"London Rules" by Mick Herron

Still enjoying my nightly MI-5 bedtime stories, and still don't have a lot to say about them. They're just pure fun, not much thinking involved. London Rules is the one with the politician and the paint can, and the one with The Watering Hole document. 

London Rules is the last Slough House book that has been made into a TV series so far. Initially I wasn't sure if I would keep reading, or if I would wait for the next season to come out before I read the next book. When I finished London Rules last night, I made my decision immediately: I'm going to keep reading. I'm not ready to give up my bedtime treat. Plus, how much is a literary amnesiac actually going to remember by the time the next season comes around?

“Whistler” by Ann Patchett

I loved this book, really really loved it. And yet I finished it two weeks ago and still haven’t blogged about it. Why do I do this??

The short answer is, I can’t to it justice. I can’t say anything about it. It’s just too perfect. 

I am definitely a fan of Ann Patchett's writing, and have been ever since I read Run (more than sixteen years ago!), although interestingly I did not mark that one as a Must Read. In the past I have tended to prefer Patchett's nonfiction over her fiction. (Although Commonwealth was right up there . . . and also Tom Lake was super good . . . ) Now I think I may have changed my mind. I guess it's possible that I'm affected by recency bias, but I think Whistler might be my favorite of all Ann Patchett's books, and I think I know why. Somehow it manages to seem just like her non-fiction, except that it's not. Like, it seems like it must be autobiographical, but it's not. I think it's because the people and the plot are made up, but the feelings are real. 

The main character in this book is Daphne Fuller, happily married New Yorker who is about my age but whose husband is closer to my parents' age. One day the couple makes a serendipitous stop at The Met (art gallery, not opera house) where they run into Daphne's stepfather, who was much beloved during the year or so that he was a part of her childhood, but who she hasn't seen for decades. It's a beautiful story about the love in friendship (and, as you'll see in reviews everywhere online, "Don't worry, it's not about a horse." Although there is a brief story told about the very horse pictured on the cover.)

There is only one thing wrong with this book. Again with the shiny shiny cover! Maybe it will age well? And I guess it matches a lot of Patchett's other hardbacks. But to me there is something so luxurious about those matte covers, and something so . . . opposite-of-luxurious about this shiny one. 

"Spook Street" by Mick Herron

I'm still treating myself to a bit of reading from the Slow Horses series every night before bed, and I'm still enjoying it. It's still nothing impressive or worthy, but it's still fun. I still think the books are maybe not as well put-together as the TV show, and I still wonder if I might have had a little trouble following the plot if I wasn't already familiar with it. 

Spook Street is the one that starts with the bombing of Westacres and takes us to Les Arbres in France by way of an attempted hit on David Cartwright. I don't really know what else to say about the book, but there's probably no need to carry on. Short and sweet is all this one needs.

“Never Anyone But You” by Rupert Thomson

I hate it when this happens. I don't even remember when I finished reading this book--two weeks ago? Three? And here I am only now getting around to blogging about it. 

I remember that I really enjoyed reading this book; it's very well written, and a compelling narrative. I remember it wasn't one of my favorites of all time, but it also wasn't one of those I found it hard to get into. I also remember being impressed that it's basically a true story, albeit one I had previously been completely unfamiliar with. 

The book is an intimate portrait of Suzanne Malherbe (later Marcel Moore) and Lucie Schwob (later Claude Cahun), but it is also a broader chronicle of life in Europe, spanning the time from before the first world war until after the second. 

Lucie and Suzanne first meet as teenagers, and they immediately feel a powerful connection. From that moment on, their love--facilitated by the fact that they end up as stepsisters--is strong and enduring, even if not perfect or reliably happy. Both artistic in their own way, they spend the interwar years in the exhilarating bohemian circles of Paris. By the beginning of the Second World War, they are living a more tranquil and private life on the Isle of Jersey, but hostilities soon encroach as the Nazis occupy the island. 

The history-driven plot is never the point of the book, though. Its true weight lies in the relationship between Lucie and Suzanne.