Hodder and Stoughton, 1891, 218 p plus iii p Contents.

Again, as in Auld Licht Idylls, our narrator is the local dominie in Thrums, who has a lodging at the home of the McQumpha family; father Hendry, mother Jess, daughter Leeby and son Jamie, who now lives in London. Jess, who is an invalid, has never got over the loss of her other son, Joey, is a fine embroiderer and sits at the window of their house at the top of the brae leading out of Thrums, looking out at the world and hoping to see Jamie coming up the road. Leeby, when younger, was excessively devoted to Jamie and that devotion has spilled over into her caring for Jess which leaves her little time for her own life. Hendry, thoug hard working and honest is more of a background figure.

Along the way Barrie gives us, through the minister, snippets of life in Thrums and of the various characters who lived there. The man who tried to get out of his engagement to one woman because he had taken fancy to another, the older man who came back to the village with a much younger wife and was shunned by his hitherto prospective heirs, the exploits of the town comic.

On Jamie’s last visit Jess is much disturbed by the fact that he has a handkerchief secreted in his clothing. This she takes as a sign that he has a woman friend in London and like many a mother of sons is displeased that another woman could replace her in his affections.

Incidents in the book have parallels with Barrie’s upbringing in Kirriemuir and are reflective of the small town Scots life of his youth which at time of writing would have all but disappeared.

Most of the dialogue is in very broad Scots. Occasionally a Scots word was followed in brackets by its (nearest) equivalent in English. This has the effect of breaking up the narrative. I agree that to readers in England – or elsewhere – these might be required but a glossary would surely suffice for any who are troubled by it. However, the practice did not occur with every Scots word, some of which I therefore had to look up for myself, my Scots vocabulary not being extensive.

Pedant’s corner:- mantlepiece (mantelpiece,) largess (largesse,) youre (you’re,) “therenever was in Thrums” (there never was.)

Marion Boyars, 1983, 163 p.

A company called PAX has been developing various projects to improve crop types and yields over the world. This culminates in a product known as freefood, which promises to make human existence easier. It is widely welcomed nearly everywhere – a notable holdout is the indigenous Australian community of Murngin in Arnhem Land, North Australia, which has achieved a kind of independence.

Like in Mitchison’s other Science Fiction forays there is in the narration a high degree of telling not showing. Most of the story concerns itself with the scientists involved and interactions among the people running PAX and the reading experience is somewhat dry. Very little of what would be the social ramifications of such an innovation as freefood is explored. War has apparently ended because, as one character says, it was fought for food.

(Well, to a point: water too, and resources, but let’s not forget in these troubled times personal aggrandisement.)

The ‘future that never was’ that bedevils older Science Fiction stories is illustrated by Mitchison’s characters’ long distance communication methods (video calls) anticipating Skype or Zoom but not, of course, the internet or email.

There is an implicit racism – reflecting the times of 1983 but perhaps not Mitchison herself? – in one character referring to ‘Abos’ saying, “‘They could be a no-good mob,’” but admitting, “they got treated in a no-good way in Queensland,’” plus another use of ‘Abos’ in an unflattering context.

The promised paradise of hunger being banished from the world is disturbed when deaths start to occur among some of those using freefood. This is due to a compound called dioscorin which is found in yams and usually removed by the processes of preparing and cooking. Freefood production has omitted these steps.

Mitchison’s writing is usually perfectly agreeable. Her other (ie non-SF) fiction does not suffer from the flaws I have noted above and before here and here – even though some of it is set in such alien (to us) societies as Ancient Greece or Rome. That tendency to didacticism apparent here is missing from those.

Pedant’s corner:- In the inside cover blurb “polictical” (political,) skillfully (skilfully.) Elsewhere; a missing comma before a piece of direct speech embedded within a sentence (x 3, one without a capital letter at the beginning of the dialogue,) “fresh lime, nimbupani” (fresh lime nimbupani,) a switch into a different font size and back again (x 2,) an end quotation mark in the middle of a piece of dialogue, Bangla Desh (nowadays spelled Bangladesh,) Campuchea (nowadays spelled Kampuchea,) Quazulu (nowadays spelled Kwazulu,) grand-parents (nowadays spelled grandparents,) “none of them were any longer newsworthy” (none of them was …,) “nobody would be allowed to turn in into money” (to turn it into money,) Djuvalji (elsewhere always Djiuvalji,) “a dangerous precendent” (precedent,) peole (people.) “‘Still and on’” (isn’t the phrase ‘Still and all’?)

