'Wish me Gone' by D.J. Blackmore

Up close, the heritage listed house is nothing but a beautiful disaster, but while there are acres of orange trees to lose herself amongst, Isabella realises there’s no escaping the new school. But when intolerance towards Damaska and her family—whom Isabella’s family has hired to help—opens the homestead gates, the threat to both families becomes real. Four lives in Australia become intertwined by one orchard, as they all try to find a place they call home.

MY THOUGHTS:

It's always a pleasure to pick up a novel from my own country, and this one is as Australian as fairy cakes, charred lamb chops and Weetbix with hot milk (which all feature in the story, by the way). 

Isabella Lawson and her family are moving to a wonderful, but run-down rural property with a lush orange orchard. Her mother, Jenny, falls in love with it on the spot, but to her stepfather, Chase, it's a bit of a nightmare. Meanwhile Isabella's brother Abel, an electrical technician in the army, is learning to wrap his head around his new lifestyle. And a young Muslim woman named Damaska is migrating to Australia with her family, although her grandmother (Jida) faces change with heartache, since her beloved old ways fit her like a glove. 

Characters are so colourful and varied, it's hard to choose a favourite. It could be Chase, the stepfather who's quick with his dad jokes but will also go the extra mile for his family; or Abel, the young man who's forced in the position to cement for real the army principles he recites; or Damaska, the young woman who attracts unwanted attention, and is forced to deal with difficult generational clashes, in a strange new culture to boot. I also like Isabella, the fair-minded, capable student prepared to make the best of the hand she's dealt. But perhaps my favourite is Megan, the octogenarian whose uniquely Aussie sense of humour, combining bluntness and kindness, smooths many ruffled feathers.

I'm impressed by how boldly and effectively D.J. Blackmore tackles racism, sexism, ageism, ableism, bullying and religious discrimination head on, all within this 250 page novel. Especially considering our hair trigger 21st century cancel culture, where accusations of cultural appropriation tend to blow up before we know it. Yet this story is utterly true to life, highlighting the melting pot of different outlooks and backgrounds that form Australia. Her small rural community is a microcosm of the whole country, which is a slice of the world. 

I've got to say, this story imparts a sense of New South Wales, which I've only visited a handful of times in my life. I'm a South Aussie, and minor differences show. For some reason it also puts me in mind of the beloved old TV soapie A Country Practice, possibly because of the NSW location, although this novel is far more up-to-date. 

I don't read many contemporary novels that focus on High School students as main characters anymore, but whenever I do, I notice the addition of modern technology, which always thickens the plot. A couple of mobile phones get damaged in the course of the novel, and I suspect Jida's probably right to refer to them as the line which gives the outside world a chance to infiltrate. A shortsighted character in many ways, she's spot on there.   

What more can I say? Short chapters make for easy, flowing reading. There are 67 in the book! It's a celebration of Aussie lore which I love, but if you're not familiar with it, keep your phone close at hand to google a strange colloquialism when you need to. For my part, I love how stories like this emphasise our vibrant, fun, distinctive culture. The dialogue is a key part of the story, revealing the chasms between communication of different characters. But overall, forgiveness and generosity are a universal language.      

My thanks to the author for sending me this book for an honest review.

🌟🌟🌟🌟 ½   

'Four Thousand Weeks' by Oliver Burkeman

The average human lifespan is absurdly, insultingly brief. Assuming you live to be eighty, you have just over four thousand weeks.

Nobody needs telling there isn’t enough time. We’re obsessed with our lengthening to-do lists, our overfilled inboxes, work-life balance, and the ceaseless battle against distraction; and we’re deluged with advice on becoming more productive and efficient, and “life hacks” to optimize our days. But such techniques often end up making things worse. The sense of anxious hurry grows more intense, and still the most meaningful parts of life seem to lie just beyond the horizon. Still, we rarely make the connection between our daily struggles with time and the ultimate time management problem: the challenge of how best to use our four thousand weeks.

MY THOUGHTS:

My Dad passed away aged 84, at the start of 2017. Along with the grief of losing him I experienced an acceleration of the time crisis I've had simmering for several years. His death really brought home to me how lightning fast is the passage of years. I remembered events which took place when he was my age, which seemed scarily recent. Those sorts of memories persist to this day, and as the gap lessens the sense of urgency increases. Dad had time to retire and tick off many things he aimed to do, yet time still seems to have moved like wild fire. The title of this book by Oliver Burkeman made me wince. 4000 weeks is approximately 76 years; a rough life palette in which to get done the things we want to do. Knowing how fast one week passes, the thought of only having something between 4000 or 4500 to play around with is intended as a wake-up call. It certainly worked for me.    

