William Dalrymple, The Anarchy: the Relentless Rise of the East India Company

 More of a skim than a read. I have really enjoyed William Dalrymple's travel writing, but his historical work is such a slog. Impeccably researched and he obviously loves India, but it was dry stuff. He's no apologist for the EIC and it's corporate criminal exploitation of a subcontinent to enrich a few stockholders. I'm still isolating, and would go mad if it wasn't for the sessions on the exercise bike. In the meantime, Helen has to deal with pick up and drop off and all the outside chores on top of a very demanding job. At least we are not self-isolating at the same time. I'm released on Sunday so will see how it goes. In the meantime after a rough couple of days I'm feeling fine now, hopefully that's it for me.

Ursula Le Guin, a Wizard of Earthsea

 One book, one entry? Let's see how long this lasts. I've been meaning to read this for ages, but it wasn't the revolutionary upturning of traditional fantasy I was expecting. Main character still a boy, female characters either evil or servants or beautiful aristocrats. apparently  this all gets turned on its head in book 4, by which time Le Guin had seen that she was conforming to the mind forg'd manacles of how fantasy should be written. I'm still isolating, but feeling much better although I am wheezing a bit and I'd be lying if I said I wasn't a bit scared. Thankfully everyone else seems to be unaffected, although all the burden is falling on poor Helen at the moment. To make things worse, Mum has apparently been diagnosed with dementia, waiting to hear more from Dad but bloody hell.

Colin Dexter, The Wench is Dead, Shaun Bythell, Seven Kinds of People you find in Bookshops, Madeline Miller, The Song of Achilles, John Boughton, Municipal Dreams: The Rise and Fall of Council Housing, George MacDonald Fraser, Flashman and the Mountain of Light, Chris Wrigley, Arthur Henderson

 A week's worth of reading, far more than usual because we have been restricted in our movements. Libby tested positive for COVID and had to self-isolate, so our plans for half-term had to be scratched, and instead we had a quiet time at home, so lots of reading. a week after Libby tested positive I did too, and am just in to my isolation period. I am starting to feel better after a rough few days, but I can feel it in my chest, have shortness of breath and notice it when climbing the stairs. Everyone else is still testing negative, so let's see what happens. Given my invalid status it's been easy comfort reads. Back to Morse and Flashman, and I'm sure I've said this before but it is incredible how dated Morse is. Casual sexist and racist attitudes are normal, even charming and whimsical rather than bigoted or predatory behaviour. Incredible to think how much society has changed its views on what is acceptable behaviour. Still a long way to go though. Flashman has the excuse of being a Victorian for his own prejudices though, but Morse still feels contemporary to me, or near-contemporary. 'The Song of Achilles' was wonderful, a poetic, erotic retelling of the Siege of Troy as a love story between Achilles and Patroclus. I loved Madeline Miller's 'Circe' too, here's hoping for more retelling of the Greek myths from her. 'Municipal Dreams' had the expected result at making me rage at the folly and cynicism of the destruction fo council housing from the 80s onwards and its move from an aspirational, well-built homes for heroes to jerry-built last resort housing. What a state our country is in as a result. The biography of Arthur Henderson was a reminder of the eternal battle in the Labour Party between those who seek to replace capitalism and those who seek to work with it. Henderson was very much the latter and would have been at home in Keir Starmer's Labour Party, and led the calls for Corbyn to be expelled. I didn't realise quite how anti-the left he was, I only knew him as one of the 'good guys' during the bankers' ramp that didn't jump ship and betray the Labour Movement

Eric Ries, The Lean Startup: How Constant Innovation Creates Radically Successful Businesses

 All these wonderful books that I read and don't write anything about or take time to pause and digest, but the one I pick is a corporate entrepreneurial self-help guide. Not something I would voluntarily read, as it serves a practical purpose and reading is an esoteric activity that should be enjoyed for itself, not because of any tangible gains or improvements as a result. Reading is to be enjoyed, not applied to the real world. There is part of me that wants to do a good job though, and if this helps then hey-ho. The reason I read it was because my company have introduced a 'Spirit Day' which each of us should use for development and well-being. I was sceptical of this, but I must admit I really enjoyed a day of very few emails and no meetings when I could concentrate. It also appears to have inspired me to start writing again, even if just a few sentences. I've broken 1000 miles for the year (running) and just had a PB in the GSR and the Surrey Half, so I'm feeling fit and healthy for a change. I've also stopped drinking, which undoubtedly contributed to that wellbeing too. Will be back on it by Christmas no doubt, and in the meantime am eating far too many sugary and fatty snacks.

