Birdsong

Hiya, this is Heather writing! I know that several people are planning on reading this book, so will attempt to avoid spoilers. Bear in mind that a lot happens in this book, so this review does simplify the plot massively!

Author: Sebastian Faulks

Published: September 1993

Publisher: Hutchinson

Birdsong covers just under seventy years – from 1910 to 1979 – and is largely themed around the First World War, including before it has begun and the aftermath. The main protagonist (though the perspectives do change throughout) is Stephen Wraysford, a young British man who has been sent to France to oversee the way their textile industry works, whilst staying with the Azaire household. I think some people found the first section rather confusing because it is mostly a romance initially, you have to persevere until the war is abruptly entered. I actually really liked this, it shows that the soldiers’ lives did not simply revolve around the war; they had their own conflicts and personal battles before it. We also get a glimpse into the life of Stephen’s granddaughter, Elizabeth, who is narrating from 1978/9 and gains a sudden fascination with the war. Again, this displays rather a contrast to war, branching onto a more drama themed section as she struggles with her own relationship. Moreover, it illustrates how society disregards the First World War so much, with many of the characters lacking much sympathy or understanding of the horrors that we see Stephen go endure.

Like Barker’s Regeneration, the book addresses the link between love and war. At first, I thought this might be linking to how the soldiers would think of the most beautiful moments of their lives to remind themselves what they were fighting for, hence the love scenes were aforementioned. Yet there’s also the concept that love is a distraction, rather than a reason, to fight. The juxtaposition of ending life in war and forming life through a form of love is very powerful to write about. I did struggle to find the relationship between Stephen and Isabelle (this isn’t really a spoiler, it’s fairly obvious that they develop feelings for one-another) romantic since she is cheating on her husband with all things considered. Though the way Faulks presents it, Isabelle has no intimacy with her husband anyhow and Azaire is fairly easy to dislike, so it’s in no way an uncomfortable romance to read, I very much enjoyed it (plus it’s very easy to skip past the brief sex scenes if that disturbs you).

The parts set in war were written in a grotesquely visual manner, which was excellent at portraying the reality of war. Another main character – Jack Firebrace – works in the tunnels, which is a role that very few books look at. I can honestly not think of much worse than tunneling in the war. It’s described so vividly that as someone not fond of small spaces or loud noises, I felt terrified at points. The prospect of being buried alive was real for many in the war, so I’m really glad the Faulks wrote about it, as I feel it’s sometimes forgotten about when we refer to roles in the First World War.

Reactions to war is another phenomenally written aspect of the book – again, I find myself hooking back to Regeneration, particularly Siegfried Sassoon and his hatred of the civilians – Birdsong goes deeper into this so the reader really does sympathise with this view. When Weir goes home for a bit, his parents seem to dismiss his war experiences as dull, with the soldier’s family almost treating him like a nuisance for coming back without any advanced warning. Weir’s father seems practically offended that his son thinks he knows more about war, announcing at one point that he’s read about it in the paper, insinuating that he doesn’t need to know any more details, he’s perfectly well informed. I’m not quite sure whether to view this ignorance as his father’s bitterness about not being able to enlist himself, or perhaps feeling threatened upon knowing that his son is so tremendously brave and has seen such dreadful things. Maybe he wants to protect himself from hearing about the traumas his son has witnessed. Either way, Weir sums up his frustration later on saying that “his ‘bit’ and mine seem so different”. Anyone that’s read Haig’s play My Boy Jack may think to Rudyard Kipling, who is presented contrastingly in a proud way but still as ignorant to the reality of war, glorifying every moment.

Anyone on the hunt for either a romance, drama or war novel, please do opt for Birdsong and don't be dissuaded by the number of pages. Faulks writes in a vivid and captivating manner that makes the reader really understand more about the First World War. If you’ve read this or have any questions, comment below!

Our Future

Hey guys, its Lydia here! This is another poem for my creative writing homework. Even though this poem is quite angry and violent, I had a lot of fun writing it. Hope you enjoy it, leave me a comment and give our blog a follow. 

I am dying. Choking on old decaying blood.

