Around the World in 80 Trains by Monisha Rajesh | Book Review | Bloomsbury

Continuing with the theme of travel books, because what else would you want to read during lockdown? Yes, we're still here, reporting from my London flat which, though I've recently left for a whole day for the first time since March, is still our permanent base.

Waterstones named Monisha Rajesh's latest, Around the World in 80 Trains, its book of the month (last month? This month? Last year? What is time?) so, me being a sucker for all things travel, I thought I'd give it a go, yearning for the promise of some much-needed escapism.

I haven't read Monisha's first book, Around India in 80 Trains (I'm picking up on a theme here) and I know little about her work, except that she's a journalist who has written for the New York Times, the Guardian and other outlets, and that she lives in London with her now husband and daughter. But then, you don't need qualifications necessarily to devise an epic train journey that cris-crosses the world through the US, China, Russia, with a detour to North Korea too, and that ultimately finishes back home in ole' St Pacras station. Which is the story of the book, as you may have guessed - we follow Monisha and her fiancé, Jem, across the world as they experience the highs and lows of train travel across the world, seeking that old-school romance that, spoiler alert, is definitely not dead yet.

What did I like about it?

I was surprised to see the destinations of choice in this book. Far from the usual South America, Europe with a hint of Asia combo, Monisha's book is heavily weighted towards Asia, with only a short chapter dedicated to the US and really not much of Europe at all. It's quite refreshing, actually.

I especially enjoyed reading about their trip to North Korea - much like her, I wasn't aware this was even an option. We learn it's a crime to take a cropped picture of any of the Kims' statues, for example; and, as Monisha reflects, "the Kims had taken pains to be viewed as an enigma by rarely speaking in public, having no known official residence and appearing around the country unannounced"; which means that often, foreigners are not allowed in certain places or events, due to the possibility that Kim Jong Un might be present. (Also not allowed anywhere else by themselves and not allowed in most of the country, but oh well.)

The book really thrives when Monisha lets her sentimental side speak. I felt truly touched when she tries to hide some tears after a Tibetan monk gifts her a scarf, as a thank you for travelling so far to see Tibet. I love her immediate emotional attachment to Karen, a fellow traveller "with Dame Edna glasses and a blunt brown bob", their discussion really reflecting - to me at least - how connections made on trains are something altogether different and special. What are the odds of receiving some genuine life affirming advice and taking it to heart anywhere but a train? "You have to live with no regrets. That's all." Noted, Karen. Noted.

What was I not massively fond of?

On the whole, unfortunately, this book did not provide that much-needed escapism. Much like I felt about Paul Theroux's Great Railway Bazaar, I got annoyed by the feeling that they were mostly having a miserable time on this trip. There are too many complaints of red wine headaches, the wrong shoes, getting lost and generally being unprepared for me to give the author credibility. "That morning, we'd set out on foot to find the Forbidden City, and returned two hours later having managed to get no further than buying bubble tea and a cardigan from Zara." How, I ask?

For me, Monisha seems to place emphasis on the wrong things. She is fascinated by oppression and catastrophe - we spend an inordinate amount of time on the Hiroshima bomb, the 'death railways' of Vietnam and the Chinese oppression in Tibet - but not so much by natural wonders or the real people in the places she visits. I still can't get over her ignorance in relation to the Terracotta Army in China, mostly because she'd entered the room from the back and the warriors were facing away from her ("It didn't bode well that I was standing witness to apparently one of the greatest modern discoveries, but wishing I'd stayed in bed at an inner-city Ibis"). 

In general, there is a lot of judgement and bias in her writing, which is hard to ignore if you don't agree with her opinion. A glaring example from North Korea when she sees an abandoned rail carriage that's been occupied by a family by the tracks - "This was a wonderful example of the juche ideology of self-reliance established by Kim Il Sung. It made perfect sense. Inside was warm, protected from the elements, and there were sleeper berths for all the family." Personally, that's not really the first thing that comes to mind.

To her credit, she does try to talk to the local folk (though it's actually mostly her fiancé who seems to strike up conversations) but when she does, I often felt uncomfortable by the interrogating nature of her discussions. Whether that's just her writing style, or whether these interviews were indeed conducted in this way, I'm not sure.

Overall...

Parts of this book are absolutely wonderful - there are beautiful descriptions of British Columbia, of the mountains of Tibet, of Vietnamese bridges and delicious dishes across the world. And if, like me, you view trains with an endless romantic fascination, you will also see the beauty of it.

But there is a lot to be desired. Perhaps this review is very subjective - perhaps I just had different priorities for Monisha's trip, and I'm the one being unfair. So take this with a pinch of salt. In either case, kudos for her seven-month trip and for really trying the highest and the lowest of trains. I am extremely jealous of their journey home on the Venice Simplon-Orient-Express - if you only have time for a moment of escapism, it's worth a look.

5/10

One More Croissant for the Road by Felicity Cloake | Book Review | Sheer Foodie Perfection

In my humble opinion, everything comes down to food in the end.

Whether you're sad and in need of comfort; whether you're celebrating and wishing to do so in style; or whether you're travelling and in search of what might be deemed an authentically local experience - it always comes down to the food.

