I absolutely LOVE banana bread, unfortunately my family do not share the same level of enthusiasm and so I don’t make it too often (because I eat it all). Last year I came across a healthy banana bread recipe, relying on the sweetness of very ripe bananas and with no flour, it is a great alternative to one of my favourite sweet treats. I have a slice of this, toasted with a little butter, as a treat when I am on a diet, and it really scratches that itch of having a sweet thing, without sending my sugar cravings into overdrive. I have suggested a few alternatives if you are vegan or allergic to any of the main ingredients, though I have not tried these myself.
80g butter, melted and cooled (use coconut or vegetable oil for vegan/dairy-free alternatives)
1tsp vanilla extract
100g ground almonds
80 porridge oats (whole or blitzed in blender)
Pinch salt
1 tsp baking powder
60g pecans or other nuts (slightly bashed with a rolling pin)
50-100g dark chocolate (recommend 70% or higher)
Method
Preheat oven to 180°C/160°C fan
Grease a 2lb/8inch loaf tin, or line with baking parchment/loaf liners
Place the bananas in a bowl and mash with a fork
Add the eggs, melted butter, and vanilla and stir well.
Add the almond flour, oats, salt, and baking powder and stir until well combined
Fold in the nuts, and chocolate if using
Pour the mixture into the loaf tin (top with a halved banana if you want)
Bake for 40 minutes until golden on top and the cake springs back nicely
Serve and enjoy!
A few tips!
This banana bread freezes really well. I pre-slice and freeze in food bags, the slices can then be defrosted in the microwave or simply by taking out the fridge 24 hours before you want to eat it. I recommend lightly toasting the banana bread after defrosting.
If you want a slightly smoother texture then I recommend blitzing the oats in a food processor.
This is a really adaptable recipe, feel free to add/remove the fillings. Raisins/sultanas, other nuts, and mixed spices work really well.
Top the banana bread with a bit of butter, nut butter, or berries and yoghurt for a sweet treat or filling breakfast.
Almond & Oats: I have tried this recipe using just almond flour (so 180g overall) and it worked really well, if you can’t have/don’t like almonds then I suggest using the equivalent of blitzed oats or a flour alternative.
Happy Bank Holiday Readers! If you have enjoyed a long weekend like those of us in the UK, then I hope it has been peaceful, and filled with a bit too much chocolate. My weekend has been consumed with baking, reading, swimming, and stealing moments of tranquility in nature in between the showers of rain. Following on from my post last week, where I wrote about finding myself visited by an old foe, I have been taking as much time as I can to be in nature. Nature is my therapy, my haven. It is the place I retreat to when I need perspective, and so I made the most of a long weekend to get back into my place of healing. I explored, got lost, and found a haven of paradise drenched in bluebells and cuckoo flowers. Bathed in dappled sunshine I stood in the valley, watching a buzzard spiralling into the sky, and a herd of deer grazing on the hillside. It was truly tranquil. I could have stayed there in the symphony of nature for hours, however I retreated from the valley when the sun sunk below the tree-line and a cool breeze rolled in. I came back to a blanket filled sofa and this week’s book, Cider with Rosie by Laurie Lee.
Cider with Rosie, by Laurie Lee
Cider with Rosie is the vivid memoir of Laurie Lee, telling the tale of his remote village childhood surrounded by fields, woods, eccentric neighbours, rural schooling and wild imagination. It reflects on the last years of a village enjoying freedom from modern invention, a peaceful image shattered in Lee’s early teens by the chugging of the first motor car up the narrow road. It was soon followed by charabancs and motor bikes, and the days of silent village life were over. Having grown up around Stroud, near Laurie Lee’s village, I sometimes yearn for a more peaceful time, for life before mobile phones, travel, convenience, pollution. I am lucky to be one of the last generations who can remember an early childhood untainted by mobile technology. My days were spent outdoors, exploring the rolling hills of our Cotswold home, or the sprawling wilderness of my Grandma’s garden. Lee reminds me, however, how lucky we are to have some of the comforts of modern life. I have never had to spend a night freezing cold (except when my hot-blooded husband insists on opening the bedroom window mid-winter), nor have I had to worry about food on the table. When I yearn for a simpler time it is not without being grateful for all the comforts and conveniences that come with modern life. Lee’s childhood is a testament to a life before technology, when life, though not without its hardships, was simpler.
Lee’s writing is a poetic journey for the senses. In every page you can see, smell, taste, all the world around young Laurie. The floral wine of Granny Wallon, the sharp snuff of Granny Trill, the beech-twig fire that warmed the kitchen hearth, and the smell of a large family kitchen, spices, old rags, candle wax. Lee has a fantastic ability to describe details poetically, metaphorically, whilst conjuring in your mind the clearest image of what he remembers. I can picture Granny Trill, chewing her gums in ecstasy after a good sniff of snuff, I can picture his mother bent over a large vat of porridge in the kitchen, and his siblings working away at whatever childish or adolescent fancy took hold of them that day. You are there, in the book, beside Lee as he navigates his first days of school, has his first giddy sip of wine, and experiences the tragedies of remote village life with all the innocent wonder of a child. At points the narrative feels so familiar it is easy to forget what century Lee is writing about; a childhood full of blackberries, and wild countryside, and rampant imagination, in many aspects it mirrors my own (with a couple less gum-chewing grannies); and then you are brought back to reality with a reminder of the past…”there was a £5 a year wage”. Lee was reflecting on his mother’s childhood in the late 1800’s, and suddenly it all felt very alien, very distant. But a few sentences later and you are back with Lee in the crowded kitchen of his family home as his sisters shelter from the cold and the boys fill tins with smouldering rags to keep them warm on winter excursions.
