missizicks takes on Tristram Shandy and War and Peace (and 38 other books)

This year I have scaled back my expectations. I've given myself the target of 40 books. This is because I've decided to read two books that are quite big, in terms of commitment.

I want to read War and Peace this year.

I also feel the need to conquer The Life and Opinions of Tristram Shandy, Gentleman. This book and I have history. I tried to read it years ago, because it was one of those books I thought I should read. Like Don Quixote, which I bought at the same time (I haven't read that one, either). It irritated me so much that I put it straight back on the shelf after only a few pages. I tried again when the Steve Coogan film "A Cock and Bull Story" came out. I got to Chapter 12 in Book 1 that time - I know this because that's where the bookmark still was when I opened it up again this week.

I'm five days in. It's going okay. I'm at Chapter 2 of Book 2 and appreciating the humour and randomness, although sometimes his verbosity still gets on my wick. I think I might actually finish it this time. Maybe in a month? I'll periodically update my progress in this thread.

Things I've learnt during this exhilerating week are: reading the book while standing up aids concentration; reading the book while consuming wine doesn't.

As to the other 38 books I hope to read, I've already read Rashōmon this month. I enjoyed most of it, but it was a mixed bag for me.

A list is almost always a good thing:
1.Rashōmon and Seventeen Other Stories by Akutagawa Ryūnosuke, trans. Jay Rubin, introduction Murakami Haruki
2. The Life and Opinions of Tristram Shandy, Gentleman by Laurence Sterne, introduction by Robert Folkenflik.
3. The Secret Agent by Joseph Conrad
4. The Lake by Banana Yoshimoto, trans. Michael Emmerich
5. War and Peace by Leo Tolstoy
6. I Am A Cat by Natsume Sōseki
7. Dead Man Upright by Derek Raymond
8. Waiting For Sunrise by William Boyd
9. The Double by Fyodor Dostoevsky, trans. Hugh Aplin
10. The Housekeeper and the Professor by Yoko Ogawa, trans. Stephen Snyder
11. Sixty-Nine by Ryu Murakami, trans. Ralph McCarthy
12. Sculptor's Daughter by Tove Jansson, trans. Kingsley Hart
13. Villain by Shūichi Yoshida, trans. Philip Gabriel
14. Back Story by David Mitchell
15. Deep Kyoto: Walks edited by Michael Lambe and Ted Taylor, featuring Pico Iyer, Judith Clancy
16. Frank: The True Story That Inspired the Movie by Jon Ronson
17. The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks by Rebecca Skloot
18. The Cuckoo's Calling by Robert Galbraith
19. The Makioka Sisters by Jun'ichirō Tanizaki
20. Crime & Punishment by Fyodor Dostoevsky, trans. Richard Pevear and Larissa Volokhonsky
21. Longbourn by Jo Baker
22. The Girl Who Saved The King of Sweden by Jonas Jonasson
23. What Maisie Knew by Henry James
24. The Girl With Glass Feet by Ali Shaw
25. Murder Underground by Mavis Doriel Hay
26. Colorless Tsukuru Tazaki and His Years of Pilgrimage by Haruki Murakami, trans. Philip Gabriel
27. Be Near Me by Andrew O'Hagan
28. Crust on its Uppers by Derek Raymond
29. The Good Father by Noah Hawley
30. Terra Incognita plus Spring in Fialta and The Doorbell by Vladimir Nabokov
31. Nostromo by Joseph Conrad
32. Wallander's First Case by Henning Mankell, trans. Ebba Segerberg
33. Hotel Iris by Yoko Ogawa, trans. Stephen Snyder
34. The Castle by Franz Kafka, trans. Willa and Edwin Muir
35. An Event In Autumn by Henning Mankell, trans. Laurie Thompson
36. Number9Dream by David Mitchell
37. Journey to the Centre of the Earth by Jules Verne
38. A Man Lay Dead by Ngaio Marsh
39. In Search of Japan's Hidden Christians by John Dougill
40. The Meaning of Night by Michael Cox
41. Blind Willow, Sleeping Woman by Haruki Murakami, trans. Philip Gabriel, Jay Rubin
42. The Lowland by Jhumpa Lahiri
43. Death Comes to Pemberley by P D James
44. The Woman in the Dunes by Kobo Abe, trans. E. Dale Saunders
45. For Richer, For Poorer by Victoria Coren
46. Let Me Be Frank With You by Richard Ford
47. The Turn of the Screw by Henry James
48. A Fine Balance by Rohinton Mistry
49. Sally Heathcote Suffragette by Mary M Talbot, Kate Charlesworth and Bryan Talbot

Pages read so far: 16,929

I am into Book 3! I made good progress last night. I think my reading brain has attuned itself to Sterne's 18th Century style. Standing up in the kitchen, waiting for my tea to brew, I read Chapters 8 & 9 of Book 2 and laughed out loud at Tristram taking on his imagined critics and at Obediah's encounter with Dr. Slop. In Book 2 I also enjoyed the interplay between Tristram's father and uncle. There are elements of Dickens to the development of the characters, or should I say it's possible that Dickens' style of character development might owe something to Sterne? I'm guessing, I don't know if Dickens read Tristram Shandy.