Little Brown, 2018, 428 p.

This is the fifth outing for Karen Pirie, head of Police Scotland’s Historic Cases Unit, at the start here still trying to come to terms with the death of her romantic partner, Phil Parhatka, unable to sleep until she has walked herself to exhaustion in the streets of Edinburgh late at night.

She is juggling three cases, two hers, one not. The HCU is working on a series of brutal rapes from the 1980s whose perpetrator’s make of car they have a new lead on when a murder in Wester Ross, linked to the burial there of two Indian motorcycles left behind by the US Army after World War 2, turns up. Karen also has a peripheral involvement in a murder case she takes an interest in after a conversation between two women she overheard in a café twitched her police instincts.

Her hopes at the replacement of her old boss by the new one being a woman – female solidarity and all that – are swiftly extinguished. Assistant Chief Constable Ann Markie has saddled Karen with a new DS, Gerald McCartney, mostly in order to spy on her. My suspension of disbelief at this second boss in a row wanting rid of Karen was not quite assuaged by the reasons given for it, which seemed altogether too programmatic. But fiction is all about conflict. And Karen’s approach to her work is unconventional and occasionally confrontational, if not downright bolshie. Not qualities likely to endear you to a boss sensitive to public and political scrutiny.

There are ongoing updates on Karen’s background, the café Aleppo she helped Syrian refugees to establish in the previous book has been a success and her assistant DC Jason ‘the Mint’ Murray is growing into the job while the tedium of some police work is not ignored.

But the duty of the detectives in a novel is to set the world to rights by finding the perpetrators and calling them to account. So job done. Inasmuch as a murder can be set to rights.

Pedant’s corner:- “River’s voice was a clear as” (was as clear as.) “There were a handful of Lanarkshire towns” (There was a handful,) scoffed (various characters do this at various times; e g ‘Jason scoffed.’ Scoffing usually requires further elaboration,) “a pair of gin and tonics” (the main noun here is gin; it is that which should be plural: ‘a pair of gins and tonic’.)

British Library, 2024, 203 p, plus i p Contents, ii p The 1920s, ii p about Catherine Carswell, ii p Preface by Helen Vincent, i p Publisher’s Note and vii p Afterword by Simon Thomas. First published 1922.

This is structured mainly as the journal entries of Ellen Carstairs, along with some letters – all addressed to her friend Ruby in Germany where Ellen spent some years studying music. Ellen lives with her brother and fiercely religious Aunt Harry in Glasgow. For income Ellen has taken pupils for piano lessons but she really wants to be a writer. Indeed, one of her schoolteachers is so disappointed that she has not so far pursued her true vocation that she refers to Ellen (publicly) as a prostitute for neglecting her talents. Not a description to be welcomed in the 1920s – or I suppose anytime.

In a prefiguring of Virginia Woolf’s famous essay Ellen is much delighted by renting a room where she can receive pupils and write. “I have a Room!” she tells Ruby. “A room all to myself and away from home.” Not that it is in any way salubrious. But she has the right to refuse any one entry. And it is an escape from Aunt Harry.

Ellen’s imagination is fired by meeting in the Mitchell Library an older man whom she calls Don John. His knowledge of literature and London publishers will provide her with a potential route into writing professionally.

It is he who recites to her the quote from Shakespeare that gives the book its title, “The camomile, the more it is trodden on, the faster it grows.” He is referring to Ellen’s writing but the sentence could also apply to Ellen herself.

Despite his learning and apparent gentility Don John turns out to be poor and prone to lapses into drink.

Ellen reflects on writing novels that, “It is hardly ever from likely touches, nearly always from unlikely ones, that the reader gets that sudden piercing sense of life in a good book. Yet at the same time it must never be an unlikeliness that is contrary to nature.”

The book is peppered with Ellen’s thoughts on women’s place in life and their likely prospects. She wonders about marriage and children but defers that expectation to the future. However, she betrays attitudes of the time – or perhaps in a preemptive strike against possible dismissal of her worth – with the thought, “when I’m reading anything serious, to know that the author is a woman who sat in her petticoats and her hairpins, leaving life aside to put words on paper, puts me off like anything.”

After returning from a trip to London, she tells Ruby (and us) she is engaged to a man named Duncan, home on a break from his civil service position in India. She toys with the idea of consummation but shies away from it despite thinking relations between the sexes ought to be freer. Duncan professes to admire her frame of mind but gradually it becomes clear that the conformities of life in India are uppermost in his thoughts, giving Ellen pause.

