Well, my record for 2019’s Six Degrees of Separation meme continues, that is, I still haven’t read a starting book! By comparison, last year I’d read three of the first five (which may have been a record in the opposite direction!) However, I have always read the books in my chain. And now before I share my chain, the formalities, which are simple:  if you don’t know the rules of the meme, please click on meme leader Kate’s blog name – booksaremyfavouriteandbest – and you will find them.

So, this month’s starting book is Jane Harper’s The dry, a book which got her career off to a rip-roaring start, and that’s been followed by two more, Force of nature and The lost man. These are all in the crime genre, I believe, which is not a genre I gravitate to.

There are some books that “everyone” reads, but that I don’t, for various reasons, usually to do with genre. Occasionally though, something happens to change my mind. This may happen one day with The Dry, but for today’s post, I’m choosing Vicki Laveau-Harvie’s The erratics (my review), which won this year’s Stella Prize. It had not been on my TBR list, but winning the prize tipped it over … and, of course, I’m glad it did.

Now, The erratics was written by an Australian-based writer who was born in Canada. Another memoir written by an Australian-based writer who was born elsewhere (this time, England) is Emma (now Eddie) Ayres’ Cadence: Travels with music (my review). This is a travel memoir in which Ayres cycled from England to Hong Kong with her violin.

Sticking with memoirs, though I promise we’ll leave them soon, I’m choosing another travel memoir with a music focus, Linda Neil’s All is given: A memoir in songs (my review). Neil describes her travels in the usual and unusual places, the songs she wrote and how music helped her make connections she may never have made otherwise.

And now, finally, we move onto fiction! Neil’s book came to me as a review copy from the wonderful UQP (the University of Queensland Press). The most recent book I reviewed from them is Melissa Lucashenko’s Too much lip (my review). It’s another excellent book from UQP, which has a marvellous track record in publishing indigenous Australian writers.

Oh, oh! I’m back to memoirs! You would think from this post that memoirs comprise the bulk of my reading! Not so. Just under 8% of my reviews are for memoirs. ‘Nuff said? Now, on with the chain … Lucashenko is the most recent indigenous Australian author I’ve read and reviewed. The first book by an indigenous Australian author that I read for my blog was Boori Monty Pryor’s Maybe tomorrow (my review), in June 2009, just one month into my blog.

Boori Monty Pryor was an author ambassador in Australia’s 2012 National Year of Reading program. Many authors from around Australia were nominated as ambassadors, but I’m going to end this chain on another indigenous Australian author who was one of these ambassadors, Anita Heiss. You’ll be pleased to know, however, that although I’ve read a memoir by her, one that came out in 2012 no less, I’m going to choose her novel, Paris dreaming (my review), because I heard her speak about it at the Canberra Readers Festival in 2012. Fair enough?

Hmmm … we’ve been everywhere this month, starting in Canada, then travelling all over the globe with Ayres and Neil, before landing in Australia, albeit ending on a foray to Paris with the Aussie protagonist of our last book. And for those who like chains to end in circles, you may like to know that the author of my opening book, The erratics, lived in France, before moving to Australia!

… over to you: Have you read The dry? And, regardless, what would you link to? 

I don’t think I’ve read one Six Degrees of Separation meme starting book yet this year! But that hasn’t stopped me giving it a go. Who said you have to read a book to write about it! Many a student has known that’s not necessary! (Never fear though, I always read the books I review on my blog. I’m not that brazen!) But now, before we get onto the post proper, I need to tell you to click on meme leader Kate’s blog name – booksaremyfavouriteandbest – if you don’t know the rules.

So, this month’s starting book is Ali Smith’s How to be both, a book I’d love to read, particularly given I read and loved, long before blogging, her second novel, Hotel world. Smith is an inventive writer, and this book was shortlisted for and/or won several prizes, including, in 2015, the Bailey’s Women’s Prize for Fiction

I have, over the years, read several of the winners of this Women’s Prize (under its various names), one of which being the 2014 winner, Eimear McBride’s moving, confronting, A girl is a half-formed thing (my review). It tells of a dysfunctional Irish family, comprising a mother, a daughter (the titular “girl”), and her brother whose mental capacity has been compromised due to surgery for brain cancer when he was young. Our girl is emotionally neglected as the mother struggles to care for her son’s needs.