The book is about changing our relationship with time and how we think about it, rather than offering 'time management hints' as such. I'll outline some of the parts that impressed me most.

Why do we procrastinate good things we really want to do? 

Frittering away our time by ticking small, pressing tasks off our list each day seems an easy default. I'll sweep floors, fold washing, or head off to the shop rather than sit for an extended time writing at my computer. Burkeman believes we must claim time for the great plans our hearts really wish to prioritise, or else they'll remain untouched by the end of the day. (I used to be quite good at what he's talking about. Taking an hour or two to work on my novels when my kids were small was part of my routine, even if there were dishes in the sink and emails awaiting replies. I knew the housekeeping stuff needed to be relegated to second place, where it belonged.) 

Another serious time sucker is outlined in a chapter called The Watermelon Problem, and specifically addresses using social media to procrastinate. The chapter's name alludes to viewers who once watched several large rubber bands being applied around a watermelon. They were hanging out to see at what stage the whole thing would burst in a spectacular shower of red watermelon flesh. The suspense was so prolonged that people started commenting, 'I really should be getting more important things done than sitting here waiting, but I'm hooked.' Eventually, the big smash was an anti-climax, as everyone knew in their hearts it would be. The great spectacle of green rind and red flesh flying everywhere released them to return to other, more important activities they were still, for some reason, strangely reluctant to do. 

Why are we seduced by checking social media and deferring our cool passion projects even when there is a block of time at our disposal? An obvious answer is that we're addicted to the affirming likes, hearts and comments that flow our way, but Burkeman suggests a deeper, more primitive reason that gels with me. It's all to do with an unconscious dread of falling short of our own romantic and passionate expectations! When we make a start on our passion projects, we may even, heaven forbid, find the time spent is mildly boring. It's all because whenever we're free to pursue the great things we want to do, we come painfully face to face with our own limitations. What we produce in reality seldom lives up to the brilliant execution of our imaginations, especially at first. So our impulses to defer the let-down by sitting on social media or carrying out jobs with lower stakes are nothing more than pitiful efforts to shield our fragile egos. 

Whoa, understanding this doesn't solve the problem itself, but does empower us to press on with our passion projects regardless. Oliver Burkeman simply says that we need to stop expecting the discomfort to be otherwise and get on with it. I guess this initial resistance is as true a fact of life as the state of flow we long for. (For my part, I earnestly want to take up fiction writing again, specifically some fan fiction inspired by great books I love. But I fear my nooby efforts to create something accurate and worth reading, let alone fathom fan fiction platforms and make a good go of it may fall short. So my challenge is to still plow on regardless, even knowing this. Knowledge is power.)   

Limit Rods in the Fire

Burkeman suggests having no more than three passion projects on the go at any one time. (I guess keeping this blog must be one of mine because occasional attempts to cut back or quit have been fruitless. But I enjoy curating my thoughts about books, so that alone is reason enough to continue. And it's another point of his. Sometimes even leisure feels like a chore to tick off, so purposely choosing a pastime or two with no personal gain whatsoever is vital.) 

Burkeman suggests that vaguely interesting, second-tier projects ought to be swept aside, because they're insufficiently important enough to form the core of our lives, yet seductive enough to suck our attention away from the things that really are. If we figure out what they are, we can sweep them aside with the finality they deserve. 

And he counsels us to Stay on the Bus, even when something else looks better. When we've decided some activity is a good use of our time, we should resist the urge to veer off toward something seemingly new or novel, which is actually a strong cultural pressure. For when we do that, we leave nothing but a few short, fruitless tracks. (This puts me in mind of Toad in The Wind in the Willows. Oliver Burkeman would surely tell us not to be as unstable and emotion driven Toad of Toad Hall, who always dumped one passion in favour of the next big thing.)

Cosmic Insignificance Therapy

Burkeman has advice for those moments when we doubt the point of whatever we're doing with our lives. Sometimes it's easy to assume our lives, over the long term, don't amount to anything much. We've surely all been there, but he suggests that we've set the bar too high. We become victims of widespread grandiosity, when in actual fact, our life choices don't matter that much, for our couple of thousand weeks on this planet aren't the lynch pin of history. When we decide our lives are meaningless, we've possibly adopted a towering standard of meaningfulness to which few can measure up (or indeed ever have). We surely don't disapprove of a chair for being unable to brew a cup of tea, after all. What a nice reminder for the end of the book.

Finally, he reminds us that whatever compelled our attention from day to day and moment to moment is what our lives will have been composed of. So when we pay attention to something we don't especially value, we're paying with our lives. 

I borrowed this book from the library and got so much out of it that I went and bought a copy of my own, so I can keep coming back and mulling over these points. I think it deserve full marks for this reason alone.  

