Andrey Kurkov has done it again and this time with the General’s Thumb…. Lieutenant Viktor Slutsky is appointed to the case when a General and Presidential Adviser’s body turns up hanging from an advertising balloon. Meanwhile, KGB Officer Nik Tsensky is assigned to a secret mission in Kiev. Whilst both are on different assignments, an overlap between the cases results in one pursuing the other; thereby both become involved in a battle between the Russian and Ukrainian secret services.

Kurkov creates a gripping and non-stop world involving, a hit-man with a drink and drugs problem as well as the ability to communicate in sign language.  Watch out for a hearse, a tortoise called ‘Nina’, a back firing automatic pistol and an intimidation technique involving throwing kilos of fish over a fence.

This is a great read and I would recommend it highly, in spite of the fact that the ending didn’t quite live up to its action-packed promise as I had hoped and expected.

They say, if I have a dark line between my navel and my pubic bone, I’m going to have a girl; if the line is dark as well as hairy, I’m going to have a boy; if my nipples get really dark, it’s going to be a boy; If I burp a lot, my baby is going to be hairy. My hair shines and my skin glows, or so I’m told- the jury is still out on whether this means that I’m going to have a girl or boy.

None of this matters. I just can’t wait to meet you. Whoever you are. Whatever you are.

I wish I had started this sooner. This keeping-notes-of-how-it-feels; how I feel. But I’m so good at putting things off and waiting. Waiting for what? I don’t know.

I’m 27.5 weeks. You’re supposed to be the size of a cauliflower. You have also opened and closed your eyes for the first time. If your daddy and I were to shine a bright light on my bump, I could feel you move away from the glare. I wanted to try this. But your daddy vetoed the idea. I don’t mind, really. I have the rest of my life to tease you and play with you.

 I wrote most of this in my little notepad when I was 25 weeks and you were the size of an eggplant. I love eggplant. I love it better when I call it Aubergine. In India we call it Brinjal.

I spent the first 3 months carrying you, loving you and hoping that you’d be a girl. I had my first scan at the end of 3 months to see you and check that all was tickety boo in your home. The sonographer put this cold gel on my belly and touched a joystick type of thing on the gel and suddenly, on the little screen, there you were. All 64mm of you. We were so happy to see you that we started laughing. I felt a little guilty about laughing. I’ve heard that most, if not all, women cry when they first see their babies in a scan. But I couldn’t help myself. I did think about forcing a few tears but I couldn’t manage any. You were sleeping on your belly and you looked like you were on your knees praying. I’m sorry but we had to wake you up to see you from all sides. And oh boy did you wake up. You started kicking your legs and arms around. At one point, you arched your back, stretched your arms and legs and yawned. I did cry, after all.

Recently turned 17, Lara Gold is taken on a holiday to Italy by her father- a man she barely knows. Save a few visits at his apartment, she has never spent much quality time with him.

Lambert (the father) and Lara arrive at his friend, Caroline’s villa in a little village in Italy. After a few days spent swimming and sunning, the 3 of them are invited to the Willoughby’s for a meal, where Lara meets the beautiful and delicate Kip. Kip, their youngest and only son has 5 older sisters. Lara, as expected, is drawn to Kip and he, inexplicably and endearingly to her. The Willoughby’s at first glance seem like a family that have way too many entanglements, too many skeletons that have not been successfully kept in the closet. It feels like, if we were to dig deep, we would find scandals of incest and vendetta. As it is, they are a family with more money than sense.

Lara’s attraction to them leads to her losing her virginity to Kip, getting raped by the husband of Kip’s pregnant older sister and discovering that her father is in midst of an affair with a married woman (not a Willoughby and not with Caroline). Lara’s way of dealing with the rape is to stay away from the Willoughby’s and try to forget what happened, not saying a word to anybody about it. Whilst I couldn’t even begin to imagine what it would feel like, the fact that Lara just gets on with it frustrates me. The only positive thing that comes out of this trip is that Lara and her father manage to forge a closer relationship.

The author, every so often, cuts back to narrating incidents from Lara’s trip to India with her mother. These little stories are funny and interesting and work as a nice break from the unnecessarily complicated and tiresome lives of the Willoughby’s.

I read this book from start to finish one Sunday afternoon. Lara is an easily likeable character, although at times I did forget that she is only 17. The book is well-written and keeps you hooked, if only to make sure that Lara comes out ok in the end.