Another novel exploring the impact on a sibling of living with a disabled brother is Sarah Kanake’s Sing fox to me (my review), though in this book the challenge is Down Syndrome and the brother is a twin. Kanake’s book is set in Tasmania, and with its forbidding – and mysterious – forest setting, it falls within a sub-genre we know here as Tasmanian Gothic.

Now it just so happens that I’ve read, since blogging, the book generally regarded as the first Gothic novel, Horace Walpole’s The castle of Otranto (my review). It’s quite a story, about the lord of a castle who … well, I’m not going to spoil it here, am I?

But, we all love a castle don’t we – even scary Gothic ones. We don’t have many castles in Australia – not surprisingly, given our relatively short built-history – but Sonya Hartnett does use a castle motif in her novel Golden boys (my review). There’s no real castle in her suburban setting but one of the main characters starts to

see that the world is a castle, and that a child lives in just one room of it. It’s only as you grow up that you realise the castle is vast and has countless false floors and hidden doors and underground tunnels …

I liked that metaphor, particularly because it suggests that life can be pretty “gothic” at times!

Sonya Hartnett is an Australian author who has managed to successfully straddle writing for children and adults. Another Aussie who has done this is Sofie Laguna, and it’s to her most recent book for adults, The choke (my review), that I’m linking next. The choke refers, literally, to the Barmah choke in the Murray River – a place where the river narrows  and then pushes through, creating a paradoxical metaphor for both being squeezed and for pushing forward. It’s also, for protagonist Justine, a place of escape and tranquility.

Tony Birch’s Ghost river (my review) is a semi-autobiographical novel which, too, is set on a river – and a river which also has a physical presence as well as a spiritual and metaphorical one. This novel, though, has an additional environmental story about saving the river from a freeway development.

So, this month, I’m back to my usual gender division of four women and two men, and to my strong focus on Australia, with only two forays (excluding the starting book) to the United Kingdom. We’ve also spent almost all our time in the contemporary era, with a quick dip of our toes into Walpole’s 18th century. Not very varied I’m afraid, so

… over to you: Have you read How to be both? And, regardless, what would you link to? 

Our ever-creative meme-leader Kate has chosen well for this month’s Six Degrees of Separation meme (which, as you probably know by now, you can find more about if you click on her blog name: booksaremyfavouriteandbest).

I said she’s chosen well – even though it’s a book I haven’t read – because it’s been longlisted for this year’s Stella Prize, because I do have it on my TBR, and because everyone I know who has read it so far has liked it. The book is Chloe Hooper’s The arsonist. It’s a work of creative non-fiction, and chronicles the investigation into the man behind Victoria’s horrific Black Saturday fires back in 2009.

As usual, the starting book got my creative juices flowing. There were several options, the most obvious being to Chloe Hooper’s powerful book, The tall man. However, I decided to choose another obvious link, Karenlee Thompson’s short fiction collection Flame tip (my review). The stories in this book are all inspired by Tasmania’s terrible bushfires of 1967.

Where to next? With two books about bushfires in Australia, I must say that my thoughts turned to climate change, and although I’ve mentioned this book in Six Degrees before I couldn’t go past Jane Rawson’s A wrong turn at the Office of Unmade Lists (my review). This novel opens with its protagonist Caddy living rough, having lost her husband and home in a heatwave-induced fire a couple of years previously. It’s a powerful, genre-bending novel. But, I think that’s enough of fires, don’t you?

So, my next book links on setting. Rawson’s book is set in two places – 2030s Melbourne and 1990s California – San Francisco, to be exact. Now, Sara Dowse’s Schemetime (my review) is also set in California, but Los Angeles. This little shift down the road, though, seems apposite given this week was Oscars week, and that her main character is an Australian filmmaker wanting to make it big in Hollywood.

