Travels in a Dervish Cloak by Isambard Wilkinson

Can I tempt you with a captivating book cover and great content? Travels in a Dervish Cloak by Isambard Wilkinson is a book about his adventurous and dangerous travels in Pakistan, where he covered the War on Terror for The Daily Telegraph. Wilkinson is an excellent pen, witty and observant, free of the egoistical style that sometimes characterises travelogues. He takes the reader all over Pakistan and shares insightful accounts of its exotic culture ('the mysterious world that I was so eager to capture before it disappeared'). The author understands and cares deeply for the country, but isn't blind to its problems. This was my favourite read of 2017. It's now available in paperback and I urge you to grab a copy if travel writing is your genre.

Wilkinson shows us the range of Pakistani society; people going about their daily lives, holy men, warlords, crooks, and other oddities in a country that is changing fast. His approach is educating, unpretentious and fun. Here he visits an old fort close to a tribal area:

Sitting in the courtyard, I could almost feel the modern age clamouring at its walls, wanting to bash down its gates and slay its lord, who I imagined would have gone without a murmur, accepting his fate as the natural order of things.

He is true to his subject and doesn't judge harshly. His observations of people and places ring true. There are literary references in the book and this one made me laugh: he has a meeting with a 'bloody-minded tyrant' who refuses to 'go gentle into that good night'. I never thought I would associate poet Dylan Thomas with a feudal warlord in the Baluchistan region! By the way, the warlord dies. Sometimes the book reads like fiction; in excitement I turned its pages almost holding my breath. At some point I had to remind myself that there would be no book if the author hadn't survived the ordeal. This book is for readers who want to see a different side of Pakistan than the one reflected in Hollywood productions. This is real stuff.

From the book: A teacher and his pupils in Kashmir, 2005 by Chev Wilkinson

Readers following the world news know that a new government has been formed in Pakistan, led by Imran Khan who seems committed to reform. (If we look at the current occupier of the White House I guess a former cricket player for PM isn't the worst option for a nation.) I still remember the shocking news in December 2007 when Benazir Bhutto was assassinated while rallying in Rawalpindi. It always felt promising that a female had served as PM of a Muslim state, twice. Two months earlier, Wilkinson was close to the horrific scene in Karachi when she survived a bombing, but in Ireland when her injuries were fatal. He had been expelled from Pakistan for an editorial about then-President Pervez Musharraf, but allowed to return the following January. His horrible driver greeted him at the airport with 'hideous orange flowers'.

The driver Allah Ditta is one of the book's many colourful characters. His name means 'Gift from God' and let's just say that God must have a weird sense of humour. His cook Basil is no better. These two do not get along and the result is hilarious domestic warfare in the Wilkinson's household. My personal favourite is his brother Chev:

'You can't hang about here like a mixture of a wannabe Lord Byron and Lord Fauntleroy waiting for the next cup of tea or bout of diarrhoea. Pick a spot on the map and let's be off,' he said. ... His presence was reassuring. He's always stuck by me, whatever my failings. He doesn't mind sharing a bed with me, as long as there's a pillow between us lest I grow amorous in my sleep. And he's good at pointing out if I have food round my mouth before I interview people.

Chev, a photographer, is the ideal travel companion. More importantly, when Wilkinson is forced to leave Pakistan because of kidney failure we learn that it was Chev who saved his life: He donated a kidney.

I wish I could tell you that another travelogue was already in the making but Wilkinson has had two kidney transplants and probably won't be venturing into unsafe places. I thoroughly enjoyed the rich storytelling of Travels in a Dervish Cloak, a book full of wit and spices, which was shortlisted for the Stanford Dolman Travel Book of the Year Award. If you judge a book by its cover I can assure you that this one delivers.

Travels in a Dervish Cloak
By Isambard Wilkinson
Eland
Hardcover, 256 pages, illustrated
Buy hardcover | paperback

images by me | black & white photo by Chev Wilkinson | cover illustration: Dorry Spikes

Book review: Stay with Me by Ayobami Adebayo

Now that Ayobami Adebayo's debut novel Stay with Me has come out in paperback, it's time to share the book review I had promised (published by Canongate; on my № 12 reading list). To be honest, I'm not the biggest fan of contemporary fiction, and, apart from the 10-years part, I tend to agree with author Karl Ove Knausgård, who recently said in an interview: 'I think contemporary fiction is extremely overrated, but I can’t start to name, because I’m also a part of the hype. I think there are maybe one or two great books every 10 years' (Guardian, 11 Feb. 2018). The beautiful cover design (by Rafaela Romaya) attracted me to the novel rather than the subject matter: a marriage threatened by infertility. I was also wary of the good reviews the novel was receiving and thought perhaps it was yet another hype. The main reason I read it was my admiration for the writing of Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie; I was curious to discover another talent from Nigeria.