Though it starts falteringly, this reads like an accurate portrait of middle-class life in Scotland in the early part of the twentieth century.

Pedant’s corner:- “the Miss Clarks” (the Misses Clark,) a missing comma before a piece of direct speech, “the Miss McFies” (the Misses McFie,) “the Trosachs” (Trossachs.)

Flamingo, 1995, 219 p.

This is a chronicle of life in the Orcadian island of Norday in the years between the World Wars till just after the Second. But it is also a collection of short stories.

Thorfinn Ragnarson is a dreamer. His teacher, Mr Simon, says he can’t seem to teach the boy anything and his father says he’s not good at farm work either. At one point he seems to be channelling Dad’s Army’s Captain Mainwaring when he refers to Thorfinn as, “You stupid boy.”

Not much gets past the islanders. Many of their conversations take place in the island’s shop and post office.

Thorfin has an imagination, though, letting it run wild through history, which is where the short story aspect of the novel comes in. We read his reminiscences of Vikings on the road to Byzantium, a dilapidated knight and his squire travelling to the battle of Bannockburn, the experience of the inhabitants of one of the then new-fangled brochs, an ancestor taking Mara, a selkie woman, as a wife.

Meanwhile, Mr Drummond, the new Minister, surprises the community by being unmarried and letting the Manse fall into grubbiness, scandalises some by, once, treating the men in the pub to a round before inviting them to church and having a young female arrive to stay with him at the Manse. She is taken to by the local ‘person of quality,’ Mr Harcourt-Smithers, riding his horse all over the island. It is not until she is leaving that her relationship to Drummond is revealed. She has nevertheless fired Thorfinn’s imagination again.

The outside world (and impending war) intrudes when government men arrive to survey the land for an aerodrome, whose impact will change the island forever.

The last chapter, Fisherman and Croftwoman, sees the return of Thorfin to the island after being in a POW camp for most of the war (where he began writing, using his earlier daydreams as source material) and of Sophie, a childhood acquaintance, to take the inheritance of a nearby croft.

Like most Scottish literature Beside the Ocean of Time is about loss and change; but it is also about what endures, what makes a community, and acceptance.

Pedant’s corner:- “less worries” (‘fewer worries’ but it was in reported speech so probably true to the speaker,) “Johnny Walker” (the whisky: it’s ‘Johnnie Walker’.)

Polygon, 2018, 206 p, including 9 p Introduction by Kapka Kassabova and 4 p Foreword (general to these Polygon retrospective editions.)

Art historian Robert Leaver is staying in the Pensione Sofia in Venice. His girlfriend, Lina Pancev, is Bulgarian, a defector from the communist regime there who is searching for the grave of her father, Victor. (It turns out he was murdered in the grounds of the Pensione but she never discovers this.)

One day two guests arrive at the Pensione; Robert’s father Arnold, in tow with Mary Tiller, a teacher at the school where Arnold is headmaster. Anthea, Mrs Leaver, remains at home, for now oblivious. To escape his embarrassment Arnold hies himself and Mary off to another – and better – hotel.

Suspicious she engages GESS (Global-Equip Security Services) to investigate. Their local agent is one Violet de Winter.

Grace Gregory, matron at Arnold’s school and who, to prevent his wanderings, had serviced him herself in the infirmary when there were no boys sick, warns Anthea off using the agency and travels to Venice to see what’s going on.

Robert’s friend Curran, (he answers only to his surname,) is also part of the proceedings as is a supposed kidnapping.

The above provides a flavour of the book, which in some quarters has been described as a farce. To me it is too heavy-handed for that.

I continue to find Spark an unacquired taste.

Pedant’s corner:- a missing comma before a piece of direct speech (x 3,) candelabras (candelabra is already plural,) “whether she longed to say and talk it over” (‘longed to stay and talk it over’ makes more sense.)

I saw in yesterday’s Guardian that Scottish writer Allan Massie has died.

Regular readers will know I have followed his fiction closely: indeed he is one of my sub-category entries under Scottish Fiction. I think I have read all of his fiction works.

You will find my reviews of most of his books on the blog if you search.

Massie was also a journalist and critic, especially for the Scotsman newspaper.

A sad loss.

Allan Johnstone Massie: 16/10/1938 – 3/2/2026. So it goes.

Polygon, 2010, 342 p, plus vi p Introduction by Hew Strachan. First published in 1919.