Two updates in one day? I've spent the morning reading Book 3. Here are some observations:

Book 3 Chapter 20 "The Author's Preface":
I noticed a similarity to Akutagawa's Green Onions - the narrator, as observer of his characters, allows those characters to dictate the progress of the story. So Akutagawa is permitted a digression while the girl in the story is reading a book. She is momentarily inert and he doesn't need to document her actions for the purpose of the story's progress. Similarly, Tristram Shandy is able to finally write his preface, a third of the way into the story, only when his father and uncle fall asleep, Dr Slop and the midwife are with his mother, and Trim too is otherwise engaged.
Sterne handles it better than Akutagawa. The arch tone in Akutagawa's story doesn't feel natural - there is an awkwardness about it, as though Akutagawa is uncomfortable with the trope he is forcing himself to use. Tristram's asides in Sterne's novel are part of its flow. We are encouraged to believe that we are participating in the act of writing a novel with him, rather than reading a final, edited version. We are immersed in the flow of his thoughts - not quite stream of consciousness, because there is a sense of structure present, more that Tristram, in following his planned trajectory, is frequently interrupted in his own chain of thoughts. I've been inducting a new member of staff this week and have experienced something similar - I had my plan of action to introduce her to our systems and procedures, but kept going off at tangents when something interesting but not on the plan popped up in the flow.
The more I read this book, the more I can't understand why I found it so difficult to get on with the first two times I tried to read it. It's quite a book, and is making me wish we had a culture that encouraged discourse and exchange of ideas as a positive thing for everyone, rather than wrapping it in elitism, the preserve of the liberal intelligentsia - even though I know that in Sterne's day it was an even more limited preserve belonging to the male upper classes and gentry who went to university and discoursed in coffee houses and clubs. (Wild generalisation!)

Book 3 Chapters 34-36:
Long noses. Tristram's father's library of texts on noses. I'm sometimes struck by the coincidences and similarities between books I read in succession. The collection of short stories by Akutagawa that I just read includes the story of the priest known as Naigu, who has an inconveniently long nose. And, across these three chapters of Book 3, we learn of Tristram's father's obsession with nose length. Also in the Akutagawa collection are stories (I think more than one, I might be mistaken) that make reference to Don Quixote. And throughout Tristram Shandy there are references to Cervantes and Don Quixote. Which makes me wonder whether Akutagawa read and was influenced by Tristram Shandy. Just an idle observation.

On with Book 4 later, I think!

Started Book 5 this evening. Book 4 had a feeling of melancholy about it, what with the frustrations Tristram's father has to contend with. Although there is still humour in there.

I found Chapter 1 of Book 5 very different to the wit and whimsy that had gone before. Quite surreal and almost feels like it was written by a different person, or by a person in a different headspace to previously. It felt angrier. This was the first chapter I felt the need to read all the notes for, and I still don't understand it! Or rather, I don't quite understand its purpose. I am very tired today, though.

Progress has slowed due to it no longer being the weekend!

Nothing much to say about Book 6. I don't know why. It was diverting enough, I suppose.

Book 7 opens with a quote from Pliny which my rusty school Latin tells me says "This isn't an excursion, this is the work itself." Oh dear, then, because I prefer the diversions of Tristram's father best (he's a sound man) and then the diversions of his uncle (although his hobby horse is less engaging for me, I like Toby as a character) than the work itself.

I'm at Chapter 14 so far and not enjoying the disjointed tale of Tristram's attempt the flee Death by travelling through France and Italy to Jaffa.

I'm on a train, though, and the temperature is cranked up high, so I'm finding it hard to concentrate.

I finished it! In 14 days! I'm thrilled. I'm really glad that I persevered. It has made me think that one day I might tackle Ulysses. One day!

On with something different now. Inspired by a review by rocketjk on this group forum, I'm going to read Conrad's The Secret Agent. This is turning into The Year I Got Round To Finally Reading...!

It took a while for my head to move forward in time from the 18th century to the dawn of the 20th but once I got there, The Secret Agent blew me away. It feels very modern. It could have been written at any point in the past 150 years and been current. It made me think about what an era the end of the 19th century into the 20th was - the crashing together of cultures, the speed of change, the impending arrival of modernity with all its challenges. The Verlocs seemed alive on the page to me. I could have stepped into their world, or not been surprised to find them living around the corner from me. I live in a workers' terraced house from the Victorian era, and the Verlocs' home seemed familiar to me. The subject matter was interesting enough, but it was the unravelling relationships in the Verlocs' home that pulled me the most.

Also, this is the third book I've read this year, and the third to make reference to Don Quixote. I'm adding it to the list for this year. But next I'm reading Banana Yoshimoto's The Lake.

The Lake was a good read. I've never read any Banana Yoshimoto before and didn't know what to expect from her bio on Wikipedia. At first it didn't grip me, but suddenly the characters clicked and I enjoyed the air of mystery woven through the story.

And now I'm taking the plunge. I'm diving in. I've opened up War and Peace. I'll see you on the other side...

Fantastic work getting through Tristram Shandy - it is always so satisfying to reach the end of a book you've been battling with! Mine's Anna Karenina... :)

Oh, notmyrealname, I know what you mean! I enjoyed Anna Karenina - eventually. Perhaps it's the mark of a good author that they can write characters so annoying that you want to reach into the book and shake them. Anna Karenina is one, Madame Bovary another. I really felt a sense of achievement with Tristram Shandy, and am glad I persevered.

And now I'm a 5th of the way through War and Peace, which is proving to be an engaging read so far. I don't usually go for military fiction, but I'm coping with this book because Tolstoy seems to have the same disdain for the theory and practice of war as I do.

I've been keeping a few notes as I've been reading, when I've been particularly struck by something. I think I'll be another 6 weeks in the reading, and I might not manage a focused review without notes.

This is what I've noted down so far:
Book One, chapters 1-2

Anna Pavlovna - reminds me of Mrs Dalloway, but more intelligent, more informed, more likeable.

The characterisation of each of the players being introduced is perfection. Tolstoy's style makes them seem alive, as though I am observing them now. They are spirited. The scene is set by jumping into a conversation. There is no turgid exposition.

Book Two, chapters 18-19

The descriptions of the battle are in stark contrast to the lethargy of the chapters leading up to it. Tolstoy captures the confusion, fear and joy mixed together. I enjoyed the description of Prince Andrew assessing Bagration's actions as commander, and realising that he commands less than assures the troops that things are going as planned. The description of Bagration finally coming to life as he leads his troops into battle is also well observed. The contrast between Prince Andrew, who admires Napoleon but wants to make a name for himself as a tactician who defeats Napoleon, and Rostov, who wants to be brave but never is when the opportunity arises, is well written. Rostov seems more human because of his weaknesses and his sense of self preservation. Prince Andrew seems to hold himself a step away from reality, moving through the war as if in a dream.

