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In what has now become a viral commencement speech video, Admiral William H. McRaven addressed the graduating class of the University of Texas at Austin. He took “inspiration from the university’s slogan, “What starts here changes the world,” he shared the ten principles he learned during Navy Seal training that helped him overcome challenges not only in his training and long Naval career, but also throughout his life”. His speech was shared widely and enthusiastically because his advice could be applied so widely.

 

The popularity of his speech led to Penguin asking him to write a short guide based on those ten lessons. It’s called Make Your Bed. This is a review of that book.

 

It’s a short read, so this is going to a fittingly short review.

My alternative cover design for Make Your Bed. I really love how classy and minimal the original cover is with its black and gold accents, so I wanted to challenge myself to do something really different.

I’m a sucker for a commencement speech. My thesis adviser found this out much to his dismay. But I am. If you ever need a 10-20 minute boost to reset your day, week or month they’re usually wonderful sources of motivation. I think McRaven’s speech was recommended to me by someone on the internet (sorry I can’t remember who), and it really resonated with me. So, when I heard about his book a little while later via Ropes of Holland’s Reset Series, I knew I had to pick up a copy.

 

I read it in one sitting, in the bath, while on a solo holiday. It managed to reset my thinking in about 45 minutes, and I’ve dipped back into it a few times since.

 

The book itself is pretty simple, and I mean that in a good way. It features ten lessons McRaven has learned in his 37 years as a decorated Navy SEAL. That might put some of you off. I definitely wouldn’t naturally grab for a book by an Admiral. What would we have in common? McRaven’s job and training have put him through some of the toughest physical and mental challenges so he has a very tangible example for every lesson he shares. But you never feel like you’re reading a military guide book. I’m never going to go through BUDS training, but I could take something away from almost all of the advice he gives.

 

His lessons cover everything from the impact of making your bed, as the title suggests, to never going it alone and standing up to bullies. There’s something in there to help you solve whatever problem you’re trying to solve, big or small. Each chapter is discrete so you can easily dip in and out, or read it in one sitting as I did as the book in its entirety is just 129 (small) pages.

 

If you want a pick me up, a kick up the bum, or just a reminder that the little things can make a big difference you could do a lot worse than giving this one a read.

 

SOME QUESTIONS TO PONDER AS YOU READ

  • What impact does McRaven’s title and 37 years as a Navy SEAL have on how you perceive his advice?
  • Did you make your bed today? What effect did that have on your day?
  • Which lesson do you think will have the most impact on your life?
  • Do you feel there’s additional value in reading McRaven’s full advice over just reading/watching his speech which is included at the back of the book?

 

IF YOU WANT SOME FURTHER READING TRY…

 

IF YOU WANT MORE BOOKS LIKE THIS HAVE A LOOK AT…

  • David Foster Wallace’s This is Water
  • Marie Kondo’s The Life Changing Magic of Tidying Up
  • Sarah Knight’s The Life Changing Magic of Not Giving a Fuck
  • Jen Sincero’s You are a Badass
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Elena Varvello’s Italian thriller was my second holiday read this year. It was a book I picked up on a whim to fill my beach reading quota and I’m so glad I did. Part crime thriller, part coming of age story, Varvello’s first novel to be translated into English is full of tension and it certainly kept me turning pages, even while cooking.

 

In lieu of me writing a summary, I thought I’d share the introduction from the back of the jacket:

“1978.

Ponte, a small community in Northern Italy. An unbearably hot summer like many others.

Elia Furenti is sixteen, living an unremarkable life of moderate unhappiness, until the day the beautiful, damaged Anna returns to Ponte and firmly propels Elia to the edge of adulthood.

But then everything starts to unravel.

Elia’s father, Ettore, is let go from his job and loses himself in the darkest corners of his mind.

A young boy is murdered.

And a girl climbs into a van and vanishes in the deep, dark woods…”

 

Intrigued yet?