Stay with Me is a beautifully written story and deeply moving. Unfortunately, given the subject matter, it contains one too many tragedies, which didn't bother me after I had finished the book, only during the reading. Because of its plot, and how important it is to avoid spoilers, it's not an easy book to review. The synopsis reads thus: 'Yejide is hoping for a miracle, for a child. It is all her husband wants, all her mother-in-law wants, and she has tried everything - arduous pilgrimages, medical consultations, appeals to God. But when her relatives insist on a new wife, it is too much for Yejide to bear. It will lead to jealousy, betrayal and despair.' Despair is the keyword. The extreme measures Yejide takes to conceive are heartbreaking.

The setting is mainly the tumultuous Nigeria of the 1980s. We have two narrators: the naïve Yejide, pushed to the edge in her despair to get pregnant, and her husband Akin. Other important characters are Akin's brother Dotun, their mother Moomi (who pushed all my buttons; she reminded me of the mother-in-law in Adichie's Half of a Yellow Sun), and Funmi, the second wife. What made the novel a page-turner was that each time I thought the plot was becoming predictable, the author surprised me with a new twist to the story that I never saw coming. To do this so masterfully, she needed the two voices of Yejide and Akin.

Their marriage is based on a lie and whether readers believe their story depends on their willingness to accept this lie when it's revealed (hinting at what it is would ruin the reading experience). In spite of the novel's many tragedies, I eagerly turned its pages, but have to admit that I paused and doubted when I reached the revelation of the lie. I then continued reading, convincing myself that Yejide's gullibility was based on the fact that she had been raised without a mother to guide her ('I had watched them arrive and evolve in my father's house, all those different mothers who were not mine').

Despite the characters facing adversities, the novel has plenty of beauty and some humorous circumstances. More importantly, Nigerian culture and folklore: Ancient stories, beliefs, and superstitions may raise the eyebrows of Westerners. An example is a scene where Yejide climbs up 'the Mountain of Jaw-Dropping Miracles' and dances with a goat - and breastfeeds it! - in desperate hope for a miracle ('I needed a miracle fast. The only way I could save myself from polygamy was to get pregnant before Funmi'). One cannot help but wonder how unnecessary pain and suffering could have been avoided had Yejide and Akin only sat down and had an honest conversation.

In the end, we are all humans and have to deal with what our society expects of us. We have the choice to let those expectations control our lives or find our own path. To discover what Yejide finally decides to do you have to read the book. Meanwhile, I will be waiting for the announcement of Adebayo's second novel. A new talent has arrived on the literary scene.

Stay with Me
By Ayobami Adebayo
Canongate
Hardcover, 304 pages
Buy here

Astrid Lindgren's war diaries: A World Gone Mad

One of the books on a reading list I shared in March was A World Gone Mad: The Diaries of Astrid Lindgren, 1939-45, published last autumn in English by Pushkin Press (translated by Sarah Death). Astrid Lindgren was a Swedish author who wrote fantastic books for children. When we lived in the UK it seemed as if people only knew Pippi Longstocking and not the other wonderful characters she created. I still remember moments in primary school when the teacher read Seacrow Island during breaks; one of the books from childhood that I have read countless times and hold dear is The Brothers Lionheart. I doubt children think much about the personal life of an author, they simply forget themselves in the world he or she has created, thus the war diaries showed me a side to the author I knew nothing about: Lindgren as a young mother trying to grasp the horrors of the war, not without the feeling of guilt in a neutral Sweden.

Do Lindgren's war diaries have anything to add to what already has been written about the Second World War? What I found interesting is that she is barely 32 years old when the war breaks out and clearly feels the need to record its progress. She collects press cuttings and writes entries of various lengths in leather-bound journals, a total of seventeen which were found in her home in Dalagatan in Stockholm after her death in 2002 (published in Sweden in 2015). The book only contains the entries, and some illustrations, and it surprised me how thorough she was in her accounts. I thought I was about to read Lindgren's personal thoughts but soon realised that this was a book about the war in layman's terms.

Lindgren comes straight to the point without overdramatising, although she naturally experiences fear and anger. The first entry is written on the 1st of September 1939 when the Germans invade Poland. With a constant voice she compares the peaceful life in wartime Sweden - where there was no conflict, only the effects of rationing - to the horror elsewhere in Europe, especially in the neighbouring countries Finland and Norway. When she starts working for the Swedish Intelligence Agency, in its postal control division reading overseas mail, the war gets closer; she mentions this one 'profoundly sad Jewish letter' from the Continent to a friend in Sweden.