And all the rest of Book Two speaks of the disorganisation and mess of warfare, not of the imagined glory and precision.

Book Three, chapter 11 opening

After the previous chapter, with Rostov and others falling in love with Tsar Alexander I in his regal magnificence, Tolstoy makes a sweet point about the sensitivities of regal men. The poor Emperor, far from being a hardy man of war, was indisposed from "the strong impression made on his sensitive mind by the sight of the killed and wounded." If only those characters proclaiming their willingness to die for this man under his leadership into battle knew what a delicate flower he really was, Tolstoy seems to be saying. Now, I'm no fan of war, and military theory leaves me cold (occasionally a problem with this novel), and I have nothing against anyone who is emotionally affected by scenes of death and injury, but even I know that sensitivity isn't a characteristic you need in a supreme ruler who intends to lead you into battle.

Haha you're right - Madame Bovary was like that!! Enjoy War and Peace...

I've just finished Book Four and am wrung out. What an emotional roller coaster. I am enjoying the way the characters are developing. People who seemed shallow and unlikeable at first I now find that I care about. Nikolai Rostov in particular, Andrei Bolkonsky to a lesser extent, although his story arc just got a whole lot more interesting.

Book Five, overview

It feels as though the characters are sleep walking through their lives. Pierre starts off as an outsider trying to fit in, going along with the dissolute behaviour of Nikolai and his friends to be accepted. Nikolai is immature and sheltered by his perfect position within his family who love him regardless of what he does. Andrei seems stuffy and fixed in his ideas, too rigid to let life touch him with joy, too serious. All have epiphanies along the way. Pierre inherits his father's estate, despite being illegitimate, and doesn't know how to behave, so allows himself to be guided by someone who doesn't have Pierre's interests at heart, ends up in a bad marriage, almost kills someone and now, suddenly, after a chance encounter (almost Damascene) decides believing in God and joining the Freemasons is better for him than atheism and laughing at the Masons. Nikolai survives two hellish battles, realises that as well as being adored by his family it's also good to have a sense of self-worth that derives from achievement and the confidence of his commanders in the army, then comes home and learns that his boorish friend isn't what he seems following the duel with Pierre, but allows himself to be led by this friend out of guilt for Sonya's rejection of him during the card game, thus bringing his family close to ruin, which in turn makes him realise he's selfish and unworthy of their love. Andrei's first epiphany happens on the battle field when he realises that life is worth living, only to return home and lose his wife before he can make amends for his former distance from her. His second epiphany (or epoch as Tolstoy describes it) is when he re-encounters Pierre, who tries to convert him to Freemasonry, and undergoes an inner change, vowing to live life in a way that does no harm, causes no disturbance and in which he desires nothing.

Nobody seems aware that, in order to take control of their lives, they have to actually take control - not allow others to dictate the direction they go in or simply allow life to happen to them under the illusion that they're in control.

My head is swimming with the oddness of it all, because it's simultaneously real and surreal. I can at once understand why the characters behave the way they do, but at the same time want to ask them what the hell they're thinking. It's great!

Book Six

The chapters describing Andrei Bolkonski and Natasha Rostova's courtship and romance are beautiful. The tension between falling in love, not wanting hopes to be dashed, and the proprieties of polite society is perfectly described. My favourite passage is the one that describes the change that Andrei Bolkonski undergoes when Natasha tells him she loves him. The wildness and poetry of romance gives way to a love that is more serious, more grounded in responsibility and the reality of a future life together. It is the first time I have seen a man's perspective written down in what is, at this point in the novel, a romantic story. Perhaps because most of the romantic novels I've read were written by women, and I suspect most of us are unaware of how love can change for men. Tolstoy articulates it wonderfully well here.

However, now I'm getting close to halfway through the novel, and know a little of Tolstoy's willingness to throw things up in the air, I have a sense of impending doom over Andrei and Natasha. I don't trust old Leo to let them be happy.

Hi there! I'm glad you enjoyed the Secret Agent. It really can be read and enjoyed on a lot of levels, and the relationship between the Verlocs is certainly one of the primary ones for me, too. I could re-read the cab ride scene over the bridge once a week and not grow tired of it, I think. When poor Stevie begs the cab driver not to whip his horse and the cab driver almost immediately reaches out and flicks the whip on the horse's back, as Conrad tells us, "not because he was a cruel man, but because he needed to earn a living," I feel like I've stepped into one of those moments in literature when an entire society is defined in a single phrase.

#15> Hello there, Jerry. I know what you mean about the cab scene, how it sums up life for the working class at that time. I think the thing that has stayed with me is the sense Conrad gets across that people are people no matter what era they live in - we have the same frailties, appetites, inconsistencies now as people 150 or 500 years ago. He writes people very well. I've also found that it's a book that comes back to me at intervals. I think of the characters and their lives even now, weeks after I read it. For me, that's the mark of a good book.

Book Seven

Another set of romantic chapters, following Nikolai Rostov from the army back home, where his mother hopes he will have more success in managing the estate than his father. Instead Nikolai rekindles his love for Sonya, and shatters another of his mother's hopes - that he will marry the heiress she has lined up for him and rescue the family from ruin.

Interlaced with Nikolai's romantic reawakening is the blossoming of Natasha, as she stoically copes with Andrei Bolkonski's absence. Tolstoy develops both Rostov children beautifully through this series of chapters.

The only element I didn't enjoy was the hunt. I don't understand hunting, or why people are so excited by it. I found myself rooting for the wolf. I did enjoy the interlude with the distant uncle and the surreal, dreamlike nature of the mumming trip.

Book Eight

The account of Boris Drubetskoy and Julie Karagina's maudlin and sentimental courtship in Chapter Five made me laugh so much. Boris with his eye on the prize of Julie Karagina's estates while repulsed by Julie's desperation to be married, and Julie playing at being fashionably melancholy in Boris' presence, in contrast with her giddy behaviour with Anatole Kuragin.

