction

Available from Amazon

The Rosie Project by Graeme Simsion

Reviewer: Catriona Troth

What we thought: Don Tillman is a professor of genetics at a prestigious Australian university. He is also an undiagnosed sufferer from Asperger’s Syndrome, who governs his life via time slots allocated to his Standardized Meal System, scheduled work-out, household cleaning, work assignments and his only two friends, Gene and Claudia. So when he decides he needs to get married, he approaches the problem scientifically, designing a sixteen-page questionnaire aimed at finding his perfectly compatible woman.

But when Gene introduces Rosie, a wildcard who could hardly be a worse fit with Don’s carefully thought out measures, he starts to discover that there is more to relationships than shared values and tastes. He also plumbs some hitherto unsuspected depths in his own character.

This is a feel-good book, full of charm and dry wit. It will make you stop and think about what really makes a perfect match – and how we recognise one when we find it. It will also remind you that it's never too late to try something new, or something out of your comfort zone.

You’ll enjoy this if you liked: Salmon Fishing on the Yemen by Paul Torday, A Short History of Tractors in Ukrainian by Marina Lewycka

Avoid if you dislike: Geeks, lists and questionnaires

Perfect Accompaniment: lobster, mango and avocado salad, champagne and cocktails

Genre: Comic Fiction

Available from Amazon

The Hurricane Lover by Joni Rodgers

Reviewer: Catriona Troth

What we thought: The Hurricane Lover is the story of two former lovers from polar ends of the deep political divide who collide – sexually, emotionally and in every other way – as Hurricane Katrina rolls over New Orleans and a predatory serial killer called Queen Mab takes advantage the ensuing chaos.

Corbin is a meteorologist, one of the best hurricane forecasters around – a liberal, a Democrat and an alcoholic. Shay is a small-time TV presenter, fobbed off with stories about ice cream and Ziploc bags – a former beauty queen and daughter of a wealthy and influential Republican. He is on the trail of Katrina and she is on the trail of Queen Mab.

I have never been to Louisiana or to Texas (where part of the action takes place), nor have I ever lived through a hurricane. But there is a filmic quality to the writing that means that the book played out in my mind in a series of vivid images. Rodgers has an ear, too, for the rich language of the Louisiana: colourful, gutsy and laced with Old French.

Katrina, of course, provides a gift of a setting for any thriller. No one reading it can doubt that the jeopardy of the hurricane is real – no need here for writerly exaggeration. And Queen Mab is a frighteningly plausible killer – a modern take on an old nightmare, using the Internet to lure her victims into traps she baits with their own lusts.

Shay and Corbin have a chemistry that flies off the page. They are an impossible pairing, striking sparks off each other at every encounter, yet you find yourself rooting for them to find a way past their differences and be together, because they are also perfect for each other.

The book has an undoubted political edge. It’s hard to miss the deep underlying anger at the woefully inadequate response to the hurricane. It comes through in Corbin’s railing against head-in-the-sand attitude of the authorities, and also in the verbatim reproduction, as chapter headings, of published emails to and from the Head of FEMA – the organisation charged with preparing for and coping with the disaster. Yet Rodgers avoids polemic by giving the ‘opposition’ their own rounded, sympathetic characters.

This is a powerful book that deserves to be read both for the yarn it spins and for the real-life story it uncovers.

You'll enjoy this if you liked: Entry Island by Peter May, Purple Cane Road by James Lee Burke.

Avoid if you dislike: sex and politics with your crime

Ideal Accompaniments: iced tea and southern barbecue

Genre: Crime Fiction, Political Thriller

Available from Amazon