Book Review: The Graveyard Book, Neil Gaiman

Much as I love Neil Gaiman, I have always preferred him as a writer of graphic novels and children’s picture books. In American Gods, I felt that his wonderful imagination, plot and characters slightly outstripped his talent with prose – he is a good writer, but maybe not a great one, in full-length adult fiction.


With The Graveyard Book, on the other hand, I didn’t have this problem, perhaps because it is in a different category again – a full-length prose book for older children (recommended for 9-12-year-olds). Or at least, that is the intended audience, but I would say it stands up very well to being read by adults. And I can’t be the only one who thinks so, as it is available in an alternative cover, as the Harry Potter books were, for adults who are embarrassed to be seen with something ‘childish’. However, I don’t think there’s any shame whatsoever in enjoying this sweetly macabre tale.

For an adult, it is a short and easy read, but nevertheless an enchanting one. As for children, I think I would have loved it when I was young. Gaiman credits his young readers with the ability to cope with a little darkness, and the book is all the better for it. Nobody Owens, or Bod for short, is an orphan, whose whole family were murdered when he was a baby. He escaped and was adopted by some friendly ghosts. He grows up in a graveyard, and all the resident ghosts become his friends and educators, but as he gets older he begins to yearn to explore the world of the living. However, his family’s murder is still out there, and he has unfinished business with Bod.

The book is structured as a series of interconnected short stories, snapshots of Bod at different ages, growing up and experiencing more dangers, first in the graveyard, and then the world outside. The graveyard folklore and magic that is a part of Bod’s day to day existence is typical of Gaiman – a wonderfully imaginative mixture of charming and spooky. Bod’s adoptive parents and many of the other ghosts are quirky and heart-warming, while other characters are much darker. There is plenty of adventure, but this is also a book about a boy growing up and becoming independent, told in a way that will resonate with readers. On both levels, this book can be enjoyed by both children and adults.

Natural World: The Chimpcam Project (27th January 2010, BBC2)

Chimps are alarmingly clever. Every time we humans think up some defining factor that is supposed to separate us from the animals, we discover they’ve actually been doing it all along. Using tools? Yep. Communication? Yep. Recognising themselves in the mirror and, by extension, having a concept of self versus ‘other’? Yep. Making their own films? Well, ok, maybe not quite, just yet. Despite how the programme was billed, the chimps never seem to actually understand what they are doing when they are carrying a recording video camera (in a highly durable case) around their enclosure.


But, in spite of this, scientist Betsy Herrelko’s attempts to get them to interact with the camera and screen throw up many interesting examples of their intelligence. Despite being adults who have never taken part in research before, they quickly learn how to use a touch screen, to click on and select icons in the form of large red circles. They appear deeply interested when shown footage of other chimps, and when they are given the video camera, they touch its inbuilt screen as though making the connection with the touch screens they have already experienced.

It’s all very humbling. The chimps’ deeply expressive faces clearly show their intelligence and curiosity, making it clear that we humans are not quite so special as we like to think. For me, the most telling part was when the scientists opened up the doors to the ‘research pods’, small rooms off the chimps’ impressive enclosure at Edinburgh Zoo, where they could observe them interacting with the screens and other tests. They were uncertain at first whether the chimps would actually leave their outdoor climbing frames to come into these small rooms. But as soon as they were opened, the chimps had to explore, and they seemed genuinely interested in all the games and diversions inside. It was clear that the scientists could never have got any research done at all, if it weren’t for an equally strong desire in their chimp subjects to ‘research’ every new experience they came across, including the humans themselves.

DVD review: Doubt

This is a hugely impressive film with some of the most masterful acting I have seen in a long time. It was adapted by director John Patrick Shanley from his own stage play and there are certainly signs of its theatrical roots – a limited number of characters and locations, an emphasis on dialogue and character, heavy on words rather than action. Two important verbal clashes between Meryl Streep and Philip Seymour Hoffman’s characters lasted 10 or 15 minutes each, both taking place within the confines of a single office, and the majority of the scenes are similarly wordy, slow-paced, and in-depth. However, none of this is to the detriment of the film. Instead, it draws the audience into the claustrophobic confines of its world – a Catholic school in New York, 1964 – and makes its central dilemma hit home all the harder.


At the film’s heart is a titanic battle of wills between fearsomely straight-laced nun Sister Aloysius (Streep) and popular priest Father Flynn (Hoffman). Sister Aloysius suspects Father Flynn of molesting a young altar boy, the school’s first black pupil. With no conclusive proof, and expecting no help from the male-dominated church hierarchy, she sets out on a personal crusade to get him to confess. But is she merely motivated by her intense dislike of him and his modernising ways?

Shanley refuses to give any easy answers. He has reportedly never told anyone whether Father Flynn was guilty other than Hoffman and the actor who took the part in the stage version. The audience sympathises most fully with the character of Sister James (Amy Adams), and innocent young nun who finds herself torn between Sister Aloysius’ certainty and her own unwillingness to judge anyone without proof. Father Flynn is in many ways the more appealing character – he is in favour of a more open and approachable church and encourages Sister James in her kind-heartedness and love of teaching, while Sister Aloysius terrifies the children and bans sweets, ballpoint pens and ‘pagan’ songs such as Frosty the Snowman. Yet there is something admirable about her fierce dedication to her beliefs, her determination to be the lone voice standing up against what she believes to be a terrible crime. Much of the film’s power comes from Shanley’s refusal to give closure on this awful dilemma.

