I started drinking tea in 2008 having put off the habit for some time (23 solid years, to be exact). Being a young one, I was more interested in partying and living a hedonistic lifestyle than sipping at a cup of hot water with leaves in it. Of what possible interest could that be?
Right, my last three reviews have encompassed a lot of serious philosophising and whatnot. Charles Bukowski’s Post Office (1971) isn’t quite in the same league there, but what it does represent is a fine instalment in addiction, and down and out, literature, as well as something genuinely funny to read.
The former sprung forth through the likes of Thomas De Quincey in the 19th century, who candidly discussed his addiction to opium. The latter, down and out literature, I first came across when I read several of George Orwell’s works, which dealt with poverty and social and economic injustice – a sad situation which hasn’t advanced a great deal since Orwell’s day.
After the hedonism, madness, and squalor of the first two Moonshake Book reviews, this time out I’m having a detailed look at a delightful classic.
I first read My Family and Other Animals in the summer of 2005. University had ended for the second year and there were two months of peace and quiet before the onslaught of the third year began – I used this time to opportunistically cram in a few extra novels. Not as part of my English course (which, over three years, offered little of interest for me – Beowulf, anyone?), but more as a means to discover new writers.
Welcome to the wild, unhinged, mental, and quite brilliant world of Venedikt Yerofeyev’s Moscow Stations.
The Russian writer (whose surname is also written as Erofeyev, Yerofeev, and Erofeev – there seems to be a tremendous amount of confusion about this) penned it in 1969, but it was first published 20 years later as a warning to the population about heavy drinking.
For the first Moonshake Books post, I’m covering Down and Out in Paris and London by George Orwell. This was a vital text for me as I first read it when I was 17 and, emerging from childhood and teenage years reading Brian Jacques’ wonderful Redwall series, it introduced me to an exciting and grown-up literary world.