“Never lend books, for no one ever returns them; the only books I have in my library are books that other folks have lent me.” ― Anatole France

A friend of mine set herself the challenge of reading two books a week this year. Having a small child, this was a brave thing to attempt and, to give her her dues, she made an excellent start. She sought recommendations from friends and, when she visited me late last year, she plundered my bookshelves to make up her reading list for the first few weeks and months. That’s an exaggeration: we discovered our reading tastes were so similar that she had a limited number from which to choose. But she found a few and packed them into her overstuffed cabin baggage. A couple of months ago she was back in the UK and diligently returned my books having enjoyed them very much. Along with them, she lent to me two of her favourite books from her challenge so far.

Over the years, I have been loaned and gifted a number of books (like any book lover, I think I have an in-built book magnet, which accounts for all the books that I have accumulated). When I know they need to be returned someday I can feel them staring back out at me from the shelf, begging to be read next. But sometimes, other books shout louder, often a current bestseller will jump the queue. But it has only taken me about two months for me to dive into the first of the two books that my friend lent to me. Shotgun Lovesongs by Nickolas Butler proved to be well-deserving of the recommendation.  I haven’t had a lot of time to read lately but this one made me make time to read it.

Set in rural Wisconsin, the debut novel traces the friendships of four young guys, Lee who has hit the big time as a musician, Kip who has returned to Little Wing after financial success in Chicago, Ronny the Rodeo who is recovering from alcoholism and a head injury, and Henry (Hank) who never left his family’s farm. Told from the point of view of each of them over a period of about two years, you are quickly under their skin. I raced through their stories, some which developed more than others, particularly the bond between Hank and Lee, which comes under strain.

By the time I reached the end, I felt like I had for a short while lived in Little Wing in the homes and heads of the characters. Instead as I lifted my head from the final page, I remembered that I was in bed on a Saturday afternoon, having retreated there to read without distraction. I understand why my friend lent this book to me. It’s one that I want others to read too. But I shall be returning the book to its rightful owner: for starters, she put a book plate in the front!

“Life is so constructed, that the event does not, cannot, will not, match the expectation.” Charlotte Bronte

Book recommendations are perhaps the epitome of subjectivity.  Depending on who is doing the recommending, I reserve my judgment (or sometimes ignore the recommendation completely!).  But when someone holds a book out as being their all time favourite book, couldn’t put it down, re-read it and give it away as gifts level of good, you have to give it a chance, right?

So Tully by Paullinna Simons ended up in my collection, another of those books of with an unknown shelf life on my, erm, shelf. I heard all about this book from my sister’s best friend, an avid reader who gets through books faster than I get through chocolate bars. So when I stumbled across her recommendation in a charity shop some years ago, I couldn’t leave without taking it (and probably another armful of books) with me.

And (using the scientific selection method that is Martijn’s Magical Book Randomiser) I took the book on holiday, delighted that I would finally get my teeth into such an esteemed work of fiction. But it just couldn’t love up to the expectation. The pedestal upon which it was put was more of a big step for it to trip over.

The premise of the book is a friendship between three girls through high school, one of who is the character Tully Makker. Of the three girls, Tully is complicated, troubled and prickly. Like all girls going through high school, the girls can’t help but get entangled with boys, and thats where the girls lives start to unravel. Tully had already grown up far quicker than her school friends, brought up by an unloving mother, who keeps Tully on a tight leash. When one of her best friends takes her own life, Tully’s is propelled into adulthood.  Though you would like to feel great sympathy for Tully, her character is so sharp and raw that you can’t get near to it.

And I think that was where I struggled with the book. Tully mostly annoyed me and I got frustrated with her more than I engaged with her. I often find that if there is no part of a character that I can relate to or connect with, then a book will rarely captivate me.  And that was the case with Tully. It didn’t slow me down in reading it (or stall my reading completely as is normally the case), but when I got to the end it was more of a relief than satisfaction. I could finally leave Tully behind, And indeed I did, in the hotel library.