 

As a crime thriller fan, I definitely was. Can you hear me? is split into two narratives, the first being a violent thriller. Within that plot, your attention is mainly focused on the story of that young girl who disappears into the woods. While Varvello hasn’t constructed your classic whodunnit mystery, there is always enough left unsaid to keep you reading even when your pasta is about to boil over. There’s also a good deal of quiet horror, it’s a novel, because it lacks the formula of a procedural drama, that deals well with the terror of those who are left behind in the wake of violence.

 

The other half of the novel is dedicated to Elia’s own coming of age story, which is a tale of infatuation, friendship, and a first foot into independence. Personally, I was much more invested in the thriller half of the novel, but I never felt Elia’s coming of age was a burden to read. In fact, I felt the thriller plot fed well into the bildungsroman, because as Elia becomes a man his father begins to unravel in front of him.

Varvello “says in a brief foreword, the book is partly autobiographical. Varvello’s father had bipolar disorder. She has, she explains, mixed the invented Elia’s tale and imaginings with her “own story”” This autobiographical detail means the mental health aspect of the novel is handled sensitively, despite the violence perpetrated by its bipolar character. I think it’s worth putting in the reminder here that while over a third of the public think people with a mental health problem are likely to be violent – in fact people with severe mental illnesses are more likely to be victims, rather than perpetrators, of violent crime.

 

I agree with Joanna Briscoe’s conclusion that a full memoir of Varvello and her father would have certainly had weight. However, I think the blend of personal experience and imagined narrative works well here, even if it stalls in places, because it widens the appeal of an account of living with a parent with bipolar disorder.

 

Because of its split narrative I can see Can you hear me? appealing to a wider audience than your average crime thriller. So, if you’re on the lookout for a holiday read which will keep you on the edge of your sunlounger, then look no further.

 

SOME QUESTIONS TO PONDER AS YOU READ

  • How well do you think Varvello manages the dual narrative structure? Did either story catch your interest more?
  • Elia narrates both stories, how reliable is he as a narrator?
  • Can you hear me? is set in Ponte, what impact does its Italian backdrop affect the feel of the novel?
  • Varvello has been compared to Ferrante, other than a shared first name, can you see any similarities between their works?

 

IF YOU WANT SOME FURTHER READING TRY…

  • As normal, I’m starting with a Guardian review. Joanna Briscoe’s hones in on the tension in the form of the novel, and critiques the moments where Varvello doesn’t quite resolve that tension.
  • The Lonesome Reader’s review is much more in line with my own experience of the novel – however, it’s far better written
  • If you’re looking for a more indepth intro to the book before you read it, The Criminal Element sets the story up nicely
  • Short but sweet, The Independent’s review is probably my favourite

 

IF YOU WANT MORE BOOKS LIKE THIS HAVE A LOOK AT…

  • Truman Capote’s, In Cold Blood
  • Alice Sebold’s, The Lovely Bones
  • Terri Cheney’s, Manic: A Memoir
  • Elena Ferrante’s, My Brilliant Friend
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Okay, first I want to acknowledge that this month’s book club is a little late. I’ve been super behind on my reading recently, so I didn’t have any new reviews to share with you and I didn’t want to half cobble something together either on a book I hadn’t read or one from years ago, so here we are.

But I do think that the little bit of extra waiting time, or slow reading time, has meant that this month’s book fell into my consciousness at just the right time because I was in the mood for all things crime after binging My Favorite Murder.

Reservoir 13 by Jon McGregor centres around the disappearance of 13-year-old Rebecca Shaw when she is out on a walk with her parents whilst on a rural holiday. From its premise Reservoir 13 would appear to be your typical countryside murder mystery whodunnit thriller, a modern Midsommer Murders if you will. But life in the village doesn’t grind to a halt “there is work that must still be done: cows milked, fences repaired, stone cut, pints poured, beds made, sermons written, a pantomime rehearsed. The search for the missing girl goes on, but so does everyday life. As it must.”

Because of McGregor’s focus on the life of the village after Rebecca’s disappearance, 13 years of the life of that community, in fact, Reservoir 13 is a slow burner. If you’re looking for a thrilling, detective lead crime novel, I can imagine you would find yourself frustrated by the lack of time spent discussing the disappearance itself and the extreme delayed gratification offered by McGregor’s structure.

