Born and raised in Boston, Towles worked as an investment professional for over 20 years before turning to writing full-time, which he now does from his base in Manhattan, where he lives with his wife and two children. His first book, Rules of Civility, traces exactly one year in the life of 25-year-old Katey Kontent as she navigates life in late-1930s New York armed with bracing wit and her own brand of cool nerve. His next book, A Gentleman in Moscow, is set in 1922 as unrepentant aristocrat Count Alexander Rostov is sentenced to house arrest at the Metropol, and there he must stay even as Russia’s history unfolds outside the hotel’s doors.
I have read both books multiple times since acquiring them, evinced by their well-worn covers and slightly collapsing spines. I was initially wracked with guilt for not using the downtime to expand my oeuvre, but as it turns out, re-reading books you love isn’t an unsurprising reaction to the pandemic. There is much solace to be found in tomes of which you know the ending — familiar plots and known emotional registers help stressed-out readers (present company included) avoid suspense and surprises.
Clearly, Towles has a type (as do I) as both his books are set in a defined period of the past — Katey in Depression-era New York, the Count in the suffocating years after the Bolshevik Revolution in Moscow. For anyone who loves history, especially when it is told through the lens of literature, Towles’ brand of storytelling is particularly compelling. Fiction and reality seamlessly dive into one another in both books, challenging the reader’s understanding (and recollection) of history. Plus, the man really writes quite beautifully.
Towles’ skill is also in creating lead characters readers can connect to. For example, Katey very quickly becomes someone I would have liked to be friends with, right from her fierce independence, dry wit and love of books. Told from the vantage point of an older woman, looking back to the year when everything went wrong — and sort of right — in her life, Katey finds love, watches it slip away and somehow gets hold of part of her future in a fascinating 12-month period. You can’t help but root for her as the book progresses, even though there is no doubting that she will find all she seeks, as she is too smart and tough not to.
Borrowing from Breakfast at Tiffany’s and a little of The Great Gatsby, the charm of Towles’ debut novel is not its originality, but the romance of jazz bands at 3am, gin martinis in fancy apartments and the slick glamour of 1930s New York. This is a flesh-and-blood story you can buy into completely, decked to the rafters with fabulous details of the period it is set in. It is a fun, glamorous, semi-literary tale worthy to be lost in, and I did — many times over.
If Katey was someone I wanted to forever be friends with, the Count is the handsome, fascinating gentleman that crashes my dinner table whose company I thoroughly enjoy, but at the same time, who I am also relieved to escape from at the end of the meal. Since Russia’s new Soviet masters have sentenced him to house arrest, the Count passes the decades making a whole world out of a hotel and the people in it — a precocious nine-year-old, a moody chef, the French maître d’ and so on.
In both books, the geographical setting is secondary to the story at hand. Katey would be just as likeable in London and the Count could have just as easily been locked up in a hotel in Paris. A Gentleman in Moscow is especially insular, since the protagonist is under house arrest, and one of the most heart-warming references to the outside world is the way he, the chef and the maitre d’ manage to find the ingredients for a bouillabaisse in war-ravaged Moscow — a process that takes three years. “With the very first spoonful, one finds oneself transported to the port of Marseille — where the streets teem with sailors, thieves and madonnas, with sunlight and summer, with languages and life,” Towles writes.
His writing style is elegant and urbane, blending simple turns of phrases with delightfully evocative prose. I am immediately transported to the time and place he describes, a part of the pictures he paints so evocatively of a young girl in New York and a banished Count in Moscow. Is a temporary escape from reality not the objective of a good book, a sign that the author has reached through another person’s existence, grasped her imagination and let her dreams soar, even momentarily?
Dirty laundry and a beloved bear
Hospital laundry is one of those things that pile up in a corner of the building, and the hordes who shuffle along sanitised corridors all day hardly pay it any heed. Blankets, sheets, children’s pyjamas and patients’ gowns stained with all sorts of fluids make Begoña M Rueda wonder who wore them and what has happened to those people.
Rueda works in the laundry room of the Punta de Europa hospital in the Spanish port city of Algeciras. Everything goes into the washers and dryers except for the shrouds used to wrap dead bodies. Her acute reflections on death, dying and the invisibility of workers like her are voiced in Servicio de lavandería (Laundry Service), a collection of poems that has won her the Hiperión prize and a book deal with the publishing house that sponsors the award.
The poet, who has seven books and various awards to her name, says in interviews that poetry has to make the working class visible. “At eight, people step on to their balconies to applaud / the labours of the doctors and the nurses / but few applaud the labours of the woman who sweeps and mops the hospital / or of those of us who wash the linen of the infected with our bare hands.”
One half of the book has poems written in the early days of the pandemic and she saw “coffin after coffin after coffin” in the morgue opposite the laundry. A truckload of soldiers arrives and disinfects the entire hospital but forgets to fumigate the laundry, “as if the linen washes itself”, Rueda tells The Guardian.
There are scents that linger, defying detergent and the passage of time. “There’s a humanity that clings to the sheets and sometimes you can’t wash that away,” she adds, after catching a trace of perfume while folding a pyjama top.
For 95 years come October, Winnie-the-Pooh has wandered from the Hundred Acre Wood into the homes and hearts of young readers everywhere. What they may not know is that author A A Milne first bought the toy bear from London department store Harrods in 1921 for his son, Christopher Robin.
A prequel of this beloved tale, authorised by the estates of Milne and E H Shepard, who did the original drawings for the Pooh books, is set for release in September. Children’s author Jane Riordan has written Winnie-the-Pooh: Once There Was a Bear following Milne’s style, with illustrator Mark Burgess emulating Shepard’s artwork.
There are two authorised sequels to Milne’s Winnie-the-Pooh, published in October 1926. They are Return to the Hundred Acre Wood (2009) and The Best Bear in All the World (2016). Riordan’s book will be the first prequel and she says in reports that she drew inspiration for it from Christopher Robin’s real life.
Once There Was a Bear has 10 stories, two of which sees Pooh exploring Harrods and visiting London zoo, a place Christopher often visited to meet Winnipeg, the Canadian black bear, Riordan tells The Guardian. Charmed by the creature, he renamed his toy Winnie. Readers will also get to meet other favourite characters such as Eeyore, Kanga, Piglet, Roo, Owl, Rabbit and Tigger.
Riordan has also written two standalone Pooh stories in Milne’s voice.