Now, Sara Dowse was a member of the famed Canberra Seven. Another writer in this group, and whom I’ve not mentioned to date in Six Degrees, is the poet Suzanne Edgar whose collection The love procession I reviewed some years back. It’s a gorgeous collection of poems about all sorts of love, romantic and otherwise. The title of this collection was inspired by a Renaissance painting, “Love procession” (attributed to Marco del Buono and Giovanni di Apollonio, from the 1440s.)

Another book whose title was inspired by a work of art (and whose cover also features that work of art) is Carmel Bird’s Fair game (my review). Her art work is an 1832 lithograph by Alfred Ducôte. Its full title is “E-migration, or a flight of fair game”. This is a small, witty, but serious book about the 200 young women who were sent from England to Van Diemen’s Land in 1832 on the Princess Royal with the purpose of becoming wives and servants in a society where men significantly outnumbered women

My final link could be inspired by that history, focusing perhaps on women and misogyny, but instead I’m going back to the image. Bird writes in her book that the image had fascinated her ever since it was sent to her as a postcard by Lucy Halligan – who happens to be Marion Halligan’s daughter. This, together with the fact that she’s another member of the Canberra Seven, and is also a friend of Carmel Bird’s, makes Halligan the perfect choice for my final link. The book is Marion Halligan’s Valley of Grace (my review). I can’t think of a better book to end a chain that started with tragedy than this one about love and children set in that beautiful city, Paris.

Somehow, I’ve included only women writers this month – and all Australian ones at that – but I stand unrepentant! We spent most of our time in Australia, with a couple of forays to the USA, until, finally, in the last book we made it to Europe. There has, though, been variety in the writing, with the books covering both fiction and non-fiction, novels and short stories, and even poetry!!

Now, over to you: Have you read The arsonist? And, regardless, what would you link to? 

Kate has chosen a doozy for this month’s Six Degrees of Separation meme (about which you can find more if you click on her blog name: booksaremyfavouriteandbest). Meanwhile, assuming you have done that or that you already understand the meme, I’m getting on with the show.

Like last month, we are starting with a book that I haven’t read but have seen. I’m glad I saw it but I don’t necessarily want to read it or more of the author’s books. The book is, as you’ll have seen from the post’s title, Chuck Palahniuk’s Fight Club. It’s an example of transgressive fiction of which I’ve read a little, but that’s not where I’m going with my first link. (Neither, you’ll be surprised to know, will I be linking this month to she who needs no introduction!)

There were so many ways I thought of linking from Fight Club, including a sneaky one to my Jane, in fact. (If you must know it was on the idea of cult fiction!) But, in the end, I decided to go with the idea of rules. Anyone who knows Fight Club knows that the club had rules. Well, rules also came up in a recent book I read, Margaret Merrilees’ Big rough stones (my review), when the collective of women running a women’s shelter discuss how to respond to a misdemeanour by Ro, the protagonist.

Now, Big rough stones is a women-centric novel set primarily in Adelaide. Another women-centric novel set in that city is Barbara Hanrahan’s The scent of eucalyptus (my review). Her women, though, form a very different sort of “collective” – they are her mother, grandmother and aunt – and her (autobiographical) novel is about her growing up, rather than about her adult life.

However, Hanrahan did, in fact, have a very interesting adult life because she was an artist (printmaker, in particular) as well as a novelist. She died too young, of cancer, at the age of 52. Another artist who also writes is Shaun Tan. Unfortunately, I have not written much by him here, but I have posted on Eric (my review), which is a little book that was excerpted from his well-reviewed, beautifully illustrated story collection, Tales from outer suburbia.

Eric is about a “strange” (as you can tell from the book cover) foreign exchange student who comes to stay with a family in suburbia. The story is about feeling and being “other”. It’s delightfully whimsical – with a point. Another book about feeling “other” – but one that is intense rather than whimsical – is WG Sebald’s Austerlitz (my review). I love seeing how the same, fundamental “universal truth” can be explored in so many different ways.

Sebald was a German writer, but unfortunately I haven’t read many German writers here although I do have a few on my physical TBR piles. I have, though, read Friedrich Gerstäcker’s Australia: A German traveller in the Age of Gold (my review). That was an eye-opening read about a German traveller-explorer in mid-nineteenth century Australia – eye-opening for its content, but also for reminding me of how many stories there are out there, waiting to tell us about other lives and times, stories that need publishers like Wakefield Press, in this instance, to bring them to new generations.

