My Weekly Book

We’ve started this series (once again being read out loud) in an attempt to fill the hole in our reading lives opened up by the completion in March of the entire sweep of Modesty Blaise novels. Feeling daunted by the sheer scale of Patrick O’Brien’s Aubrey/Maturin saga, and yet wanting something with a bit of staying power, this eight (or sometimes nine) volume science fiction epic seemed like an excellent choice - and so it has proved.

This opening volume tells the story of an ill-assorted group of humans who, weary of life on 22nd-century Earth and its colony planets, decide to make the ultimate trip west. They do this via a discovery made by a French scientist of a one-way ‘time gate’ leading to the Vosges region of France during Earth’s Pliocene epoch - six million years in the past. However Professor Guderian was acutely aware of the limitations of his discovery - the voyage through the time-gate was a one-way affair, to a fixed point in the past, and no traveller had every succeeded in getting a message back to communicate information about what lay across the threshold.

After the death of the professor his widow ran the time-gate as a commercial concern for a time, and then with an almost evangelical belief in the service she was providing. Eventually, consumed with curiosity and guilt about what lay on the other side, she made the trip herself. Now the human part of the Galactic Milieu sees the time-gate as the ideal way to get rid of its undesirables and no-one is asking questions about what fate awaits them. The first volumes in this series follow the adventures of the ‘haves’ and ‘have-nots’ who make the journey (although in what sphere they succeed or fail, and who does the judging, I’ll leave you to find out for yourselves) and shows how they react to their new-found circumstances.

This summary, in its attempt to avoid spoilers, seriously fails to do justice to the plot of The Many-Coloured Land which, written firmly in the tradition of the best golden-age science fiction, has an imaginative scope and a richness of context that is enviable and unusual. Cover blurbs predict that it will one day attain the status of Tolkien; I suspect that it is far too unsentimental ever to earn itself that accolade. But it does have that sheer, absorbing scale combined with a jeweller’s eye for details which makes for the very best alternative universe fiction. And the setting is not foregrounded in such a way that it gets under the feet of the plot.

Really major recommendations include the ability to weave plot strands together without losing hold of any one of them; confident handling of a large cast of ensemble characters; a cogent underlying mythos; and a depth of engagement with both science and folklore that is not frequently found in contemporary fantasy or science fiction (this was published in the early 1980s). I love May’s explanation for how various recurring tropes and archetypes in western culture came to achieve their dominance, but I was also caught up in the story. The best recommendation I can give is to say that we picked up The Golden Torc, the second volume in the series, and read on more or less straight from where we had left off at the beginning of The Many-Coloured Land.

This is the most recent volume in the Titan reprint series to fall into my hot little hands and, in common with its predecessors, it contains three full stories - The Puppet-Master of the title, With Love from Rufus and The Bluebeard Affair.

It’s fair to say that this is one of the lighter-hearted collections. While O’Donnell’s oeuvre always contains its fair share of violence, brutality, murder and death, its treatment can vary quite considerably. Stories such as The Long Lever or The Mind of Mrs Drake show a darker and more emotional side of the matter, something that cannot really be said about anything appearing in this book.

The Puppet-Master uses a theme which also appears in the last of the novels - but with the personnel reversed. In Dead Man’s Handle Willie Garvin is hit over the head and abducted, only to awake brainwashed and believing Modesty (recast in his mind to resemble his girlfriend Lady Janet Gillam) to have been killed by a fictional female villain called Delilah (who by a process of narco-hypnosis has assumed Modesty’s identity in Willie’s scrambled brain). He has been programmed to kill her on sight purely for the entertainment of the story’s arch-villain, a theme shared with this comic strip.

Only this time around it is Modesty that has been taken in a staged car crash. She awakes in a remote villa on Capri, surrounded by people claiming to be her long-time friends and associates. Has the brainwashing, undertaken by that faithful plotting stand-by an old enemy from The Network days, properly taken effect? Will she shoot Willie on sight after he attempts to rescue her?

In With Love From Rufus O’Donnell saddles Modesty with a fervent teenage admirer - who also has the intriguing attributes of being Inspector Brook’s nephew and a talented safecracker to boot. He’s liable to think that the glamorous Miss Blaise personifies everything he idolises about a life of crime - until he goes too far and finds his own life at risk. Modesty and Willie feel obliged to go off and rescue him - and show him that a criminal’s life might not be exactly what he imagined.

