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The other week when I finished The Keeper of Stories , I thought – hmm there’s a book with a similar title somewhere on my shelves. Found it, The Keeper of Lost Things.

This novel came out in 2017 to high praise from many book bloggers and book tubers. Yet, somehow it got put on the shelf, as yet unread.

Anthony Peardew is a finder and keeper of lost things. Having lost something he once held dear, he knows all too well the pain of dispossession. In fact, his experience with loss in general runs deep. So he collects random objects—often meaningless to others—and imagines what they once meant to their owners. He gives these things a home in his cluttered but lovely London house – called Padua. He catalogs the exact place and moment he found each item in hopes to one day reunite them with their rightful owner.

Lime green plastic flower-shaped hair bobbles—Found, on the playing field, Derrywood Park, 2nd September.

Bone china cup and saucer—Found, on a bench in Riveria Public Gardens, 31st October.

Now, in the twilight of his life, Anthony worries that he has not fully discharged his duty to reconcile all the lost things with their owners. As the end nears, he bequeaths his secret life’s mission to his unsuspecting assistant, Laura, leaving her his house and and all its lost treasures, including an irritable ghost.

Recovering from an ugly divorce, Laura, in some ways, is one of Anthony’s lost things. But when she moves into his mansion, her life begins to change. She finds a new friend in the neighbor’s Downs Syndrome daughter, Sunshine (a sensitively developed character) and a welcome distraction in Freddy, the gardener. As Laura regains her footing and starts to recover from her own loss, she and her new companions, set out to realize Anthony’s last wish: reuniting his cherished lost objects with their owners.

There are two plot-timelines: 40 years earlier, Eunice found a trinket on the London pavement and kept it through the years. Now, with her own end drawing near, she has lost something precious—a twist of fate that forces her to break a promise she once made.

Both timelines were engaging, but scattered throughout the novel are Arthur’s stories about some of the found objects — a real treat.

Fair warning many found The Keeper of Lost Things trite and saccharine and yes, it is an old-fashioned novel, with manners and decorum — maybe it was my mood, but I found it enchanting and a lovely escape from reality.

Anthony had made her tea at the interview. He had brought it into the garden room; teapot with cozy, milk jug, sugar bowl and tongs, cups and saucers, silver teaspoons, tea strainer and stand.
All set out on a tray with a tray cloth. Pure white, lace –edged linen. The tray cloth was definitive. Padua was clearly a house where all these things, including the tray cloth, were part of every day life.

The novel starts out slowly and it takes a few chapters before things start to get interesting, stick with it my friends – it’s a lovely read. And despite my current obsession with clearing out “stuff” and “things”, it did remind me of the significance of the objects we love and care for. I’ll cheat here and quote another reviewer which sums up this book nicely:

A charming, clever, and quietly moving novel of of endless possibilities and joyful discoveries that explores the promises we make and break, losing and finding ourselves, the objects that hold magic and meaning for our lives, and the surprising connections that bind us.

N.B. There is a great deal of tea drinking which Sunshine carefully makes and names “the lovely cup of tea” — a gentle hug throughout.

I damaged my new knee. It was going so well — PT, walking two to three miles a few times a week. Going everywhere I wanted with no pain ~~ then wham and Damn. Stepping off a city bus, not noticing the step was quite high from the curb — stepped down hard and twisted that poor knee.

After more X-rays and doctor’s appointments, the good news is that the knee is badly bruised (ouch) but no further surgery is required. Just rest the poor knee, ice, and elevate for two-three weeks. Then, it’s back to starting my PT exercises all over again (I know!). I’m back to using a cane, hobbling around in pretty intense pain, and being very – very grumpy. Don’t feel too sorry for me, poor Husband is staying way of out my range.

So what am I doing? I finished a book about a group of people who walk across England – talk about irony.

You are Here by David Nicholls

Us, by Mr. Nicholls was a favorite novel — completely unexpected – subtle, bittersweet, and unflinchingly honest. So When You are Here came up my library wish list…I grabbed it.

Geography teacher, Michael, had been planning a solo walking trip across northern England — an epic ten-day trek, all alone.