And then poor Natasha Rostova's encounter with Marya Bolkonskaya, hampered by Mlle Bourienne and interrupted by mad Prince Nikolai Bolkonski, made me think of times when I have wanted to make an excellent first impression and ended up coming across as hauty. I was growing to love Natasha as a character up to that point, she seemed to be maturing, but Tolstoy throwing handsome Anatole Kuragin across her path and ruining her future happiness with Andrei made me despise her for her stupidity. A lot of the romantic storylines make me think of the intrigues and machinations described by Jane Austen in her novels. Anatole's dalliance with Natasha in particular reminds me of Wickham's abduction of Georgiana Darcy and his elopement with Lydia Bennett.

So Book Eight was another rollercoaster, and now Book Nine is here, with the fateful year 1812.

Book Nine

Chapter two of Book Nine contains a passage that made me laugh out loud at the stupidity of people. I had to read it out to my husband. At the start of the 1812 campaign, Napoleon gives an order for a brigade of Polish Uhlans to find a ford to cross the river. The colonel decides he wants to show off in front of Napoleon so asks permission to swim across the river. An aide de camp gives the permission, the soldiers enter the river on horseback and many of them drown along with their horses. So far, so exasperating. Then Tolstoy's turn of phrase made me laugh: "They tried to make their way forward to the opposite bank and, though there was a ford one third of a mile away, were proud that they were swimming and drowning in this river under the eyes of the man who sat on the log and was not even looking at what they were doing." The aide de camp tries to draw Napoleon's attention to the Uhlans' devoted idiocy and Tolstoy tells us "...the little man in the grey overcoat got up and ... began pacing up and down the bank giving instructions to another officer ... and occasionally glancing disapprovingly at the drowning Uhlans who distracted his attention." So that all went well, then. Totally worthwhile.

I was a little worried as I started Book Nine, knowing that it would be predominantly about war again, that the prose would grow dull, concerned with tactics and strategy in battle. Initially, Tolstoy introduces the war within the setting of Alexander's court, before switching to a portrait of Napoleon that presents his descent into egomania and fizzes with energy. The pace and sense of tension is exciting. The satirical humour that Tolstoy employs is engaging. Unfortunately, in chapters nine and ten, he uses Andrei Bolkonski as a cipher to deliver polemic on all that was wrong with Alexander's military command at the start of the 1812 campaign and his own theories on the nature of men from different countries, and the prose deadens again. It put me in mind of the passages in Dorian Grey where Wilde uses the novel as a vehicle for his own pompous opinions, detracting from the narrative flow. At least with Tolstoy the passages make sense in the context of the story, but for me they weren't particularly interesting or helpful in moving the story along. Flat exposition rarely is. Much better are the handful of chapters recounting Nikolai Rostov's adventures on the battlefield and off, and better still the return to Moscow and the fortunes of the Rostovs and Pierre Bezhukov.

Book Ten

Tolstoy returns to the fortunes of the Bolkonskis at Bare Hills. The French are pressing forward and are a matter of miles from the estate, but Prince Nikolai Bolkonski refuses to believe the news Andrei sends him by letter. Eventually, they realise that the French are almost at their door, and move to Andrei's estate at Bogucharovo, which is still not far enough away. Their error is compounded by the nature of the peasants on the estate, who are self-directing and contemptuous of their masters. Events move on, and Princess Mariya Bolkonskaya is left alone to deal with the peasants, on an estate marooned between the Russian and French forces. It's an interesting set of observations on the tensions between peasants who believe themselves to be autonomous and gentry who can't understand that their peasants aren't actually their possessions. The peasants are a little crudely sketched, but Tolstoy isn't unsympathetic to their cause.

I am starting to feel that things need to move towards resolution, though, in the novel as a whole. Tolstoy needs to stop setting up trajectories only to change them within a matter of pages and give some of his characters, and me the reader, some satisfaction. For instance, in Chapter 14 of Book Ten, Count Nikolai Rostov, pretty much engaged to Sonya against his family's wishes, rescues Mariya Bolkonskaya from her plight and instantly starts to think of her in terms of marriage. Is this something that Russians did back then, or the gentry at least, fall in love within 10 minutes of meeting and determine to marry? It seems to happen in every book, two people decide to marry, but then someone else comes along and one of them falls in love with that person, and then everything is off, but the new love doesn't work out so everyone is miserable for a few more chapters until someone has an epiphany (epoch is Tolstoy's word) and gets over themselves. It's starting to feel tediously predictable, like a soap opera based in one location where new characters don't last long and the regular cast jump in and out of bed with each other so often you'd think they'd be dizzy or diseased. Like East Enders, basically. I don't know whether it's documentary, or whether it's commentary by Tolstoy on the idleness of the rich who have nothing better to do than fall in and out of love and go to salons.

The second half of the book is surreal, with Pierre taking it upon himself to visit the front line, like a tourist, and not be turned away. His bright green coat and white hat draw curious looks, soldiers wish to challenge him but somehow are charmed by his appearance and he remains in the thick of the battle, getting in the way, oblivious to most of what happens around him. Odd.

It has been exhausting, this book. Compelling as well as perplexing. And now I don't know whether one of my favourite characters is dead or not, just as he's had another epiphany. But I can't bring myself to start Book Eleven just yet.

Book Eleven, overview

I couldn't resist starting Book Eleven. I've spent about 7 hours reading War & Peace today.

Book Eleven contains a lot of historical exposition, with Tolstoy recounting the events his characters are living through, putting his own spin on what is recorded in the history books. Moscow is taken by the French, its residents for the most part have fled. Pierre remains. The Rostovs are late to leave. In between the straight narrative explaining the decisions by the military leaders on both sides, we experience the fall of Moscow through Bezukhov's and the Rostovs' eyes. Soon into the book, Pierre is told that Andrei Bolkonski and Anatole Kuragin are dead. I felt sad for a moment, but then remembered that Tolstoy had "killed" Bolkonsky before. Sure enough, Andrei pitches up again, miraculously not dead and all set for a tender sickbed reunion with Natasha Rostova. Pierre, meanwhile, is in disguise, plotting to kill Napoleon and bringing his usual ineptitude to his task.