The final tale is perhaps the stand-out of this volume. The Bluebeard Affair features a trio of the kind of grotesque villains in which O’Donnell excels - a fortune-hunting Baron in a frilly shirt (who bought his title from a penniless Hungarian aristocrat, as we are informed) and his two ugly daughters. They must have been particularly painful for artist Romero, well-known for his delight in producing pretty girls, to draw. In one of those astounding coincidences that are also a feature of the O’Donnell universe, the niece of the dapper French intelligence supremo Réné Vaubois has been foolish enough to marry this bounder, and has overheard him plotting her death. Modesty to the rescue!

Sub-plots abound, including a revelation by Willie Garvin about his role as chief elephant-scrubber in a travelling circus and his unfortunate entanglement with a female acrobat possessing an old-fashioned sense of honour and three extremely hefty brothers. All in all it’s got style, adventure and originality and showcases this series at its best, with more depth than the second tale manages and more humour than the first. Although in that one we do see another episode of the long-running joke that sees Tarrant’s secret agent Maude Tiller and Willie fail to fall into each other’s arms yet again.

Not perhaps the pinnacle of comic strip achievement - I think those new to the Modesty Blaise universe might do better to consult either The Gabriel Setup or The Warlords of Phoenix. But certainly a treat for fans and something that plentifully repaid the time I spent on it.

I’d been looking forward to this as something of a treat. Having finally filled in the holes in my Austen reading by completing Sense and Sensibility, Emma and the fragments Sanditon and The Watsons over the course of the last few months I had been promising myself a crack at this very well-received biography, published in 1997, next.

And I found it a satisfying experience, with a few important provisos. The first is that a vast, extended family is central to Jane Austen’s narrative and many of these people shared names. The probably very necessary starting point of the book is a tour through these relations, but inevitably with little accompanying context, which means your early experience of the book is remarkably list-like and hard to assimilate effectively. This meant that my faith in it was shaken quite early on when the author was still engaged with Austen’s infanthood.

And things got worse. When commenting on the practice adopted by the Austen parents of putting their large family of babies out to nurse Tomalin makes some remarks that I found close to risible, including that the eldest sibling, James, may have had a closer relationship with his mother because this did not happen, and that Jane may have been emotionally distanced from her parents as a result of it. Imposing this frankly sentimental modern viewpoint on a family that lived some two hundred years ago, and judging their social customs and constraints by our modern mores and expectations is not something that I feel bodes well in a biography, and in this case it smacks particularly of self-insertion by the author.

But, having struggled through the pages where she treats us to her views on historic child-rearing methods, things did start to look up. Luckily this vast family were letter-writers and diarists, which means that even given the habit of some of Austen’s intimates in destroying her correspondence, there is evidently a vast amount of material available to help us track Austen’s progress at home and while travelling between the homes of her many friends and relations. The biographer’s method of moving from particular incidents to generalities, of trying to stretch the available material into a panorama of a life did occasionally become a little trying. But the resulting panorama was pretty rich and detailed.

Having dealt with the things I found troublesome, it’s time to move on to those aspects of the book that were interesting and engaging. First was the disruption of our customary picture of Jane Austen as a prim and proper, stay-at-home, Tory country lady. Her letters reveal that she was as sharp and cutting as a knife with those she trusted, provocative, impatient, unforgiving and unafraid to make outrageous jokes or unkind if shamefully witty remarks. We are presented with a woman who knew her own mind sufficiently to reject the conventional path of marriage and a large family of children to take the unconventional and also socially and financially risky one of spinsterhood.

While this in some ways restricted her freedom and left her dependent on relatives in other ways it freed her completely and it seems unlikely that we would have had Mansfield Park, Emma or Persuasion had she chosen otherwise. Austen came from a large family of brothers and several of them were widowed after their spouse died giving birth to their eighth, ninth or tenth child. We are presented with a picture of a woman who resisted taking this path herself and was successful in shaping a different kind of life, not always ideal or even satisfactory, but nonetheless providing the essentials for this creative genius.

Equally interesting is the challenge to our standard image of Austen as a stalwart Hampshire Tory. A frequent criticism is that the social order remains little remarked upon in her novels and some readers therefore draw the conclusion that it must be approved of. This is not a reading that I find particularly convincing, but that is not the point at the moment. Tomalin manages to convincingly demonstrate how the meritocratic Austen family built up their own fortunes by hard work and prudence rather than through inherited wealth and family connections, and how they were surrounded by people doing the same.