For all intents and purposes, Audrey Howard wanted a way out of her seemingly dreary and lonely life. When she met American Joel Litvinoff, they hit it off in an uncomfortable and awkward way. Audrey doesn’t think twice about it when Joel, wanting to shock and take some of the power back in their union, suggests that he marry her and take her away with him to the US.

40 years later, Audrey Litvinoff, wife of well known and unpopular attorney, Joel Litvinoff, mother of 3 grown children, remains an unlikeable character. She is mean, self-absorbed, disrespectful and downright rude. By her own admission she feels no particular maternal feelings to either of her daughters, who are going through difficult times. Any love that Audrey has is toward her adopted son, who is hopelessly and desperately addicted to drugs; A habit that, she is blindly supporting. It could be argued that these awful characteristics of Audrey’s stem from deep-seated insecurities, as is usually the case. True or not, Audrey makes it very difficult to see any good in her. To her credit, she couldn’t give a toss.

When Joel collapses at the start of a court session, and goes into a coma, secrets from his past emerge. Audrey and her little family are forced to come to terms with it, and I found myself backing Audrey to “win” as it were. She doesn’t change in any way. Faced with her husband’s mortality, she doesn’t become any less pig headed but she had my full support.

It is for this reason I enjoy reading Zoe Heller’s work. The characters can be terrible and do silly and stupid things and you might hate them with all your being. Then something changes, and whilst no deed has been undone, she quietly changes the readers’ mind, without us noticing it and you get to the end, ever so slightly puzzled and think, “That was clever, how did she do that?” 

A Taiwanese girl I went to University with told me once that the Taiwanese believe that the chopping of hair is a way to rid yourself of negative feeling. That when somebody has their hair cut, they lose any stress or unhappiness they may have been experiencing- real or imagined.

I’ve never wanted or needed to have this confirmed by anybody else or by Google. And I certainly don’t need anybody to shoot this down as a lie. I have held onto this belief, washed it, treated it and nurtured it until it has become so real to me that as soon as I decide that I need cheering up, the first thing I do is book an appointment with my stylist; for as soon as possible.

From the moment I book my appointment my hair sighs and my heart sings. My head feels lighter and even the bad hair days, leading up to my appointment, do nothing to take away the excitement of my impending visit to the Salon.  The whole experience is so blissful and therapeutic.

The Receptionist with the perfect coiffure, immaculate make up and photo ready smile, takes your coat, offers you tea/coffee/water/juice, takes you to your seat and rattles off a list of available reading material to keep you entertained during your cut. The friendly stylist opens with, “and what shall we do with your hair today?” making you feel like you won’t be the only one that will wear your haircut! And then you get whisked away to the massage lounger, where you lie back and rest your head, the perfectly shaped sink supporting your neck while your hair is washed with the heaven scented shampoo and conditioner. The pressure and temperature of the water is perfect, heavenly. I love the way the assistant always manages to avoid splashing any water on your face. As I’m being lead to the lounger for the hair wash I get the feeling that I get when  I walk out of the office on a Friday evening- the relief that the weekend has just begun and that for two days I don’t need to set my alarm. As I’m being walked to my favourite part of the ritual, I feel such glee that it has only just begun!

Then, of course, the walk back to my seat and we get down to the business. I love this part every bit as much as the hair wash- watching the stylist with the holster carrying all kinds of tools as she prods and snips away hair with such swiftness and accuracy. The chit-chat during the whole session- about family, holidays and work is nice. But, if it were left to me we wouldn’t talk at all. Not because I’m shy or introverted. But because I would much rather just watch my locks get shorter and healthier. My enjoyment needs no soundtrack.

 I do however, tend to sneak peeks at the other stylists and their clients in mirror. I compare the stylists’ hairstyles – and of course, it’s my stylist that inevitably wins, as she is the only one that doesn’t look like she has gone out of her way to look ‘unique’!     

The blow dry follows and right about now, I’m trying not to get the feeling of Monday-morning dread as the end approaches and there will be no more of this for another 8 weeks. It’s beautiful how your hair falls and does exactly as it is told in the hands of a stylist only to misbehave in the privacy of your dressing table!

But that’s the point. Isn’t it? That’s why we pay more than we should to go to salons- so that these professionals can work their magic and cast spells with their hair potions and straightening wands and do for your hair that you’re not able to.

Having gone to this length to explain one of my favourite things, you would be far from the mark to think that I’ve always enjoyed the whole hair cutting experience. I haven’t. Not always.