1812 still isn't over.

Book Twelve

This book contains two beautifully written explorations of what it is to be human. Chapter Eleven is one of the most moving things I've read in literature. It gets across the subtle horrors of war, beyond those experienced on the battlefield, and the impossible position ordinary men conscripted to serve find themselves in as a result of war. It was a sobering read. Chapter Sixteen is a mesmerising reflection on what goes through a person's mind when they start to accept that death is inevitable, and brings this particular part of the story to the saddest end for two of my favourite characters.

Books Thirteen and Fourteen

A lot of theory in these books, and less human interest from the characters in the novel. At this point I can understand why people with little interest in history generally, and still less in Russian military history, might give up on War and Peace. I have found Tolstoy's exposition of his own thoughts on the 1812 campaign interesting. I knew very little of it before I started reading this novel that is more than a novel, and I feel I have been educated in a subtler way than reading an academic history would have achieved. My knowledge of Russian history is focused around World War One, the October Revolution of 1917, and the consequent Soviet state up until Stalin's regime during World War Two. Tolstoy has furnished me with an understanding of events that led to the social and political conditions necessary for revolution, and that's why I've been able to keep going through his polemic against the historians of the 1812 campaign and particularly against Napoleon.

On the home stretch now: one book and two epilogues to go!

Book Fifteen

Some nice summing up for three of the characters, but we're left dangling as to their collective and individual futures at the end of the book, and a fourth key character is only referred to in passing. Hopefully everything will be resolved in the first epilogue, which I'm three chapters into. It's hard going so far. Lots of essay, not so much novel so far. I'm tempted to skip ahead through a few pages to see if there's any mention of the characters any time soon. I wouldn't mind the theory so much if Tolstoy didn't keep saying the same thing in three or four different ways...

From chapter 5 of the first epilogue, I got the resolution I wanted. Story arcs combine and a hint of the future remains, without being expanded. The first five chapters were a little irritating - they were a summary of the entire book so far and, to me, pointless because they didn't add anything new to what Tolstoy had already said.

The second epilogue seems to be the crux of the book: an extended essay on free will, inevitability, the causes of events, the bias of historians in recording events, humanity's innate inability to understand its own existence. The novel, or romance, or whatever else you want to call the fictional part of the book, illustrates Tolstoy's thinking. It isn't a novel in the accepted sense of the word. It is a philosophy, a theory, an allegory, a history, a fable. It is confusing and frustrating, but above all wonderfully written. The characters are beautifully observed. The essay parts might be repetitive, pedagogical, didactic, but they are an interesting insight into Tolstoy's thinking.

A grand book. If I had the luxury of time, I would have devoured it in half the time it has taken me to read it through snatches of reading in between life.

I was going to read Lolita next, for another group I'm a member of on here, but I need something a bit lighter, so I've gone for Sōseki's I Am A Cat.

Well done! You made it!!

I've finished I Am A Cat at last. What a meandering read. And what an ending. I enjoyed parts of this book, but never fully cared about any of the characters. This made it harder to get through. I also didn't like the way it changed from being the catlike viewpoint of the cat, to being the anthropomorphised viewpoint of the cat, to finally being a series of observations that happened to be presented as being the viewpoint of the cat. I'm glad I read other works by Sōseki first, because if this had been my first encounter with him, I might have wondered what the fuss was about.

I don't know what to read next. I think I need a "quick win", so I've plumped for the final book in Derek Raymond's Factory series, Dead Man Upright.

#26> Thanks! Over the past month, while I've been lacking enthusiasm for I Am A Cat, I've found myself thinking about War and Peace and the characters in it a lot. Always a sign of a good book.

Dead Man Upright was a quick read. Not quite as world weary as the others in the series, it goes into the emerging technique of psychological profiling of serial killers that was introduced in the late 80s/early 90s. The killer is caught about 3/4s of the way through, and the rest of the book centres on the interviews conducted by the police psychiatrist. You get the impression that the unnamed detective sergeant is on the verge of calming the rage that has driven him through the other cases, now that he has this new tool in solving and potentially preventing the unexplained deaths his unit investigates. A good ending to the series.

Now onto William Boyd's Waiting For Sunrise, naughtily bought as part of a Buy One Get One Half Price at Waterstone's when I was buying Christmas presents for other people.

Waiting For Sunrise was a feverish read, very cleverly done. The ending is wonderfully enigmatic, raising the possibility that everything else in the novel is a lie or a reimagining of the facts to make them sit more comfortably with the protagonist. At face value, it's a WW1 espionage thriller, and a ripping yarn at that. Simultaneously, it's an exploration of the psyche and whether it's ever possible to really locate the truth, because we all have our own version of what the truth is. Wonderful stuff as usual from William Boyd.

I realise, too, that I haven't commented on the ongoing Shandy synergie in my reading this year. I discovered from the introduction to I Am A Cat that Sōseki was inspired by Sterne's meandering cock and bull story when he expanded his short story into a novel. It contains ruminations on noses, commentary on the differences between the sexes and passing mentions of hobby horses. No Quixotic references, though, that I can recall.

Next, because Richard Aoyade's interpretation is at the cinema and because the book has been sitting on my shelves for over a year, I'm reading Dostoevsky's The Double. I'm expecting to be unsettled.

Poor Yakov Petrovich Golyadkin. I, too, long had a presentiment of his fate. What a cracking read. Dostoevsky was a master at getting across the feverish hell of madness. I couldn't not read, even though the events that befall Mr Golyadkin at the hands of his double made me uncomfortable in a similar way to Curb Your Enthusiasm. Horrific, exasperating and sad, all at the same time.

Trying out some Yoko Ogawa now, The Housekeeper and the Professor.

When I read the blurb for The Housekeeper and the Professor, I ummed and ahhed about whether to read it. My mother has a form of dementia, and the feelings I have about the slow loss of her made me wonder whether reading a story about a man whose memory is frozen in time was such a good idea. The story did make me sad. It is wonderfully well written, though, and I'm glad I read it. The characters exist in a bubble of their own, its surface shape defined by the Professor's 80 minute memory. When they are together in their bubble, everything is fine. When the outside world presses on its surface, threatening to break in, Ogawa gets the sense of tension across very well. On finishing it, I experienced a sense of loss such as I have rarely felt. In between life and work, it actually only took me a day to read. It's a short book, but very full.