Lee is a beautiful storyteller, drawing you into his tale with a wonderful blending of poetry and prose, and Cider with Rosie has earned a place in my all-time favourite books. It is a beautiful recollection of a childhood long gone, free from the conveniences, complexities, and constraints, of modern life.
I hope you have enjoyed this week’s review, to end my ode to nature, I have selected a few of my photos that display the simple beauty of our natural world.
This is normally the hour on a Sunday when I press publish on my weekly book review, however this week I am going to take a break from that series. Last week was tinged with a visit from an old foe, and so I found myself binge watching ITV’s Poirot in between work and gardening, to distract myself from my own mind; and I ashamedly didn’t pick up a single book. As my husband affectionately puts it, “I am not life-ing very well”. In the interest of self-care I will not berate myself too much, and will instead say that we all need a break sometimes, even from the things that bring us joy. After all, forcing yourself to do something you love is a very good way to make it a mundane chore. So, I am going to take this post as a moment to remind you to look after yourself. We all need to wallow sometimes, to give ourselves time to process, to refocus, to heal. I have found my mental health rolls in cycles, and every now and then I need what I refer to as a ‘reset week’. These weeks often come when I have let the stress pressure cooker sit on the hob for too long without releasing steam. A somewhat laboured metaphor that probably came to mind as I was thinking of my Nani’s cooking earlier today, but it gets the point across, my pressure cooker was about to explode. I needed a week where I wasn’t straining to do certain activities, outside of those vital to living; wash, breathe, brush your teeth, put pants in the washing machine, go to work, et cetera. I won’t say the old foe has completely departed but I can keep an eye on him and will continue to look after myself in the meantime.
In the absence of reading, I turned myself to a task that I have been putting off for some time, and that was sorting and editing the photos I have taken so far this year. I picked up my camera in January after a hiatus to focus on other things in life, and I do wonder why I ever put it down. Experimenting with a new lens, I have been out and about at exploring the wildlife (predominantly birds) at National Trust and WWT centres, as well as across my home county of Gloucestershire. I have compiled a selection of my favourite photos from this year so far, I hope you enjoy!
All photographs on this website are copyrighted by Maya Richards (Maya Emily Photography). Any use of these images, including but not limited to reproduction, distribution, display, or alteration, is strictly prohibited without prior written permission from the copyright holder.
If you live in the UK then, like me, you’ve probably been making the most of the glorious sunny days that have blessed us this past week. In the evenings however, we are coolly reminded that it is only April, when the sun rolls down the horizon and the air takes on a bitter chill; so here I am curled up with a blanket, dressing gown, cup of tea and dog on my feet. This week we join Salman Rushdie on his breathtakingly honest account of the attempted assassination that almost took his life; and we join a young MI5 recruit as she juggles love and state in Ian McEwan’s novel, Sweet Tooth.
Knife, by Salman Rushdie
Meditations After an Attempted Murder
I have a deep admiration for Salman Rushdie, whose literary works combine historical fiction, religious exploration and magic realism, to take you on journeys of faith, wonder, and morality. In Knife, Rushdie attempts to make sense of the abhorrent attack on his life, taking us on his journey of contemplation, love, loss, reconstruction and healing.
Since the publication of his fourth novel, The Satanic Verses, in 1988, Rushdie has spent much of his life in hiding, or at the receiving end of death threats, for the book’s depiction of the prophet Mohammed. In 1989, a fatwa was ordered by the Supreme Leader of Iran at the time calling for the death of the author. Rushdie evaded many attempts on his life, and was even taken into police protection following an attempted assassination, but tragedy followed the book elsewhere. This review, however, is not about The Satanic Verses, and the unfortunate series of events that followed its publishing, and thus I will dwell on it no longer; but if you don’t know about the life of Salman Rushdie, it is an important foundation in understanding the context of Knife.
In 2022 Rushdie was in attendance at the Chautauqua Institution in New York, where he was preparing to give a lecture on the importance of keeping writers safe; Rushdie acknowledges the deep seated irony between the subject of the lecture, and the events that were to unfold that day. Rushdie had just stepped out onto the stage, ready to discuss the merits of the City of Asylum Pittsburgh project, which offers refuge to literary creators whose safety may be at risk in their own countries, when a man ran towards him. Dressed in black, with a mask to cover his face, the man pulled a knife and attacked. Rushdie outlines early on in Knife that he does not not want to use the name of the assassin in the account, and so out of respect, I will do the same here. After all, the account, and this review, are not about this cowardly assassin, who was too young to have been alive when the fatwa was issued, and by his own admission had not even read the book that inspired so much vitriol against the author. This review is a testament to the strength and determination that Rushdie has shown in the time since.
It is clear from Rushdie’s account that his life was on a knife-edge that day. Once recovered, the doctors told him bleakly that when he had arrived by helicopter with 15 stab wounds, they had been uncertain whether his life could be saved. But through the dedicated skills of the doctors and nurses of UPMC Hamot, and by Rushdie’s own sheer will, he survived; and twelve weeks later returned home to New York. Rushdie’s account of the attack is bluntly human, grisly, but of course in Rushdie’s way, tinged with a sense of humour that we humans require after a great tragedy. I smiled a little when he spoke of the delirium he went into immediately after the attack, where a principle concern was that those attending him would have to cut his nice Ralph Lauren suit.