In this third of Buchan’s Richard Hannay novels our hero has been pulled from his General’s post on the Western Front to visit Fosse Manor in the Cotswolds where he is to pose as a pacifist. Among the mostly harmless people he meets there is, however, a Mr Moxon Ivery who will turn out to be more dangerous. Part of the party is Miss Mary Lamington with whom Hannay is very taken and who is the agent from whom he is to accept his further orders. Their mutual knowledge of the Pilgrim’s Progress is to be used as a kind of code book to convey and hide messages (the origin of Mr Standfast’s title.)

Mary’s instructions take Hannay to Glasgow to make himself known in the pacifist working men’s associations and then on to Skye. These northern regions of the country were apparently subject to strict travel restrictions which, as a pseudonymous agent, he has to circumvent. Several escapades among the heather later he has discovered a German spy ring working as the Wild Birds and heard the name Bommaerts.

He relays his information to the authorities in London before being returned to his battalion in Belgium.

Meanwhile his friend Peter Pienaar has joined the Royal Flying Corps and struck up a rivalry with the German air ace named Lensch, who Pienaar says is better than Richthofen. (This gives the excuse for the otherwise not too apposite cover picture.) Pienaar is eventually shot down and badly wounded. Hannay’s other companion in the Erzerum affair in Greenmantle the US citizen, Blenkiron, also makes an appearance. He makes the observation, “There’s something comic in the rough about all Germans, before you’ve civilized them.”

In Belgium Hannay has enough downtime from his front-line duties to go ferreting about a nearby chateau in search of the mysterious Bommaerts, who captures him and boasts of his superior abilities and the devastating blow the Germans will soon strike. Bommaerts, Ivery and a journalist called Clarence Donne who had managed to hoodwink Blenkiron turn out to be one and the same man, the Graf von Schwabing.

Hannay escapes in a very ‘with one bound he was free’ type of way and makes a foray into Switzerland to try to thwart von Schwabing’s designs, making an arduous passage on foot over the Swiss mountains in attempting this.

On his return once more to army duty we are given some fairly detailed descriptions of the German spring offensive of 1918 and, by Buchan’s account, how close it came to complete success. From the point of view of the British Tommy it must indeed have seemed a desperate situation.

Mr Standfast is  a Boys’ Own Adventure kind of enterprise. Plot here is everything, characterisation a secondary concern – if a concern at all. The most engaging character – Mary Lammington is inserted only to give Hannay a love interest but is barely memorable – is a true pacifist who has been inducted into the Labour corps and finds fulfillment there.

Sensitivity note. The book is of its time in its off-hand racist comments. “There are some things that no one has a right to ask of any white man,” “‘a great big buck nigger,’” “‘like a bankrupt Dago railway,’” “a droop like a Polish Jew’s,” “a face like a Portuguese Jew’s,” – this otherwise nameless character is referred to thereafter as the Portuguese Jew – “a Paris Jew-banker,” “he was an Austrian Jew,” “all breeds of Dago and Chinaman, and some of your own South African blacks.”  “‘He is a white man, that one,’” is said by Pienaar of his air adversary Lensch.

Pedant’s corner:- Afrikander (nowadays spelled Afrikaner,) “the Coolin” (several times; nowadays usually spelled, as in Gaelic, Cuillin.) “It seemed to more a stone and to replace it” (to move a stone makes more sense,) “shinning up a rain-pipe” (downpipe is more usual, and  the Scottish term is roan pipe; alternatively, rone,) a missing comma before a piece of direct speech, “‘and most of my tactics. I had to invent myself.’” (no need for that full stop ‘and most of my tactics I had to invent myself.’) “In the press of a fight once scarcely realizes death” (In the press of a fight one scarcely realizes death.)

Collins, 1949, 669 p, including 2 p Note, 5 p Contents and 6 p List of Characters.

The title of this book is, these days, liable to a different interpretation to the one it would have received on first publication. It is, of course, the third in the author’s Immortal Memory sequence of novels about the life of Robert Burns.

Here, after the printing of the Kilmarnock Edition of his poems, Burns sets out for Edinburgh – the gay world referred to above – to seek a second edition, this one printed in the capital, and finds his fame has preceded him. He is lionised and feted as the ploughman poet and Scotland’s bard in most quarters but still largely looked down on because of his origins.

Most of the intrigue revolves around Edinburgh bookseller and publisher William Creech who is quite clearly intent on exploiting him, offering Burns what to the poet is a large sum – fifty pounds – for his copyright. Even the offer’s swift increase to one hundred pounds then one hundred and fifty guineas does not arouse any suspicion. Only the inordinate amount of time to pay him the sums he is due from the publishing does that, by which juncture Burns has travelled through Scotland, at one point scribbling anti-government sentiments on a pub window in Stirling using his diamond pen, a transgression he later removes.

