‘I have been waiting a long time for this book,’ says Michael Connelly, best-selling author of LA-based police detective thrillers, ‘and two pages in I knew it was worth every minute, month and year. Joseph Wambaugh is the master of the modern police novel and Hollywood Station sets the standard once again. A story of cops working the street at the same time as the streets are working the cops, it’s full of grit. humour and truth that make it impossible to put down.’
 
All this is true. What Joseph Wambaugh’s debut novel The New Centurions (1970) did was to deliver a shot in the arm to the modern police novel invented by the ultra-prolific Ed McBain [aka Evan Hunter of Blackboard Jungle fame] who produced Cop Hater as long ago as 1956. Because Wambaugh was actually a serving police officer in LA when he wrote his book. Indeed, it was that book title and several others which quickly followed from the same pen that may be said to have mentored the next generation of American crime writers – Michael Connelly, James Ellroy and George P Pelecanos amongst them. Meanwhile, Hollywood Station (2007) is a great book in its own right – a generous, roistering, rollicking return to top form by a master storyteller in his prime. And, for readers of WISP this just so happens to be good news on two counts.
 
First of all, Hollywood Station is the sort of thriller which, though not lacking a strong central storyline (malfeasance, mayhem,and murder in LA instigated by Russian mafia types and their hangers-on ), the book does not solely depend upon that storyline and its eventual resolution to create reader interest. Nope, as with the nowadays sadly-neglected bibliography of the late, great George V Higgins (The Friends of Eddie Coyle, Cogan’s Trade, The Rat on Fire: do yourself a favour and read him), there is meat enough to satisfy us in Hollywood Station’s superbly fleshed-out mini-biographies of various members of the LA police force who, despite their being under-staffed, over-worked, and hobbled by political correctness gone mad, persist in holding the front line against crime on the city streets with quiet (and, just occasionally, unquiet) determination.
 
And secondly, Joseph Wambaugh’s return to form is actually the first of no fewer than four new book titles, t’others being Hollywood Crows, Hollywood Moon and Hollywood Hills. So there’s plenty here for this year’s holiday break.
 
 
Reviewed by Bill Keeth
May 2010

Mancunian from the start, Middletonian since the Princess Royal’s first wedding day, with undeniable Sky Blue affiliations if too severely put to the test by Sky Reds of little brain, I confess to reading at one sitting Nothing but Blue Skies ISBN 9780956288103 an autobiographical romp by Tim Keogh, erstwhile Middletonian, nowadays Chaddertonian, whose life, love – indeed, very raison d’etre these 40 years past (’twould seem) has been a professional Soccer team that turns out in a blue and white strip at its home ground, which was Maine Road for many, many years and nowadays is the Greater Manchester Stadium.
 
Ergo, Tim Keogh writes of his unflagging support, since the tender age of 8, for the only Manchester football team (as certain Blues of my acquaintance would have it), both of Manchester City’s aforementioned grounds being located within the city’s boundaries, which the Old Trafford ground never has been as yet.
 
But enough of such tribalism!
 
Because, though Tim Keogh registers with some concern the onset of hooliganism and unwarranted inter-team animosities within “the beautiful game”, he sets before us, too, a good few touching examples of shared sporting enthusiasm, one of which sees former Man U player Denis Law receiving a rapturous welcome to the City line-up from the Blues supporters  lining the terraces.
 
There are umpteen other great anecdotes here, too. And a couple of them relating to the author’s football heroes spring readily to mind, one happy (and so typical of the man in question); t’ other (to a child’s mind, surely) inconceivable.
Happy: “[Aged 16] I was waiting at the bus stop in my City scarf . . . when [Brian Kidd’s] car pulled up and he asked me if I needed a lift to the ground!”
 
Inconceivable: “Alongside the tunnel . . . [I] held out my programme and pen in the hope of an autograph or two . . . [But X, Y and Z –  here the author names three Man City players of note] completely blanked me. Only Joe Corrigan . . . came over and signed my programme.”
 
Schoolboy (at Cardinal Langley, Middleton), adolescent (in Middleton, too), pop music freak (in Manchester), amateur cricket captain (in Higher Blackley): there’s a load of lovely stuff in Tim Keogh’s book, my very favourite anecdote harking back to the author’s playing days at the Crab Lane ground . . .
“Our wicket keeper was a 17 year old chain smoker [who even] smoked on the field during the game. As the bowler was running in he had the last . . . drag on his cigarette before handing it to me at First Slip, still alight . . .
 