By Christmas 1944 the reader realises that something serious has taken place, she has experienced a breakdown which many who don't know her story could interpret as a consequence of the war and her work: 'I've had a hell of a six months this second half of 1944 and the ground beneath me has been shaken to its very foundation; I'm disconsolate, down, disappointed, often melancholy - but I'm not really unhappy.' She never writes in the diary what exactly is the cause but those who have read about her life know of troubles in her marriage. Her husband had met someone else and had asked for a divorce, which he then didn't go through with.

The diaries predate Lindgren's fiction writing but on its pages we witness the birth of an author; during the war she is writing her first children's books: 'I'm the happiest when I write.' However, the book is not a diary of an author, as I have heard people say, that is, hers is not a diary with entries about fiction writing and style. Her first book, about a girl called Britt-Mari, was published in 1944 and for that one she received an award. In March 1944, when her daughter is bedridden with measles, Lindgren is working on the first book about Pippi Longstocking: The last pages include an illustration of the rejection letter she received after submitting the manuscript in April 1944. A year later she talks about Pippi again, about rewriting - 'to see if I can make anything of that bad child.' We all know how that turned out.

I can recommend the book, which is very readable and, as stated above, showed me a new side to my favourite author from childhood. My quibbles have to do with the book not containing more illustrations. It has photos of Lindgren and her family but I would have liked to see more photos of the diary entries and press cuttings, particularly those relating to some key battles that Lindgren writes about in her entries. It would have helped to connect more visually with her experience of the war.

A World Gone Mad: The Diaries of Astrid Lindgren, 1939-45
By Astrid Lindgren
Pushkin Press
Hardcover, 240 pages, illustrated
Buy here

Book review: Pachinko by Min Jin Lee

Earlier this year, the novel Pachinko by Min Jin Lee, an American-Korean author, was published by Head of Zeus (Apollo). My review copy appeared on my № 8 reading list. It's a story about a Korean family in Japan, about their immigrant experience, their struggles, and resilience, spanning eight decades in the 20th century. My feelings about the book are slightly mixed, mainly for its quick pace - its 490 pages read very fast - and the fault I found with the lack of character development. However, the book's message is important and historically valuable, for the author casts a light on a social problem I was unaware of: the treatment and oppression of Koreans in Japanese society for decades.

The title of the book, the word pachinko, needs explanation. It first appears halfway through the book. Pachinko is a pinball game and the pachinko parlours are a huge industry in Japan; their revenues are higher than the export revenues of the motor industry. The parlours were one of the few places that would hire Koreans. What is more, the only housing solution for Koreans was a tiny shack in ethnic ghettos for no one wanted to rent out properties to them.

Pachinko tells the story of four generations, beginning in 1911, in a fishing village in the south-eastern part of the Korean peninsula, the year after Japan's annexation of the country. To fast-forward slightly, a love affair with a married man leaves the fifteen-year-old Sunja pregnant. Her family is saved from ruin when Isak, a Christian minister from the north, offers to marry her and take her with him to Osaka, in Japan, where they arrive in April 1933.

At the start of their journey, around page 80, the story really takes off and becomes somewhat of a page-turner. The writing style is plain and because of conversations the pace is fast, which is also the book's main flaw. Instead of developing the characters, giving them more depth, and allowing the reader to stand still with them to gain a better insight, it feels as if the author is constantly moving the story along, perhaps to fit it into historical context. Min Jin Lee's story is certainly interesting but the storytelling lacks density.

She divides the book into three parts: The first two are mainly about the immigrant experience, about Sunja and her family's struggles in an ethnic ghetto, and on a farm during the war. The third part starts in April 1962 and mainly deals with her descendants. At that point the family is financially more stable, and the younger members later prosper with the help of the pachinko business. This is where the author derails; the third is the novel's weakest part. Min Jin Lee introduces a new set of characters - few I grew fond of - and leaves a gap by almost abandoning the older generation. Sunja and the older family members seem to fade into the background, as if they are no longer of much importance, when in fact it seems to me that so much is left untold of their story, especially of their feelings.

Sunja is a character that I grew to love and hoped to get to know better in the third part. About a hundred pages in, finally, came this glimpse of insight into her mind: 'All her life, Sunja had heard this sentiment from other women, that they must suffer—suffer as a girl, suffer as a wife, suffer as a mother—die suffering. Go-saeng—the word made her sick. What else was there besides this? She had suffered to create a better life for Noa, and yet it was not enough.' Alas, it was short-lived. The author took us straight into conversations and moved the story along.