The age old question of ‘what what I do if it were me?’ does dance at the edge of your subconscious when reading of Rushdie’s actions during the attack. It is a question he himself asks “why didn’t I act?’, and a question he does not have an answer for, “some days I’m embarrassed, even ashamed…other days I tell myself not to be stupid, what do I imagine I could have done?” Of course in any situation like this social media is littered with echoes of ‘I would have done this”, “I would have done that”. I firmly believe none of us know how we would act in such a situation until it occurs. We all like to think we would fight back, or find a burst of adrenaline and run faster than we have ever done in our lives, but I think we are far more likely to be paralysed by indecision and fear. Violence out of context is abhorrent to modern morality. Schools, places of worship, shops, nightclubs, theatres, these are sanctuaries, places of pleasure that should be untouchable by bullet or blade. So, when something happens that blows our morality to pieces, we falter. This was evident in the shock waves that went round the world in the wake of the attack. While Rushdie’s account is a dark narrative on the worst humanity has to offer, it also presents the best humanity has. The love we have in our family and friends, those who will be with us in our darkest days.
If my admiration for Rushdie wasn’t already at its peak, then it most certainly is after reading Knife. It is ferociously honest, deeply moving, and a testament to survival. Rushdie is at his best, with his ability to make you weep, laugh, and examine your faith in just a few paragraphs.
Book Review – Sweet Tooth, by Ian McEwan
Sweet Tooth takes place in 1970’s England, where Serena Frome is recruited for a position at MI5, as a typist. Promptly, Serena is chosen to take part in a new covert programme, Sweet Tooth, that aims to counter Communist propaganda that has seen a surge during the Cold War. Serena, a lover of fiction, is given the mission of befriending and vetting a fledgling writer at the University of Sussex, Thomas Hayley. We watch as Serena’s world begins to unravel, as her past catches up with her, and her future turns ever more murky.
Sweet Tooth is set in the backdrop of a turbulent political landscape, the Cold War, industrial strikes, ‘the winter of dicontenment’, escalation in Northern Ireland and rising support for communism, were the palpable themes throughout the 1970’s. Exasperated by a government clinging to remnants of post war ideals, the citizens of Britain became disillusioned with the electorate and in 1970 the Conservatives succeeded in bringing in a motion of no confidence against the incumbent Labour government. A 5.2% swing from Labour to Conservative was a stark reflection of the grievances felt against a government who had ‘allowed’ Britain to shrink into misery.
The story, although entirely fictional, is inspired by a scandal that shrouded the conservative literary magazine, Encounter, when in 1967 it was revealed to have received covert funding from the CIA; no doubt in order to steer the content of the magazine in an anti-communist direction. This backstory provides the perfect medium in which to explore the relationship between layperson and government, between artist and state, and it is a stark reminder of the need for literature to remain independent and free from influence (outside the natural influence of the writer that is). A quote by McEwan reflects that the aim itself, to counter communist propaganda, was not the issue, but it was the secretive, underhand, way in which it was done that caused such scandal.
“All that’s really required is that anything the state does in relation to the arts is laid on the table where we can see it.”
Sweet Tooth is a longer novel and it does seem to crawl along at times, but it is a comforting and intelligent read. Romance, spies; relationships, jobs, McEwan once again makes art out of the mundane, ‘normal’, life. This is not an action packed James Bond, in fact it is probably a far more realistic account of what work goes on within our Intelligence communities, but it is thought-provoking. As much of McEwan’s work, it is centred on a compelling moral dilemma and explores the depth of human complexity when faced with such dilemmas. I will admit it is not my favourite of McEwan’s work, but not every novel need be as thrilling as The Cement Garden or as serious as Enduring Love. Sweet Tooth is an enjoyable read, perfect to take at a slow pace.
I hope you have enjoyed this week’s reading, I would love to hear what you have read this week.
I apologise for being slightly late with last weeks post, I could provide some mildly valid excuses, but I was tired after a long week and spent most of Sunday lazing in the sunshine (after all we must make the most it). The hustle and bustle of last week meant I was somewhat indifferent to doing anything besides sleeping, eating, and taking the dog for a walk. However, I did manage to squeeze in a concise but compelling novel by Ian McEwan, The Comfort of Strangers.
Also in this week’s post: As spring arrives in all its colourful glory, with daisies and daffodils popping their heads through sun kissed grass, I am sharing one of my favourite recipes to make this time of year; wild garlic pesto, made from the fresh young leaves of the plant that grows in abundance on the woodland floor. Remember to always forage responsiblyand with permission from the landowner.
The Comfort of Strangers, by Ian McEwan
McEwan has written his way into my list of favourite authors, with a style that can be equally chilling and funny, you never quite know what you are going to get when you pick up one of his novels.
If I could describe The Comfort of Strangers in three words they would be, macabre, intense, nauseating. At just shy of 200 words, it is a short novel, but captivating, and will doubtlessly stay with you long after you have closed the book and placed it back on the shelf. Written in 1981, it was McEwan’s second novel to be published, following an equally thrilling book, The Cement Garden.
In the novel we join Colin and Mary on a city holiday and observe as they try to rekindle lost desire. Sex, arguments about dinner, reconciliation, the silent treatment, a joint every evening, and the odd emotional revelation; it is a strained relationship that unfolds between the pages. The pair spend a few days consuming local delicacies, exploring the tourist hot-spots, drinking, getting lost in the city maze, and then arguing about what direction the local hot-dog stand is in. There is something somewhat familiar, comfortable, about the first chapter of the novel. Though Mary and Colin hardly have a relationship worthy of envy, they are as far as novel characters go, incredibly normal. Flawed. Human. McEwan lays a very clever trap here, luring you into a false sense of security; what possible macabre happening could occur to such a dry and mundane couple? Lost and hungry, they happen upon Robert, a local man with a gold razor blade worn round his neck – mental note: never trust a man, or any human, who wears a razor blade around their neck. They join Robert and his wife, Caroline, in their beautiful house, depicted something like a terraced Venetian dwelling, and thus a series of events unfold that will leave a mark on the couple, and the reader.