The author shows how Hampshire at this period was a place in a state of flux, with families arriving and leaving, fortunes being made and lost, households on the rise and households on the wane. It paints a picture of a family inhabiting the fringes of a world which readers of Austen’s novels may have believed her to be at the centre of, and it shows how despite the fact that she was a far from autobiographical author, many events and themes from family and social life have found their way into the novels. There may be no overt commentary on the status of women but anyone appreciating the true situation faced by the Dashwoods when their financial support is cut off, or appreciating why it is so necessary for the Bennet girls to make decent marriages for themselves, may soon see a perspective that is darker, edgier and considerably less straightforward than might at first be suspected. This also explains why Emma Woodhouse’s behaviour towards Harriet Smith is so unforgiveable, as it risks her hopes of a stable future, and how it is doubly shocking from an heiress who will never be in the same position of dependence herself.

Finally I’d like to mention the fascinating deduction made by Tomalin based on a ten-year absence of writing from Austen between the composition of her first three novels and her last three. This was a time during which her parents gave up the family home and led an almost nomadic existence, taking up lodgings at Bath or staying with relatives. Naturally unmarried and financially dependent Jane and Cassandra had no option but to travel where they were bid, more like parcels than people at times. It was not until the Austen women were settled in a home of their own again that Jane apparently had the necessary balance in her life to write. This is even more poignant if you think of Virginia Woolf’s remarks about women authors needing a room of one’s own - Woolf placed Austen second only to Shakespeare in the pantheon of writers in English and further argued that she must have attained a remarkable inner balance and peace in order to create the great art that she did.

An interesting absence from this portrait is Cassandra - she flits around the edges, never clearly delineated, with suggestions that she may have been an awkward personality in her own right and often a drudge for her sisters-in-law with their extensive families, summoned to look after various nephews and nieces during various lyings-in. Also poignant, and remarked upon by many readers, is the highly recognisable process by which Austen faced rejection and setback before achieving moderate success, a small amount of fame and a little money from her writing. Emma, for example, was dedicated to the Prince Regent (a man Austen heartily disliked) after coming to the attention of the royal librarian. We can speculate how this recognition and possession of an income must have seemed to a woman who had spent her whole life socially limited and financially dependent on male relatives, and how the reception of her work must have pleased her. And we can grieve over her untimely death, which may have been from some form of lymphoma, and think to ourselves how, in the accounts of relatives hoping for any sign of recovery that they can take heart in, very little has changed in two hundred years.

But here’s a fascinating question that’s outside Tomalin’s - or any biographer’s - scope, but which I’d love to know the answer to. To what extent was Virginia Woolf right? We can probably surmise that Austen was happy with her creations to the extent that she allowed them to be read by family and friends and to be published, and to the extent that all successful writers have an innate faith in the quality of what they create that prevents the manuscript from being torn up.

But did she have any conception, any inner sense that her novels would one day be called the greatest in the English language? Could this conviction be the source of the artistic coherence that Woolf talks about?

That we can never know, unfortunately.

A bittersweet moment, this. After an intense spell of working through the entire series of Modesty Blaise novels that started at the end of last year, with the help of a devoted fan who was kind enough to read the whole lot out loud,this signifies the end.

There is, of course, Cobra Trap still to come. You may know already that this series of five short stories was written by O’Donnell in 1996 and brings things pretty conclusively to an end, as well as filling in a few other loose ends and interesting bits of background. At the time of writing we haven’t moved onto this volume and it is arguable whether we will. Instead we’ve picked up a different series completely.

Dead Man’s Handle does give the series a strong send-off, in our opinion. The book has many of the elements that have made Modesty’s and Willie’s adventures such fun to read - a plot that hinges on an initial amazing coincidence, a set of villains as grotesque as any in I, Lucifer or The Silver Mistress, plenty of action from the old Network days. And, perhaps most importantly, a strike against the central construct of the series - the relationship between Modesty and Willie Garvin. Without revealing the ending it is fair to say that the master-criminal who takes them on has failed to fully appreciate the depth of this relationship and the consequences of trying to disrupt it.