Even though Pachinko isn't a literary masterpiece, one has to honour the author's effort. Part of me wants to root for the book because of its themes and its relevance to the times we live in: immigration and identity, and the treatment of immigrants and refugees. This is where Min Jin Lee is at her finest. There is scrutiny of Japan but she avoids feeding opinions to her readers and the pit of letting them see things in black and white. I completely trust her research for the book, on the Korean experience in Japanese society, and she leaves it to the reader to pass judgement.

Readers who are only looking for a story will enjoy this book, enjoy its fast pace. But readers who turn to literature for the writing style, for sentences they want to read again, and even write down, will be left a bit empty-handed.

Pachinko
By Min Jin Lee
Head of Zeus / Apollo
Hardcover, 490 pages
Buy here

Pachinko appeared on my № 8 reading list

Map Stories by Francisca Mattéoli

Remember your first world atlas, your very own? Apart from images of the globe, the cover of mine was black with white letters. I was ten or eleven years old and devoured it. Maps have a strange attraction and seem to offer a possibility of great adventures. I have always had a soft spot for vintage maps, especially the illustrated ones that are far-off geographically. Throw in sea monsters and sailing ships and they become even more enchanting. You can only imagine my excitement when a few months ago I received the latest book by travel writer Francisca Mattéoli, Map Stories: The Art of Discovery, published by Octopus (Ilex). Through a wonderful collection of historical maps and twenty-three stories, Mattéoli takes us on an adventure all over the globe where we meet cartographers, geographers, explorers and dreamers. For me it sometimes felt as if entering a dimension where Bilbo Baggins meets Indiana Jones.

Map of the Nile Valley drawn up by Nicolas de Fer and published in 1720, pp. 44-45

Mattéoli isn't a scholar in the field of geography and her book shouldn't be read as a textbook. In the preface she writes: 'It is a book that invites the reader on a journey from map to map, to let their imagination run free' (p. 7). That's indeed the book's charm.

Mattéoli's journey starts with the rediscovery of the lost city of Petra and ends in China via the Silk Road. In between we find ourselves on the Inca trail, on the mysterious site of Machu Picchu; racing to the South Pole; on Route 66; searching for the source of the Nile River; on board the Orient Express; perhaps wondering if Nessie the monster is hiding somewhere in Loch Ness. These are only some of the destinations.

Planisphere by the Venetian monk Fra Mauro, c. 1449, pp. 100-101

Depending on your interests and historical knowledge, some of the twenty-three stories will be more familiar than others and some might teach you something new. I was intrigued by the one about the search for the source of the Nile River - the expedition of Richard Burton and John Speke - that reads somewhat like a mystery with a dramatic ending. The following is a description (from a photo) of the Map Room of the Royal Geographical Society:

[It] is plunged in a dusty half-light and decorated with maps, as one might expect. An enormous terrestrial globe fills one corner. On the upper floor, dark wood shelves are stacked with carefully arranged documents and books. On the ground floor, two large display cabinets protect the most precious objects and on a long table standing in the center of the room, pages lie spread out as if waiting to be consulted by some very serious gentleman. This was the setting that would soon be at the heart of the scandal. It was here, or at least in a similar room of this distinguished institution founded in 1830 that, around a hundred years ago, a disagreement broke out regarding the source of this fabled river, which would soon turn into a downright controversy and then a brutal confrontation. (p. 42)

Map of the South Pole, 1912, pp. 120-121

Some of the adventurers we meet on Mattéoli's journey are Thomas Edward Lawrence, better known as Lawrence of Arabia, Roald Amundsen, the Norwegian explorer who was the first to reach the South Pole, and Peter Fleming (brother of Ian Fleming), who in 1932 joined an Amazon expedition after seeing an advertisement in The Times (his book Brazilian Adventure, first published in 1933, is still in print).

Map Stories enables us to admire the work of famous cartographers like Fra Mauro (see my 2nd image above), Fernão (Fernando) Vaz Dourado, Nicolas de Fer (see Nile Valley map above), Willem Blaeu and his son Joan, Martin Behaim, Pedro Reinel and Lopo Homem, Jodocus Hondius, Guillaume Le Testu, and John Speed, just to name a few.

This book has something for everyone. And if you find yourself online looking up old travel trunks, or other vintage travel paraphernalia, I completely understand.

Map of Chile, 1884, p. 157

I am particularly fond of the design of the book that is a beautiful addition to my coffee table. The map on the cover is embossed and the endpapers are an old world map with illustrations of principal mountains and basins of rivers (see map). The layout of the text is clear and at the top of the left pages are the coordinates for the place being discussed. The maps are either on a single page or spread across two. I wanted to cut some of them out and frame them, which, unfortunately, would have ruined the book.