But when his fellow teacher, Cleo, turns it into a group event, he reluctantly agrees to lead the walking trip – yes, you read that right – across England. Michael is just separated from his wife and recovering from being mugged –and Cleo thought he could use some company.

She invites several other people including Marnie, a divorced copy editor who works from home and really doesn’t want to do any of this — she’d rather stay home with her manuscripts and predictable schedule. Marnie has no long distance walking experience, but in a fit of enthusiasm purchases all new equipment, boots, and walking clothes.

We follow this group as they walk each day and spend nights at various inns and pubs. Soon the weather turns foul, and one by one the others drop out and go home. We are left with just Michael and Marnie who are both not easy to be around and used to finding solace in their own isolated lives. Walking together through rain and wind — and neither of them can think of anything worse. Until, of course, they discover exactly what they’ve been looking for.

Now, now don’t leave me — this isn’t a sappy romance. It’s witty, clever, fun with lots of sarcasm and humor threaded in and the characters are truly authentic. The landscape and setting are beautifully described and, fair warning, Michael, being a geography teacher, does like to explain the landscape maybe a little too fully.

As the pair make their way through the hills and valleys, we discover Marnie is practically agoraphobic, so for her to be on this walk, is amazing.

—a book was something she could pull around and over herself, like a quilt.

While Michael, who didn’t want to be divorced, is having a hard time adjusting to his solitude and an empty house

Not an introvert, just an extrovert who had lost the knack.

Marnie and Michael felt like real people and people I wanted to spend time with. I could feel myself right there with them, tending blisters, getting drenched, cussing and lashing out, but also getting into deep conversations that never arise in their normal lives. We see how each stands in the way of a shared happy ending. Mr. Nicholls uses the walking as a device to deconstruct and then reconstruct the characters. They open up to each other and discover that maybe they don’t need to be alone.

You are Here is a distinctly British novel, it plunges the reader into the English countryside, the ancient walking paths, the damp pubs and, most of all, the fortitude of these British walkers who are accomplishing more than just a very long walk across England. I found this to be a beautiful novel, sensitive, witty, and with a kind and gentle viewpoint towards us endlessly messy and clueless humans.

N.B. A great bonus in any book –maps of their journey.

When the publisher offered me an early reader’s copy of Kate & Frida, I jumped at the chance to read another book by Kim Fay. I totally enjoyed her previous epistolary novel, Love & Saffron.

This second epistolary novel begins with an inquiry from Paris to a bookshop in Seattle in the 90s. Twenty-something Frida Rodriguez is living in Paris, relishing the city’s cuisine and seeking her future as a war correspondent. She writes to a bookshop in Seattle (thinly disguised as the wonderful Elliot Bay Books where the author once worked) to inquire about a book, but receives more than just her requested book. She gets a nice letter from Kate who works at the bookstore and an aspiring author.

They begin to correspond and tell each other about their lives and things happening around them. Kate tells Frieda she seems to be experiencing terrible panic attacks. Frida tells Kate she desperately wants to become a war correspondent, but fears she won’t be good at it.

Kate is falling in love with a coworker who is a serious writer, continues to struggle with panic attacks, all while her dearly loved grandfather begins to have issues. Meanwhile Frida gets an assignment in Bosnia, where she sees and experiences the horrible atrocities firsthand, especially the destruction and civilian casualties – and is haunted by the impact on one little girl.

Frida writes up her experiences and sends them to Kate to see if they are any good. This part of the novel is the hardest to read and also to put down. Most memorable are the scenes where, even within the chaos of war, the citizens find joy in everyday life and food.

Kate and Frida give each other advice; they let each other vent. Through the most tumultuous years of their young lives—personally and globally—they sustain each other as they learn the necessity of embracing joy, especially through our darkest hours.

There are delicious descriptions of food and food writing, including one of my favorite authors — Laurie Colwin and M.F.K. Fisher’s writings – both worth looking up at your local library or bookstore.

I very much enjoyed Kate and Frida set in the 90’s, the last years before the internet changed everything. Their struggles and their growing friendship propel the story, which moves along at a nice pace.
True confession, it could must be my age, but the characters seemed very immature, and it lacked the wisdom and insights of the more mature voices from Love & Saffron.