There are weaknesses too. Modesty Blaise made her first appearance in print in 1965 and this book was published two decades later. The world changed in unimaginable ways during that time and yet in the book only a brief few years have gone by. In real life, girls in short skirts, Hyde Park penthouses and idle sojourns on luxury yachts have given way to power suits, the brutal sink-or-swim meritocracy of the Thatcher years and unprecedented international co-operation against criminal gangs dealing in drugs, money-laundering and people-trafficking. And yet, little in the novels has changed. Attempts to introduce into the preceding novel, Night of Morningstar, a tauter thriller-style plot which better reflects the new realities is arguably rather uncomfortable, even for a series which has never tried to gloss over the realities of its heroes’ trade.

The last of the books can also sometimes read like a greatest hits of everyone who has ever appeared in the Modesty Blaise universe and here we get the Colliers, a decent showcase for Weng, Network veterans Krolli and Danny Chavasse plus Tarrant’s agent Maude Tiller. It may be a personal failing of mine, but the Colliers are among my least favourite characters in the series. Stephen I find abrasive and irritating while plucky little Dinah, battling bravely on in the face of blindness, miscarriage and the curse of her psychic talents, always strikes me as painfully needy in a series unusually well-supplied with strong, self-sufficient female characters. The more appearances this pair have made, the more they have annoyed me, so their rather unnecessary last hurrah in this book made me positively grind my teeth.

But these are minor complaints in the face of a cast of beautifully-drawn characters, the superb use of humour to defuse tension (keep an eye on the bottom half of Molly Chen’s bikini for an illustration of this) and a story that manages to combine pathos, horror, comedy and epic action in a highly readable narrative. The gladiatorial combat that it will not be a spoiler to mention, since it is pictured on the cover of almost every copy, is arguably one of the greatest set-pieces in the series. A series that we’ve had a great time reading and are sorry to have come to the end of.

Often the introductions to these Titan reprints of complete stories from the long-running Modesty Blaise cartoon strip are among the most interesting bits of the book. That is because the author, Peter O’Donnell generally writes a bit about how he came to dream up the story, about his relationship with artists or publishers or a little about the craft of creating a comic strip.

This is all great stuff - and so it comes to pass that we also learn fascinating trivia, including the fact that the title story in this volume was written as an excuse to get the eponymous heroine into mediaeval garb. We also get a glimpse of a typed panel by panel script and (reluctantly, on the author’s part) the rough sketch that accompanies it to give Romero a starting point.

It’s fair to say that the theme of this volume is escapism. In The Green-Eyed Monster, the first story to appear, Modesty has the pleasure of hurling a spoiled, drunk and very rude young woman into a South American swimming pool, something I’m sure that all of us have longed to do at some point in our lives. Then the silly girl, daughter of the British envoy, gets herself snatched - and it’s action stations to retrieve her and avert a political crisis for an old friend of Modesty’s. Who else but Willie Garvin would accept the mission of teaching her manners?

Death of a Jester sees Modesty and Willie in a chance encounter with two witnesses to an unusual death - a man in a mediaeval jester’s costume fatally mauled by two lions in the grounds of a stately home. Determined to investigate, they find an unexpected link to Sir Gerald Tarrant which has them infiltrating the castle only to find themselves caught up in the dangerous time-travelling fantasies of its owner, and something even more sinister besides.

The final story, The Stone Age Caper, sees our heroes transported to the depths of the Australian outback after cutting across a business transaction being carried out by their old friend Mr Wu Smith - alongside a particularly ruthless bunch of associates. It’s notable for containing a very brief glimpse of Modesty with no top on, while disguised as an Aborigine - something that sent the Evening Standard subs’ bench into a tizzy at the time, but which seems somehow less exploitative now than all these endless pictures so beloved of Romero of her falling out of negligeés and failing ever to do up more than two or three blouse buttons.

Another great collection and a good read - especially for those moments when all you really want is to get away from it all…

This is an important volume in Titan’s Modesty Blaise series, and for a sad reason. Almost exactly half-way through artist Jim Holdaway, who had been responsible for originally creating the visuals for Modesty and Willie as we know them, died suddenly. The introduction to this volume contains a tribute to him from Peter O’Donnell and an explanation of how his replacement, the Catalan artist Enrique Badia Romero, came to take over.

You can spot the handover quite clearly, even without the help of the reprints of Holdaway’s very last in-progress panels in the introduction to guide you. Romero’s Modesty is quite a different creature in the details, far softer in appearance (and with a marked tendency to do up fewer buttons too, although it must be said that nudity is something that has never concerned her overmuch).

