Old Babes in the Wood, by Margaret Atwood.

   

          

            No-one knows more about being an old babe than Margaret Atwood, Canadian novelist, poet, essayist and artist extraordinaire:  she is now eighty-three years old, and well-qualified for Old Babeism, with all the life experience (good and bad), wisdom and wonderful ability to recount stories in her graceful, effortless prose of times past and experiences yet to come.

            What a pleasure it is to read this latest collection of short stories that cover a span of seventy-odd years, loosely joined by the long, mostly happy union between Nell and Tig, a marriage that has weathered many changes-of-scene, diversity of friends and countries of residence, but always has held together by rock-solid affection – until Tig starts leaving, little by little.

            In between times, Ms Atwood entertains us enormously with imaginary conversations with George Orwell, brought into temporary being through a medium hired by Ms Atwood:  she is thrilled that he has appeared;  he is thrilled to be called – and to be speaking to someone ‘still in their meat envelope’, an expression that temporarily pauses the interview as the Great Man attempts to explain that throw-away line – and other faux-pas further along as he refers to ‘women’s books’ and is taken to task by one of the greatest writers of ‘women’s books’ for trivialising women’s literature.  Orwell responds airily ‘he hopes he hasn’t caused offence.  Women do sometimes get their backs up over trifles.’  Indeed!  He also wishes he could see Ms Atwood, but the medium has her eyes closed – ‘if only these mediums could operate with their eyes open.  As it is, this is like the telephone, with an undependable line at that’.

            We leave Mr Orwell for ‘Impatient Griselda’, a fairy tale read to a group of Earthlings by a very reluctant alien People-Minder, sent to earth as part of an intergalactic-crises aid package to deal with a plague that is sweeping the planet:  the alien informs its human charges that it’s not having a good time either for, being an entertainer and thus low-status, it is tasked with looking after them, and providing food (no, I do not have snacks for vegans.  What is vegan?) and blankets whilst it tells the story, in its own inimitable alien way, a fairy story about Griselda and her twin sister, both of whom end up eating everyone in the fairy palace. The End.  What do you mean you didn’t like it?  You even stopped whimpering.  Now you must excuse me as there are several other quarantine groups on my list who need attention.  I hope the plague will soon be over too.

            Ms Atwood’s stories are that mix of comedy and tragedy, pleasure and pathos, just as our lives are.  How blessed are we to have her chronicle so beautifully the pain – and the joy.  FIVE STARS   

   

  

 

The Empire, by Michael Ball.

 

            British singing star Michael Ball is justly famous for his starring roles in many of the great musical productions of the West End over several decades;  now he tries his hand at authoring a novel about what he loves most:  the English theatre, a particular theatre, and everything connected with it, from the theatre watch dog (Ollie) to the megarich owners – the Lassiters.

            It is 1922;  people are still reeling from the Great War and the world-wide flu epidemic.  They are all trying to recover from their losses, and what better place to start the healing process than the Empire Theatre, a lush, beautiful setting for live performances of every kind, the perfect place to make people forget their troubles for a short time.  The Empire is a true Palace of Dreams, not yet overwhelmed by the Talking Pictures, as yet in their infancy and, when faced with unfair and overwhelming competition designed to bankrupt them by a would-be buyer (he knows a good thing when he sees one!) the enthusiastic and committed staff led by the semi-absent manager’s efficient secretary Grace Hawkins and Jack Treadwell, new doorman and Ollie’s right-hand man, decide to produce a musical of their own.

            Which is an excellent idea, except no-one has a clue how to do so!  But as we all know, a journey starts with the first step:  Grace is wrangled into providing the story and musical lyrics for ‘Riviera Nights’, the adventures of a hotel-owner and his guests on (you guessed it) the Riviera:

 “ ‘I don’t know what to write for her!’

Ruby’s hand strayed around the piano again.  ‘Don’t worry, dear.  It will come.  Glamour – that’s what we want.  And make it funny.  But sad, too, of course!  With the sort of ending that people feel down into their boots.  And real, so it speaks to people’s hearts.  But light.’

‘Is that all?’ 

‘A rags-to-riches story is always good.  And of course, lots and lots of romance.’  Grace groaned.”

Which sums up the plot succinctly,  and Mr Ball’s marvellous characters, some of them endearingly larger than life.  Very few are contemptible and cruel;  even his villain follows a certain code of ethics – up to a point before he orders the blood to flow, but this charming debut novel has all the ingredients previously described and required, and there is just enough mystery at the end to hope that we can expect a sequel.  PLEASE??  FIVE STARS.

 

Like a Sister, by Kellye Garrett.

 

  

        Black woman Lena Scott lives in the Bronx in an apartment left to her by her beloved paternal grandmother.  She is a self-supporting Columbia college Graduate student and is justly proud of her independence, especially as her father is a fabulously rich Music Producer, estranged from her life since he left her mother for his secretary when Lena was a child.  The only good thing that came out of that union, as far as Lena is concerned, is her friendship with her half-sister Desiree, commenced when they both stayed for school vacations with her Gram:  what great times they shared then – nothing would ever happen to break their bond.

            Until, by a series of happy coincidences, grown-up Spoilt Little Rich Girl Desiree became a reality TV star and fame started going to her head - and up her nose.  And Lena is not the sort of person to stand silently by while her sister slowly destroys herself. She issues an ultimatum:  carry on the self-destruction and their relationship is finished.  A challenge that Desiree accepts; who needs a Holier-Than-Thou Smart-Ass stopping Gals Who Just Wanna Have Fun?

            Two years of silence have passed when Lena finds out from a newspaper report that her sister has been found dead in a Bronx playground, partly-clad, all evidence pointing to an accidental drug overdose.  Which rings alarm bells right away, for Desiree would never venture to the Bronx;  nor had she graduated to heroin-use, as the paper stated.  Lena, battling with her grief and anger is certain that Desiree had been coming to the Bronx to see her for a particular reason, whatever that may have been, and she is stunned at the police lack of interest in investigating further, and her powerful father’s wish to have the matter cleared-up and out of the news as soon as possible. 

            WHAT IS WRONG WITH EVERYONE?

            The more Lena delves, the more rabbit-holes she has to investigate, especially with regard to Desiree’s new Bestie Erin, a white girl who ‘loved Desiree like a sister’:  oh yeah?  That’s kind of hard-to-swallow, especially as everyday racist experience for Black people, but Lena knows Desiree has been murdered- she knows.  But how to find the proof without suffering the same fate?  For Lena’s efforts at digging have not gone unnoticed.

            Kellye Garrett is a smart, funny writer and she has given us a perfectly-plotted, beautifully characterised tale of today’s Instagram age and our scary dependence on Social Media and all its forms – and Racism in its many forms, not to lecture but as fact, as part of the everyday fabric of so many lives.  Thank you, Ms Garrett.  SIX STARS