Burns doesn’t take much time settling in to his womanising habits. Within about a week, it seems, he is disporting with Peggy Cameron, a serving-girl in the Cowgate, on a shakedown under a table in her workplace and he takes up with various others of the fair sex, entering into a relationship with the woman he will write to as “Clarinda” while bedding her servant girl, Jenny Clow, on the side.

Among other luminaries he meets the Duchess of Gordon, a woman of some reputation – it is said none of her various children were sired by her husband – but no intimacy between them is implied. (How likely is that, given both their reputations?)

Peggy Chalmers is  otherwise the only woman in the book who spurns Burns’s allures (though she is attracted to him and Barke conveys that his intentions were honourable.) She tells him, “Where a woman’s concerned men are never content with friendship – and you are no exception … which is a gey pity.”

On the after Sunday Service proclivities of the church-going, Barke ascribes to Burns’s thoughts the idea that, “never, since John Knox came thundering out of Geneva, had the Scots, as a race, been able to imbibe their Presbyterian theology without the aid of strong drink”

He also describes the securing of the then reasonably recent Union of the Parliaments as unparalleled bribery, which had “enraged the Scottish people at the time; and the stench had lingered in their nostrils ever since.”

Barke also takes the opportunity to delve into the political situation in Scotland at the time where Henry Dundas “ruled Scotland on behalf of William Pitt” and made sure his cronies were able to ensure there were no obstacles to his will being observed.

On those wanderings about Scotland, travelling first south – as far as Newcastle – before returning to Mauchline via Dumfries to look over the land he might rent for farming at Ellisland and later a journey north to Inverness and Moray, during which he enjoys the playing of Fiddler Niel Gow, and comes back to Edinburgh via Aberdeenshire, he conceives the idea of reviving the fortunes of Scottish song. “In the songs of Scotland do we not find enshrined in words and in melody something of this essential goodness, simplicity and harmony that is essential to the ordinary, unlettered folk of our country? Our national songs have not been written by the learned and mighty, but by the humble and the unpretentious – by simple men and simple women” – in them are to be found the old truths and the old satisfaction of living. He notes that after the defeat of the Jacobites – still an aching wound – “Deadness and defeatism ate into what vitals remained of the old Gaelic economy.”

Barke does not wear his research lightly. Almost every gathering Burns goes to is attended by an extensive list of those present and their standing in Edinburgh society. This makes for trying reading at times. The Edinburgh scenes – and even the travelling ones – do not have the same immediacy as the accounts of Burns’s life in Ayrshire in the previous two volumes. It is only when he returns there, to be among his old cronies and reconciled with Jean Armour that the same sense of authority prevails.

Pedant’s corner:- Barke still spells Mauchline as Machlin. Otherwise; the customary commas are missing between words that form lists, “the bench of judges were thrown into variance” (the bench … was thrown,) “since all men are not corrupt all the time” (since not all men are corrupt all the time,) “had been mowed down” (mown down,) “who had rode away” (ridden away,) staunch (stanch,) the text can be read as if it was Edward I, Hammer of the Scots, whom Bruce defeated at Bannockburn, as he was mentioned in the previous paragraph, but “the final utter rout of Edward” was of Edward II, Calgacius (usually spelled Calgacus,) Mons Grampius  (Mons Graupius,) sunk (sank,) “the ruins of Elgin abbey” (it’s actually a cathedral’s ruins in Elgin.) “He would liked to have spent more time” (He would have liked to have spent more time,) “the Ochills” (It’s Ochils,) Calvanistic (x 2, it’s Calvinistic – used a few pages later!) “since he had rode put of Edinburgh” (ridden out,) the Ahasuerus’ sceptre” (Ahasuerus’s.)

Only twelve works are on my best list this year; eight by women, four by men. Five were in translation – plus two more if you count Elif Shafak.

Troubling Love by Elena Ferrante

Queen Macbeth by Val McDermid

Hex by Jenni Fagan

Under the Glacier by Halldór Laxness

The Flea Palace by Elif Shafak

The Voyage Home by Pat Barker

The Photograph by Penelope Lively

One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich by Alexander Solzhenitsyn

The Bastard of Istanbul by Elif Shafak

Shanghai Nights by Juan Marsé

The Children of Jocasta by Natalie Haynes

Death and the Penguin by Andrey Kurkov