Another eye-opening story about another place and time – and that I also read in 2017, when I read Gerstäcker – is Jane Fletcher Geniesse’s biography, Passionate nomad: The life of Freya Stark (my review). What a woman Stark was – living and traveling as she did in the Arabic states from the late 1920s to the mid 1940s, in particular, and being, in fact, one of the first non-Arabians to travel through the southern Arabian deserts.

We’ve travelled quite a bit this month, starting in America, then visiting Australia (including Outer Suburbia) and Europe, before finishing in the Middle East. We’ve met some intrepid people – real and fictional – and have heard from three male and three female writers (excluding the starting book).

Now, over to you: Have you read Fight Club? And, regardless, what would you link to? 

Another year, but Six Degrees just keeps on keeping on – or, at least, I’ve decided to keep on keeping on with it for the moment. The Six Degrees of Separation meme is currently hosted by Kate (booksaremyfavouriteandbest). Click on the link on her blog-name to see her explanation of how it works.

Hmmm … we are starting off the year well. Kate has chosen an old favourite for the first book of the year, John Fowles’ The French lieutenant’s woman, but I have not read it. Like most people, though, I have seen it, so that’s better than nothing. You may wonder why I have chosen a Czech cover for my illustration, but all will become clear in the next para …

If you know The French lieutenant’s woman and you know me, my first link will be obvious. I’d like to have been more creative, but couldn’t resist being obvious on this occasion. My link in other words is to Jane Austen’s Persuasion (my review) which has a major scene occurring on the Cobb at Lyme Regis. The Cobb is seen clearly on the Czech cover for Fowles’ book, which is set in Lyme Regis.

Now, Austen’s main character in Persuasion is the lovely Anne Elliot. She’s a thoughtful but strong, moral person, and I reckon that if she were alive now, she’d rather enjoy the writing of a thoughtful but strong, moral Australian writer whose first name is her last, Elliot Perlman, so it’s to his The street sweeper (my review) that I’m linking next. Fundamentally, it’s about what makes a good person, something that matters to Anne Elliot too.

Anyhow, Elliot Perlman has a new novel coming out in 2019, which is exciting because he’s not what you call prolific, but he always confronts challenging, timely issues. Another established and respected male author who excited me by having a new work come out last year was Rodney Hall. I reviewed that book, A stolen season, very recently.

A stolen season comprises three loosely connected stories, one of which concerns a man who builds an art gallery to exhibit some very special but confronting art. His values are then affected by that art. Heather Rose’s novel The Museum of Modern Love (my review) is about a rather confronting – or at least unusual – performance art piece by Marina Abramović. The art affects Rose’s characters too – in various ways. (Oh, and in a funny synchronicity, Rose has a new novel coming out this year.)

Staying on the art theme, Raphaël Jersualmy’s Evacuation (my review) has three artists at its centre: a filmmaker, a writer, and a visual artist. While not specifically about art, the novel pits these artists, their art and the choices they make against the war around them.

Not surprisingly, given its title, Evacuation commences with an evacuation, one which the three main characters eschew. Another novel which commences with an evacuation – one which most of the main characters are, by contrast very keen to be part of, so keen in fact there’s some skullduggery involved – is Viet Thanh Nguyen’s The sympathizer (my review).

So, this month we started in England (albeit with a French connection lurking in the background) and ended in Vietnam (which has its own French connection!) We spent quite a bit of time in America (as Perlman’s and Rose’s books are set there, and the central section of Nguyen’s book is based there too.) However, we also visited Australia, Israel and, briefly, Belize. Very cosmopolitan we’ve been! Four of my six books were by men, like last month.

Now, over to you: Have you read The French lieutenant’s woman? And, regardless, what would you link to? 