The novel strikes an intense chord by unmasking our deepest fears that behind the smile of a stranger, beneath a kind gesture, there lies peril. Of course we spend our lives being warned about the myriad of dangers that threaten us daily; from people we know, people we don’t know, people we love, people we think we know. But of course, it would never happen to me. No-one, even the most mundane among us, is not off limits.
Ultimately The Comfort of Strangers is a beautifully written novel, eerie and sinister to the last word. If you want a light-hearted read, then do not pick this book up. But if you want a chilling read, one to keep the pages turning and stand your hair on end, then this is the book for you.
This Week’s Highlight: Wild Garlic Pesto
As spring arrives in all its colourful glory, with daisies and daffodils popping their heads through sun kissed grass, I am sharing one of my favourite recipes to make this time of year; wild garlic pesto. If you go walking in the woods and notice a familiar, slightly garlicy smell, then it is likely you are near a patch of allium ursinum, more commonly known as wild garlic. This distant relative to the onion grows between late March and July in moist woodland throughout Europe and Asia, and is perfect if you are looking for something to forage.
Note: please forage responsibly in the wild, within the confines of the law, and always considering the responsible foraging guidelines set out by The Woodland Trust.
Ingredients
300g wild garlic
150g basil
75g parmesan
2 finely chopped garlic cloves
Juice of 1 lemon
100g toasted pine nuts
300ml rapeseed oil
Salt and pepper to taste
Method
Thoroughly wash the wild garlic leaves and leave to dry between layers of kitchen paper or towels.
Once the leaves are mostly dry (don’t worry if they are ever so slightly damp) place them in a large food processor with the lemon juice and rapeseed oil and blend until very finely chopped.
Squeeze in the rest of the lemon juice, the parmesan, the garlic, and pine nuts, blending together until the desired consistency is reached.
Adjust the salt, pepper or lemon juice to taste.
Spoon the pesto into sterilised jars and drizzle a little olive oil over the top.
It can be frozen straight away or kept in the fridge for up to two weeks.
Serve on pasta, with gnocchi, mixed with feta atop a crouton, the opportunities are endless!
On this grey and drizzly Sunday I have taken refuge in my local spa, a brief weights session, a dip in the pool, and a book to finish just about distracted me from the gloomy outdoors. This week we travel to Ancient Greece to trace the story of an exiled goddess; to Essex where we join Hastings and Poirot on their inaugural case; and finally, for a break from the fiction, to a decade ago in America where a Vice journalist unravels the passage of events that led to the 2017 Charlottesville tragedy. I hope you enjoy this week’s reading.
Circe, by Madeline Miller
I picked up Circe on a whim a few months ago, drawn in by the setting of Ancient Greek gods, and finally tempted by the flattering reviews on the front cover – and though one should never judge a book by the latter, the ornate bronze and black cover was pleasing to the eye. Greek mythology has always fascinated me. The mainstream religious texts portray their deities as paragons of virtue, and rarely acknowledge the hypocrisy contained within the pages, Greek mythology is much less forgiving. The gods are of course, omnipotent, omnipresent, omniscient, but they are also jealous, bitter, resentful, merciless. Humanity manifest. Showing a deep contempt for mortals, especially among the most powerful gods, they see humans as nothing more than flies, fleeting lives that will disappear in an instant. They hold themselves superior in every way, and yet they squabble, deceive, slaughter, much in the same way as the creatures they see as no more valuable than dirt. The only difference is they can’t die, so they can go on feuding and hating and pillaging for millennia – okay, they have some pretty awesome powers too. I could continue for pages about Greek Mythology – perhaps that is another post – but this lays the groundwork well for understanding the themes explored in Madeline Miller’s Circe, the retelling of a classic mythology.
Circe, daughter of Helios, god of the sun, and Perse, an Oceanid nymph, is born a disappointment to her parents, with a mortal voice and no significant destiny. Her fleeting childhood, for gods grew quickly, was marred by rejection from her family. Her mother had been disappointed she was not fated to marry a great god, and discarded her in favour of trying for another child. Her siblings Pasiphae and Perses, spent most of their days tormenting Circe in their father’s great halls, disparaging her looks, voice and demeanour with vile and repulsive taunts. Her father cared not for his children, until they became a problem, or a means to an end. So, Circe spent her first few hundred years in misery, resigning herself to a life among gods and nymphs who, while malevolent toward one another, seemed to unite in torment of her. It is an exaggerated parallel that I’m sure many of us can relate to on a mortal degree, not fitting into society’s cookie cutters is a lonely existence and it is not difficult to feel Circe’s pain – though some small grace is not having to face it forever.
Circe realises her destiny when the flowers she enchants transform her mortal love into a powerful god of the sea, but her gift comes at a price. Her artistry in witchcraft threatens Olympus and in penance for her defiance against the gods she is exiled to the island of Aiaia. There she builds her sanctuary, practicing and refining her art, taming wild beasts and growing herbs in a well-tended garden. Not before long visitors begin to arrive, some bring friendship, some bring terror, and one brings destiny; Odysseus, Greek hero of the Trojan war, favoured mortal of the goddess Athena. Circe is a story of family, love, and tragedy, and ultimately of discovery. Circe, a lesser goddess trying to dazzle in a world of unparalleled nymph beauty and hideous god power, discovering her limits and how to exceed them.
A Homer for the modern age, Miller beautifully retells the tragedy of Circe in an adaption fit for the modern age, yet retaining the majesty of the original mythology. I highly recommend this book to any keen reader or lover of Greek mythology.