“A north Manchester childhood and adolescence watching Manchester City in the late ‘60s and early ‘70s,” says the blurb.
 
Co-o-me on, yew Ble-ue-ue-s! Get this book bought! You’ll love it!
 
Reviewed by Bill Keeth
September 2009

With a generously bubbly 1200 word Foreword penned by the author’s good friend and former team mate, Sir Bobby Charlton, and no fewer than 140-plus photographs within its 316 page format, it is quite unbelievable that, 14 months on from its original publication date in October 2008, Manchester United Man and Babe, the long-awaited autobiography of Wilf McGuinness of Man U and England, has received nary a mention in the local or regional press. Because there must be thousands of north Manchester folk and Reds, too, inquisitive about their team’s past, who would love to get their hands on this story of a local boy done good. Which, of course, they may do, courtesy of Waterstone’s (where I first found it on sale @ £17.99), or– www.amazon.co.uk where I bought it @ a discounted £12.49 inc. p&p.
 
This is a book I would not be without. Well, not permanently at any rate. Because, though I had been aware that Wilf was planning to write his autobiography (see above, the old advertising slogan I suggested as a title), I knew not (for reasons already mentioned) of the book’s existence for fully 6 months after its publication date. Moreover, an additional 6 months would then pass by during which time this same book has been devoured hungrily by yours truly and assorted alumni of Shepherd Street University (aka Mount Carmel, Blackley) who gleefully borrowed it from me. Not the least of whom is my good friend John Gilligan of Moston, photographed on page 21 herein alongside the boy McGuinness himself, the late, Tommy Seale (younger brother of Fr Brian Seale of St John Vianney’s), and other assorted reprobates from Blackley and White Moss who made up the school’s U-15s’ football team in the early 1950s whose names escape me for the present, Tony Burgess apart.
 
As ghost writer to his autobiographical task the author has recruited Ivan Ponting of The Independent. And, technically speaking, the guy makes a good journeyman’s job of it, particularly with regard to the boy’s professional career — playing days sadly foreshortened due to injury; life-span happily extended because of it (Wilf having been unfit to travel to Munich). So Man and Babe is certainly a better title than my own suggestion. But I really do wish there was a bit more detail here about Wilf’s north Manchester roots, as indeed there is concerning Collyhurst and Ashington, respectively, in the Nobby Stiles and Bobby Charlton autobiographies that were ghosted by The Independent’s James Lawton. (See Life, April 2007.)
 
Notwithstanding this single reservation, however (and my preference for the inclusion of an index), the generous provision of photographs of local characters (long since dispersed; hardly forgotten) will surely conjure up a vibrant north Manchester yesteryear for anyone who may care to recall it . . .
 
Witness the likes of headmaster John “Mickey” Mulligan (Snr.) . . . Canon F W Kershaw, who famously berated broadcaster, Gilbert Harding at national level . . . Wilf McGuinness with hair (a quiff I recall being jealous of) . . . Mrs May McGuinness, too, the loveliest of womankind: deaf as a post, she had a voice like a corncrake and a heart of gold . . . and Wilf’s elder brother Lawrence, practising the trumpet (or cornet: I never did know which) in the front parlour of No. 52 Westleigh Street . . . trumpet-playing that was accompanied by a drumbeat: BULUNG – skit, skit, skitter! BULUNG – skit, skit, skitter, as Wilf and his pals kicked a Size 5 ball against the gable end, halting just occasionally for Wilf to essay a throw-in technique that would take the ball all of 30 feet to the apex of the roof, the chimney pot beyond . . . and the practitioner of such art to a career at Old Trafford that many would die for and, sadly, some have.
 
Reviewed by Bill Keeth
September 2009

At 448 pages, The Devil Wears Prada is an enormous novel. A work of fiction, and, perhaps, chick-lit, it is a story about a young woman, Andrea Sachs (‘Andy’) who has recently graduated from college and stumbles into the hectic world of high fashion and publishing at ‘Runway’, a prestigious fashion journal. Her job is to be the second assistant editor to Miranda Priestly. Miranda turns out to be a diva and is hell to work with and for.
 
Inside the book, it is stated that the author graduated from Cornell University. This is her first novel and was on The New York Times bestseller list for six months. It has been published in twenty-seven countries. Weisberger lives in New York City. Apparently, from the Amazon.com website, Lauren Weisberger did a stint as assistant to Anna Wintour, the all-powerful editor of Vogue magazine. Despite the feeling that the process of writing this book was meant to be some form of catharsis for the author, it is also interesting, as stated on the Amazon.com site, to imagine what really did happen and what didn’t.
 