 While men below create pointy spears, to breathe blue and grey ash.

The sticky tar desolates my air and corrupts my lungs.

Forever living in smog.

What have I done to deserve this?

My children will never feel the rain, nor know sunlight.

Thousands upon thousands, burnt, mutilated, dead.

Their skin peeled away, revealing bare green bone.

Left now only empty holes of innocent echoes.

You stole their existence, and condensed them to nothing.

There is an eagle, forever lost and flying with the wind.

Searching for a home. There is none left.

All gone, all stripped bare.

Her wings reluctant with exhaustion.

She is falling, plummeting.

Drowned in lashings of toxic waves.   

I am sweating, burning from inside out.

This scorching devours north and south.

Bringing helpless massacre and carnage in my wake.

 Only scraps and heaps left in revenge.

If I will perish, you will perish with me.   

These Two Ladies

Good evening, Lydia here. I started to write this poem yesterday and finished it tonight, I needed to get my creative juices flowing again. I hope you enjoy it, beware it rather strange.
 Leave me a comment and follow our blog to get updates on our posts.

I stand on the second coming,

See the split earth beneath.

A foolish man of two loves.

Two women of equal pleasant,

One no more than the other,

To choose one, a callous decision.

Oh lady of death!

Your sickly beauty and dangerous cheeks

Will grant the fires of immortally. Those black curled

Roses, and blessed thoughts that lie underneath.

What stranger wouldn’t subdue temptress?

Thou eternal requiem sings from blooded lips,

And teeth of moonlight with rays of daggers.

But can thou love silent lady, whose heart stirs not.

Under that lily skin is seedless soil, cracked and unblossomful.

I doubt that vow to me,

 Your dark eyes have tasted other souls.

I turn to this lady, with almond eyes

 And precious brow.

Dear good mistress of love,

Time is not our gift

We may age and wrinkle,

But our united body will defeat the battle of life.

There is no fear in secondness, for you are the gentle wind,

And radiant sun that brought to this embrace.

I will spend this new world, kneeling in your wonder.

Take heed in this fool, and consider to share this widened rapture.

In praise of... Loud eating

Hello everyone! It's Shani and today I'm sharing my recent creative homework. Our task was to turn a negative subject or annoyance into something positive. Now my piece isn't meant to be serious, in fact my aim was to keep it light and humourous! I hope you enjoy.

In praise of... Loud eating

I hate Sundays. My mother has always told me that I shouldn't use the word 'hate', that it's an awful word to use and I can't possibly dislike something that much. I do though. I loathe Sundays.

Sundays, in concept, are a day of rest. Of tranquillity. My Sundays, however, are absolute hell. The day consists of an extra two hours in bed, a gulp of scalding tea just before twelve o'clock, and then an hour to hastily get ready and head to my uncle's for Sunday roast.

As tradition in the Casey household my entire family meets once a week to catch up on current affairs - or in other words to gossip and gorge ourselves on my auntie Thelma's delectable food. In a way, it's like a miniature Christmas every week... Just without the presents and the drunk dancing which Christmas brings.

Now, I used to enjoy our family gatherings. Seeing my cousins was always a treat, despite the fact that I usually sat and conversed with the adults of the family. Being the only girl in the family, and the second youngest, my emotional maturity was a great deal more developed then my all male cousins. Though this never stopped me from laughing at their stupid jokes, or running after then as they played Chase.

Sundays used to be my favourite day of the entire week. I'd often wish for the week to hurry up, eagerly awaiting for the weekend.
That was until... The inccident. That fateful Sunday that changed everything. I was blissfully chewing on a Yorkshire Pudding when my cousin, Benjamin, commented: "Shani eats really loudly, doesn't she?"

I froze. My Yorkshire Pudding falling from my fingers. My cheeks flushed in embarrassment: they had discovered my secret. Eight pairs of eyes latched onto me. The mush of my Yorkshire Pudding lay still in my mouth, I did not dare move, nor breathe. My family stared at me. Waiting. Ever so slowly, I bit down on the remains of my Yorkshire Pudding, watching in horror as my family gasped around me.