🌟🌟🌟🌟🌟  

'An Old Fashioned Girl' by Louisa May Alcott

It was first serialised in the Merry's Museum magazine between July and August in 1869 and consisted of only six chapters. For the finished product, however, Alcott continued the story from the chapter "Six Years Afterwards" and so it ended up with nineteen chapters in all. The book revolves around Polly Milton, the old-fashioned girl who titles the story. Polly visits her wealthy friend Fanny Shaw in the city and is overwhelmed by the fashionable and urban life they live--but also left out because of her "countrified" manners and outdated clothes.

MY THOUGHTS: 

Louisa May Alcott is one of those old-time authors whose books I find generally satisfying and uplifting. 

This one is set in late nineteenth century Boston. 14-year-old Polly Milton goes for a long visit to the family of her good friend, 16-year-old Fanny Shaw. Somehow this unlikely pair have struck up a bond, even though Polly is a poor, unembellished country girl and Fanny is a wealthy, cosmopolitan young woman. But their gaping differences create uncomfortable friction when they try to get along together beneath one roof. I guess the trope is so familiar because it's a good one, and Alcott brings her own strengths to the way things pan out. These include likeable characters, transparent frankness, and a relatable way of making us take the characters' lessons on board. I was willing to roll with the whole City Mouse-Country Mouse theme as if I'd never seen it before. 

How should you react when your host suggests that your ways are backward, naive and worthy of jest? Adopting Fanny's style seems out of the question, since Polly is certain she couldn't pull it off even if she wanted to try. Yet it feels really awkward to think that her own appearance and presentation must reflect negatively on Fanny. It's a sensitive, seemingly irresolvable quandary for a young teenager to face and I was interested in Polly's unfolding choices. Fashion and finery are hard things to turn your back on and ignore when they are always in your face. 

She must also fit in with all the other members of the Shaw family, including Fanny's tiresome younger brother Tom, who is just the sort of character Louisa May Alcott loved to write, reflecting her own well-known weakness for boys. He's a rowdy, scornful, scatter-brained, restless, brash, testosterone driven, bad decision making and often annoying pain in the neck. Yet there's a certain vibrancy about Tom that appeals to Polly, and plenty of evidence that he hides a heart of gold. 

The story is basically told in two sections. First is Polly's initial visit to the Shaw family, when they are all quite young. The second part picks up six years further on, when she's back in Boston as a self-employed music tutor, trying to be independent so she can help her younger brother through college. That's when a few plots really start to thicken.

There are a couple of cheeky author intrusions which I can't go without mentioning. Firstly, Louisa May Alcott briefly writes herself into the story as a bit character, the author Kate King. ('Kate had written a successful book by accident, and happened to be the fashion just then.') We don't have to be geniuses to guess she's talking about Little Women. Kate starts discussing her personal experience. 'My children, beware of popularity; it is a delusion and a snare...' And Fanny looks at Kate and secretly wonders whether a woman could possibly earn a little money and success without such a heavy toll. For Kate looked 'sick, tired, and too early old.' Ah, poor Kate/Louisa, I guess you've earned the right to step inside one of your own novels for a moment. 

The second occasion is toward the end, when it appears all the love affairs are shaping up just as most readers hoped. Alcott can't resist a snarky comment when she writes, 'Intimidated by the threats, denunciations, and complaints showered upon me in consequence of taking the liberty to end a certain story as I liked, I now yield to the amiable desire of giving satisfaction.' Whoa, it seems she's still stewing over adverse reactions to her decision not to pair off Jo and Laurie! It's a bit of a cheap dig to vent her resentment in the pages of a totally separate novel, but I had to laugh at how she gets the last word.

Alcott is right, I can't imagine any romantics being unhappy with this book. Oh, slow down my heart, the unrequited love! Polly's ordeals gets really interesting when she rebuffs a noble, sensible catch who is every girl's desire, just because she's nursing forbidden love for intoxicating fruit who may never be hers. Alcott writes in such a way that Part Two practically drips with Polly's hidden desire, but it's never explicitly stated until a specific moment well down the track. That's seemingly out of authorial respect for Polly's privacy, but gives us readers a chance to shout, 'Yes, I knew it!' 

Perhaps my one gripe is that the story is sadly sparse on details regarding men's work. We're not told either Mr Shaw's line of business which folds, or Ned Milton's western venture, which Tom eventually buys into. But Alcott knew this would be peripheral to her target audience, who were girls like Fanny and Polly after all. Still, I would have been interested to know, and I'm surely not alone.  

Overall, life should always include books that make us sigh, 'How sweet,' or cheer, 'Hooray,' and this one does both. Louisa May Alcott, who is so often heavy handed with the preachiness of her stories, has done it again and pulled me right in. She herself may get a bit moralistic but the Shaws and Miltons themselves don't. (I personally love it when fiery Polly threatens Fanny with dire consequences if she should breathe a word to anyone about her discovery regarding who Polly is really in love with.) Poor Alcott might have written her fingers to the bone and carried the weight of the world on her shoulders, but she's done it again for me. 