I realized when I finished this novel, I had experienced the power and comfort of a true friendship which expanded the horizons of two young women– gave them confidence and helped them find solace, love, and, most importantly, themselves.

N.B. The author’s notes are a must read…as it gives background on the author’s own exposure with the Bosnian war, her love of food writing, and being a young bookseller.

I wrote this novel from my heart to my younger self. The self I was in my early twenties in the early 1990’s, working at the Elliott Bay Book Company in Seattle, living on my own for the very first time in a little brick-walled loft apartment, devouring books I’s never heard of before — discovering the world.

An advanced reading copy was kindly provided by Penguin Group/Putnam via Netgalley.

Dear Book Barmy Blog, I’ve been neglecting you and a very poor blogger these days. It’s not that I haven’t been reading – I have, but I just haven’t gotten around to updating my reads here. My apologies, you are one of my favorite things, and I pledge to do better.

A good friend recommended this British novel, saying she really enjoyed it and it was a nice escape from everything going on now. She knows me pretty well, so I quickly requested it from the library (only available as a printed book which was a nice break from my Kindle reading — ahhh, printed books.)

The novel introduces Janice, who is an exceptional cleaner, and also a collector of stories which she gathers wherever she goes, riding the bus, going to the laundromat, and especially the people she works for. In the gathering of these stories, Janice has developed a unique insight into the community around her.

She can’t recall what started her collection. Maybe it was in a fragment of conversation overheard as she cleaned a sink? Before long (as she dusted a sitting room or defrosted a fridge) she noticed people were telling her their stories. Perhaps they always had done, but now it is different, now the stories are reaching out to her and she gathers them to her…

The novel then moves to her group of clients, and what a wonderful group of characters. There’s Geordie, an opera singer, grieving Fiona and her son Adam, Mrs. YeahYeahYeah, and her husband Mr. NoNoNotNow whose off-putting qualities are redeemed by their smart-ass fox terrier Dacius. Janice delights in taking Dacius on long walks – one of her only escapes – Dacius is a character in his own right, with snarky opinions and a very foul mouth – yes, a dog who cusses.

Through Mr NoNoNotNow (otherwise known as Tiberius, I kid you not) Janice starts cleaning for his 90- year-old mother, Mrs. B, a shrewd and tricky woman. who happens to quite simply marvelous. While Janice cleans for Mrs B – – Mrs. B relates an ongoing story of a character named ‘Becky’, telling the story in bits and pieces each visit (the story is a clear adaptation of Vanity Fair). Mrs. B is no fool and knows there is more to Janice than meets the eye. What is she hiding? After all, doesn’t everyone have a story to tell? But Janice is clear: she is the keeper of stories, she doesn’t have a story to tell. At least, not one she can share — yet.

Janice is suffering from a no-good husband who flits from job to job, and finally admitted to using all their savings on a cleaning product pyramid scheme. This is final excuse Janice needs to pack up and leave him.

She wants to ask if he’s having an affair but doesn’t know how to say it without sounding hopeful.

Once Janice finally leaves her husband, Geordie lets her live in his house while he’s away and Mrs. B finally gets her to open up, which results in Janice having a major breakdown – which was powerfully written and had me holding my breath. Mrs. B comforts her with soup, a bed for the night, and more stories of Becky. There’s a sweet romance for Janice and I found myself rooting for her happy ending.

I did quite of bit of note taking, here are some of my favorite quotes:

‘Those people, the quiet people, seem to have more important things to say.’

‘She wonders if the story of life is a tragic comedy or a comic tragedy.’

From Mrs. B when putting her affairs in order – ‘should I fall from my perch’.

The Keeper of Stories was a slow burn, and sometimes the stories dragged a bit, especially Mrs. B’s tales of Becky, but in the end, this was just the life-affirming, hopeful fiction I needed. It restored my faith in human nature even with all its flaws and inconsistencies. (Thanks for the recommendation NS.)

N.B. Upon finishing this book, I decided that I finally need to read Vanity Fair, and there are references to the ultimate story within a story — Arabian Nights.

