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A 50 Book Year #1: Sweet Thursday

Like most relatively chaotic indiciduals who don't have a clue what they want out of life, I'm fond of setting myself an arbitrary challenge in a probably vain attempt to impose some order on my otherwise aimless existence. This year's is to get back in the habit of reading.

2017 was absolute mayhem for me, what with one thing and another, and my reading was pretty woeful (as was the writing), as I realised with horror when I came to do a few end of year lit quizzes and discovered that I was way off the pace (my crossword game has gone to shit, too). This needs rectifying, I thought, so, remembering a challenge last undertaken (and documented in these pages) before the birth of son #1 I set myself the task of getting through fifty books this year.

20 year old me would scoff at this meagre total. But 20 year old me was a useless chancer with far too much time on his hands, far less talent than he thought he had and a questionable attitude towards most things. These days I'm quite busy. But, crucially, maybe not quite AS busy as I was this time last year. I've also got a marginally better work ethic. 50 seems gettable, just. A book a week-ish, I reckon I can handle that.

And the first one's in the bank as of last night. Steinbeck's Sweet Thursday. The sequel to one of my all-time comfort reads (Cannery Row) it was an undemanding, pleasant enough start to the year. You'd have to have a heart of stone not to find it uplifting, though there's always a part of you which wonders at Steinbeck's propensity for making drunks and criminals likeable (a contemporary NYT reviewer noted that he "melted before the drunken bum"). I'll confess I find some aspects of it problematic, but I think those problems are products of the passage of time (the whole hooker with a heart of gold thing has been done to death, for example). The language can read overly theatrical, with the overall effect ebing of a thirties screwball comedy made paper, but it's giddily enjoyable for that. In the character of Suzy, Steinbeck has managed to create a heroine who doesn't quite act the way you'd expect and Doc, as in the first book is interestingly complex, and is given added layers here with his knowledge of his increasing irrelevance as he ages. The main criticism, as with Cannery row, is the exaltation of Mack and the Boys into heroic figures. These are men who think nothing of casual violence, theft, drunkenness but aw, heck, they ain't bad guys. This central conceit still sits a little uneasily with me, and requires a sizeable suspension of disbelief to properrly enjoy the book. But there is a tremendous amount to enjoy here. It's a vivid book, painted in primary colours, but with a stealthy subtlety to its themes of free will, predestination and how best to live one's life. The slang is perfectly understandable (amusingly, the old copy I picked up comes with a glossary) and whilst a character such as Old Jingleballicks is improbably monstrous, he does serve to drive the plot along and illustrate Doc's state of mind in one of the novel's more subtle episodes (as well as provide the possibility of a satisfying post-plot life for Doc and Suzy). A cheerfully riotous way to start the year off, and a splash of sunshine in a Dreich January.

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