And suddenly it’s the last Six Degrees of the year. Before we know it, everyone will be writing their top lists of the year, but I, as usual, will do mine in January, when the year is REALLY over. I like me “best books” of the year to be of the actual calendar year. I’m weird that way! But, that’s not what this post is about! Here we are talking the Six Degrees of Separation meme which is currently hosted by Kate (booksaremyfavouriteandbest). Click on the link on her blog-name to see her explanation of how it works.

Kate has chosen an older but appropriate goodie for the last starting book of the year, Charles Dickens’ A Christmas carol, which I have read, but way, way, way before blogging. It is a true classic, isn’t it, by which I mean it keeps on keeping on – particularly at Christmas time. Funny, that!

Now, there are so many ways we could link from this book – on Christmas, on Dickens, on Scrooge-like characters – but I’m going with another book with a song word in the title. Indeed, the book I’m choosing has the actual word “song” in the title, Alex Miller’s Lovesong (my review). It’s the only Miller I’ve reviewed on this blog so I’m very happy to give this lovely writer a guernsey here.

Miller’s book is, as you’ve probably guessed, more than a simple love story. It’s an exploration of love, and how it plays out over time, and in different age-groups. A delightful book that I fell in love with a couple of years ago and that also explores love – even more broadly – is an anthology of short stories devoted to the subject, Cate Kennedy’s Australian love stories (my review). I still feel the thrill I had reading that book.

The first story in Kennedy’s anthology is by indigenous writer, Bruce Pascoe, and the story was about love in an older couple. However, it’s not that subject that I’m linking on this time, but simply on Bruce Pascoe and his non-fiction work Dark emu, dark seeds: Agriculture or accident? (my review). It was another memorable book for me – and it makes a contribution to the truth-telling going on in Australia at the moment.

I’m determined to mix this post up quite a bit – and not get stuck on specific themes and ideas – so my next link is, like my first one, on a word in the title, “dark”. The book is Dymphna Cusack’s A window in the dark (my review), which is her memoir of her years as a middle-class teacher who wanted – and achieved it too – to bring education and the associated opportunities to less privileged students.

And now, guess what I’ve done? I’ve worked it so I can link to my most recent review – Rebecca Skloot’s The immortal life of Henrietta Lacks (my review). Can you work out the link? It’s that Skloot, too, was a middle class person whose work brought her in contact with poor and/or underprivileged people, the Lacks family. Indeed, at one stage during the book, Henrietta’s middle-aged daughter Deborah Lacks started planning to continue her education, because she didn’t finish high school …

Then, just like that, we’ve reached the last book in the chain, and I’m sticking with writer and subject matter, but from a different angle. My last writer is Bianca Nogrady who, like Skloot, is a science writer. The book is The end: The human experience of death (my review) and, like Skloot’s book, it deals with both the science and the ethics of its subject showing that scientists too can (though whether they always will, is another question) think beyond the test-tube.

Quite a different sort of chain this month, with a wider variety of forms. Four of my books are non-fiction and one a collection of short stories, meaning that only one is actually a novel. Only two of my six authors are male but, since one book is an anthology, I could argue that this month’s chain includes more male authors than usual!

I do apologise, however, that for this Christmas edition of Six Degrees I ended up with a book about Death not Birth. That wasn’t very clever of me, really, but c’est la vie! You just have to go where the chain leads you!

And now I will end by thanking all you loyal Six Degrees readers for reading my meme posts this year. It’s been great fun doing this meme, and even more having you all along for the ride. I hope to see you all again next year … Meanwhile, if I don’t “see” you before then, I wish you a very happy Holiday season.

Now, over to you: Have you read A Christmas carol? And, regardless, what would you link to? 

Well, it’s a tricky night here in Canberra, with a nasty bushfire on my side of town. It’s probably far enough away to not put us at serious risk, but a serious fire just two-thirds into spring is a worry. For now, though, I shall put those thoughts aside and turn to Six Degrees. As most of you know, Six Degrees of Separation is a meme that is currently hosted by Kate (booksaremyfavouriteandbest). Click on the link on her blog-name to see her explanation of how it works.

Now, mea culpa – or something like that – I’m ashamed to admit that I haven’t, though I should have, read this month’s starting book, William Makepeace Thackeray’s Vanity fair. It was one of the books set during my study years, but I chose other books at the time and for some reason have never got back to it, though I have a copy on my TBR. I have though seen it. Does that count? Probably not … but it’s the best I can do.