I read bits and bobs of my grandfather’s editions as a teen. I have his set and cracked one open the other night, and was easily taken in by the clever Scheherazade who, as a new bride to the vengeful King Shahryar, tells him captivating tales each night, leaving them unfinished to delay her execution. I will definitely will be dipping into this again.

Full disclosure, I’m in an enticing reading relationship with this French author.

I recently finished another of his — The Reader’s Room, and I enjoyed it so much I immediately checked this one out from the library.

It’s 2017 and Hubert Larnaudie invites some of his neighbors
in his apartment in Paris to share a bottle of 1954 Beaujolais. To his great astonishment, he and three others—porcelain restorer Magalie, bartender Julien, and American visitor Bob—awake the next morning in 1954 Paris.

The four encounter all the fascinations of old Paris—bistros on every corner, fruit and vegetable carts, lampposts, unfiltered cigarettes, and lots of celebrities—and it’s a delightful adventure for them all as they explore the city and their favorite places back in time.

Hubert seeks out his grandfather and learns that his story was rather different to the one told by the family, and he learns something that could be very useful in 2017.

Julien goes to the the famous Harry’s bar where he works in present day 2017 and meets the founder – Harry MacElhone. He then proceeds to impress him and his customers by creating a wonderful new cocktail.

Magalie goes to the haberdashery where she clandestinely buys some thread from the grandmother who had brought her up and who she misses terribly.

Bob explores Paris as he had always intended to do on his holiday, and he is the only one able to exchange money using his American dollars to buy the Francs used in 1954.

They all go and enjoy a visit to the original Les Halles, where handcarts with provisions were the order of the day. Les Halles would be razed to the ground just 14 years later.

It was lovely to move through the city with them, and to spot many notable figures who were in Paris in 1954. I won’t name them all — Salvador Dali Edith Piaf to name a couple — but I must share one other encounter:

Still thinking out how his new cocktail would turn out, Julien paid little attention to the couple who had come in and sat down at the bar. They were discussing the dress the woman would have to wear for the preview of a film in New York. Her elegant companion smiles, ‘Just two more fittings, Audrey, I promise.’

‘I’m counting on you, Hubert. This film is important to me and it’s also important to do justice to your creations,’ replied the young girl in delightfully accented French.

Julien turned to look, and froze. The young girl with the short hair and dark eyes smiled at him and asked, ‘What is that pretty purple drink?’

It turns out that the time-traveling bottle of wine was from a vineyard where, in 1954 a UFO sighting was reported, and the wine had been bottled that summer.

Julien went on. “When the flying saucer flew over, it changed the Saint-Antoine wine and since then whoever drinks it will go back to 1954. It’s been proven by an eminent scientist.”

After meeting this scientist who researched a connection between UFO sightings and time travel, they decided to go back to the vineyard to be there at the exact time of the sighting. While waiting they fish for their dinner in the river that flows through the quiet vineyard (using the thread Magalie had purchased from her grandmother) there is this passage:

The bucolic scene seemed far removed from the city and the world and they all felt as though they had found the essence of life: humans were not meant to sit in an office chair answering emails, or checking their bank accounts on a screen, or reading about world events on their phones. Humans had lived for millennia in nature experiencing its beauty, taming it to take from it the resources needed for survival, as other species did. Building shelter, hunting, fishing, and sewing, they had taken their place in the spherical ecosystem spinning in nothingness that we call Earth. At some point, it had all become rather complicated.

I know, Vintage 1954 requires a large suspension of disbelief, and yes, it’s far-fetched, but M. Laurain creates such fun characters and is such a gifted storyteller, that I hope you’ll forget what you believe and go along for the ride.

(And truly readers, aren’t we already having to suspend belief every day with the news out of Washington?)

I won’t give away the ending, which falls just a bit short. While Vintage 1954 is not perfect, it’s a delightful confection, and just so much darn fun!

My affair with M. Laurain continues with my next read of his, The Red Notebook.

Big shout out and my admiration for the translator, Jane Aitken, her work is seamless — one never feels as if they are reading a translated novel.

Vintage 1954 reminded me of one of my favorite films – Midnight In Paris. Suggested viewing with a glass of normal wine.