Beginnings and Endings; which are best?

I have just read a stunning book called Cathedral Street by L J Hippler. Larry is a writer of the first magnitude and like all good books, it took me a while to get into it. This was partly due to the fact that the story is set in Baltimore, USA and being a Brit,I need a little while to adjust to the different speech patterns, attitudes and thoughts of the main characters. However, the triumph of a good author is that one warms to the flawed,imperfect but very real people he creates and L J Hippler is a master of such characterisation. By the time I reached the last page with its poignant and tender ending I was immersed in and felt a part of the unhappy family whose father had bullied and browbeaten them all mercilessly. He was a truly horrible character and it was fascinating to see how his sons all went their separate and very different ways in order to try and escape the crippling influence of their past and where their efforts at escaping led them. The past, alas, can never be escaped however hard we try. It leaves its mark for good or ill.

I never give up a book until I'm at least half way through because I have so often found that a difficult start can often be a prelude to something that evolves and eventually grips one. A good ending is better in my opinion than a good start because it is the ending we are left with ultimately and that seems to round off a story whereas the start is forgotten. There are plenty of famous opening lines, it's true but they are few enough.

Too many writers nowadays feel they have to begin a story with something nasty and violent like Dan Brown's entries into most of his books; entries into a vicious, violent world that sweeps one relentlessly along, mesmerised and horrified by the author's imagination. But at least Dan Brown keeps one involved to the end. Whereas so many writers start with a marvellous few chapters that promise a lot (in order to catch an agent's eye) and then peter off into a dull, convuluted and often improbable story not worth printing in Woman's Own.

I always say that a book should be like good sex...a long, slow, exploring start that warms up to a glorious climax.

Well, try Cathedral Street, it does just that.

No Time to Stand and Stare?

There's a real problem these days. It's called Facebook, Twitter, Blogs, Skype, mobile phones and email. All these are fine and fun and useful in their way but they take up time from actually living life. You see apparently demented people walking along a city street jabbering and gesticulating as if to themselves. They don't look around to see that it's a beautiful sunny day, skies are actually blue for once, the breeze is blowing autumn leaves along the pavement, the birds are singing in the trees that shed said leaves . . . they don't observe with interest and amusement the sight and sound of the many faces and interesting characters they pass on their way around the busy shopping malls, or take time to wander thoughtfully along the riverside of some fine old town like Worcester. Basically they don't even notice they're alive half the time. Talk-talk. That's their life. And the talk is all nonsense most of the time. Sad.

I'm just as guilty as everyone of indulging in all this displacement activity though.

In an Oxfam shop the other day I came across a 1930's blue hardcover reprint of Wilkie Collins masterpiece 'Woman in White' and a mere snip at £3.00. I took it to the girl at the counter who waxed lyrical for ages. 'It's a wonderful book, ' she said,' I couldn't put it down, read it right through from start to finish and no time to eat or anything. You'll love it, it's well worth the money, a lovely book.'


I paid for it and agreed with her that it was in great condition and said that though I had read 'Moonstone' I'd never read 'Woman in White.'

'Oh, my goodness. You won't regret it. It's a lovely book, ' she said,' I couldn't put it down . . . I really couldn't put it down.' . . . I escaped while she was still rhapsodizing.

However, I had to agree with her. It's a long, detailed book and took even a fast reader like myself some days to get through. It is one of those stories that lingers in the back of your mind and impinges on your daily activities, making you hurry your tasks till, like some delicious confectionery you are allowed to dip in, enjoy and savour the moment of indulgence.

The characters are unforgettable, fascinating and vivid. The atmosphere is enthralling from the start as the fearful, agitated 'woman in white' glides into Walter Hartright's life, arousing his pity and protectiveness.

The beauty of a long, detailed book such as this is that the characters have time to develop. They impinge on the mind and stay with one forever because one really gets to know them with all their little quirks and foibles. What could be more unforgettable than the vision of the incredible Count Fosco sitting with his little canaries, teaching them to hop from one fat finger to another and then bidding them to sing when they reach the top of the 'ladder' made by his hand?

There is no lack of action in this story though it's not of the manic, helter-skelter kind of modern writers such as Dan Brown where characters are of little importance except as vague vehicles of the frantic activity and death dodging dangers of the plot. Locations if anything seem more important than people in such a tale and the wierder the locations the better.

There is also time to be philosophical in a long, detailed story. But where do philosophies fit in any more in the fluttering, ephemeral, chattering, meaningless world of twitter, facebook, i-pods?