What’s in a name?

However, I have read Thackeray, and in fact, since blogging, because his The luck of Barry Lyndon (my review) was scheduled as my reading group’s classic a couple of years ago. I must say that it wasn’t my favourite English classic, but I will get to Vanity fair one day.

The reason I didn’t much like it was that it seemed to go on and on and on, which is not something that usually bothers me, but there was nothing special about the writing I think to overcome my lack of interest in all the adventures. It’s a picaresque novel, which is a style or form I can enjoy, such as Saul Bellow’s wonderful The adventures of Augie March. Here, however, I’m choosing an Australian novel with picaresque elements, Eve Langley’s The pea pickers (my review). Set primarily in 1920s Gippsland, it’s a book that has stayed with me long after reading it – because of its fresh, evocative writing and voice.

Now, in The pea-pickers, the two protagonists, sisters, dress as men, partly to travel safely but mainly, as I recollect, to be considered for farm labouring jobs like, say, pea-picking. Cross-dressing was a common way for women to make their way in the patriarchal worlds of the past. Another book in which a character cross-dresses is Frank Moorhouse’s Cold light (my review), except that in this book the cross-dressing is for a very different reason. It’s practised by the main character Edith’s bisexual husband.

I’m not a big reader of series, even of trilogies, but I have read two books in Moorhouse’s Edith trilogy, though only one since blogging. I’ve partly read another trilogy on this blog: Indian writer Amitav Ghosh’s River of smoke (my review), which is the second in his Ibis Trilogy. It’s set primarily in China around the 1830s. I read it in 2012 for the Shadow Man Asian Literary Prize team.

Another book by an Indian writer that I read for the Shadow Man Asian Literary Prize team was Jahnavi Barua, Rebirth (my review). It’s about a woman in an arranged marriage and her journey to self. It takes the form of a first person monologue by a mother to her unborn child. The child is waiting to be born, but we sense that for the mother, Kaberi, a rebirth might be in the offing. It’s a quiet contemplative book with, as I recollect, slow dawnings rather than dramatic changes.

A more dramatic and much longer book in which the protagonist finally seems to be reaching for a rebirth – for redemption and a new start – is Fyodor Dostoevsky’s Crime and punishment (my review.)

A rather different chain for me this month. We started in 1840s Europe and ended in 1860s Russia. We spent most of our time in the nineteenth and early twentieth century in fact. We also spent time with four male writers, and just two female, a change from my usual ratio. And, this post contains more classics and more non-Australian books than usual, which may mean more of you have read books in my chain than usual.

And now, over to you: Have you read Vanity fair? And, regardless, what would you link to? 

Woo hoo, tomorrow Daylight Savings starts here in eastern Australia and I can’t wait. I love the longer nights, and not being woken by the birds so early in the morning. But that’s tomorrow, today is Six Degrees of Separation day. Most of you know by now what that means, but for those who don’t, Six Degrees of Separation is a meme that is currently hosted by Kate (booksaremyfavouriteandbest). Click on the link on her blog-name to see her explanation of how it works.

I’m excited this month because it’s one of those rare occasions where I’ve read the starting book, which is SE Hinton’s The outsiders. It’s a YA novel, but I didn’t read it I didn’t read it when I was a young adult. I read it in fact for a course on children’s literature for my librarianship studies. I loved the course, and I really enjoyed this book. SE (Susan) Hinton wrote  this, her first book, while she was still at high school.

I got that piece of information from Wikipedia, which also told me that she’s a private person who loves reading. The first author they list that she likes to read was – guess! Yep, Jane Austen! Now, which Jane Austen novel (or novels) have I not yet included in these Six Degrees posts? Emma (my review) … so I’ll make that my next link.

Now, Austen fans will know Austen’s famous statement about Emma. She wrote in a letter than “I am going to take a heroine whom no one but myself will much like.” And it’s sort of true. There are people who don’t like Emma much. A recent novel I read which includes a character who, her author knows, some don’t like is Michelle de Kretser’s The life to come (my review). The character is Pippa, whom de Kretser herself doesn’t dislike!