The Mysterious Affair at Styles, by Agatha Christie
I first fell in love with Monsieur Poirot, and by extension the works of Agatha Christie, when curled up on my Grandma’s sofa we would watch the ITV adaptation of the famous detective, played expertly by David Suchet. Reading the books takes me back to those times, the tattered sofa in garish floral tribute, with covers hiding worn arms in equally dated textiles – for all the love I have for my Grandma she had interesting tastes in interior design. The house was always heavy with the scent of living; pets, books, soap, it was the quintessential loved family home. It is shocking then, that having been a fan of Poirot and Christie for so many years – for those sofa days are further back than I care to calculate – that I have never gone to the origin, to the novel that started M. Poirot on his journey to becoming one of the most famous fictional detectives in history.
The Mysterious Affair at Styles was not Christie’s first literary attempt, but it was her first detective story, born of a dare from her sister, Madge, who “bet you can’t write a good detective story”. Inspired by the Belgian refugees arriving in her hometown of Torquay, and her job in the local hospital dispensary, Christie devised her detective and her murder. Persisting through a number of refusals to publish, Christie eventually found a publisher willing to work with her, and her first book went on sale on 21st January 1921. Reviews of the book were favourable, and despite Christie’s initial insistence that she would not pursue a writing career, and luckily for the rest of us, The Mysterious Affair at Styles set in motion the dawn of a prosperous career for Christie.
Having read a number of Poirot novels by now, I wasn’t sure what to expect when I journeyed back to the beginning. Are books like pancakes, does the first one turn out a little bit wonky before you perfect your technique? Besides perhaps a slight repetition I have not noted in her subsequent works, The Mysterious Affair at Styles embodies all the thrilling misdirection that is the crux of Christie’s work. The path through suspicions, motivations, and little evidence, to the murderer is a turbulent ride with a number of cleverly placed veers in suspicion. I have to admit I let out an incredulous chuckle when Monsieur Poirot revealed the identity of the killer, feeling some of the shock that poor Hastings must have felt, and perhaps some of the foolishness that I was so far wrong yet again. And yet, time after time it is a delight to be bested by one of the best literary minds in humanity.
With well-written characters and carefully timed intrigue, The Mysterious Affair at Styles is thoroughly enjoyable, ingenious, and hard to put down.
Black Pill, by Elle Reeve
How I Witnessed the Darkest Corners of the Internet Come to Life, Poison Society, and Capture American Politics.
Black Pill is a stark journalistic view from the trenches of the incel and alt-right communities that laid the foundations for the 2017 Charlottesville terrorist attack, resulting in the tragic death of Heather Heyer.
In Black Pill, Elle Reeve recounts her exploration of the events that led to the Charlottesville ‘Unite the Right’ rally, subsequent riot, and tragic death of an innocent woman. From a proto-incel community on 4chan a seed of hate blossomed into a subculture where self-proclaimed ‘involuntary celibates’ developed the belief that their lack of sexual gratification was the fault of women. This manifested over time, in the sordid, anonymous, corners of the internet, into a passionate and violent philosophy. These men were owed what they were being denied. Rape and assault were celebrated as the just response to the injustice being compelled upon them. The danger of this philosophy was realised when it crept out of the internet and into the real world; when mass murders were committed by members of the subculture who had been taken in by the misogynistic, self-pitying, entitled ethos of the community. The name of Reeve’s book draws its inspiration from a belief held, most commonly, by incels; that women are shallow creatures who choose only the most handsome, society-approved, men, the ‘Chads’. To be ‘blackpilled’ is to believe that society is broken, geared only towards the ‘perfect people’, that your place in the system is anchored, hopeless. Takers of the black pill believe they have been dealt an unlovable hand in life, that nothing they can change (personality, looks or otherwise) will ever help them achieve their romantic and sexual dreams.
It was when this community collided with another, a Nazi movement growing in confidence, that the extremism reached new heights. Fred Brennan had developed 8chan as a place for free speech, that is another thread unpicked in Black Pill, but it was eventually infiltrated by a growing alt-right movement that expelled users with neutral, or at least more neutral ideals than their own. It became the birthplace of QAnon, where conspiracies and absurdities were woven into truth and ultimately stormed the Capitol in 2021, in one of the worst attacks on democracy America has seen in recent years.
Reeve is brave, not afraid to put herself in danger so that the world may know not only of injustice, but of the events that lead to it. Resilient and resolute in interviews that would have had most of us seething in anger. Her ability to remain outwardly unbiased in interviews to gain the trust of her subject, is an art. She knows how to lay her words carefully to unravel the darkest motivations of the interviewee, pressing them just enough to reveal themselves, but not so much that they build a wall. She sees that behind the faces of “evil” are complex emotions, motivations, tragedies, and ignorance. Understanding the steps in the path to Charlottesville; rising confidence in racists, a lonely man lamenting his disability, ignorant views on eugenics, and the rise of social media that gives platform for all the latter to be turned over in anonymity, is a stepping stone on the path to understanding extremism. We can condemn racists, bigots, misogynists, but without being willing to understand the root of their beliefs, we cannot hope to combat, or educate, it.