My earliest memory is of sitting on a low-level stool in my Granny’s back garden watching the hair fall as my mother cut off, seemingly, random clumps of a poor little girl’s hair. The horror I felt upon realising that the little girl was me. Nope, this is not the worst. In a way, this is my most endearing memory. There was also the time, my regular stylist was on holiday, and in a fit of desperation, I booked a substitute. It picked up wonderfully as soon as I got him to wash his cigarette-smelling hands!

Nope, my worst experience is also my latest appointment at a widely known salon chain- let’s call it Anthony & Mann. These salons are everywhere. They’re like the Starbucks of hair. Anyway, in a moment of haste and unthinking desperation I booked an appointment for the very next day (my normal stylist couldn’t fit me in for at least a week. I couldn’t bear to wait and hence I made that fateful call).

Arriving 7 minutes early, I was relieved of my coat, was shown to my seat, given a few magazines to flick through. I watched stylists and their customers in my mirror, happened to glance at the clock on the wall behind me and it was 10 minutes past my appointed time. I surreptitiously watched the Receptionist in my mirror as she pointed, with her chin, in my direction to a young girl. I guessed that she was to be my stylist. I was right. It was now 12 minutes past my appointed time. She ambled over and introduced herself- she looked more scared than interested. First shocker- she asked me to undo my hair band and release my hair from its bun. Now, most of us have been for enough hair cuts that we know that from the word go it’s the stylist who releases the catch and unleashes your hair. Second shocker- she asked me to run my fingers through my hair to undo knots and pull it down a bit. I was half expecting her to hand me a pair of scissors and tell me to get on with it. But, no. Thankfully, it didn’t come to that. The hair-wash, when I finally did have it, was far from relaxing- I was annoyed, to say the least, that it started so badly. Anyway, I was determined to see it through. Silly, I know. But I’m known for being pig-headed at times. I made my way back to my seat, where I was a little relieved to find that she did intend to comb my hair and cut it herself. And cut, she did.  Not confidently, or quickly, or even accurately; for that matter. When it seemed like she was going to put away the scissors and grab the blow drier, I pointed out that she had only cut on the back and on the right side of my head and had missed my left side. She was positive that she had definitely ‘cut something’ on my left as well. Nonetheless, I reiterated by saying that maybe it hadn’t been enough. Third shocker- she explained that she would rather cut my left side after blow drying it!! WHO DOES THAT??! Everybody knows that you don’t cut hair after blow drying it. Finishing touches – yes, of course. Full-on cut – No, NEVER!  But that is exactly what she proceeded to do. For, perhaps, the 6^th or 7^th time in my life I was speechless. I paid and I got out of there.

In hindsight, I see that she was in rush to finish me off to attend to her next customer who had already been seated in the chair, with reading material and a drink. I also see that she was very young, not in age but in experience (maybe in age too) to handle a seasoned hair cuttee like me. It almost seemed like she was trying to overcome her phobia of hair by throwing herself in at the deep end!

 8 weeks have passed, and I’ve forgiven her. I wouldn’t ever go back there or to any of their other branches, but it’s ok. These things happen, right? I’ve managed to book an appointment with my regular stylist for this coming Monday and I’m excited. So is my hair! 

My only reason for purchasing this book was because I’d heard Jenny Diski described as “old eccentric woman who didn’t give a rat’s arse about a thing” by a friend of mine who had been to a talk by this author. Quite frankly, the only redeeming feature about getting old is that one day it will be my turn to choose to be an “old eccentric woman who didn’t give a rat’s arse about a thing”!

Anyway, so as I said, it was for this reason that I wanted to read a book of Ms.Diski’s. ‘After These Things’ may have been the only book avalable in the store I went to as I cant think of any reason why I would’ve picked this book over any other of her books.

This is based on the story from the book of Genesis. Were I knowledgeable enough about the Bible and its stories to draw comparisons and parallels and comment on the choice, I would. But, seeing as I’m not, I’m going to judge this book solely on its narrative and characters.

Abraham and Sarah have Isaac and Ismael. A lot of inbreeding, treachery and deaths later the book ends with Abraham and Sarah’s grandson, Jacob’s generation. The charatcers are weak and at no point do you feel anything for any of them. The narrative is ok- if it weren’t for my need to finish every book that I start, I would’ve given up. The end is abrupt and I was thankful for it!

“The diffrense[sic] from a person and an angel is easy. Most of an angel is in the inside and most of a person is on the outside.”