But now, moving along. The life to come was de Kretser’s second Miles Franklin win. I have read and reviewed here another book that was its author’s second Miles Franklin win, Kim Scott’s That deadman dance (my review). In case you are interested, he won his first MF award with Benang: From the heart.

One of the important things about Scott’s novel is the different perspective it offers on the colonisation of Australia – an indigenous perspective. Another book by an indigenous author exploring colonisation from a different point of view – this one dystopian – is Claire G Coleman’s Terra nullius (my review)

From here I thought I could link to another book with characters from another planet, but not being a big reader of speculative fiction I don’t think I have any (since blogging at least). So, I’m going to stay with the colonisation theme, and choose another book looking at it from a different perspective, this one feminist. The book is Mirandi Riwoe’s The fish girl (my review).

Besides looking at colonisation, Riwoe’s Fish girl is a riff on – or a response to – an earlier text, Somerset Maugham’s short story, “The four Dutchmen.” This suggests a good last link, Margaret Atwood’s The Penelopiad (my review) which many of you will know is her take – her feminist take – on the Odyssey.

And so we come to the end of another Six Degrees meme, one that has taken us from 1960s to early 19th century England, and then to Australia where we spanned more than two centuries. We then crossed the sea just to Australia’s north – Indonesia – before finally time-travelling way back to Ancient Greece where we landed a long way from Hinton’s Oklahoma!

And now, over to you: Have you read The outsiders? And, regardless, what would you link to? 

Woo hoo, Spring has sprung (just) in the southern hemisphere, and I for one am glad to see the back of winter, albeit the real warmth is a way off yet. And this month, the first day of Spring is also Six Degrees of Separation day. You regular readers here will know what that means, but for any newbies, Six Degrees of Separation is a meme that is currently hosted by Kate (booksaremyfavouriteandbest). Clicking on the link on her blog-name will take you to her explanation of how it works.

Unlike last month, I haven’t read the starting book. In fact, mea culpa, I hadn’t even heard of it. It’s Where am I now? by someone called Mara Wilson. Kate chose it because she would be seeing the author at the (now past) 2018 Melbourne Writers Festival. Where to start with a book I hadn’t even heard of? Aha, while searching for the cover, I discovered that she’s the actor who starred in Matilda! Silly me. She was great.

So, I could, of course, go for another memoir by an actor, but I’m not. Instead I’m going for a book that I read (well, started to read, anyhow) in preparation for my festival, the Canberra Writers Festival, which overlapped with Melbourne’s. The book is the 60th issue of the Griffith Review, and is titled First things first. You  have seen the Griffith Review mentioned here before. It’s a wonderful contemporary literary magazine that contains essays, fiction, memoirs, poems and reports on a specified subject. I have, in fact, already introduced this one, which was inspired by the Uluru Statement from the Heart.

Now, you might think that from here I’d go to something by or about indigenous Australians, but I feel like being contrary, so instead I’m going on form, and will choose a book of essays, science essays, in fact – The best Australian science writing 2015 (my review) edited by science journalist Bianca Nogrady. I was surprised by just how much I enjoyed it at the time. I still share snippets of information I read in that volume.

For my next link, I’m sticking with science, but am turning to fiction – to Toni Jordan’s entertaining chick-lit novel Fall girl (my review). Her heroine is not your usual chick-lit heroine, but a con artist who presents herself as an evolutionary biologist and sets up a scientific expedition to attract money from a millionnaire-run foundation. It’s a bit of a hoot, as Toni Jordan can be.

And now, since we’ve moved from essays to chick-lit – a rather wild jump, n’est-ce pas? – let’s stay with chick-lit and go to Paris with Anita Heiss’s Paris dreaming (my review). This book has, in fact, multiple connections with this post – I read it after hearing Anita Heiss at a festival and she’s an indigenous Australian author.

Since we’ve gone to France, and since daughter Gums has just arrived in Paris, I figure we should linger there a while, so I’m going to choose one of my favourite French novels, Albert Camus’ La peste (aka The plague) (my review). This book is one of the few books I’ve read more than once – and I could very well read it again, because I love its lessons about life.