"Nicola, did you know she was a loud eater?" My aunt enquired in a shrill voice  watching with wide eyes as my mother flushed in shame.

"It's like she's chewing nails!" My uncle said smugly as he sliced his chicken up.

The only word I can use to describe that situation is: mortification. Now I cannot attend our annual dinner without being given the 'side eye' or getting a full glare from my mother. They have now become the worst hours of my entire week.

It is no different this Sunday. I grace table alongside my two older brothers. We take our usual seats. Glasses of wine are poured and polite, though strained, conversation is made around the table.  Soon my aunt Thelma brings out our plates stock full of Turkey, greasy roast potatoes, the usual vegetables, pigs wrapped in blankets, and golden Yorkshire Puddings. All accompanied with thick, steaming gravy.

My family digs in around me. All gobbling down the haven in front of them. I sit still though. Not daring to move. I'm ravenous, desperate for some smooth Turkey, and the crunch of stuffing. So, with trembling fingers I grasp my cutlery, and slowly cut through my dinner. Everyone around the table is gorging on their own meal, they haven't noticed me yet, totally engrossed by the food in front of them. I strike my fork down and quickly pop a piece of chicken into my mouth. I bite down, bliss twisting around my tongue, when a gasp echoes from across the table and I lock eyes with my mother.

Please, her eyes plead, please try to eat quieter. I stare at her for a few moments, then without breaking eye contact, I pluck another piece of chicken into my mouth and gnash my teeth together. My mother winces at the sound.

I chomp my way through dinner, ignoring the horror struck faces around me, the side eye glares of my cousins, and my mother's beetroot face. I am hungry, and nothing, I mean nothing, gets in the way of me and my dinner when I'm hungry.

I realise that to many people my loud eating habits must be irritating. The munching, the gobbling, the loud clack as my teeth knock together, but I see no reason to be ashamed of my loud eating. At least with me as a guest my host will know how much I truly liked their meal. The enjoyment clear through the inhaling breaths, the speed in which I devour the supper. At least I am honest with my eating habits. 

The Accidental

Hello, it's Heather here! This is a review on The Accidental, which is a little more mature than the typical book I'd go for, but I felt like trying something different.

Author: Ali Smith

Published: 2005

Publisher: Hamish Hamilton

The writing style is what really makes this book stand out. Anyone that knows my book tastes can confirm that I love a good stream of consciousness, so naturally I was intrigued by The Accidental. It's not quite as heavy as Woolf's take on the stream of consciousness, so anyone tempted to delve into that sort of work - but concerned it'll be too slow paced - may want to try this out. Some of the scenes and topics covered are quite mature. There will be spoilers in this review.

The accidental is peculiar to say the least, I began reading it (technically last year I suppose) in December and was delighted at how it was set out. The book is so structurally organised, I felt rather orderly indulging in one sub-section, then eating a biscuit, then reading the next sub-section etc until I had finished a section (and too many biscuits). It flutters between five narrators; Astrid, Magnus, Michael and Eve as well as a rather ominous narrator who calls themselves Alhambra who the reader can presume to be Amber I suppose, though that’s up for debate really. There are three sections which allow each character to have their say. The story-line is hard to concisely put into words without sounding dull, but basically the family are on holiday when a girl named Amber knocks at their door and apologises for being late for an appointment. Everybody then assumes that this appointment is either to meet with Eve (who is a historical writer) or someone involved with Michael, who seems to have numerous affairs with his students. Meanwhile, Magnus is consumed with guilt from having participated in a prank that resulted in the death of a girl he barely knew, so does not question Amber’s appearance. The quote below, eloquently put in Magnus’ narrative, expresses the family dynamic quite well:

“Everybody at this table is in broken pieces which won’t go together, pieces which are nothing to do with each other, like they all come from different jigsaws, all muddled together into the one box by some assistant who couldn’t care less in a charity shop or wherever the place is that old jigsaws go to die. Except jigsaws don’t die.”