So what happens in the strips? In Takeover, the first story, Modesty is subjected over lunch to the doubtful charms of Inspector Brook of the Yard, in search of a favour. She turns him down - but the situation he’s concerned about is soon forced on her attention when she watches a heroic bank security guard mown down during a robbery at the behest of the mafia. She and Willie attempt to take the new crime bosses on - but have they finally bitten off more than they can chew?

From his writing it might be possible to surmise that Peter O’Donnell has a keen interest in the realm of the psychic. And The Warlords of Phoenix is another one of those stories, like Sabre Tooth, that makes you wonder for a moment whether he doesn’t have a few abilities in that direction himself. This time, instead of predicting the invasion of Kuwait, he’s foretold a Japanese millennialist cult convinced they need to prepare for the end of the world. To be fair, they’re not actually trying to cause Armageddon, in the manner of Aum Shinrikyo in 1995, but they’re after the skills of Willie and Modesty to help them train warriors for post-apocalyptic domination. And, until the balloon goes up, they’ve got a hostage to make our heroes play ball.

And here’s a little bit from the book’s introduction:

While this story was running I went off to a little place I had on the Mediterranean at that time, where I often used to go to get started on a book. While there, I had a phone call from The Standard and was told a new group of Japanese terrorists had carried out an airport massacre of the kind one might have expected from my War-Lords of Phoenix. How had I known that such a group existed? I was asked. Of course I hadn’t known. It was just another of those weird coincidences. But I told The Standard I couldn’t reveal my source (if somebody thinks you’re smart, why disillusion them?)

Willie the Djinn is considerably more lighthearted and must have been conceived to let new artist Romero find his métier after the sudden death of Jim Holdaway. And, as Romero’s métier is undoubtedly drawing girls in short skirts, it won’t take a genius to work out what this story’s about. It features a friendly sheik who has sent his harem to secretarial school - how convenient that another should just wander along. Willie should be in his element in this tale - what a pity he’s having to spend his nights playing babysitter instead of enjoying the company…

As well as being an important volume for fans, it’s also an enjoyable one. The first story sees Modesty and Willie being comprehensively out-thought which, as O’Donnell also points out in the introduction, is good for them from time to time. The second story’s dark tone is nicely set off by the more light-hearted third. Another enjoyable and, frankly, rather relaxing read.

This, the penultimate book in the Modesty Blaise series, is most notable for the really striking change of tone that sets it apart from the other volumes - and, purists may say, not always to the good.

The problem lies in the 20-year gap between the conception of the series and the writing of this book. The world had changed considerably since the early sixties, especially in the areas of crime and law enforcement. Characters that had started their careers in a world of gentleman (and lady) jewel and art thieves, criminals with strict codes of morality and all the delights of fashionable London society for those of independent means to enjoy now find themselves in a different world entirely.

In 1983 - the year in which The Night of Morningstar was published - Peter O’Donnell was competing for readers with thrillers such as Ken Follett’s On Wings of Eagles, dealing with the events of the Iranian revolution, John Le Carré’s The Little Drummer Girl, based on Middle Eastern espionage wars, and John Gardner’s Icebreaker, which features James Bond caught in the middle of a team of agents from the CIA, Mossad and the KGB, all intent on double-crossing each other.

No wonder Modesty and Willie, fresh from adventures with fabled treasures, corrupt Saudi princelings and terrifying English nannies, must now find themselves mixing it with international terrorists, compromised CIA agents, political conspiracies and communist plots. It is arguable, although incredibly sad to have to do it, that the series by this point is simply out of its time. And this may well, in fact, explain why it was the penultimate of the novels and why the ultimate one is such a wholehearted return to the themes of the series’ heyday.

Having said all this, I’d hate to give the impression that it’s a bad book. On the contrary, it’s exciting and tightly-plotted, sends the characters into horrible danger and keeps the tension going right until the very end. The problem is that the feel is so different - there are incidents of really unpleasant violence and much of the book lacks the redeeming humour and transcendent power of human nature which generally make the nastier scenes in the other novels bearable.

If you like Modesty Blaise’s adventures then you’ll probably want to read this just because there’s only a limited amount of reading matter available. And if you like thrillers you’ll probably enjoy it as a pretty good example of the genre. But somehow, in trying to be both, it’s not fully satisfactory as either.

2008 reading challenge: book one.

A great way to start 2008: having this short story collection read out loud in front of the fire. We’re busy reading our way through the entire Modesty Blaise pantheon (OK, the novels plus those strips that are more accessibly reprinted) and Pieces of Modesty is a first.