The title, The Devil Wears Prada, is no doubt a title that would captivate anyone’s interest. The attraction for this book was, mainly, because it had become a major motion picture which commanded actresses of such quality as Meryl Streep and Anne Hathaway.
 
From a technical standpoint, there is a repetition of sorts in this novel. For example:

“Alex, it’s not that I forgot to call,” I lied openly, trying to extricate myself from his nonaccusatory accusation. “I simply didn’t have a single second free, and since it sounded like something serious, I didn’t want to call just to have to hang up again. I mean, she must have called me two dozen times juts this afternoon, and each one is an absolute emergency. Emily took off at five and left me all alone with the phone, and Miranda just didn’t stop. She kept calling and calling and calling, and every time I went to call you, it’d be her again on the other line. I, uh, you know?”
My rapid-fire list of excuses sounded pathetic even to me, but I couldn’t stop. He knew I had just forgotten, and so did I. No be cause I didn’t care or wasn’t’ concerned, but because all things non-Miranda somehow ceased to be relevant the moment I arrived at work. In some ways I still didn’t understand and certainly couldn’t explain – never mind ask anyone else to understand – how the outside world just melted into nonexistence, that the only thing remaining when everything else vanished was Runway. It was especially difficult to explain this phenomenon when it was the single thing in my life I despised. And yet, it was the only one that mattered.

 
It does not seem necessary for Andrea to explain herself when the dialogue has done it for her. In ‘telling’ the reader what has happened, it has detracted from what was, essentially, very good dialogue. Such instances are repeated throughout the text; it does not make for smooth reading.
 
The success of this book is the fact that it is so well plotted that the fast pace ensures that there is never a dull moment. In addition, anyone who has had to ‘suffer’ in a job where the boss is terrible will identify with Andrea and her troubles. The author has also succeeded in building up such tension in Andrea’s life that when one reaches the climax of the tale, one is quite likely to say, “About time!”
 
The Devil Wears Prada is not the kind of book you would read a passage from, admire the turn of phrase, think about the emotions evoked and continue to read further. It’s a quick read and, for a fast reader, can be a good way to pass an afternoon on the beach.
 
Reviewed by Sonia Gould
27 May 2009

If you’d like to laugh, cry and be entertained all at once, this memoir is the book for you. John Grogan, a journalist, tells a tale about his dog and, on the back cover of this book, it is stated as follows:

John and Jenny were young and in love, with a perfect little house and not a care in the world. Then they brought home Marley, a wiggly yellow furball of a puppy – and their life would never be the same. Marley quickly grew into a barrelling, ninety-seven-pound steamroller of a Labrador retriever who crashed through screen doors, flung drool on guests, stole women’s undergarments, devoured couches and fine jewelry, and was expelled from obedience school. Yet Marley’s heart was pure, and he remained a steadfast model of love and devotion for a growing family through pregnancy, birth, heartbreak, and joy, right to the inevitable goodbye.

A pet owner who reads that last line might, initially, be reluctant to read this book – no pet owner wants to read about the death of a much-loved dog – For your dog check up, check out Ridgeside K9 Ohio here! And yet, one look at the title,  which suggests that Marley is a hopeless dog, is intriguing enough to entice someone to want to know more. The author reinforces this idea when, in the Preface, he states what his version of a perfect dog is his first dog, Shaun. Thereafter, the tone of the entire book plots Marley’s antics, adventures and mischief.

Although the tale is written from John Grogan’s point of view, the effort made to analyse and interpret the dog’s view of situations and circumstances is admirable and lends that emphatic element to the writing. For example, when he writes about how Marley is terrified of lightning, he goes that extra mile and says:

“Come on!” I yelled, and then Marley and I were on our feet, sprinting through the downpour toward the back door as new bolts of lightning flashed around us. We did not stop until we were safely inside. I knelt on the floor, soaking wet, catching my breath, and Marley clambered on me, licking my face, nibbling my ears, flinging spit and loose fur all over everything. He was beside himself with fear, shaking uncontrollably, drool hanging off his chin. I hugged him, tried to calm him down. “Jesus, that was close!” I said, and realized that I was shaking, too. He looked up at me with those big emphatic eyes that I swore could almost talk. I was sure I knew what he was trying to tell me. I’ve been trying to warn you for years that this stuff can kill you. But would anyone listen? Now will you take me seriously?

Another, more poignant, example is when Marley offers comfort to Jenny Grogan when she suffers a miscarriage. The short paragraphs, the witty turn of sentences and the lightness of the language make this tale a pleasure to read and its simplicity stays in the mind long after you put the book down.