Whilst there are certainly some rather awkward moments for the reader, which I’ll write about in a bit, there are also some excellent parts. The writing style is lovely. I’ve said many times that a stream of consciousness is one of my favourite styles because there’s so much that can be done with it – Smith did one of Eve’s sections through a question and answer style thing in her mind (I’m sure we’ve all done it sometimes, you ask yourself a question then answer it like you're on TV) this is surprisingly fun to read. At times, I’d have liked a little more imagery and some more details, we hear a lot of thoughts but not so much description. The contrast in tone between each character was written beautifully: Astrid is a vibrant and young yet somewhat naïve girl fascinated with filming so she can retain the memories she worries will be spun into a dream as she ages and doubts reality, Magnus is consumed with grief then struggles to comprehend Amber and his feelings as he matures, Eve is too forgiving yet also appears bitter and insecure and Michael is pretty self-consumed. Then, there’s Amber, who we mostly hear about through the others. I honestly am in awe of their politeness towards this girl, who randomly intrudes their house, breaks Astrid’s camera and is extremely rude to Eve. The presence of this girl is perhaps so curious that they are bamboozled by her to the extent they don’t seem to mind her crudeness.

The sexual scenes between Amber and Magnus in this book were somewhat disturbing given the age gap and how vulnerable he is at this point (she literally found him trying to commit suicide in the bathroom before trying to seduce him). I was very glad that they weren’t too long or detailed… Another weird part of their relationship was that the church seemed to be a favourite place to meet and do the sex thing (you can probably tell I feel awkward writing about this) – which is fairly typical of an English Literature novel; look at books like Regeneration in which two characters get intimate on a gravestone. Smith plays with this idea of sex and religion being interlinked, perhaps looking at the bad morality of the situation, which seems to foreshadow the relationship itself. Though one can also associate a church with the circle of life since many are christened there, get married there and then have their funeral there. I’ll probably write more detailed waffle about how death and sex are common themes in my Birdsong review. Anyway, the other aspect of this relationship that really deflated the romance was that Magnus’ stepdad Michael was first wrongly presented by Eve to be one of his many flings, then Michael even spends a little time wishing Amber was involved with him in that manner. So, it’s weird to go from thinking that she could be a potential love interest with Michael to then realising she’s more attracted to his stepson.

Alright, that's the end of this review then. If you have read this book too then let me know what you think in the comments section below! Anyone considering reading it, I'd only recommend this to those over the age of 16 and would advise to look out for symbolism (note how Astrid talks a lot about red when the books reaching its climax) if you like symbolism hunting. 

Something Unpopular

Hey guys! Its Lydia here. I think this writing piece really speaks for itself, its another homework/revision task for my creative writing Alevel. I really didn't know what to writing about, and this was the first thing that eventually came to my mind, I wrote about something I had experience it and felt those emotions.
Write me a comment it you enjoyed reading it, or tell me what you would do to improve it.

Measure the planes terminal velocity compared to the car. – I don’t remember. All that time, all that dedication, wasted for this final moment. I had forgotten how to answer the question. This was my last exam; finishing on the subject I hate the most, the useless one of all, and I was going to fail.  The fear begun to melt down my forehead; the anxiety of seeing that unforgiveable F on my sheet at results day. The trembling disappointment of not working hard enough and not exuding the required effort. A test of memory this was all this was, it didn’t even demand intelligence from a person. Yet why couldn’t I remember? Was it because I was stupid? Was I not listening enough?

What a twisted perversion from the government, to make students squirm with anxiety and paranoia that they haven’t tired hard enough, hadn’t studied enough. This testing of old men couldn’t and wouldn’t work for this generation, all people were different and each brain formed significantly. To make us suffer this sentence of depression was a cruel joke.

“Time is up. Put down your pens please,” said the invigilator suddenly.

Those dotted lines will forever remain blank from a spoiling mind.

As I walked along the corridor, I could hear my classmates say, “that was so easy” and “question two was a breeze”. Urgh I though, yes I know you understand science better than I do, and are probably more intelligent, so just shut up! I felt black and white amongst the blues and yellows of others. My dull being was no match for their superior brightness.    