Travel writer Francisca Mattéoli

Travel writer Francisca Mattéoli is the author of many books, which have been translated into many languages. She has also written travel pieces for magazines, including National Geographic, Condé Nast Traveller, and Air France Magazine. Her personal blog is written in both French and English. She resides in Paris but was actually brought up in South America with Chilean nationality (Scottish mother). She is already working on her next book.

Map Stories: The Art of Discovery
By Francisca Mattéoli
Octopus
Hardcover, 176 pages, illustrated
Buy here

Part of a map of Europe for use in primary education, dating from 1880, p. 143

images by me | except for No. 2, 4-6, courtesy of Octopus Publishing Group (No. 5 edited by me) | maps - credit: No. 1 (cover) © akg-images/North Wind Picture Archives; No. 2, 4-5, 7 © Bibliothèque Nationale de France; No. 3 © akg-images/British Library

Book review: Avid Reader by Robert Gottlieb

There is a reason Toni Morrison's Beloved wasn't the first part of a long novel and why you may have read Catch-22 by Joseph Heller instead of Catch-18. That reason is editor Robert Gottlieb, who recently published his memoir Avid Reader: A Life (Farrar, Straus and Giroux). Memoirs often have too much of name-dropping but in his case we could call it title-dropping. Whether it's too much is debatable. He tells his story through his work, at Simon & Schuster, Alfred A. Knopf, and The New Yorker, and because of all the book titles his style may at first seem to lack depth. As the reading continues, it makes sense and gives an insight into his world of publishing. Apart from Heller and Morrison, other feathers in his cap were e.g. Doris Lessing, John le Carré, John Cheever, Chaim Potok, Charles Portis, and in non-fiction, Jessica Mitford, Nora Ephron, Robert Caro, Lauren Bacall, and Bill Clinton. Even Miss Piggy. This is a man who loved his job; editing was his life. For the bibliophile, also interested in publishing, this is the book to read.

In 1955, after studying at Columbia and Cambridge, the extremely well-read Gottlieb, then twenty-four, started working at Simon & Schuster, where his role was somewhat undefined. He was doing everything: reading manuscripts, writing jacket copy, making editorial suggestions. Two years later his boss died and key executives left the company. Suddenly, Gottlieb, Nina Bourne, the legendary advertising director (she went with him to Knopf in 1968), and a few others were running the show. Gottlieb, now eighty-five, became a canon in the publishing world, mainly for being the right man, in the right place, at the right time, who happened to be good at editing. He doesn't brag in his book, even though he has every reason to.

For me, Gottlieb's thoughts on the editor-author relationship and the role of the editor are one of the book's strengths. Doris Lessing was one of the S & S authors he had a great relationship with and she followed him to Knopf. When Gottlieb became the editor of The New Yorker (in 1987; there was drama when he succeeded former editor William Shawn) Lessing continued to show him her work. He was 'dumbstruck' when she told him she was 'always hoping for' his 'approval'. Earlier he observes that her novel The Golden Notebook 'sold very few hardcover copies . . . [b]ut they were the right six thousand copies' (p. 136). It shows that for him the job wasn't about publishing a bestseller but to reach the right readers. Since then the book has of course done very well and Lessing was awarded the 2007 Nobel Prize in Literature. He reminds us of the moment she received the news in front of her London home 'grumpily expressing her irritation at having her life interrupted this way' (p. 139). If you haven't seen the clip please look it up online. She had no idea why the reporters were waiting outside when she came home from doing her grocery shopping, and her reaction to the news was: 'Oh Christ!'

Some of the book titles edited by Robert Gottlieb

Toni Morrison was another author of his who was awarded the Nobel, in 1993, and they had a good working relationship. Between the great successes there were of course less successful titles and bad editorial experiences (he disliked Roald Dahl (so did the Knopf staff) and thought V.S. Naipaul, also a Nobel Laureate, was a 'snob' but a 'superb writer'). Some authors jumped ship (e.g. Salman Rushdie and Don DeLillo):

It's hard to convince a colleague (or oneself) that it's not personal—that a writer's chief concern is, and should be, protecting himself and his books as he thinks fit. If the editor and publisher don't provide that sense of security, they're not doing their job, which is first, last, and always a service job: What we're there for is to serve the writer and the book. That doesn't mean I haven't been stung when an author I valued moved on. (p. 176)

When it was time for Bill Clinton to write his memoir, Gottlieb was the chosen editor (he was back at Knopf after five years at The New Yorker). If you have read My Life  Clinton's name-dropping is probably still fresh in your memory (my father-in-law returned my copy; he gave up), but it doesn't diminish the fact that it was well written. It sums up their editorial relationship when Gottlieb writes in a margin: 'This is the single most boring page I've ever read.' Clinton sends it back having added: 'No, page 511 is even more boring!' (p. 253).