Marc Morris, The Anglo-Saxons: A History of the Beginnings of England, Colin Dexter, The Riddle of the Third Mile, John Steinbeck, A Russian Journal, Andrew Michael Hurley, Starve Acre, Paul Lay, Providence Lost: The Rise & Fall of Cromwell's Protectorate, Kingsley Amis, The Alteration, Heather Cox Richardson, Wounded Knee: Party Politics and the Road to an American Massacre, Colin Dexter, Last Seen Wearing, Norman Davies, Beneath Another Sky: A Global Journey Into History, John Le Carre, Call for the Dead, Matthew Strickland, Henry the Young King 1155-1183, James Meek, The People's Act of Love, Jonathan Mullard, Pembrokeshire: A Natural History, Dashiell Hammett, The Maltese Falcon, Ysenda Maxtone-Graham, British Summer Time Begins. Jasper Fforde, The Constant Rabbit, Charles Spencer, The White Ship: Conquest, Anarchy and the Wrecking of Henry I's Dream, Helen Hanff, 84 Charing Cross Road and The Duchess of Bloomsbury Street, William Souder, Mad At The World: A Life of John Steinbeck, Richard Osman, The Thursday Murder Club, Raynor Winn, The Wild Silence, Ken Follett, The Evening and the Morning, Paul Preston, A People Betrayed: A History of Corruption, Political Incompetence and Social Division in Modern Spain, Mick Herron, Slough House, Joseph Roth, The Hotel Years, Douglas Stuart, Shuggie Bain, James Dugan, The Great Mutiny, Colin Dexter, The Last Bus To Woodstock, Lawrence Wright, God Save Texas: A Journey into the Soul of the Lone Star State, John Steinbeck, The Moon is Down, Cat Jarman, River Kings: The Vikings from Scandinavia to the Silk Roads, John Le Carre, A Small Town in Germany, Lauren Johnson, Shadow King, The Life and Death of Henry VI, George Sanders, Lincoln In The Bardo, Robert Burchfield, The English Language, John Steinbeck, In Dubious Battle

 'My love affair with Steinbeck continues, and 'In Dubious Battle' made me look into my soul and find a coward there, I think. It's the story of union organisers in California trying to agitate and raise a strike among the exploited apple-pickers of the valley and coming up against every type of violence, intimidation, double-cross and abuse of power possible from the Growers Association and their allies in local government, the police, the press. I can't imagine the pressure of how striking would  cause men to starve, risk their lives, their livelihood, their families' lives and everything they have for something incredibly unlikely to be successful. I think I would have caved and not had the courage. It was a riveting read though, and I was right there in the valley facing the dilemmas with the men. It's Steinbeck's most overtly political and 'red' book, but it's not at all ideological. Just about decency and the working-man deserving to profit from the fruits of their labours.  At home, Libby is the first in the family to test positive for COVID-19, she's at home now and bored out of her mind. Helen, Freddie and I are all vaccinated, but William is likely to get it too. we've had to cancel our trip away at half term and bastard Alton Towers won't refund me

William Gaddis, The Recognitions, Debbie Stowe, Romania, Malorie Blackman, Noughts & Crosses, Heather Cox Richardson, How The South Won The Civil War, Louisa May Alcott, Little Women, Peter Oborne, The Assault on Truth: Boris Johnson, Donald Trump and the emergence of a new moral barbarism, Louisa May Alcott, More Little Women, David Graeber, Bullsh*t Jobs: The Rise Of Pointless Work And What We Can Do About It, Colin Dexter, The Dead of Jericho, Sophy Roberts, The Lost Pianos of Siberia, Mikhail Sholokov, And Quiet Flows The Don, Alan Palmer, The Baltic: A New history of the region and its people, Colin Dexter, Service of all the Dead, David Hackett Fischer, Historians Fallacies: Towards a Logic of Historical Thought, Elizabeth Knox, The Absolute Book, John Steinbeck, Once There Was A War. Colin Dexter, The Silent World of Nicholas Quinn, Helen Carr, The Red Prince: John of Gaunt: Duke of Lancaster, Alan Garner, The Owl Service, Max Adams, The First Kingdom:Britain in the Age of Arthur, Paul Kingsnorth, Beast, Arthur Koestler, The Thirteenth Tribe, Colin Dexter, The Secret of Annex 3, Janet M. Hartley, The Volga: A History of Russsia's Greatest River, John Steinbeck, Cup of Gold, David W Anthony, The Horse, the Wheel, And Language, Scott Innes, Galactic Keegan

 After slogging joylessly through The Recognitions to complete the 100 Essential novels, I wrote the starting piece to what I thought would be my thoughts on all those great books, but it was not to be. That was months ago (as can be seen from the list of books above), and since then I haven't written at all. It's been a bit of a mix - some predictable comfort reans like Morse, Steinbeck and straightforward historical narratives, but also some more challenging Russian Literature and the bizarreness of 'Galactic Keegan' . already I have a new '100 Books Bucket List', hence Black & White and Little Women. 60 out of 100 read, but thank god there are no more impenetrable  doorstops like The Recognitions. Scanning the list the most challenging remaining reads are going to be Ulysses and War and Peace, but there are some nice things there too like Roald Dahl's Matilda and a Harlan Coben thriller.