Not to mention foodie books. Thinking back to Pie Fidelity, which I loved so very much, or delighting in Nora Ephron's words on the joys of cooking, a well-written book about food brings me nearly as much pleasure as eating said food.

Before I start raving about One More Croissant for the Road, a word on the author's credentials...

Who is Felicity Cloake?

You might have come across her in The Guardian and her delicious regular column, 'How to Make the Perfect', which is an absolute gem. Here, she collects and tests recipes for a certain dish from many credible sources, from the top chefs to grassroots, and by testing them all she creates the 'perfect' overall recipe that incorporates the best from the source material. You might be skeptical, and I was too, until I tried her perfect patatas bravas recipe and I can tell you that it changed my life. It's an eternal truth that he or she who shares a truly foolproof recipe wins eternal trust.

One More Croissant for the Road

So now she has my eternal trust, and now I begin to follow her on Instagram, where she is a delight; and now I have ordered her book, One More Croissant for the Road, which tells the story of how she traveled around France on her trusty bicycle, Eddy, eating her way through the most legendary dishes of each region as she goes. So now, she has combined my two favourite genres in her book.

I approve of her dishes of choice 100%. From moules marinières ("huge pans of mussels in a heady, wine-soaked sauce with a great dollop of yellow crème fraîche left to melt on top") through tartiflette ("superior efforts like this are lubricated with the same refreshingly acidic local plonk we're glugging with it, with gently cooked cheese that runs over the potatoes like cream") and the obligatory boeuf bourguignon ("with a richly-savoury sauce and great hunks of gelatinous meat, served with not one, but two types of heavily garlicked carbs") she really knows her stuff, and armed with a Michelin guide, she knows where to get it too.

The beauty of her writing and general attitude, though, is crucial in making this such a jolly read. "Powerless in the face of hot garlic butter," (aren't we all?) "I start with yet more snails. Let no one ever say I don't suffer for my art." She never shies away from "pig snout, soft pink sausage and the best tripe" she's ever tasted; from starting almost every morning with a croissant (rated 1-10) and, most likely, another new type of pastry that she either finishes or crams, half-eaten, into her pannier. She stops often, for drinks, for photos, for elevensies. She enjoys herself. (Most of the time. The going gets tough for everyone sometimes, especially when her booked hotel is on the other of the two identically named roads after a day that's already been really long.)

I must also mention that she includes her own recipes for these most famous of dishes in the book, which I have earmarked and will be cooking - especially her clafoutis aux cerises, her tarte Tatin and her ratatouille, all wonderfully doable, even when so reliant on sad Tesco produce.

The book is a combination of beautiful scenery, delicious dishes eaten the right way, honesty about the ups and downs - rain and hills and the occasional indigestion - and the joie de vivre without which this book would be nowhere near as entertaining. As it happens, Felicity is an expert.

Overall...

I weep when I think about the tasteless vegetables UK supermarkets have on offer after finally finishing this wonderful book. But not to give up hope - after all, anything will taste much better with a good bottle of wine (some of which should probably go into the dish you're making).

Croissants are a different story. I'm delighted to report my local M&S does a deliciously flaky, buttery and crisp on the outside version which, although no idea how Felicity would rate it, I enjoy thoroughly when I head out directly after finishing the book to munch on in the sunshine. I must say I never rated croissants: they look too small, to bland to satisfy my usual breakfast cravings. But this seems to have changed with a bit of attention and mindfulness.

For these strange times, I cannot think of a better book to whisk my imagination away and all the way to sunny France, where tomatoes as big as my head grow and where salads are 80% bacon and 20% green ("as health insurance"). If you're an aspiring vegetarian, like me, the struggle will be real. You will be craving juicy meat. But that's okay sometimes.

10/10

I Feel Bad About My Neck by Nora Ephron | Introduced by Dolly Alderton | Book Review | Transworld

How does one discover that Nora Ephron was, and is, the queen of pretty much everything?

Perhaps it starts on a lonely evening, when one craves one of those classic romantic comedies that alone have that special power of cheering one up at any given moment. I have to admit I was hugely behind on this education. The first time I saw When Harry Met Sally... was when an American friend of mine forced her will on a small group of us and put it on to play on my laptop, propped on the tiny student dorm room desk.

I'm sad to say we were all baffled by it and soon rebelled against her will, forcing her to turn it off.

Years later (specifically, this year) I came back to it, by now having found out about its cult standing, not to mention that it was written by the one and only Nora Ephron, along with films so dear to my heart, such as Bewitched (controversial), You've Got Mail and Julie & Julia.

By now, I've also read Heartburn, in turns hilarious, heartbreaking and educational - I've learned the ultimate secret to mashed potatoes, for example (cutting cubes of butter into it as you go, spooning it from the bowl in bed), and other life lessons.

And so we come to I Feel Bad About My Neck, a short collection of writings from Ephron that take on topics such as wrinkles, parenting, ageing, beauty regimes and falling in love. Oh, and crucially, reading.