Gottlieb's book isn't flawless. The talk about him and his family holidaying with, or becoming close to, this author or that co-worker and their family members becomes repetitive, and reaches a point where one no longer cares. At least I didn't. There are exceptions, a few witty stories. When the late Katherine Graham was working on her autobiography Personal History he used to visit her in Washington to view her writing and stayed in her Georgetown house. '[O]ver the years we established an easygoing routine—breakfast, for instance, in slippers and dressing gowns at side-by-side tables in the library, with the Post waiting for her and the Times waiting for me' (p. 242). Her book became a bestseller and won the 1998 Pulitzer.

There is also a chapter about dancing that I have my doubts about. Gottlieb, a great fan of the ballet, became a dance critic for The New York Observer. Those following the NY dance scene will probably enjoy this chapter but the only reason I connected with it was that a few years ago I read the memoirs by former ballerina Gelsey Kirkland, Dancing on My Grave and The Shape of Love.

Gottlieb is an editor who, without planning to, became a writer himself. Some of his works are Collected Stories, a collection of Rudyard Kipling's stories (it made Susan Sontag exclaim in a bookshop: 'Bob, I didn't know you could write so well!' (p. 295)), Sarah: The Life of Sarah Bernhardt (for the Jewish Lives series at Yale University Press), George Balanchine: The Ballet Maker, Great Expectations: The Sons and Daughters of Charles Dickens, and Reading Jazz.

During the reading I kept asking myself how the guy found the time and energy for everything he accomplished (supportive wife, actress Maria Tucci, is definitely one of the reasons). I got my answer in the final chapter:

Why, also, considering that my personality is so relentlessly ebullient, have I since childhood felt so melancholic, perhaps even depressive? I suspect that I've summoned up my hyper-energy to keep running fast enough to ward off that depressive tendency—the few times I brushed against the real thing were so distressing that it's no wonder I've done everything possible to avoid it. (p. 311)

He was brought up in a dysfunctional family - they read at the dinner table instead of talking - and he seems to remember his childhood in books. Early in the book he admits doing eight years of psychoanalysis. That's when I thought, Okay, he doesn't find the need to dig deep in this book. He's done. I'm not saying his book is shallow. He simply doesn't dwell on things and seems to have a healthy dose of detachment. It's also good to keep in mind that he had no intention of writing this book. He only did it for his daughter (thank you, Lizzie!) who wanted her twin sons to know about the life work of their grandfather.

It has been a few weeks since I finished reading Avid Reader: A Life and I still keep it in the stack I take with me from room to room. I'm still browsing through it and noting down titles that I would like to read. This is a book I really enjoyed reading. My advice to the bibliophile: keep a notebook next to you during the reading because your to-read list is about to get longer!

Avid Reader: A Life
By Robert Gottlieb
Farrar, Straus and Giroux
Hardcover, 337 pages, illustrated
Buy here

The Little Book of Hygge by Meik Wiking

Last weekend I got a copy of The Little Book of Hygge: The Danish Way to Live Well, which explains the Danish concept of 'hygge'. The author is Meik Wiking from The Happiness Research Institute in Copenhagen, whose job it is to research what makes people happy. It's published by Penguin and comes in a neat format, not too big, which makes it quite thick, 288 pages. It's readable and fun and beautifully designed, filled with photographs and illustrations of Scandinavian motifs. Wiking thoroughly explains the idea of hygge and how the Danes, the happiest nation according to studies, know the art of creating an intimate atmosphere. He uses researches and charts to support his case, but the book never feels dry or academic. He strikes a balance between facts and figures with a flowing, light, and often humorous text.

Before sitting down to tell you about the book it felt fitting to create an atmosphere of hygge. I made hot chocolate and a delicious bread roll before lighting the fireplace.

For an Icelander the concept of hygge isn't unfamiliar. Danish culture is similar to ours and we learn the language at school (or any other Nordic language of choice). In Iceland we would probably use the word cosy to explain hygge but it doesn't quite grasp the idea. This is the way Wiking explains it:

Hygge is about an atmosphere and an experience, rather than about things. It is about being with the people we love. A feeling of home. A feeling that we are safe, that we are shielded from the world and allow ourselves to let our guard down. (p. 6)

Most Danes connect hygge with autumn and winter but the warmer months aren't excluded from hygge. I found it interesting that Wiking compares the Danes with the Dutch, who have a similar concept called 'gezelligheid'. The difference, however, is that the majority of the Dutch associate it with going out, to a café or a bar, while the majority of the Danes associates hygge with the feeling of home.