I'm sticking with Japanese literature (just over a week until our trip) but have chosen someone with a less beautiful outlook on life, Ryū Murakami. 69 will be the third of his novels I've read. I've read the first page, and it's faintly misogynist in attitude, but I'll see how I go!

After my initial worry about the tone of 69, it soon became clear that this was the rites of passage story of an immature boy, posturing with his attitude to women. After a couple more pages, I warmed to the protagonist. This is a slight book and, thankfully, not in the same violent vein as In The Miso Soup or Audition. I could hear the main character's voice and imagine the events easily, and it made me feel nostalgia for an era that existed before I was born. It reminded me of Submarine and From Up On Poppy Hill. It was charming, poignant and very different to the other things I've read by him.

I've gone for Tove Jansson's childhood memoir next.

I found Sculptor's Daughter to be an odd book, a fictionalised non autobiography or childhood memoir. Child Tove is a dark creature, intriguing and cruel. The childlike prose the stories are told in occasionally jarred with me. At other times it was perfect, getting across the surreal sense of being a child in a family of artists. Some of the stories felt too short and incomplete, fragments or snippets that didn't quite work. My favourites were Jeremiah and Christmas. Most of the others felt unpleasantly dreamlike and unsettling. Maybe I was in the wrong frame of mind, but it wasn't as good as The Summer Book, or Fair Play.

I've gone back to crime for my next read, and a new to me Japanese author in Shūichi Yoshida. Villain won him a couple of prestigious Japanese prizes, so I'm hoping to be gripped.

Villain was a little depressing, but only because it was so well written. I felt a certain empathy for the central character and felt that Shūichi Yoshida made him a believable person. The book was an interesting exploration of alienation and the need to feel loved by someone, to feel that you belong. It wasn't just a clichéd tale of an introverted loner turning out to be a serial killer. It was more an exploration of how life events mould us and can take us to extremes. It did leave me feeling a little bummed out, though!

I've chosen David Mitchell (the comedian)'s autobiography next, in the hope it will cheer me up a bit.

David Mitchell (the comedian)'s autobiography was diverting. I liked it. I like him when he's on the telly. I liked finding out about how he and his comedy partner Robert Webb got their start. I was interested in the background to comedy writing and particularly how comedy writing works at the BBC. I appreciated his honesty. I loved the chapter about meeting his wife and how his love for her has revolutionised his life. Not for everyone, perhaps, but I liked it.

The premise of the book is him taking a daily walk to help with his back problems, and allowing that to trigger memories and enable reflection. Coincidentally, a book of meditative walks in Kyoto, edited and published by one of my favourite bloggers on Kyoto life, was published a few days ago, so I'm reading that next. This year was the first year we didn't go to Kyoto when on holiday in Japan. I missed it. I'm looking forward to seeing it through the eyes of people who have chosen to make Kyoto their home.

Deep Kyoto: Walks was excellent. I really enjoyed getting a different perspective on a city I've visited 4 times and explored on foot. Recommended for anyone who has been, or anyone who is planning to go, and wants a hint of what the city means to people who have moved there.

Now onto a slim volume, Jon Ronson's essay on the making of his film Frank.

I knew it wouldn't take long to read Frank. It's only 80 pages long. Does it count as a book? It's in book form, on the shelves at my local book shop. I know it's an essay, but I'm counting it. It was a diverting read, I learned a couple of things about Frank/Chris. I haven't seen the film yet, so I can't say whether it adds anything to the experience of watching the film. I was interested because I was a teenager when Frank Sidebottom was a local hero and have fond memories of him.

Next up is a proper book, The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks. Recommended to me during a conversation about the ear that has been cloned from the DNA of Vincent Van Gogh's great great nephew. It was an odd conversation. The book sounds good, though.

Wow. The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks was a great book. Possibly the best popular science book I've ever read. It presents a balanced overview of the conflict between the progress of scientific knowledge through research and what boils down to the exploitation of people's body parts. The rationalist in me thinks it's wonderful what has been achieved through the use of cells in research. The emotional person feels aggrieved for all those in the US who can't afford healthcare while pharmaceutical companies make millions of dollars from the exploitation of cells taken from patients, often without their knowledge or consent.

The person who recommended it to me read it at a book club and said it's the only book he can remember from everything they discussed.

I'm now reading a new crime book. I know who Robert Galbraith is really. I'm curious to hear her voice under a pseudonym.

I wasn't too impressed by the first quarter of The Cuckoo's Calling. The writing was laboured as characters were introduced, sketched very broadly in clichéd terms. I'm glad I gave it the benefit of the doubt, though, telling myself it would be an untaxing summer read if nothing else, because it turned into a very well plotted, gripping mystery. Once past the hurdle of establishing the characters, the writing flowed. Cormoran Strike is a comfortable character, and the rest of the book made me feel that Rowling has found her new voice post-Potter with him. I'm even looking forward to the next in the series. It isn't writing that will set the world on fire, but it is intelligent escapism.

Now onto a Japanese classic - The Makioka Sisters. I'm looking forward to this one!

I enjoyed The Makioka Sisters. Shame my reading time gets interrupted too easily at the moment, or I'd have finished it sooner! It was very absorbing, and an interesting insight into Japanese society in the run up to the Second World War.

I'm doing a book a day thing with a friend where we name a book for a particular category each day. A recent category was 'A book I pretend I've read'. Neither of us have done such a thing, but my friend said she had resisted reading Dostoevsky because she thought he would be difficult. Crime & Punishment is my favourite book ever, so we got into discussion about it and which version she should read. I already had the David McDuff translation for Penguin Classics, but then I read that the Pevear/Volokhonsky translation is considered the best, so I bought her that and got a copy myself.

And that was a long preamble to me saying that I'm re-reading Crime & Punishment next!

