I saw your a Face in a Dying Fish: A review of We Are Animals by Tim Ewins

From its title, you may think this book is a retelling of Noah’s Ark, or it may even conjure up images from a certain song by Bloodhound Gang, making you wonder if there’s a naughty  theme in there somewhere – but it’s neither of these. Not really anyway. It’s a love story – a love story of love stories. It has alcohol and sunsets, exotic places and simple pleasures. It’s the best kind of love story – one of friendship and strong bonds.

During their single week on Palolem they visited a spice farm, learnt to ride motorcycles and tried yoga for the first time. One day they climbed over the rocks at the end of the beach and found another beach with rocks at both ends. Over those rocks they’d found yet another beach which they walked down for about an hour, and then, at the other end of this beach, they’d found more rocks. It was a magical week.

The central story is between two Jans, a boy and a girl, who become world travellers, both together and apart. But it is their togetherness that the book yearns for, and which one of the Jans (Manjan) is hoping to encounter again. For, at the opening of the book he is standing on a beach in Goa, waiting for a sighting of the girl (Ladyjan) who stole his heart and his passport in 1970, and whom he now hasn’t seen in thirty-eight years.  As the sixty-four year old Manjan sits, sipping his red wine, a young traveller named Shakey approaches, inviting him to a silent disco, and what follows is a somewhat reluctant recounting of the significant bits of Manjan’s life to a somewhat distracted listener.

We Are Animals is a homage to both the enthusiastic and the weary traveller. It’s about escaping, and searching for something you think you want,  but discovering something else. It’s about finding what you didn’t know you wanted and then losing the only thing that mattered. It’s about holding on and letting go. These themes repeat throughout the book and it’s quite cathartic. It has a certain and poignant truth to it that I found it very life affirming.

The tale of Manjan and Ladyjan is humorously told by its author, Tim Ewins, a part time comedian. You have to be funny to be a comedian and Tim is exactly that. The prose is flawless in its wittiness. Gentle sarcasm, observational humour, and much attention to detail make his debut novel a joy to read. The main story is interspersed with tales – the joys and woes – of different animals along the way. They are all hugely lovable and their individual narratives are quite emotional. It’s such a touching portrait of life – of the ordinary person and the ordinary animal – caressing your feelings of empathy and compassion, while also tickling your insides with merriment. I’m a huge fan of humorous writing and here I’ve found a king. We Are Animals is a book that will break your heart a little, warm your cockles a lot, and have you giggling into your beverage of choice. Five stars.

‘I think I’m glad I’m home,’ Jan said to his mother as he threw his stick-and-bed-sheet bag onto the kitchen table, ‘I wanted to come home when I saw your face in a dying fish.’ Jan’s mother sat down, feeling both offended and loved at the same time.

Have a Malteser: A review of Just Ask for Diamond by Anthony Horowitz

There’s a corner of Charing Cross, just behind the station, that comes straight out of the nineteenth century. As the road slopes down towards the river, you leave the traffic and the bright lights behind you and suddenly the night seems to creep up on you and grab you by the collar. Listen carefully and you’ll hear the Thames water gurgling in the distance and as you squint into the shadows you’ll see figures shuffling slowly past like zombies. For this is down-and-out territory. Old tramps and winos wander down and pass out underneath the arches at the bottom, wrapped in filthy raincoats and the day’s headlines. 

This fabulous book is one I read years ago, picked up in the school library. Just Ask for Diamond or The Falcon’s Malteser – as it was originally called before it was made into a film – is a comedic children’s book by the multi talented writer, Anthony Horowitz. It’s a spoof of The Maltese Falcon – a 1930s detective novel – and introduces us to the Diamond Brothers, Nick and Herbert Simple. It’s the first in a series of books featuring them, of which I have read the original three (but I believe there are more). The second is Public Enemy Number Two and the third is South By South East. 

I decided to reread it this month, a good twenty five years later. And, to my jumping-for-joy-delight, I rediscovered and re-lived an absolutely wonderful reading adventure. Horowitz’s writing is superb. So much YA and middle grade fiction is unsophisticated in its structure and language, but Horowitz shows his skills and expertise, bringing his unique and witty style to the forefront, resulting in a rip roaring read that is sure to delight children and adults alike.

I’d charge her for a taxi but I took the tube to Hampstead and then walked. Hampstead, in case you don’t know it, is in the north of London, in the green belt. For ‘green’ read ‘money’. You don’t have to be rich to live in Hampstead. You have to be loaded. It seemed to me that every other car I passed was a Rolls Royce and even the dustbins had burglar alarms. 

In the story, Herbert Simple changes his name to Tim Diamond when he decides to set himself up as a private eye, but as he is totally abysmal at it, his much younger brother, Nick, is forced to step in. Firmly set in late eighties London in the run up to Christmas Day, it contains lots of puns, pop culture references, and nods to hard boiled and noir fiction. Its sense of place and time is superb and one of its great attractions. Thatcher’s Britain is clearly painted throughout, and the descriptions of London nooks and crannies are a joy. The characters are extravagant and the plot is gripping and a tad gruesome – in fact, on reading it a second time, I was surprised at the high body count in a book aimed at children. If, like me, you are a fan of stories where characters find themselves in absurd and silly scenarios, be sure to pick up this book. I love capers and comedies of errors, and this was laugh out loud stuff for me both in the early nineties and now. The story was an absolute pleasure to revisit.  The film adaptation is close to my heart as well – it’s a much-watch at Christmas for me.

A hundred years ago, Lafone Street would have been bustling with noise and colour and life. Now it was dying on its feet. Twisted coke cans, broken slates and yards of multi-coloured cables spilled out of the deserted buildings like entrails. The street was pitted with puddles that seemed to be eating their way into the carcass. Another sign caught my eye, bright red letters on white: McAlpine. It was a death warrant in one word for Lafone Street. There’s nothing more destructive than a construction company. They’d gut the warehouses and build fancy apartments in the shell. Each one would have a river view, a quarry-tiled garage and a five-figure price tag. That’s the trouble with London. The rich have inherited its history.