Having lived in Denmark, I have many fond memories. I also happen to have Danish ancestors: On one branch of my family tree is a Danish great-grandmother and on another branch is a great-great-grandfather. I often notice that foreigners view Denmark as some kind of utopia and seem to think that it's free from the social problems other countries deal with. I was glad to see Wiking mentioning this view. When you live in Denmark you definitely become aware of a certain sense of community, which I cannot quite explain, and you realise that the welfare of its citizens is important.

How do the Danes create hygge and what makes them happy? Wiking mentions many factors, such as cosy homes and togetherness, inviting friends over to enjoy food and drink. Candles and the correct lighting are very important - 85% Danes connect candles with hygge. The Christmas month is particularly hyggelig (adjective). I have lived in a few countries and it's my opinion that no other nation knows how to better create the perfect Christmas mood. Copenhagen is my dream city in December and nothing compares to strolling its cobblestone streets, seeing the candles in the windows and experiencing the ideal Christmas spirit. Wiking devotes a chapter to Christmas and when talking about the food he mentions risalamande, which is one of our Christmas traditions. I have already shared the recipe of this Danish rice and almond pudding with cherry sauce on the blog.

One thing in the book caught my attention because it's something I have often thought about. Wiking refers to a survey that shows gratitude having an impact on happiness. The results show that being grateful not only increases happiness, but also makes us more helpful, more forgiving, and less materialistic (p. 280). This is what Wiking has to say about hygge and gratitude:

Hygge may help us to be grateful for the everyday because it is all about savouring simple pleasures. Hygge is making the most of the moment, but hygge is also a way of planning for and preserving happiness. Danes plan for hyggelige times and reminisce about them afterwards. (p. 281)

During the reading I was convinced that my daily life has hygge in abundance - perhaps it's in my blood - but if I have to mention one thing that I do every day it would be enjoying a cup of quality coffee and reading a book. Each time my choice of hygge-corner in the house simply depends on my mood.

If you feel that you need hygge in you life I highly recommend getting a copy of this book. It's full of ideas.

The Little Book of Hygge: The Danish Way to Live Well
By Meik Wiking
Penguin Life
Hardcover, 288 pages, illustrated
Buy here

Decorative Textiles from Arab & Islamic Cultures

Earlier this summer I received a book for reviewing, Decorative Textiles from Arab & Islamic Cultures: Selections from the Al Lulwa Collection. The book is truly beautiful, I enjoyed reading it and would recommend it to anyone interested in exotic textiles and Islamic culture. Jennifer Wearden is the author of the text; Jennifer Scarce writes the introduction. The collection is a tribute to the grandmother of Altaf S. Al Sabah. In a short note before her preface, she explains that al lulwa means a pearl, which was her late grandmother's name. The book is produced by Paul Holberton publishing. In a press release they state: 'The Al Lulwa Collection has a heritage that reaches back well over a thousand years, and is significant both for its quality and as an illustration of the survival and adaptation of a major industry.'

Decorative Textiles from Arab & Islamic Cultures is a paperback with flaps, 200 pages with 140 illustrations in colour. It's divided into four chapters: 1) Floral Decoration, 2) Geometric Patterns, 3) The Written Word, and 4) Applied Decoration. The textiles come from the Middle East and the Arabian Peninsula, Iran, India, and North Africa. Wearden has written a flowing, entertaining description of each item featured. The text is educating without being too scholarly, enriched with historic and cultural details.

Each piece of textile featured in the book is described with an illustration next to it, and the details of many have a close-up view on a separate page. For non-scholars in textile design, this is very interesting; to be able to explore the motifs and patterns in more detail with Wearden's text as a guide. Sometimes she compares the textiles and points out their differences and similarities, which is invaluable. Occasionally she points out the mistakes in patterns that make them even more fascinating to look at. The book also includes a glossary with drawings of various stitches.

Detail: Part of a cenotaph, a tomb cover, Iran, early 18th century, pp. 140-3

Altaf S. Al Sabah, 'a researcher and writer in material culture and traditional arts', says she started collecting textiles in the early 1980s and she supports the preservation of the craft. In her preface, written in Kuwait in 2015, she says how she loved wearing her 'traditional thoubs, Kashmiri shawls, Palestinian, Egyptian and Ottoman dresses' and that 'weavings and embroideries hang blissfully' on her walls (p. 7). Given some of the stunning wall hangings featured in the book I can only imagine the style of her home. She gives the reason for presenting her collection:

In the light of the rapid vanishing of many craft traditions in the Arab and Islamic world in general, and the slow extinction of many of the fine hand skills related to traditional textiles and embroideries in particular, I thought it relevant to showcase some notable pieces of late Islamic decorative textile arts to be enjoyed and appreciated today as they were in the past. (p. 7)