It’s a collection technically bridging the period between the major adventures of The Impossible Virgin and The Silver Mistress but the stories were, in many cases, written earlier and then not published. Many of them were, apparently, even illustrated. And, as the Wikipedia article on this collection points out, some elements are re-used in the newspaper strips.

The longer books, and some of the strip runs, are dependent on convoluted and highly-intricate plotting, often with some time taken at the beginning to establish the possession of some unlikely new skill like hang-gliding, quarterstaff-fighting or fencing. Therefore it’s interesting to see what can be done when the wherewithal for setting up these intricate stories is stripped away. Our heroes are reduced to single engagements, or dastardly deeds that don’t require them to leave the country, in order to compensate.

Certainly I think the characters and storylines do adapt well to this format, which is the very least you would expect from one of the earliest multimedia creations. It’s good to see variety at the expense of detail, actually, and this is a possible starting point for newcomers to the series - although I’m not sure whether insufficient character background would hamper enjoyment or ruin the stories’ credibility.

Here’s what you get:

• A Better Day to Die - this opening tale in the anthology is the most intense and disturbing of the collection, with more than one echo of Sabre Tooth. Modesty and Willie dash to South America to pay their last respects to a dying colleague from the Network days. but, thanks to an inept mechanic and a militantly pacifist missionary, they get separated and must individually work out how to deal with the ambush by mercenaries that besets them.
• The Giggle-Wrecker explains how our heroes have patiently constructed an identity for themselves behind the Iron Curtain, in times when travel to much of eastern Europe was utterly out of the question. And we find the use they find for that identity to when Sir Gerald Tarrant calls on them to help with a particularly tricky extraction operation on which his own reputation depends.
• I Had a Date with Lady Janet introduces a semi-regular character of whom we see quite a bit more. Despite having plenty enough problems in her own life, this otherwise remarkably sensible and level-headed daughter of a belted earl embarks on a kind-of stable relationship with Willie Garvin, and brings herself no end of trouble as a result. Of which the events in this story are merely the start. Notable for being narrated first-hand by Willie, which means those apostrophes representing glottal stops get a tremendous workout. Also fascinating for what he says - and what he doesn’t say - about the caper in hand.
• A Perfect Night to Break Your Neck re-introduces Modesty and Willie to Stephen Collier and his new wife Dinah (neé Pilgrim). Ostensibly the four of them are enjoying the high life at Cap d’Antibes. But, below the surface, things are not as happy as they look. This story narrates Modesty’s ingenious solution to the Colliers’ problems - and her way of persuading them to accept her help without seeming to offer it.
• Salamander Four - Modesty’s got a thing for artistic gentlemen lovers, with at least three cropping up at different points in the series. Here she’s trying to undo a creative block in a sculptor when some ghosts from her past come to call. And surely it cannot be accidental that, when help arrives to clear up the resulting mess, it introduces itself with the phrase: “Garvin. Willie Garvin.” Can it?
• The Soo Girl Charity is a classically-structured sting-in-the-tale short story and shows as well as anything in the sum or the parts of this anthology how at home O’Donnell is with the genre. A businessman who antagonises Modesty after she’s been persuaded to take on a charity flag-selling assignment turns out to have a dark secret. Or perhaps more than one? A great conclusion to the volume.

Ahahaha. 2007 finally dispensed with and only a month behind now! Here is my list of books read in January which I had better get written up quite fast:

• Pieces of Modesty - Peter O’Donnell
• The Sandman: A Game of You - Neil Gaiman et al
• L is for Lawless - Sue Grafton
• The Impossible Virgin - Peter O’Donnell
• Emma - Jane Austen
• Modesty Blaise: The Hell-Makers - Peter O’Donnell and Jim Holdaway
• Sanditon/The Watsons - Jane Austen

Two ongoing projects here - to continue through the Modesty Blaise novels and strips, and to read everything I haven’t already by Jane Austen in preparation for reading the Tomalin biography. Both going well, as you can see.

Now all I need to do is get the damned reviews written…

In the meantime, here’s an interesting piece from the Wall Street Journal on the somewhat heightened wait for the next Dan Brown super-thriller. As Jessa Crispin points out at Blog of a Bookslut, with no Rowling or Brown blockbusters to pull the readers through the doors of the stores, publishers are getting really quite twitchy about the old bottom line.

You might not like Brown and Rowling one little bit - but it appears they may well have been helping keep all our lesser-known favourites afloat. Food for thought, that…