The real impact that Marley had on the author is seen at the very end of the tale when John Grogan relates what he wrote after Marley’s death:

It was an amazing concept that I was only now, in the wake of his death, fully absorbing: Marley as mentor. As teacher and role model. Was it possible for a dog – any dog, but especially a nutty, wildly uncontrollable one like ours – to point humans to the things that really mattered in life? I believed it was. Loyalty. Courage. Devotion. Simplicity. Joy. And the things that did not matter, too. A dog has no use for fancy cars or big homes or designer clothes. Status symbols mean nothing to him. A water-logged stick will do just fine. A dog judges others not by their color or creed or class but by who they are inside. A dog doesn’t’ care if you are rich or poor, educated or illiterate, clever or dull. Give him your heart and he will give you his. It was really quite simple, and yet we humans, so much wiser and more sophisticated, have always had trouble figuring out what really counts and what does not. As I wrote that farewell column to Marley, I realized it was all right there in front of us, if only we opened our eyes. Sometimes it took a dog with bad breath, worse manners, and pure intentions to help us see.

What a lovely tribute to an unforgettable pet. Enjoy

Reviewed by Sonia Gould
26 May 2009

This work of fiction opens with this paragraph: In a small park near one of the rivers in Asahikawa, Hokkaido, there is a bronze statue of an old man and a monkey seated side by side on a broad flat stone looking out over the river and the mountains. The monkey is bigger than ordinary snow monkeys; the top of his head reaches to the old man’s shoulder. Looking at the bags under his eyes, one can see that the monkey, like the man, is elderly. Affixed to the base of the statue is a bronze plaque that reads: ‘Genjiro and Yukitaro’. These two old friends sit and warm themselves in silence as the years and seasons pass.

The last sentence on the first page of the ebook gives a succinct introduction to the plot: Now is the time for me to tell their story and reveal for the first time how an improbable friendship like that between a man and a monkey happened, how it was good, and how it ended. This is a gentle start to a story that is both poignant and sweet. There are twists along the way and it is, therefore, a grave error to assume that the whole story has already been given away with that one sentence.
 
The sequence of events, from the very beginning, is so well-crafted that that ‘dream-like’ state of a story is sustained throughout. The economy of words used gives just enough information to make you understand and feel you’re with Yukitaro and Genjiro and, at the same time, leaves you wanting to know more.
 
If you were to wonder why George Polley is fond of the use of the terms ‘Old Man’ and ‘Old Woman’, he explains that, ‘[i]n Japanese folk tales, the Old Man, and Old Woman, are seen as symbolic of Wisdom. They often give wise advice and are revered for their wisdom. Monkeys are seen as mischievous and playful, and can be either evil and cunning or good and messengers of deities and the Buddha. …’
 
Here are samples of George Polley’s evocative use of language:
 

One by one, led by Yukitaro, the monkeys gathered around the villagers. Yukitaro went up to Harue’s tombstone and laid a flower in front of it, then turned and looked up into his old friend’s eyes with an expression of such sorrow and compassion that it brought tears to the eyes of everyone there.
 
That winter passed uneventfully, passing smoothly into spring, bringing with it a sprinkling of new babies and the promise of a good growing season.

 
The most notable example of humour takes place when the agitated mechanic, Tsuguo, mistakes Yukitaro’s generosity, in carrying a large mountain potato on his back, for a planned attack using a club on Genjiro and his wife.
 
The tale does not end with the death of the main characters. Indeed, there is a sense of ‘coming home’ when Junichiro (Genjiro’s grandson) finds what appears to be the remains of the monkey and informs his father. It is a hard-hearted man who is not touched when he reads, ‘… Junichiro and his father placed a small black headstone next to their headstone with this simple inscription: YUKITARO A friend’
 
What would have made this ebook perfect, however, would have been another round of proof-reading. A sentence in the last paragraph reads as follows: … It has taught me much about the possibilities of friendship and kindness and the bonds that exist between man and man and man and animal … [sic.]. That this sentence appears towards the end spoils the entire experience, somewhat. Still, this is not a major criticism for it is does not detract from the overall beauty of the story and can easily be rectified when the next edition is published.

The Old Man and the Monkey by George Polley is a lovely ebook and I look forward to the day when it will be published traditionally into book-form.
 
