Books
by Francis Spufford
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Golden Hill |
All Hallows, 1746, the Henrietta lays anchor in New York harbour, on board a young man, the purveyor of a bill for one thousand pounds. Who is he? Is the bill genuine? Is he rich or is he a scoundrel? And what exactly does he want the money for? Here's a delicious web of 18th century intrigue with a denouement that I defy anyone to guess. It's a book that takes time to get into but well worth the effort once you do.
(Jenny Baker - bwl 83 Winter 2017) |
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Light Perpetual |
Five south London children are killed in a V2 attack. This is the story of the lives they might have lived, dropping in on them at intervals through to the present century. Scenes as diverse as a Margate Bank Holiday, the classroom, a family get together, fascist street violence, and a London bus, feature. Mental illness, marriage, and love of music are central experiences. London - whether shabby and suburban, gentrifying or absorbing immigrants - is a constantly evolving sixth character. Add in fine writing and you have a very good read.
(Tony Pratt - bwl 100 Spring 2017) |
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Light Perpetual |
The title quote from the funeral service is clue to this book about the imagined future lives of children killed by a real bomb in 1944 London – a sort of elegy for what might have been. Bright Alec, sisters Jo and Val, unlikable Vernon and tormented Ben are visited at fifteen year intervals as their lives - and indeed South London itself - evolve. A lovingly imagined work of redemption; and as for the last chapter? Ahhhh.... An absolutely lovely book!
(Annabel Bedini - bwl 109 Summer 2023) |
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The Child that Books Built |
A personal account of how the literature of his youth affected the development and attitudes of one particular individual; I enjoyed the intention of the book but less so the style. How he could recall his childhood reactions to various books in such detail is beyond me and that, linked to his integration of his sister's tragic life into the narrative, left me feeling that an interesting venture hadn't quite come off. A Curate's egg.
(Clive Yelf - bwl 22 February 2004) |
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