Observation power

If you've seen any of her films, you instinctively have a familiarity with the tone of voice of her writing too. Nora has eyes on the back of her head and all over her body, in fact: she sees and points out things we, ordinary people, might disregard or take no notice of or perhaps are just lazy to point out. It's a personal victory to read her thoughts on women's handbags - finally someone gets it! "In a modern world, your arms have to be free. ... That's one of many reasons why you don't see the guys-with-purses trend catching on." It's a shame that she didn't settle with the backpack solution, like yours truly, though clearly she had a preoccupation with fashion that I, fortunately, don't have or have to have.

I still hold true that the way she writes about food makes you want to drop everything and rush to the kitchen with an armful of fresh herbs, quail's eggs and with a rock-solid determination to make hollandaise sauce from scratch. Her words make food come alive, and as she writes about her imaginary conversations with food mentors, of Julia Child's 'nicer and more forgiving' directions than 'sterner and more meticulous' Michael Field's, you can't help but start your own imaginary conversations with Nora.

But the essay that spoke to me the most, of course, is On Rapture, which is a brief piece on the joy and pleasures of reading - of getting lost in a book utterly and completely, of its escapism and of surfacing again after a deep plunge into extraordinary worlds and ideas. She talks about remembering sofas and rooms as the setting for each beloved book and all too well I recall my own kingdom of imagination in our first home: my room with blue cupboards, glow-in-the-dark stars and an extremely bouncy bed that I'd have to strip from any bedding each day, to be tucked into the inside compartment and taken out again at the end of the day to remake the bed. I'd lie there engrossed in treasure hunts, cowboy and Indian tales, teenage detectives and a girl with a horse. And I know all too well that most annoying feeling of all, of having to put a book down for such ridiculous reasons as having to go down for dinner or, in more modern times, having to make said dinner.

Timing is everything

I'm so lucky to have picked up this book in my youth, because it is full of advice. I can now avoid Nora's deep regret of not having worn a bikini for the entire year she was twenty-six ("If anyone young is reading this, go, right this minute, put on a bikini, and don't take it off until you're thirty-four.") and I can heed all her points in What I Wish I'd Known - some free tips from her to you include:

• Write everything down.
• You never know.
• You can order more than one dessert.
• There's no point in making piecrust from scratch.

If you want my advice though, get yourself a copy of this book, whatever your age, state of mind or state of your kitchen.

9/10

Less by Andrew Sean Greer | Winner of the Pulitzer Prize | Book Review

As I was doing some preliminary reading to write this review, I was browsing the Pulitzer Prize website to read their reasoning behind Andrew Sean Greer's Less being selected as the winning work in 2018 (a surprisingly hard thing to find). Not because I'm questioning their decision - far from it - but I was curious about which aspect appealed to the judges the most. (I still don't know.) I'm pleased to say though that I wasn't surprised to read that among the three shortlisted works was also Elif Batuman's The Idiot - a work very close to my heart indeed. Just as much as Less is now. 

Less could be selected for a number of things - mastery of language, satire, huggability of main character. It follows the journey of Arthur Less, just-turning-fifty, writer, very tall, very blond, wearing a very blue suit, who - to avoid coming to terms with the wedding of a recently lost boyfriend - embarks on a literary round-the-world trip. He tries a bit of everything from award ceremonies to teaching opportunities and retreats, running and pretending not to be.

What did I like about it?

I adore it when an author is able to combine a good plot with great language. Less does it all: we follow Arthur from San Francisco to Mexico, Germany, Paris, Morocco and more, until we finally arrive to Japan and back to San Francisco again. We take part in food tastings, camel rides, camping in the desert; we sleep with young, seductive German men and bond deeply with married men at wild parties in Paris; and we feel it all.

The reason we love Arthur so much is we are invited into his deepest feelings and memories, not by him, but by an all-seeing, all-feeling narrator - and we understand it, even though we might be very far from being Arthur Less.

We see how strongly love has shaped this man from a young age to his fifties. The beauty of the book is that it is satirical, funny, but deep down it is heart-wrenching and honest; it muses on what those years meant, loving and losing, the fear of loneliness, the boundaries we must or mustn't respect and growing old. Simple lines have such power here. "Please, Mr. Less." Says the bravest person I know: "I can't."

The literary wit I loved so much in The Idiot is here too: "The garden was planted four hundred years ago, when the surrounding area was poplar." ... "And now," Less says, "it's unpoplar." Some descriptions are so vivid that I want to frame them and put them on my wall.

He kisses - how do I explain it? Like someone in love. Like he has nothing to lose. Like someone who has just learned a foreign language and can use only the present tense and only the second person. Only now, only you. There are some men who have never been kissed like that. There are some men who discover, after Arthur Less, that they never will be again.

As you can see, the narrator isn't exactly impartial - and trust me, once you read this book, you'll want to get yourself a suit in Lessian blue too.

What was I not massively fond of?

I've got nothing here.

Overall...

Arthur Less is so lovable, the story so beautifully shaped, the language such a treat. His mishaps make him endearing, his feelings make us want to wrap him tight in a hug - and the ending we get is extremely cathartic and satisfying. I was sitting in a Pret with a cup of tea as I finished reading it, and I am proud to say I wept as I did.

I love Arthur Less.

10/10