One question that Reeve explores, that I played over and over in my mind on closing the book, and continues to fascinate me, is the question ‘are fascists stupid?’ Most people would probably say “Yes. No argument, they are stupid, they are idiots”. I see it repeatedly when Trump or Musk raise their moronic heads in conversation or on social media, and there are clamours of ‘he is so stupid’, ‘he doesn’t know what he is doing’. Whilst many of the decisions we see being made in the Oval Office are beyond the comprehension of any sane person, the fact is they are occupying the Oval Office. These two ignorant, bigoted men occupy the highest office of one of the Western power houses. The decisions they make are stupid, their beliefs are stupid, but are they? Whilst I don’t disagree with the general sentiment that fascists are stupid, Reeve raises an important point, by dismissing people as stupid or idiotic, you underestimate them, you think they cannot possibly achieve what good, intelligent people can achieve, and yet history has proven this to be a flawed philosophy time and time again. There have been many awful, but awfully intelligent people, so why are we so resistant to the fact that intelligent people can be evil? Reeve puts it eloquently in her book:
“Smart people have been told all their lives that being smart is a virtue, and, implicitly, smart people are virtuous…the sick, sad truth is that the world is not being ruined by dumb monsters but by smart people just like us.”
The Nazi’s who feature in Reeve’s interviews can be eloquent, even politically astute, as Reeve puts it, “they notice that smart people need to feel like they’re logical, principled thinkers, so they create cringe propaganda to make them feel alienated from activists for social justice.” Those are not the actions of the stupid, but of intelligent, if thoroughly misguided, people. I must say at this juncture that I do believe the atrocious, tangled web of entitled eugenic misogyny at the heart of the incel and Nazi belief systems is unquestionably stupid. But the people who lap it up, lap it up for a reason, and if we want to educate against fascism and extremism we must lower our own prejudices and understand the root cause. Extremism can be a learned behaviour, it can be based in faith, or a response to legitimate dilemmas. Confused, alienated, frustrated, people come together with a shared goal and leave with a shared ideology, often targeted at something besides the root cause of their unhappiness, for it is far easier to imagine an enemy than to self-reflect.
I could go on, but I do not want to detract from Reeve’s work. An important piece of journalism for the modern age Black Pill lays bare the power of the meme, of social media, and of combined discontentment and ignorance.
I hope you have enjoyed this week’s reading, I would love to hear what you have read this week.
Welcome to a new series where each Sunday I write about the books, articles, or other literature I have read in the week prior. Having struggled with writer’s block for the past year or two, I am diving head first back into the creative pursuits that bring me joy and inspiration. I (or the tag team of anxiety and depression) have starved my creativity with work and inane social media consumption, and whilst I must continue with work, I have ruthlessly curtailed the latter. So, now is the time when I must turn the lens inward and nurture myself with the hobbies I have been depriving myself of. Forever one of life’s great mysteries is why we consume content or partake in platforms that drive the dark storms in our minds, rather than taking the time to engage in healthy, positive activities. Of course, we know it comes back to dopamine, the old chestnut of immediate gratification and long-term loss, and I must admit I do still enjoy the occasional capybara video. I digress, please enjoy the summary of my week’s reading…
This series is partly coming about because this Christmas just gone I set a rule to our family that I was not allowed any more books until I had started to make my way through the many I had purchased that year. To my dismay everyone obeyed the rule. There are still many books I wish to purchase, and so I have decided to abide by my own rule and make my way through my bookshelves. This week I have consumed After the Funeral and Evil Under the Sun by Agatha Christie, and Machines Like Me, by Ian McEwan.
After the Funeral, by Agatha Christie
Part of the combined joy and frustration of reading Christie is knowing that she will lead you down a veined road of motivations, intuitions and evidence, only to best you every time with a beautifully placed twist. Knowing there is a twist coming never seems to take away the magic from Christie’s books, and that is part of her genius. After the Funeral is no different, a complex amalgamation of family feuds and vain ambitions, and at the end a delightfully unexpected flourish when the murderer is revealed. Initially I found it one of the least gripping of Christie’s novels I have read thus far, I think in part to the late appearance of Monsieur Hercule Poirot, who joins a few chapters in. It was nonetheless an enjoyable and easy read. The plot is engaging, once you get the hang of who is who in the Abernethie family, admittedly I had to refer back to the family tree at the beginning of the book a number of times to discern whether we were reading about a brother, nephew, widowed sister-in-law or other relative. A few times I was sure I knew who the killer was, and a few times I was wrong. Although I found the book a little slower than some of her other novels, the ending was one of the best. I highly recommend this book, an enjoyable and comforting read.
Evil Under the Sun, by Agatha Christie
Following After the Funeral I was on a bit of a Christie kick and had recently bought a beautiful old copy of Evil Under the Sun, I discovered halfway through the novel I had actually already bought a copy of the book a couple of years ago, and you will now start to understand why I laid down the ‘no new books’ rule.
Evil Under the Sun is one of my favourite Christie books so far. I felt some compassion for Poirot, who, even on holiday, finds himself in the throws of an investigation. When an expected murder (the reader gets a small win early on when the person we expect to be murdered actually is) mildly startles the holidaymakers at the Jolly Roger hotel, we follow Poirot and Inspector Colgate as they attempt to unravel the motivations of the murderer. Jealousy, affairs, witchcraft, and drug smuggling, there are no shortage of suspects…except they all seemingly have alibis. It is a gripping novel that kept me up late as I desperately wanted to know who had killed the beautiful man-magnet, Arlena. Once again Christie has woven the threads delicately to a conclusion that makes you skip back through the pages to see if you could’ve guessed right with a little more time. It was a thoroughly enjoyable read that anyone who likes crime and Christie will find captivating.
Machines Like Me, by Ian McEwan
Having reliably been bested twice in a row by Agatha, I decided to divert to a different genre. McEwan has written some of the most enthralling and chilling books I have read, Comfort of Strangers and The Cement Garden being two titles worthy of their own reviews. I settled on Machines Like Me, one of McEwans more recent titles published in 2019, and based in a dystopian alternative 1982 where Britain had lost the Falklands War, JFK had evaded his assassination, and Alan Turing was alive and pioneering research into Artificial Intelligence. I chose an interesting time to read this novel, with the sharp upsurge in AI hitting the media in recent months, it felt like a stark reminder of the complications that come with entangling our lives so profoundly in technology.
