Book Reviews

Scenes From Early Life is a rather dull title for a deeply interesting book. It is a novel; this is stated on the jacket, as if anticipating the possibility that readers may question that definition. Set in Dacca (now Dhaka), it is about the emergence of Bangladesh as a state independent of Pakistan after the savage civil war of 1971. Philip Hensher has drawn on memory and history — family history and ‘real’ history. Historical characters, notably Sheik Mujib, the courageous and civilised Bangladeshi leader, mingle with semi- and wholly fictional ones. The joins are seamless. Finishing the book, I was startled to realise that Hensher, an Englishman, had written

April showers break the long March drought, and bring pilgrims to Canterbury; to the shrine, or what remains of it, of St Thomas Becket. There are several historic routes to Canterbury: the Pilgrim’s Way, which runs along the Downs escarpment from Winchester through Sussex and Kent. And there are more modern paths, such as the Via Francigena, which begins in Rome. Canterbury Cathedral’s website says that the pilgrimage from Rome has grown popular in the last ten years, which attests to the revival of interest in English medieval saints and the present strength of Catholic faith. Pilgrims have been coming to Canterbury since before the canonisation of ‘the turbulent priest’ in 1173,

The Unlikely Pilgrimage of Harold Fry by Rachel Joyce starts with a wonderfully simple idea. Harold Fry, resident of 13 Fossebridge Road, gets a letter from an old friend, Queenie Hennessy, saying she is dying of cancer. He drafts a reply and goes out to post it. He reaches the post box and, instead of slotting it in, decides to walk to the next one. And the next one after that. Before long, he concludes that a letter is not enough. He will have to walk to Queenie Hennessy himself. Only one snag: the journey from Kingsbridge to Berwick-upon-Tweed is 627 miles. So starts the tale of a modern pilgrim. The epigraph

Few countries elicit as much bewilderment as Pakistan — unstable and unreliable, it is simultaneously a friend and foe. Indeed, over the last decade Islamabad has arguably aided the War on Terror as much as it has hindered it. The stakes could barely be higher. A nuclear power in which terrorist groups operate with near impunity, it sits in the strategic heart of South Asia bordering Iran, Afghanistan, China, and India. Its Baluchistan port, Gwadar, is just 200 miles from the Straits of Hormuz — a vital channel for seaborne oil exports threatened with blockade by the Iranians should it be attacked. The United States may well be looking to

There was drama at the Pulitzer Prize last night. No fiction prize was awarded for the first time in 35 years. The judges were unable to reach a decision in the race between David Foster Wallace’s The Pale King, Karen Russel’s Swamplandia! and Denis Johnson’s Train Dreams. Literary bigwigs in America have expressed shock. Jane Smiley — who won the prize in 1992 for her reimagining of King Lear, A Thousand Acres — sent an email to The Press Association saying, ‘I can’t believe there wasn’t a worthy one. It’s a shame. But sometimes a selection committee really cannot agree, and giving no award is the outcome. Too bad.’ Meanwhile, John

‘Cherrie-Ripe’ Cherrie-ripe, Ripe, Ripe, I cry, Full and faire ones; come and buy: If so be, you ask me where They doe grow? I answer, There, Where my Julia’s lips doe smile; There’s the Land, or Cherry-Ile: Whose Plantations fully show All the yeere, where Cherries grow. This short poem’s interest comes from its rapid changes of tone and speaker. These add complexity, surprise, and irony to what would otherwise be a cliché (‘my girlfriend’s lips look like cherries’). The first four lines seem to belong to a busy street-scene. ‘Cherry-ripe’ was a call used by hawkers selling cherries in 17th century London. The first line tells us that the