My alternative cover for Reservoir 13 which focuses on the cyclical structure of the novel and the swirl of characters from the village

But if you’re prepared to invest some time, and some patience, Reservoir 13 has a lot to offer. The cyclical structure of the novel, each chapter starts with the breaking of a new year, provides a picturesque pastoral on how countryside villages evolve over decades. Within that each fleeting glimpse at the characters of the village allows the reader to build a picture in their mind of the relationships and characters as the novel progresses. No one character is ever completely defined as in life. It’s truly a masterful example of show don’t tell in order to give a character life.

But what is most impressive, and bet described by Maureen Corrigan of the Washington Post is how McGregor “generates suspense, not out of chase scenes or sly dialogue, but out of the extended narrative experience of waiting — waiting for something, anything, to break in Rebecca’s case.” This is why Reservoir 13 really struck home for me after reading about the Golden State killer, and all of cold cases which go on for years and years, but still have the ability to capture the imagination because even if they’ve half-forgotten there’s still that need for closure.

I think Reservoir 13 has two distinct audiences, which I am at the perfect venn diagram centre of. In circle one, if you’re a true crime fan (even though this isn’t a true crime) the realism of this new sort of a crime novel might appeal to you. In circle two you’ve got your lovers of all domestic and fly on the wall style dramas where you get to really consider how other people live, every day and in times of strife. What a combination! There’s a reason it was long-listed for the Man Booker last year after all.

SOME QUESTIONS TO PONDER AS YOU READ

  • How does Reservoir 13 compare to other murder mysteries you’ve read? Which conventions remain the same, which change?
  • McGregor introduces us to a whole village of characters throughout the novel, were there any who really stood out to you above the rest as you were reading?
  • How does the novel’s cyclical, annual, structure impact your sense of time as you were reading?
  • We hear very little about Rebecca Shaw, how does that shape your internal image of her and your connection to her as the central victim of the story?
  • There’s a real focus on country life as the plot progresses, how do the lives of the people from the village differ from your own? How do you think a similar situation would unfold where you live?

IF YOU WANT SOME FURTHER READING TRY…

  • Kicking it off with another classic Guardian review
  • This New Yorker review goes into a lot more depth about Jon McGregor as a writer and offers a number of really interesting insights, as well as being very well written
  • The Washington Post focuses in on the structure and use of delayed gratification, if that’s your cup of tea
  • If you’re after a quick review which really succinctly gets across what Reservoir 13 is all about, then this piece from The Literary Review is the one for you

IF YOU WANT MORE BOOKS LIKE THIS HAVE A LOOK AT…

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In a first for the book club, this month we’re talking poetry. On a whim, I threw Fernando Pessoa’s I Have More Souls Than One into the cart of my last Waterstones order. It’s one of the Penguin Modern series of fifty new books celebrating the pioneering spirit of the iconic Penguin Modern Classics series, with each one offering a concentrated hit of its contemporary, international flavour.

I have been a huge fan of Pessoa’s writing since reading The Book of Disquiet whilst travelling, but I haven’t spent as much time focusing in on his poetry despite it being the writing for which he’s probably best known. 

Born in 1888, Fernando Pessoa was a Portuguese writer, poet and translator known best for his use of “heteronyms”, fictional characters with their own voices to whom Pessoa credited much of his writing. Each of these characters had a date of birth, often not too dissimilar to Pessoa’s own, and a personal history. These backstories were all intertwined, with Pessoa’s heteronyms having relationships of their own and with one another. Pessoa, whose name fittingly means person, frequently denied he existed as a single distinct individual but that he was a vessel for multiple characters, for “more souls than one”.

My alternative cover design for I Have More Souls Than One

His poetry, as written by Pessoa and his heteronyms, displays that desire to be more than just one man particularly clearly. Within his poetry as well as using his own identity, he wrote as Alberto Caeiro, “an untutored child of nature”; as Ricardo Reis, “a melancholic doctor dedicated to classical forms and themes”; and as Alvaro de Campos, “a naval engineer and world traveller who was a devotee of Walt Whitman”. Within I Have More Souls Than One, poems are grouped by heteronym which means you can easily see how each character has a distinct voice.