I love Crime and Punishment. Each time I've read it, it has consumed me. The Pevear and Volokhonsky translation has knocked my socks off, though. I will only ever recommended this translation to people from now on. Passages that jarred in the McDuff translation now make sense.

I'm reading a borrowed book next, Longbourn.

Longbourn was okay. A little bit too pleased with itself at times, the author showing off all the research she had done a little clumsily so that it interrupted the sense of the story. A little bit miserable. I maybe shouldn't have read it straight after the best book in the world, because it showed up the paucity of language. But a decent yarn, at the end of it.

Reading Jonas Jonasson's latest next. I loved The Hundred Year Old Man, and leapt on the new one when I saw it.

The Girl Who Saved The King of Sweden was a diverting read. Many similarities of form to The Hundred Year Old Man but not quite as tightly plotted. I enjoyed it nonetheless.

Reading some Henry James next. What I've read by him so far, I've enjoyed.

What Maisie Knew was tedious. What a horrible, disjointed story. Quite apart from the premise being a miserable one, parts of it were so drawn out and rambling that I almost didn't finish it. I don't like not finishing books, though, so I pushed on to the end, and now feel that I'd rather not know how it ended. I'd rather not have read it at all!

I'm reading a borrowed book next, that came to my attention through the Book A Day thing I did last month. It's called The Girl With Glass Feet. I'm hoping it will be whimsical.

#45> "I'd rather not have read it at all."

I'm right with you on Maisie, and pretty much all of James' novels, many of which I had to read for a grad school course. Others are James devotees, and I even get why. C'est la vie.

#46> I think if I'd had to read him through necessity rather than choice, I'd probably feel the same! He's not my favourite author of that era from the US, but the couple I have read so far (The Europeans and Washington Square), I liked. Maisie has put me off reading any more of his for a while!

It took me a week to get into The Girl With Glass Feet. I started it and it didn't grab me at all. I started it again last night and got over the hurdle of the first few chapters and then read the bulk of it today. It was okay. Some good ideas, others a distraction.

Now trying a republished Golden Age crime novel that I picked up in the British Library bookshop, in the hope it will be flighty and entertaining.

Murder Underground was just the easy read I needed. Untaxing, engagingly written, well worth a look as a summer read if you're a fan of Golden Age crime novels.

Now onto Murakami's latest, eagerly anticipated by me.

I couldn't leave Murakami's latest alone for very long, and finished it in a day. A rare thing for me these days. I was very hungover yesterday, and it went well with the foggy distractedness inside my brain. When I finished, I was left with a floating feeling of having woken from a deep sleep where I dreamt well. I know he's not to everyone's taste, but Murakami makes sense to me.

And now I'm trying someone new. I read an article by Andrew O'Hagan about his experience as ghost writer to Julian Assange, and O'Hagan came across very well. So now I'm going to read Be Near Me without knowing anything about it!

Really enjoyed Be Near Me. A very straightforward, unfanciful book.

Now having another foray into the world of Derek Raymond, which promises a black comedy clash between Chelsea society and the criminal underworld.

The Crust on its Uppers was okay once it got going. The preponderance of rhyming slang and '60s criminal speak was tedious, but the characters were engaging and the way their criminal escapades were described was fun.

I'm reading a borrowed book next, The Good Father. The friend who lent it to me wonders whether I will empathise with the main character as much as she did because I don't have children. I thought that was a curious presumption, but maybe the father of the title is more morally dubious than good. Time will tell.

The Good Father was gripping stuff. I don't think you have to be a parent to sympathise with the father of the title, but maybe when you are a father it makes the reading more emotional. I was aware of sympathising at a remove.

Now trying some Nabokov. I've gone for Terra Incognita, published together with Spring in Fialta and The Doorbell. So three short stories rather than a novel, which I'm going to count as one book.

The three Nabokov stories were only 80 pages long altogether. I feel like I oughtn't to count them! But my first taste of Nabokov was good. I'll look for some more.

Another from my Getting Round To Reading list next - Nostromo by Joseph Conrad.

Nostromo was great. I had to chip away at it through lack of time to sit down and drink it in, which is what it deserved. It's taken a while to get round to reading Conrad for me, but I'm glad I've made a start!

I re-read a Wallander's short story by Henning Mankell last night, sort of as a palate cleanser. I really like Wallander's First Case for the way Mankell makes wry allusions to Kurt's future character traits starting to emerge at the start of his career.

Now reading a second Yoko Ogawa book, because I loved The Housekeeper and The Professor. Giving Hotel Iris a go.

#55> Wow! I'm glad you liked Nostromo. Conrad is a passion of mine, but Nostromo's a tough one to start with. May I humbly recommend Lord Jim and/or The Secret Agent.

#56> I read The Secret Agent earlier this year on your recommendation, Jerry! A couple of years ago, an old family friend expressed shock that someone who reads as widely as I do hadn't yet read Conrad, so I read Heart of Darkness last year then forgot about Conrad again until I read your post about The Secret Agent. I've now got an anthology of Conrad's novels and am picking my way through them. Nostromo is an amazing book. I love Sergio Leone's Once Upon A Time In The West and Nostromo had a similar breathless, heart wrenching feel to it. It also put me in mind of Garcia Marquez's writing, in a way. And we have an archive at work of a railway engineer who spent time in South America at the end of the 19th century that has photographs of a town centre with buildings pock marked by bullets as the result of a couple of local revolutions, so I had stored images to help me visualise it. I loved the description of the first time the screech of the train whistle being heard in the town. Gorgeous prose!

Hotel Iris was a bit of a shock! I hadn't read any reviews or blurb about it. Very different subject matter to The Housekeeper and The Professor. The same engaging, matter of fact writing style, though. It was only 176 pages, so I polished it off quite quickly this afternoon. Compelling if discomfiting stuff!

And now, as someone who loves Murakami but has never read a word of Kafka beyond Metamorphosis, I am embarking on The Castle. Bought on impulse at a second hand book fair. I'm trepidatious about it because my husband loves Kafka and I'm expecting him to quiz me when he sees I'm reading it!