🌟🌟🌟🌟½ 

The Borrowers Avenged (Book 5)

After their narrow escape from the Platters' attic in The Borrowers Aloft, Pod, Homily, and Arrietty Clock return to their miniature village. But it is no longer a safe refuge, and so once again the Borrowers must go looking for another place to live.
But finding a new home is hard when you're running for your life. The villainous Platters wil not rest until they recapture the tiny family, and they hound the Clocks' every move. When the Borrowers finally do set up house under a window seat in an old rectory, it seems they have found safety at last - until the Platters turn up in the church one night, forcing the Borrowers into a final desperate struggle for their freedom.

MY THOUGHTS:

 Oh dear, I think Mary Norton should never have recommenced this family history again. This surprise installment was first published in 1982, more than twenty years after she wrapped up The Borrowers Aloft.

The story picks up right where Borrowers Aloft concludes. Twenty-one years have lapsed in real time, but only three days in story time. Norton was quite elderly at this stage and I doubt her train of thought on this series was as finely calibrated as it had been at the end of 1961 when she last put down her pen. She might've been doing her younger self a disservice by continuing. 

For a start, we're given an actual date for the happenings, 1911. The former stories merely impart a strong Edwardian vibe which seemed to be her intent and works well. Nailing it down arguably diminishes some of the magic. Not to mention, many readers who took up Norton's invitation to resume the tale of the Clock family with their own imaginations may be disappointed.

Anyway, here's where she takes it. To recap, Pod, Homily and Arrietty arrive back at Little Fordham by homemade air balloon, are reunited with Spiller, and Pod decides it's no longer an ideal place to live. That turns out to be wise, for Sidney and Mabel Platter refuse to accept their loss and immediately decide to track down the little trio and steal them back again. The borrowers escape in Spiller's knife tray boat in the nick of time. Their new destination is a haunted rectory, and Uncle Hendreary's family is living in the church next door, for Spiller re-located them too, while Pod, Homily and Arrietty were trapped in the Platters' attic.

We're introduced to a new young Borrower who also lives in the rectory. His name is Peregrine (or Peagreen) Overmantel, and he walks with a limp due to a childhood injury. You guessed it, he's a member of that same proud and patronising Overmantel family who used to irritate, yet inspire Homily. But Peagreen himself is a pleasant and friendly young man. 

Now, the big question is whether or not Norton was attempting to set up one of those tiresome love triangles, for Peagreen is Spiller's antithesis in every way. He shuns the great outdoors, is very clean looking, loves taking baths, will chat for hours to anyone, and is very creative and classy. He's an artist with a studio in an old nesting box, writes poetry and is also working on a book about the history of the Overmantels. Peagreen limits himself to borrowing from the well-stacked rectory pantry, since his gammy leg prevents him from hunting, fishing or foraging. 

Although it's never stated directly, it seems Arrietty now has two polar opposite borrower boys appealing to the two equally compelling sides of her own character; her passion for the great outdoors and her fascination for culture and literature. But if she ever makes a choice it's not revealed in canon, since this book was the last. Some readers may think introducing a potential love triangle adds a dash of spice, but I'm no fan of this breezy newcomer supplanting our boy Spiller, who has earned his way into our hearts during the last three books. 

The next questionable addition is the ghost thread. The rectory is haunted by three apparitions, each with sad or violent backstories. Now, I have no trouble with teeny-tiny human look-alikes, but I think Norton crosses a line by introducing the supernatural. I don't think I'm alone either. Some other reviews indicate  protective parents objecting to the possibility of their kids getting frightened by the occult, which is fair enough. But my biggest gripe is that these ghosts never do anything other than waft around looking tragic and opaque! Why introduce such a startling element when it has no bearing on the plot whatsoever? 

Finally, the ending is frustrating. (Mild plot spoiler ahead.) Arrietty snaps at Spiller, accusing him of cowardice for not revealing their safety to Miss Menzies, as he'd promised. He responds with quiet fury, stalking off without a word. What's with that abrupt conclusion to such a great series? Apart from the fact that Spiller hasn't had much time to plan his approach because he's been too busy saving their lives yet again, Arrietty seriously needs to sit back and reflect on all he's ever done for them! Norton, who satisfied me at the end of The Borrowers Aloft, leaves me disgruntled and puzzled now. Perhaps she had further plans, (surely she must have!) but we'll never know. 

If ever I wanted to write my own bit of Borrower fan fiction, it's now. 

🌟🌟🌟