It’s almost too scary to read about, people writing well on the experience of growing older. I suppose it’s nice to know they’re still writing. Writing is one of those jobs were you don’t necessarily peak when you’re younger, like physics or football. Mary Wesley, who wrote the brilliant Camomile Lawn, famously published her first novel at 71. Recently, co-incidentally, I read two books in a week with the subject.
Olive Kitteredge by Elizabeth Strout I bought on a whim (I do this a lot- you know what it’s like when you’re in a bookshop or browsing Amazon. You walk in thinking, wow, look, they have TONS and TONS of books, how amazing, then you realise that you have either read everything, or it’s absolute pish, or you just don’t like the sound of it (’a man, confronting his own mentality and mental state, begins a dangerous affair’… you know the type of thing), and I don’t even go near the fantasy section (yes yes, calm down Terry Goodwind fans). So often I find myself so desperate for reading material I buy stuff almost at random. I did that with this book, but it is actually wonderful and, it turns out, won the Pulitzer last year. It’s a collection of short stories linking this woman, Olive, who gradually realises certain things about herself, late in life. But it’s more the absolutely accurate description of emotions it contains, and the fully 3D recognisable people who make an impact. I loved it. But it did make me simply not want to get old.
The Old Boy’s Network by John Rae, shouldn’t work- it is very very short diary entries over thirty years that he spent as a headmaster at Westminster, the famous public school. Yet it gives wonderful snapshots of life at the very top of the ladder; naughty boys, unhappy boys, startlingly clever boys; and weaves a wonderful picture of the interconnectedness of the British elite. I suspect twenty years ago it would have made me furious. As a historical document of time passing though- with what I always romanticise as the master’s dilemma; the teacher always gets older, the pupils never do-though, it is entirely fascinating.
And incidentally two recommended books if you really are interested in the end bits: Somewhere Towards the End by Diana Ampthill, and The Last Cigarette by Simon Gray. We all know that, if we are terribly lucky, old age is coming; it’s nice to think too that there is some wit and humour and understanding there too.
On the other foot completely, I am ADORING Race of a Lifetime, the story of how Obama won the White House in 08. It is full of passion and clever ruthlessness; change and youth and hope and vigour, and the writing is, thrillingly, up to the amazing story.