Left: Woman's dress, Saudi Arabia, Ta'if region, Bani Sa'ad tribe, 2nd half 20th century, p. 186.
Right: Part of a woman's shawl, Sindh, 20th century, p. 51

Mi'zar al-hammam, a wrap, Syria, mid 20th century, pp. 126-7

As someone fascinated with the geometric designs and motifs in Islamic art, I particularly enjoyed reading a chapter called 'Geometric Patterns' and would say that 'The Written Word' chapter, with its beautiful calligraphy, is visually the most pleasing. Before moving on to the textiles featured in the former, Wearden observes:

Geometric designs are the most characteristic feature of Islamic art and are found in their most perfect form decorating both the interior and exterior of buildings, symbolizing the principles of tawhid (the unity of all things) and mizan (balance), which are the laws of creation. (p. 85)

Shawl border, Kashmir, 19th/20th century, pp. 44-5

The text is rich with Arabic words and their meaning, such as khamsa, or the Hand of Fatima, a common decorative motif. Another common motif, that reoccurs in the 'Floral Decoration' chapter, is the boteh (see image above). In the Western world we refer to the motif as paisley, named after the Scottish town (Glasgow area) that became famous for its patterned shawls. Wearden explains how the motif evolved:

It began life in the late [17th] century as a naturalistic floral sprig, a stem with a few leaves and three or four flowers. By the early [18th] century the uppermost flower was drooping to one side; by the middle of the [18th] century the leaves and flowers were less well-defined and the sprig was fast becoming an outline containing flower heads and foliage; by the beginning of the [19th] century it had taken the form we are familiar with today. (p. 23)

Man's abba, Syria or Iran, late 19th/early 20th century, pp. 98-9

The pattern featured on the cover of the book in detail can be traced to its former owner. It's the gold and purple man's abba in the image above that belonged to Major-General Sir Percy Zachariah Cox (1864-1937). He was a British Indian Army officer and diplomat, a key figure in the creation of Iraq. Wearden observes that this robe would unlikely fade into the background. 'Royal purple and bright gold thread send out a clear message of wealth and power, they attract attention, they say "look at me"' (p. 98). Oh, we see you indeed!

Tegeia, Tunisia, Mahdia, probably 1920 to mid 20th century, pp. 182-3

The fourth chapter, 'Applied Decoration', is short and contains a few beautiful pieces for women. The Tunisian tegeia is one of them, a headpiece worn by 'a bride on the day henna was applied to her hands and feet' (p. 183). As seen in the image above, the fringe has a star-shaped medallion and its filigree work a small English gold sovereign with the head of King George V.

Top: Shawl, Syria, Damascus, dated 1855, p. 146. Left (detail): Part of a woman's
shawl, Sindh, 20th century, pp. 50-1 (see in full in image No. 5 above).
Right: Khayamiya, a hanging, Egypt, late 19th century, p. 172

If you happen to be into calligraphy you will likely take in more slowly the textiles featured in 'The Written Word' chapter, which is decorated with Arabic calligraphy by Jasser AlShammari. It has gorgeous cloths, for example, Egyptian hangings called khayamiya in blue and red that I couldn't stop admiring (see below and above right). Wearden explains the importance of calligraphy in the Muslim world:

The art of calligraphy, Khatt ul-Yad, is the practice of hand-writing based on the Arabic script and for many Muslims is the most admired and esteemed form of Islamic art, because it links the people with the language of the Qur'an and through that with the spiritual world. (p. 135)

She points out embroidering mistakes, or broken strokes, which were probably the result of either the embroiderer's carelessness or illiteracy (an example is the textile to the right in my bottom image: the vertical strokes are incorrect).

Khayamiya, a hanging, Egypt, late 19th century, p. 174

Decorative Textiles from Arab & Islamic Cultures: Selections from the Al Lulwa Collection is a wonderful addition to my slowly growing collection of textile books. The layout deserves praise: each selected piece of textile is given its proper place with an informative, flowing text. The close-up illustrations are a welcome for readers interested in details. Altaf S. Al Sabah has paid an astounding tribute to her late grandmother and anyone who reads this beautiful book will want to view the entire Al Lulwa Collection in person.

Decorative Textiles from Arab & Islamic Cultures:
Selections from the Al Lulwa Collection
By Jennifer Wearden
Paul Holberton publishing
Paperback, 200 pages, illustrated
Buy here

Three panels, possibly Syria, 1928, 1933, and one reduced in size,
no longer showing the date, pp. 154-5

images by me | except for No. 4-7, courtesy of Paul Holberton publishing | credit: all images in the book are by Stephanie McGehee