However, these characters aren’t the only appeal of Pessoa’s poetry. His writing is introspective, often, unsurprisingly on the nature of identity and universal whilst being highly localized to early twentieth century Portugal. It’s modernist in its eschewing of traditional structures, and it’s clever in its creation of new ones. It’s also just funny in places.

Reading I Have More Souls Than One is a fascinating insight into the work of one man, Fernando Pessoa, whilst offering the joy and diversity of getting to read the works of four highly inventive poets 

If you’re at all interested in learning more about Pessoa or his writing, I’d highly recommend picking up I Have More Souls Than One as a taster. I’m planning on trying out a few more of the Penguin Modern series, as they are perfect introductions to authors and styles you’re less familiar with, without the need to pick up a full novel or book of poetry and daunting feeling that can come with it.

SOME QUESTIONS TO PONDER AS YOU READ

  • What differences and similarities can you see in the different voices in the poems?
  • Do you have a favourite heteronym?
  • Do you have any alter egos or characters within you?
  • How does varying the form of Pessoa’s poetry effect how you read and feel it?

IF YOU WANT SOME FURTHER READING TRY…

IF YOU WANT MORE BOOKS LIKE THIS HAVE A LOOK AT…

 Have you read anything from Fernando Pessoa? What did you think?
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Sally Rooney’s Conversations with Friends, is another book I didn’t actually pick up myself, and I’m not sure I would have if I hadn’t been loaned it. Despite being part of a genre I tend to turn to, it’s not a book I’d heard of before it was being snuck into my bag.

The New Yorker read Conversations with Friends “a new kind of adultery novel”. Faber says “you can read Conversations with Friends as a romantic comedy, or you can read it as a feminist text. You can read it as a book about infidelity, about the pleasures and difficulties of intimacy, or about how our minds think about our bodies.” Personally, I read it as a coming of age for the time we actually live in.

The actual plot of the novel follows Frances a 21-year-old university student and poet who finds herself entangled in a complex ménage-à-quatre and her affair with Nick, an older married man, all whilst she tries to work out who she really is on her own.

Frances was a character I really felt a connection too, read into that what you will about my personality. Rooney’s writing does at times fall into the trap of self-indulgence which is always a threat in first person bildungsroman’s especially those written in the last couple of decades. But as a student, as someone still navigating my sense of self in relation to those around me I found the way she tested the boundaries of her personality really well written and relatable. You can tell that this a novel about being a young woman right now, written by someone who knows what it’s like.

 

My alternative cover design for this month’s pick

As much as Rooney’s first novel is described as “literary” (whatever that may or may not mean) and intelligent it’s never hard to read or overly pretentious in a way that’s serious. It is intelligent. It does deal with big ideas. But conversation, as you would expect from the novel’s title, flows easily and quickly and in and out of emails, messages, phone calls and asides at parties. Frances and Bobbi show off, but they show off in the way you would expect of university students and poets. There is never a hard transition into serious topics, as is often the case when authors try to shoe horn academic discussion into their prose.

So, if you’re after a side of engaging and intelligent conversation with your next bed time read this one’s as good as any you’re going to find.

SOME QUESTIONS TO PONDER AS YOU READ

  • What impact do you think the location of the novel has on the story?
  • Conversations is driven by women, to what extent did you think this was a distinctly female story?
  • Frances has a tumultuous relationship with her body, and pain in particular, how does that impact your reading of her character? Was it something you were able to relate to? 
  • How reliable a narrator is Frances?

 

IF YOU WANT SOME FURTHER READING TRY…

  • You know I almost always kick these lists off with a Guardian review, and this month is no different
  • This New Yorker review offers a really clear and insightful look at Rooney’s writing
  • As someone who doesn’t know all that much about the Irish canon (although I have been reading a fair few Irish novels recently) the focus on the Irishness of Conversations with Friends in this New Statesman review was super interesting
  • Succinct and easy to read this Vulture review is a great intro to the novel

 

IF YOU WANT MORE BOOKS LIKE THIS HAVE A LOOK AT…