From the mouths of babes! as they say. These are the words of six-year old Anna – vivacious, flamboyant, uncomplicated, precocious, annoying (at times) but ultimately, adorable. She knows a secret. As incredibly young as she is, she knows absolutely the purpose of our existence.

Anna is a homeless child who is adopted, informally, by Fynn and his family. She is cared for loved and nursed by Fynn, his mother, their neighbours- the working girls, the miners and the public house staff. Her faith in Mister God is, to begin with, endearing and amusing. Her relationship with Fynn- whilst innocent and genuine, has a whiff of something not-quite-right. Its not them, rather it’s this time and age that I’m reading this book that makes it not-quite-right. The physical closeness that Fynn, an early 20s man, and Anna, a 5/6-year old girl, share is puzzling.

The book itself it slim. In fact, to slightly rephrase a quote from ‘Happy Gilmore’, ” I eat books like books these for Breakfast!”. I had appointed myself 2 days to finish reading it and it took me over a month. I think I may have also read 2 other books while I was still in the middle of this one. There were a number of times when I felt like it wasn’t for me and I was ready to give up. Anna is all about Mister God- all about how God is in our middle; I found her simplicity, her explanations quite frustrating. Nothing at all to do with her logic and everything to do with the fact that a 6-year old would have the, call it wisdom, call it bullshit, sense to articulate the way she does.  

There are a few parts of the book that kept me going, that made me want to see this through to the end. One of my favourite parts is when Anna, in the midst of her ‘discovering something new’ phase, would run up to the nearest person, shove a notepad and a pencil in their face and say,”Please write that down big, please.”

I read this book months ago. I couldn’t work out how I felt about it then and I cant work out how I feel about it now. I had hoped that writing about it would make it clearer. But, no. It hasn’t. One thing I will say about it, though, is that it doesn’t leave you.

Utsugi Tokusuke is a 77-year old man with enough health concerns to pre-occupy him. However, all these concerns pale when compared to his biggest problem- his embarassing and pitiable infactuation with his daughter-in-law, Satsuko.

‘Satsu’, as he would like to call her, is beautiful, of course and a complete and utter bitch. Which only makes the Mad Old Man’s loins burn hotter. I hated her from the start. Its difficult not to- who likes a young, gorgeous thing who toys with the feelings (wrong, yes. dishonourable, yes. creepy, ok that too) of her father-in-law and tries to cause a friction between him and her mother-in-law! The family as a whole are no more dysfunctional than is normal- they’re in there for the long haul but dont get in your face.

The journal spans 5 months of the old man’s life and as the title suggests is written in a diary format. His entries are honest to the point of being cringe-worthy. He paints a picture of himself almost as if he were writing about somebody else. He makes no exuses for his unreasonableness, his stupid, stupid need to please Satsuko- to the extent of spending 3 Million Yen for a ‘Cat’s Eye’ ring, his contempt for his own daughters. He is utterly and completely likeable.

This book is a definite must-read- for its unapologetic honesty, its not-abnormally twisted-ness and its inexplicably endearing protaganist. Utsugi Tokusuke.

Ben co-authored ‘Shakespeare’s Words’ and ‘The Shakespeare Miscellany’ with his father David Crystal before releasing his own ‘Shakespeare on Toast‘. For somebody who has never had any interest in Shakespeare, she admits embarassadly(is this a real word?! Probably not, but hey! Shakespeare made up loads of words), Shakespeare on Toast was an eye-opener. It is humbling to realise that William Shakespeare was just an everyday guy with immense talent and balls. I’m under no miconception that that is an under-estimation.  Shakespeare on Toast is wonderfully interesting, funny and informative- many phrases that most of us use in a casual throw-away context were made up by Shakespeare! If you dont believe me, heres what other people said about it-

A brilliantly enjoyable, light hearted look at Shakespeare which dispells the myths and makes him accessible to all. I love it. - Judi Dench

You gotta love a writer who opens his book with action hero lines and stage directions for Hamlet the Terminator (”shoots Polonius with an Uzi… lights his cigar, castle explodes”). - The Times

He is a linguist and an actor, but most of all a fan. He is convincingly blown away by Shakespeare; he would just like everyone else to be, too. This educated enthusiasm is Crystal’s greatest strength as a writer. – The Independent

Listen to my interview with Ben-

For more and more info about Ben Crystal, go to www.bencrystal.com

Katy Darby