Special mention should also be given to Viola Davis, who gives a terrific performance in her single scene as the mother of the boy at the centre of the scandal. Her reaction to Sister Aloysius’ suspicions is one of the most heart-breaking parts of the film

Film Review: The Road

As a fan of Cormac McCarthy’s bleakly beautiful book, I was always going to have high standards for John Hillcoat’s film of The Road, but in the end I was very impressed. The film didn’t quite have the same horrifying impact as the book, but I would imagine that no film could manage that.

Visually, in particular, Hillcoat has done an excellent job, and the cinematography somehow echoes very precisely the tone of McCarthy’s descriptions of the blasted landscape of a post-apocalyptic America. The film uses a subtly expressive palette of greys and washed out colours to make the country’s bare trees and abandoned buildings suitably forbidding, but eerily beautiful.

A haggard-looking Viggo Mortensen gives a great performance as the father trudging across this landscape, trying to keep himself and his young son (Kodi Smit-McPhee) alive in a world where little hope is left. The two of them carry the vast majority of the screen time unaided, and this is, essentially, a film about parenthood, about the terror of bringing children into a harsh world and then struggling to protect them.

Smit-McPhee also gives a good performance, as the son who gives the story its moral heart, showing how a lifetime of trusting no one has worn him out, and shaken his belief that the pair of them really are “the good guys”. Flashbacks show how the boy’s mother (Charlize Theron) gave up hope in the face of a future that seemed without meaning, and the audience can certainly sympathise with her despair. But, for the father, his son is enough to redeem his continuing existence.

The Road is a thought-provoking and disturbing film, which will linger long in the mind after watching.

A day spent reading Lionel Shriver is an emotionally draining experience

I have just emerged dazed and shaky from almost a whole day reading Lionel Shriver’s The Post-Birthday World. I only started it last night but felt compelled to lose hours oblivious alone on the sofa to finish it. It’s been a long time since a book made that much of an emotional, almost a physical impact on me - I feel fluttery and drained. We Need to Talk About Kevin was a similarly intense experience – I found it immensely difficult to read but at the same time extremely moving and somehow important. Shriver has a gift for making things hit deeply and personally. In the case of both books, as well as being completely absorbed in the stories, I felt as though they were discussing some point of essential importance to me.


Not all books are just a ‘good read’. Some can be a difficult and painful read. Not all books are an escape. Some turn your gaze uncomfortably back on yourself with a sense of the ‘unheimliche’ or uncanny, the familiar made strange.

As a child, I could become utterly absorbed in a book, books were vitally important to me. As adults, I think many of us view books merely as a diversion, something to fill in empty time on the train, but not as a part of our ‘real lives’. I might feel as though I have done nothing today. But if something provokes a deep emotional reaction in you, what could be more real than that?

TV Review: Life, BBC1

This is a nature documentary of grand scope, of the kind that it seems the BBC can do with its eyes closed these days. After all, nature can provide a seemingly endless array of fascinating creatures, and the Beeb has the resources to get stunning footage from all corners of the globe.


While Life doesn’t disappoint in these respects, it isn’t up there with Planet Earth or Blue Planet. While each segment is excellent, they seem to have been strung together with little effort to make a coherent structure; David Attenborough links them with vague bits of narration about the life having to adapt to survive, or something equally non-specific. He even opened last night’s episode by saying: “Life is at its most intense in the relationship between predator and prey.” “Life is at its most intense”? What does that even mean? And in addition, last night’s episode seemed to re-visit some of the animals already featured in previous episodes.

Having said all that, I still have to admit that the programme-makers can get away with being a little lazy, since the content is so intriguing and beautifully shot. Ants that farm a fungus to feed their colony, tiny frogs nurturing their tadpoles in the water caught in the petals of a rainforest flower, underwater footage of the wonderfully bizarre-looking star-nosed mole – there’s plenty here to keep the viewer amazed at the diversity of the natural world. And, after all, that is the whole point of a documentary like this.

Theatre Review: War Horse, New London Theatre

War Horse depicts the First World War from the perspective of a farm horse commandeered by the army, and his teenage owner, who signs up and experiences the horror of the trenches while searching for his beloved animal. It has been rightly praised for the amazing life-size horse puppets. Intricately jointed and operated by three people each, their movements are incredibly life-like, right down to the twitching of an ear, the flicking of a tail. The puppeteers even combine their voices to produce a range of convincing horse noises.


What makes this even more impressive is that there is no attempt at absolute realism; the puppets although perfectly shaped, are not covered with paint or fur, they are just wooden frameworks with the puppeteers clearly visible. But there is something magical about theatre that acknowledges its artifice in this way, especially when the artifice is so ingenious. The audience can get completely caught up in the absolute horsey-ness of these creatures, while simultaneously admiring the craft behind the illusion. Indeed, I found I could flip between the two states of perception, as though looking at one of those trick pictures that can be either a black vase or two white faces.

The human actors in War Horse are unfortunately somewhat upstaged by the puppets, and their performances were sometimes a little strained and over-acted. But this was a minor gripe that didn’t really detract from my enjoyment of a deeply moving piece of theatre, which uses the suffering of animals as an effective window into the horrors of war.