#57> Cool, Jan. I love the associations that Conrad's writing put you in mind of in Nostromo. There's so much going on in that book. It's always great to find another enthusiast!

I enjoyed The Castle, but found it hard to get enough time to sit down and properly concentrate on it. Busy at work and really tired when I got home from work was a combination that resulted in The Castle quickly sending me to sleep after a couple of sentences on occasion! It felt like I was reading someone else's dream a lot of the time, as well. Comparisons that sprang to mind were The Prisoner TV show and Flann O'Brien's The Third Policeman.

I'm having a quick win next - a Wallander novella.

That didn't take long at all! It was a satisfyingly quick read.

Now onto an early David Mitchell that I haven't read yet. I told myself I wasn't allowed to get his new one until I'd read Number9Dream...

Number9Dream was good, apart from its soggy middle that irked me. The other 90% of the book was a gripping page turner that I was often immersed in, to the extent that coming up from the page my surroundings were sometimes a surprise to me.

Re-reading a classic next, first read as a child in a pocket version bought at a supermarket.

As good as I remembered it, but funnier (or I appreciated the humour more as an adult). I discovered I've read an abridged version, with the names of the main characters changed, so I will be re-reading again at some point in the future, in a more accurate translation.

Reading some Ngaio Marsh next. I remember my sister having Marsh on her bookcase, but I used to borrow Christie as a priority, so Marsh was neglected.

I'm getting close to my target with a couple of months still to go. Maybe I should revise my target.

A Man Lay Dead was good stuff. I really liked the characters. The plot was pretty classic, but had some nice additions and the writing was very witty. Marsh compares well with Christie, and I will definitely read more of her work.

Now reading a historical investigation of Christianity in Japan. I enjoyed John Dougill's essay in the Deep Kyoto Walks book and was intrigued enough by his passing reference to the massacre of Christians close to where we stayed last time we were in Kyoto to seek out his more in depth work on the subject.

I enjoyed John Dougill's book. It was a good balance of political history and oral history. Because the Hidden Christians are, well, hidden, there isn't a lot of documentary evidence about their 400 year history, so most of the book is an exploration of why Christianity failed in Japan, the impact of Tokugawa's isolationist policies, and how the Shinto and Buddhist religions coexist. Dougill tracks down descendants of the Hidden Christians, who have left the faith, but doesn't get very far with those who are still practising. Interesting stuff.

I'm now on my 40th book. It's 719 pages long and apparently hard going. If I finish it before the end of the month, I'll read Don Quixote next. I might as well do all three of the books I've been meaning to read in one year!

The Meaning of Night was underwhelming. Like wanting a really good plate of food and ending up with a cheap ready meal. I won't be reading the next in the series.

I didn't finish it by the end of October, so I'm foregoing the pleasures of Don Quixote. Instead, I've discovered an unread Murakami collection of short stories and am treating myself to that.

#66> Funny thing about The Meaning of Night, which I also read this year. I started out having to push my way through it, but ended up enjoying the second half better than the first half. But I know what you mean, though.

#67> I really struggled with it. I couldn't care for any of the characters and found it difficult to believe that someone who supposedly could outwit the best criminal minds in the London underworld would be taken in by such an obvious scam. Still, it was an experience, and I saw it through to the end!

Blind Willow, Sleeping Woman was a mixed bag. It took me over a week to grind through the first 7 stories in the anthology, but then I read the remaining 18 today.

Now trying The Lowland by Jhumpa Lahiri, on a friend's recommendation. I know nothing of it. I hope it's good!

The Lowland was okay. It felt like it was lacking in oomph. I'd like to have known more about the activities of the younger brother. I'd like to have known a bit more of what the characters were actually thinking and feeling. It was all a bit blank. But right at the end, I didn't want it to finish, and the last chapter I found very sad, in a regretful way.

The news that P D James passed away yesterday reminded me that I haven't yet read Death Comes to Pemberley, her updating of the Bennet/Darcy story from Pride and Prejudice. The recent BBC adaptation was frothy and I enjoyed it. I'm part way through the prologue, which is effectively a précis of Austen's novel - although why you would need that, I don't know. Would people who hadn't read Pride and Prejudice read Death Comes to Pemberley first? I'm finding it a little too pleased with itself.

I was reluctant to read the book, but a friend persuaded me that it was well done, and lots of reviews say the same thing. Hopefully it will be more entertaining as I get further into the book.

Death Comes To Pemberley was entertaining enough, minor irritations with Ms. James' showing off aside.

Now reading The Woman in the Dunes because a photographer whose blog I follow recently visited the dunes where the story is set. I've been meaning to read the book for a while, and the photographs prompted me to pick it up.

Wow, The Woman in the Dunes was a strange book. Compelling but horrible.

For light relief, I'm reading Victoria Coren Mitchell's poker based autobiography. I know nothing about poker, but I like Ms. Coren M.

For Richer, For Poorer was an entertaining read. It helps if you know what the poker terminology means for some of it, but the main autobiographical bit is very accessible.

Now on with the latest in Richard Ford's Frank Bascombe series.

Let Me Be Frank was a little disappointing. Not that it was a bad story, more that there were some weird editing decisions.

I'm giving some more Henry James a go. Turn of the Screw this time.

That didn't take long - a big improvement on What Maisie Knew, although still with precocious children and borderline inappropriate adults.

Back to 1970s India in turmoil now, with Rohinton Mistry's A Fine Balance.

A Fine Balance took a while. It was hard going because of the subject matter. If I say that I can't bear to watch It's A Wonderful Life because of the injustice, you'll know why this book was extremely hard for me to handle! I'm glad I read it, though.

I might try to read something else this year, but I expect I'll tip over into 2015, so won't add anything else to my 2014 tally just yet!

Oh, there we go, I had the graphic novel Sally Heathcote hanging around by the bed, so I went for that one as a bit of easy reading. It was okay. Nothing groundbreaking, but a decently written and illustrated imagining of what life as a suffragette might have been like.