Reviewed by Aneeta Sundararaj
2 May 2009

Have you read a review and wondered whether it is good or bad? Have you ever wanted to venture into writing reviews but don’t know how to begin? Are you wary of writing a review and having publishers think that it might be too amateurish for them to consider publishing? Well, The Slippery Art of Book Reviewing answers these questions and so much more.

A website has been created to feature this book: http://www.slipperybookreview.wordpress.com/ On it, you can view the full synopsis for this book. The pertinent questions asked and the statements made – which are mostly dealt with in Part 1 of the book – give an idea of what this book entails. For instance, the book will teach you:

• How to differentiate the various types of reviews.
•  How to prevent amateurish mistakes.
•  How to tell the difference between a review, a book report, and a critique

The book begins well by teaching you an important skill and that is learning to read critically. The authors say,
‘Though different

reviewers work in different ways, good reviewers usually have a pencil or a highlighter in hand to take key notes or mark important lines or passages they may want to refer to later while writing the review. This is especially true in the case of long, in-depth reviews. If you don’t want to write or mark the book, then keeping a notebook for notes is a great idea. You can jot down clue words as you read along, or write down any page numbers you plant to quote from.’

It is a mistake to assume that the book targets only a person who wants to write reviews. Indeed, Part 2 highlights the fact that The Slippery Art of Book Reviewing is very useful for anyone in the publishing industry – from authors, publishers, booksellers to librarians – as ‘this book will also bring to light the importance and influence of book reviews within a wider spectrum.’

It is often said that one of the best ways to teach another person something new is to share with them exact examples of the points you’re trying to make. The authors have done this throughout the book but it is most evident in a section entitled, ‘Types of Reviews’. They have taken the trouble to write a review of a fictional book called, ‘Day of King Rex’. What makes it special is that they use this same book and, thereafter, write a terrible review. The reader, therefore, gets a clear picture of what is the difference between a good and bad review.

Following this, there are more examples of other kinds of reviews, namely:

• The Sugar-Coated, Overly-Positive, Amateurish Review
• The Nasty, Overly-Negative, Amateurish Review
• Long, In-Depth Review and Breakdown.
• Article-Review and Breakdown.
• Non-fiction Review.
• Children’s Book Review and Breakdown.
• The Anthology Review and Breakdown.

The thoughts, ideas and suggestions shared in this book come from two authors, Mayra Calvani and Anne Edwards, who are clearly ‘veteran’ reviewers – The Slippery Art of Book Reviewing is peppered with examples of reviews they’ve written which have been published widely. They generosity in sharing their knowledge comes through, especially in the section about teaching a person just how to start their own book review site. There is also valuable advice given which is this: ‘The bottom line is, if you want to become known as a serious reviewer, charging for reviews is a bad idea. Maybe this perception will change in the future, but this is how it is now.’ Indeed, there is a further warning given (which actually adds a sense of humour to this book): ‘Take it from Jim Cox, editor at Midwest Book Review: “Here is the secret to being financially successful as a book reviewer–marry rich.”’

No doubt, there are times you might wish to write a negative review. The authors have taken great trouble to explain how to write such reviews. They start with explaining how not to embarrass yourself.

‘…When you phrase your reviews tactfully, the authors themselves can learn and profit from your negative reviews.
Avoid statements like “This is a terrible book” or “This is the worst book I’ve ever read.” This screams ‘unprofessional’ and will label you as an amateur. There are other statements you can use to convey your negative reaction to the book. For instance, the harsh phrases mentioned above can be replaced by, “This book didn’t live up to its full potential because …” or “This novel didn’t work for me for the following reasons…”’

The authors’ generosity continues in Part 3 where they give you lists of resources – from print publication to online sites and magazines – that accept reviews. Sharing this set of resources gives this book that ‘wholesome’ feel.

This is certainly a book many a reviewer would wish they had known about before writing their reviews. In all, The Slippery Art of Book Reviewing is highly recommended for a person who is not only serious about writing reviews regularly, but for anyone who has more than a passing interest in the publishing industry.

The lasting impression of The Slippery Art of Book Reviewing is that the information shared has been done so with absolute honesty. It is, therefore, seemly to end with two pertinent passages from this book.

‘… and ultimately, a reviewer’s foremost–and probably only–obligation is to readers, not to authors and publishers.’

‘Thus, if a reviewer would maintain a relationship with any publisher, they must be able and willing to account for negative reviews. Otherwise, that publisher will drop them and in time, that same reviewer might find themselves with a reputation for giving unfair reviews which means online sites that accept outside reviews may not be willing to post them either. While one does not have to give good reviews just to continue reviewing, one must be fair and objective in their reviews.’

20 February 2009