The scene is set with a young man, Charlie, living in London, and his purchase of an Artificial Life-form, Adam, his love interest, Miranda, and his precarious means of survival by playing the stock market. McEwan continues his ability to make the mundane complex, recognising that human beings, with all their idiosyncrasies, are rarely simple. We follow Charlie and Miranda as they fall in love and navigate ownership of one of 24 flagship Artificial Life-forms. The book is as much an exploration into human impulses and complexities as it is into our advancement of Artificial Intelligence. McEwan expertly shows how little we understand ourselves, our motivations that are so based on the moment, on experience, and on intuition, rather than logic. Two worlds collide in Machines Like Me, impulsive, unpredictable, humanity, and logical, considered, computers. Some make the assertion that we are no different from computers because our brains work in a similar fashion, the brain uses chemicals to transmit information, a computer uses electricity to do the same. There is no denying we are machines, in a sense, bio-mechnical in nature, however, this doesn’t account for the fact that we still understand so little about how our brains truly work, and recreating something you don’t understand is something Science Fiction has warned us fervently against. This is why Machines Like Me is such a fantastic read, the overarching story is a little “everyday mundane”, but deeper it is an analysis of what can happen when the world moves forward too quickly. As we advance forward technologically, at a pace unprecedented throughout human history, literature like McEwan’s remind us we still have a long way to go and we will make mistakes along the way.
Machines Like Me is not stomach churningly page-turning, but it is fascinating and it will leave you rolling over the progress of humanity in your mind. Reading it against the backdrop of the current world stage, it will ignite in you a debate on the moralities, practicalities, complexities and philosophies of our drive to advance Artificial Intelligence.
I hope you have enjoyed this weeks reads, and I look forward to sharing more with you next week.
Appointment with Death by Agatha Christie {Poirot no. 17}
Among the towering red cliffs of Petra, like some monstrous swollen Buddha, sat the corpse of Mrs Boynton. A tiny puncture mark on her wrist was the only sign of the fatal injection that had killed her.
With only 24 hours available to solve the mystery, Hercule Poirot recalled a chance remark he’d overheard back in Jerusalem: ‘You see, don’t you, that she’s got to be killed?’ Mrs Boynton was, indeed, the most detestable woman he’d ever met.
I am writing this post from my phone on a dog walk. The wind is blowing over Minchinhampton Common with an icy ferocity and I’m hoping my fingers will last for the entire post.
I will admit, ashamedly, that Appointment with Death is the first Agatha Christie I have ever read. For years I have wanted to start working my way through the legacy of the most famous crime author, and now that I have started I am addicted. It can be nerve-wracking when introducing yourself to a new author. Will you like their writing style, their story telling? Will you be able to relate to the characters, and will the story captivate you page after page?
Agatha Christie has a way of drawing the reader into the world of her characters. There is no over-the-top action, gratuitous violence or fantastical events that make you want to read on, but you become involved in the crime, and guessing the assailant becomes a game. One that Christie inevitably wins. Christie clearly lays out the crime in each novel, cleverly directing the reader to assuming the guilt of this character, and then maybe that one, before at the end a reveal is made; bringing together the evidence dotted throughout the novel in a surprising, genius, twist. The writing is intelligent and well thought-out, but easy to follow. Knowing that there will be a surprise does not spoil the reading of Christie’s books. In fact, it makes you all the more convinced to read every word carefully, desperately trying to see what Monsieur Hercule Poirot sees that gives him such confidence in the innocence or guilt of a character. Christie expertly guides you to one character, then another. In Appointment with Death there are a myriad of obvious suspects, the worn down family, the would-be heroin, or someone we never suspected?
The most brilliant aspect of Christie’s detective stories are that all the evidence is there, as Poirot says, “It is a profound belief of mine that if you can induce a person to talk to you for long enough, on any subject whatever! Sooner or later they will give themselves away.” It is the great frustration of the reader that, once all is revealed, you can see all the pieces of the jigsaw come together and they were right in front of your eyes the whole time.
Appointment with Death is an interesting read because it focuses very much on the morality of murder. The victim is one Mrs Boynton, a despicable old bat who revels in the emotional torture of her family. We spend a few chapters viewing the effect Mrs Boynton’s controlling and narcissistic personality has on those around her. Her family, worn down, all adults who are emotionally bound to serve the great shadowy mass that hangs over them, begin to taste freedom. Outsiders, who are both inclined to help the family find a life beyond the tyrannical rule of Mrs Boynton, and intrigued by the unusual family dynamic, play a key role throughout the events of the book. It is safe to say by the time the old lady meets her fate everyone, reader included, is relieved that the world became that bit nicer.
Poirot, however, is driven by his morality to investigate the death, especially after it appears that old Boynton’s demise was not natural. Through meticulous psychological analysis of all parties present, Poirot accomplishes his task and unmasks the murderer. I will allow you to discover the murderer for yourself, but I will say, prepare to be surprised.
If, in this strangest of years, you are finding yourself fighting against the tsunami of negativity, suffering, and bleakness, that Covid has unleashed upon the world, then it’s time to prescribe yourself a healthy dose of positivity.