For my final link, I’m hopping over the channel to England, and to a book by one of my favourite authors, Jane Austen’s Sense and sensibility (my review of vol. 1). I could link on the fact that, like Camus’ La peste, I’ve read it more than once, but I’m going a little more esoteric, and am linking it on the fact that, also like La peste, it contains, for me, a memorable quote – almost a personal mantra in fact. There aren’t many quotes that I remember from books, but this is one of them:

Marianne Dashwood was born to an extraordinary fate. She was born to discover the falsehood of her own opinions, and to counteract by her conduct her most favorite maxims.

When I first read this, I was brought up short, because I realised I was often like Marianne – pontificating on things I had not experienced, and then discovering how wrong I was. It was one of those lightbulb moments – though I probably still do it sometimes!

So there you have it. Another Six Degrees meme done and dusted. We’ve read serious essays and fun chick-lit, we’ve been to the US, Australia, France and England, and we’ve read a diverse set of authors.

And now, over to you: Have you read Where am I now? And, regardless, what would you link to? 

It’s August and the last official month of winter. I’m happy, happy, happy. I’m also happy that it’s time again for Six Degrees of Separation. How quickly it comes around. And, like last month, I’ve read the starting book. First though, the formalities. Six Degrees of Separation is a meme that is currently hosted by Kate (booksaremyfavouriteandbest). Clicking on the link on her blog-name will take you to her explanation of how it works.

So now, the meme. The book Kate has chosen for August is Ian McEwan’s Atonement. I love this choice, not just because I’ve read it, but because I like Ian McEwan, and I liked this book. Also, it offers so many options for linking, including one that I considered, which was good film adaptations. I loved the clever soundtrack, for a start.

However, I decided on a different tack, and I hope this isn’t a spoiler. I don’t think it is. My linking point is that it’s a metafictional work, that is, it self-consciously lets the reader know that it is a work of fiction. Another metafictional novel that contains stories within stories is Markus Zusak’s The book thief (my review). If you’ve read it, you’ll know that Death reminds us regularly that he is telling us a story.

Besides being metafictional, The book thief tells the story of young people, particularly Liesel the titular book thief, and their experience of World War 2. Another book set in World War 2 whose protagonists are young is Anthony Doerr’s All the light we cannot see (my review). A moving book, that won America’s Pulitzer Prize.

So far I’ve linked on technique and protagonists, but now I’m moving to title. Another novel about World War 2 (and that, coincidentally, also has metafictional elements) is Jonathan Safran Foer’s Everything is illuminated (my review). My linking point though is the reference to light in the title!

Now, one of the main characters in Foer’s novel is a translator. Another book with a translator as the protagonist is Rabih Alameddine’s An unnecessary woman (my review). She’s not a professional translator, but has done it in her spare time for much of her adult life. I loved reading, among other things, about her technique for translating.

Michelle de Kretser’s The life to come (my review) is a book in five parts. The protagonist of Part 3 is Céleste. She is also a translator. She describes her technique for translating too – though unlike Alameddine’s translator, she does it for a living.

And now, all too soon, we’ve come to the end. The life to come is one of six books shortlisted for this year’s Miles Franklin Award. I’ve only read two, so far, from the shortlist, so I’ve decided to make my final link the other one, Catherine McKinnon’s Storyland (my review). I have, however, an ulterior motive for linking to this book, which is that I don’t think it’s getting enough notice so I’d like to give it another plug. It’s an intriguingly structured book, and tells a provocative story about Australia.

Well, this month we started our journey in England, and then moved to Germany, France and Ukraine, all of these trips involving, in some way or another, World War 2. We then hopped over to Lebanon in the Middle East, before arriving in Australia with de Kretser, though she did take us on brief forays to Paris and Sri Lanka. Finally, we landed back in Australia where we traversed a thousand years from the late 1700s to 2717. As for gender balance, four of my six books are by men. A major departure from the usual proportion in my Six Degrees posts, but that’s okay every now and then!

And now, my usual question: Have you read Atonement? And regardless, what would you link to?