When I reached home, I threw myself onto the sofa, and pressed the TV on. Friends instantly appeared, and my anger slowly subdued as I curled beneath a blanket. After a few minutes an advert came on, it was something I’d seen everyday. Text 639 to Water Aid to help those in need. I realized something as the advert faded, not only were those people deprived of food and water, but education. This girl looked my age, and may not even know how to read. They lived beneath basic existence, not striving for a goal or learning that last quote for an exam. They would forever be in a turbulent purgatory, never answering a quadratic equation or looking forward to their next reading book from the library. Those children would never be able to achieve a qualification, or dream of who they’d become in fifteen years, because they wouldn’t have moved an inch, they’d still be sitting within the cracked dry earth.

My mind went blank for the first time today; that could have so easily been my life. Perhaps I should be more grateful that my parents paid for my education, be thankful that I wake up every day knowing I will learn something new. Be honoured as someone took the time to plan a student’s discovery in that one hour. Yes education can and always will be a stress and struggle, but I should appreciate the education I am granted with now and the next few years, as it will tar the road that my life will sprint down.

A Monster Calls

Hey guys! Its Lydia again.  This book I finished around the start of last week, and I've got to say its one of the best 12+ books I've read in a while, I know I've reviewed Finding Audrey and Girl heart Girl, but this one is one of my favourites this year. I hope you enjoy the review.
Beware there will be spoilers!

Author: Patrick Ness
Published: 5th May 2011
Publishers: Walker books
My rating: 5/5

I have seen A Monster Calls many times on multiple bookshelves in book shops, but for some reason I never picked it up. I think the title kinda scared me a bit, as I first saw the graphic novel and the imagines to accompany the story are quite dark, so as an eleven year old this really freaked me out. But now I would recommend buying and reading either the graphic novel or the normal novel.

 What I loved so much about this book was the fact that it was so relatable, a young boy who is struggling to come to terms with the truth and reality, in which his triggered nightmares from this awaiting reality cause him depression and an unhealthy way of living.

"I have come to get you, Conor O'Malley...." - This part scared me quite a bit, I was almost thinking, I've picked up a horror book for children. But when I turned the page I started to laugh, because the monster just grabs Conor and starts swaying him around his room, and the visualisation of his massive hand waving this teenage boy around is hilarious. Okay back to the serious stuff. - The monster at first is described in a very raw and ugly image, however as you progress through the book, you forget about the monsters ugliness and focus on what he's trying to tell us. Its that hidden message that Ness is trying to express, the one parents told you as children, 'Never judge a book buy its cover' or 'Its the truth and beauty which lie underneath'. There are a lot of hidden morals within this book. I also have a theory that perhaps Ness drew inspiration from christianity and the bible, as the monster tells Conor that he wasn't just a yew tree and could appear in many forms, so this reminded me of the story of Moses, how God appeared to Moses in the for of a burning bush to give him the strength and courage to return to Egypt. This is similar to the monsters presents to Conor he is there to help him realise and cope with his suffering. The monster is also like a paternal figure, Conor has no parental figure for quite some time, and the monster stands as a conscience and guide.  The three stories that the monster tells Conor are quite similar to the parables that Jesus told his decibels and followers, they all had a messages and moral guidance.

"I did not come to heal her, the monster said. I came to heal you." - This is my favourite line of the book. It expresses that there are different types of pain, the physical and mental kind. What is also quite sad and also very true is the fact that Conor's mothers cancer is in the background of the story and it more focuses on the pain that Conor is experiencing, he is at the center of the book. The monster didn't come walking for his mother but for him, to heal Conor. It shows that once a loved on is dead or is dying, it isn't he/she who will be left in tatters, but their family. This is why the monster came walking for Conor he healed his heart so he could face with letting his mother go.

I think that as a children's book Patrick Ness has done a fabulous job in creating a moral to the story, teaching children about life and about death, and that not everything lives forever.  I don't think this novel is limited to just children and young adults, I read this book in two days and I'm going to be eighteen soon. This book really touched my heart and since I read a lot their aren't many books that can touch my heart and make me cry.

I thoroughly recommend this book, however there is also a film version of the novel, that came out on the 1st January 2017.