At home, I'm in a new job and am now officially working from home. I'm not sure how long this will last, as my job can be done from literally anywhere in the world, and as my team are all based in Germany and Romania having my role in the UK makes little sense. Sooner or later I think redundancy will come calling, but for now I'll make the most of it. We are over a year into the pandemic, and currently a bit worried about a third wave due to our incompetent government. most of the population in the UK has been vaccinated though, hopefully that will help.  The children are all back at school, William's reading is progressing, but he does seem rather too proud of all the detentions he gets for not listening in class. I think he has suffered more than any of us with lockdown as he got into a routine of just staring at the TV. All three of them spend too much time on the screen, but then so do Helen and I. . . 

William Gaddis, The Recognitions

 Four years ago I bought a scratch-off wall chart of the ‘100 Essential Novels’. Today, the last entry, ‘The Recognitions’ by William Gaddis, was scratched off with a 20 cent coin. Back in January 2017 it was probably it was just an impulse purchase, a simple click or three while scrolling and swiping idly away at the iPad. Since then it’s consumed a fair chunk of my free time, and the ‘100 essential novels’ have been read on trains, in the garden, in bed, in the viewing gallery of Woking Pool, sheltering from the heat in Florida, sheltering from the rain in Wales and sheltering from my family and responsibilities more than a conscientious father should. Most of the reading has taken place while putting in a token half-arsed spin on various exercise bikes in the gyms of the Thames Valley.

There were three parts that appealed to me about the wallchart, none of them intellectual or overly complex. The first was simple and one of the more basic human desires, to collect and categorise shiny things. Collecting is fun, marking off progress is fun and having some tangible way to display one’s progress and achievements feeds the ego. Making sense of a senseless world through categorising and labelling gives us all a sense of control. How incredible it would be to have ‘done’ the 100 essential novels. To be able to believe we had ‘completed’ literature. Nonsense of course, but a comforting thought for the collectors among us, whether butterflies, Pokémon, stamps, stickers or worthy literature.

The second part was also ego-driven (there is a theme developing), and my shame at considering myself a bibliophile, but aware there were huge gaps in my knowledge of literature. Generously, this could be seen as a noble impulse, the desire to improve and educate oneself, but I suspect it had more to do with deep-seated insecurities at not being able to join in when confronted with genuinely clever people who can effortlessly and joyfully expound on the centrality of Natasha’s dance to War and Peace, and how it explains the quintessential soul of Russia. As I write this, it occurs to me that (with two exceptions to the rule), I don’t know anyone that +could+ explain the significance of Natasha’s Dance and the chances of A) meeting someone that can and B) meeting them at the moment they are doing it are as likely as finding a very particular piece of hay in the unending wheatfields of Tsarist Ukraine. So there’s a very good chance I’ve spent a fair portion of the past four years preparing for an event infinitesimally unlikely to occur, and doing so while neglecting to perform far more necessary activities such as picking the kids up on time, putting the bins out and fixing the leak in the airing cupboard. Sorry, Helen. And to compound my negligence, ‘War and Peace’ wasn’t even on the list, so I’m still fecking clueless about Natalya Ilyinichna’s pas de châle.

Lastly, and even more simply than the first reason, I enjoy reading. My earliest memories are of going to the maternity ward at Hillingdon Hospital when my youngest brother was born and being excited not because of the birth of our Kev, but because I could climb up on the bed and Mum would read me Asterix. We didn’t have many books at home, and the only time I can remember Dad reading something that wasn’t the Daily Express sports pages was when he was on jury duty and took a copy of Spike Milligan’s wartime memoirs with him to stave off the boredom of sitting through a case of harassment and accidental exposure at Isleworth Crown Court. So it’s not an inherited love, and I remain unremittingly jealous of those lucky enough to have grown up in houses brim-full with tottering stacks of paperbacks, with Radio 4 playing in the background and a broadsheet on the kitchen table. When I found out the family of a good friend named all their pet cats after Dickens characters I felt like I had finally found my people. I tried to get them to adopt me. I’d even have let them call me Pecksniff.