Jacqueline Pirtle’s ‘365 Days of Happiness’ is a wonderful collection of positive anecdotes, written by someone who wants to bring the joy she has found to her readers. Jacqueline, aka FreakyHealer, is the perfect representation of positive energy, a free spirit who uses her gifts of understanding and empathy to enrich the lives of her clients and readers. Born in Switzerland and now living in the Unites States, Jacqueline has spent her life travelling, experiencing, and learning, and those lessons she now passes onto us through her workshops and writings. ‘365 Days Of Happiness’ can be read in two ways; you can delve into a tidal wave of positivity and consume the entire book in a sitting or two, or you can take a page a day and spread the positivity out over a year. As someone with the attention span of a fruit fly I find the latter technique harder to stick to. I prefer to settle down and consume a book with the same vigour I would a cup of tea, or a doughnut.
When first scanning through the pages my eyes were caught by the words ‘energy’ and ‘imagine’, and more exclamation marks than I have used in my life to date. I’ll admit I was skeptical, I have never been one to countenance energy, spirit, and soul, that isn’t to say I don’t believe in it, but I am someone driven more by rationale. Perhaps, deep down inside me, there is a curiosity, though that is another post for another time. Despite the difference in the spiritual beliefs between myself and the author, I am able to appreciate the book for what it is, positive. I have come to realise that, whether you believe in life-energy, souls, a capacious worldly power beyond our understanding, or whether you are a fact-driven realist, there is no reason not to read this book. I found the pages that contradicted my own world-view encouraged me to debate with myself. They challenged my beliefs, my cynicism, and encouraged me to look beyond what I perceive as positivity.
How do you pour your coffee or tea?
I am going to take a real safe guess here, and say that you pour it very determinedly into a cup, instead of kind-of-sort-of point the stream of coffee or tea at the cup and loosely hit or miss the cup. Some of you might even go all out and choose a cup you really like, or have a ritual for pouring your tea into a very nice cup. Either way, your focus is on pouring into the cup without spilling or wasting it.
I invite you to do the same with your energy, love, compassion, and your light.
Focus yourself to pour your energy without spilling or wasting!
The cup can be yourself, someone, or something else, or even better, choose many someones and somethings you really love, are passionate about, and feel good to you. Then – very precisely – start to pour your energy, love, compassion, and light into it. Enjoy the goodness you co-create with that someone or something.
Fill it and don’t spill it!
Jacqueline Pirtle, Day 230
This passage was my favourite, and not just because I love tea, but because of what Jacqueline has expressed, do not waste your energy. Now, Jacqueline may be talking more about spiritual energy, but I think the fundamental lesson is one we could all do with adopting, focus on what makes you happy. My mind is drawn to Marie Kondo’s philosophy of de-cluttering, keep what brings you joy and discard the rest. Sarah Knight then applied this philosophy in her book, The Life Changing Magic of Not Giving a F**k, to the worries and jargon that litter our minds, and how we can apply Marie’s techniques to clearing out our brain-boxes. Although these three woman may seem to be on different journeys, I guarantee that we can draw it back to that fundamental lesson; don’t waste time and space on anything, or anyone, that does not bring you joy. Be picky, be precise, it is your life.
If you want to try Jacqueline’s ‘365 Days of Happiness’ then it is available through Amazon. If you want to read more about Jacqueline, and her fascinating journey, then visit her website.
If you go walking in the woods and notice a familiar, slightly garlicy smell, then it is likely you are near a patch of allium ursinum, more commonly known as Wild Garlic. This distant relative to the onion grows between late March and July in moist woodland throughout Europe and Asia, and is perfect if you are looking for something to forage. Note: please ensure that when you forage in the wild you are doing so within the confines of the law and always bearing in mind the responsible foraging guidelines set out by The Woodland Trust.
Ever since I was a young girl I have wanted to try a recipe using wild garlic, and so when I found a section of our local woodland blanketed in the smooth green leaves, I grabbed a bag and went foraging. When foraging wild garlic it is important to take leaves from different patches, don’t leave one patch bare. Do NOT pull up the bulbs of the plant, this is illegal, instead just break the leaves off at the base of their stem.
Once you have foraged a good amount of wild garlic, the picture on the right came to about 300g, it is important you wash it thoroughly, particularly if your garlic grows along a popular dog walking path! I ran the leaves under the cold tap until all traces of dirt were gone. Then I piled the leaves on a kitchen towel, placed another towel on top and let the leaves sit to dry. You may need to change the towels and dab the leaves with some kitchen roll as they can hold quite a bit of water.
Ingredients
300g wild garlic
75-100g parmesan
2 finely chopped garlic cloves
Juice of 1 lemon
100g toasted pine nuts
300ml rapeseed oil
Salt to taste
Method
Once the leaves are dry, don’t worry if they are ever so slightly damp, place them in a large food processor with a squeeze of lemon juice and whizz until they look finely chopped.
Add in the rapeseed oil and blend until combined.
Squeeze in the rest of the lemon juice, the parmesan, the garlic and the pine nuts. Blend the mixture together, scraping the sides of the bowl with a rubber spatula every now and then, until the desired consistency is reached.
Taste your pesto and add salt, lemon juice or oil as needed.
Once you are happy with your pesto spoon it into glass jars and drizzle a little olive oil over the top.
It can then be frozen straight away or kept in the fridge for up to two weeks.
Tips
I find the pesto made with only wild garlic quite intense. If I made this again I would probably add in 150g of basil leaves for every 150g of wild garlic. On the other hand my husband loved this recipe and doesn’t want it to change!
If you do find the taste too intense try mixing in a little crème fraîche or soured cream into the pesto before you add it to pasta.
The more parmesan you have the drier your pesto will be. I used 100g of parmesan in my recipe and it was drier than expected. Although delicious I would probably use 75-80g next time for a smoother consistency. Don’t forget you can always add but you can’t take away.
Happy Lifestyle Happy Living 