In the dead of winter there’s nothing as comforting – and fun – as cooking hot tasty dishes. I always visit African restaurants whenever I’m in a city large enough to have them and this winter has been all about learning to prepare African food myself. Two cookbooks have been especially useful: The New Internationalist Food Book and Fresh Moroccan. The former contains recipes from Asia and Latin America as well as Africa. But the Zambian black-eyed pea stew is just wonderful. The Ethiopian peanut soup (shiro wot) has potential but you need to at least double the spices. I fear that, in too many cases, the authors of The New Internationalist Food Book think we in the west are deathly afraid of cumin and cayenne.

We actually used Fresh Moroccan for our Christmas dinner and it turned out to be the most delicious Christmas dinner I ever had. Moroccans liberally use interesting combinations of honey, oil, thyme, ginger, apple cider vinegar. . .the list goes on. These recipes produce extremely moist foods, irresistible if you like your chicken juicy like I do.

Best recipe: From Fresh Moroccan: Chicken in a marinade of aromatic spices, p. 67 (this also works well for trout).

Rating (out of five stars): Fresh Moroccan gets

Publisher: London: Hamlyn, 160 pp. with beautiful and inspiring photographs.

Rating (out of five stars): The New Internationalist Cookbook gets

Publisher: Oxford, U.K.: Second Story Press, 184 pp. with lots of interesting cultural information.

Because of this book I learned that Valentine's Day is so-called because the martyrdom of Valentine, an early Christian, coincided with the pagan spring festival of the goddess Juno. How interesting is that!

The stories of over 100 are briefly told here, according to the religious calendar. So we learn that St. Thomas More's feast day is June 22.

There is an emphasis on the early English saints and there were many. Etheldreda (depicted above) was a 7th century East Anglian princess, for example, who died of a large neck tumour, making her the patron saint of throat ailments. Lots of trivia here but there are good historical insights and fun folklore as well as some terrific drama.

Memorable Line: "For fear of incriminating her friends, Margaret refused to say anything. She was sentenced to death. . ."

Rating (out of five stars):

Publisher: Quercus, London, n.d., 204 pp.

Them Days magazine appeared on the scene in 1975, aiming to preserve Labrador’s unique, Aboriginal, and multi-cultural past. Visionaries like the recently deceased Doris Saunders, Them Days founder and a Cartwright native, saw how rapidly Labrador was changing. The World War II period ushered in the militarization of the Labrador economy, mass communications, large-scale transportation, etc. This was followed by Confederation between Newfoundland (the official name then) and Canada bringing in further changes in education as well as governments’ controversial relocation and resettlement programs.

But Them Days, a non-profit magazine that’s easy to hold in your hands, isn’t for economics or historians: it’s for Labradorians who want to tell their stories and for Labradorians and others who want to hear them. Between its soft covers you meet trappers like John Montague, Depresssion-era homemakers like Joanne Martin, Inuit fishermen like Douglas Jacque, Innu hunters like Joseph Nuna. There are also appearances by Moravian missionaries, ship’s doctors, archaeologists, and sailors. Most of their stories are told in their own words, as is.

The accompanying archival pictures are always striking and often astonishing. I’m now looking at the beautiful sight of Muskrat Falls, snapped by M.E. Scrivens, published in a 1976 issue. Every issue contains portraits of Labradorians and it’s especially fun when you have met them or know one of their relatives.

I prefer the stories that eschew dialect because it is often distracting and hard to read. Besides, it’s never posh people whose words get put in dialogue; why do it for regular folks?

Every special place in the world should have a magazine like this one.

Memorable Line: “No highway there led down the way they followed. No pavement smoothed the way beneath their feet. No signposts, roads or avenues they needed. They’d never walked upon a city street.” (From “Ode to Trappers” by Leslie Pardy of Cartwright)

Rating (out of five stars):

Publisher: Visit www.themdays.com for publishing and ordering information. Be sure to visit the photo gallery.

This book is a real gem of Labrador history. It's written by an Aboriginal woman of mixed ancestry, like the other seminal Labrador biographies, Elizabeth Goudie's Woman of Labrador (1973) and Lydia Campbell's Sketches of Labrador Life, serialized in the Evening Telegram in the late 1800s.

Born in Rigolet in 1915, Loder lived the traditional Labrador life, spending summers at Mulliauk near the coast and then moving inland to Burnt Place, Double Mer in winter to be nearer to the trapping grounds. Loder's account of her childhood is both detailed and fascinating and one of the best treatments of pre-Depression Labrador culture.

But Loder's destiny was a little different from that of those around her. She hungered for a more formal education and, after working as a maid at the hospital in Central Labrador, she went to the United States to study nursing. She returned home to nurse in Cartwright, Mary's Harbour, and Hopedale before moving south to St. John's.

Anyone who is interested in the culture and history of Aboriginal Labrador, or women's history, will enjoy this book. It's now out of print but in many Canadian libraries or can be obtained through the inter-library loan system.

Memorable Line: Reflecting non-materialistic Inuit values: "It never occurred to us that there were other people in the world who might think that we were poor."

Rating (out of five stars):

Publisher: New York: Harry Cuff Publications, St. John's, 1989, 125 pp. (includes historical photographs)

It was hard to miss the Terri Shiavo case a few years ago. From age 26, Terri was in a persistent vegetative state (PVS), brought on bulimia nervosa-induced cardiac arrest. This book is her husband Michael’s account of his struggle with Terri’s sad fate, his initial denial of her condition and finally his acceptance of it. It is also the story of his myriad court battles with Terri’s parents, Bob and Mary Schindler, who wanted Terri kept alive.

A public relations war raged around Terri, particular in the last years of her life. Shiavo provides compelling proof of Terri’s PVS, her complete inability to respond to any stimuli or survive without constant artificial assistance, e.g. the feeding tube in her stomach. Those who don’t wish to take Michael Shiavo’s word for it can read medical reports and the autopsy excerpt in the book. The opinions of learned neurologists were enough to convince judges at all levels repeatedly that this once-vibrant young woman was effectively brain-dead and ought to be allowed to die. In fact, the Schindlers never won a single case.

Like a lot of people, I’ve been through a ‘pulling the plug’ scenario in my family. The pendulum seems to have swung too far one way when we are so anti-death that “heroic measures” are adopted to this extent. The testimony of Father Murphy at Terri's first trial was fascinating and comforting -- and not what you would expect, given the loud right-wing religious extremists that camped outside Terri's hospice and claim to know what God really wants.

As I read, I was haunted by the knowledge that Terri was an intensely private person. She would have been horrified at the way she was paraded across TV screens that spring.

Although it is filtered through a co-author, Michael Schiavo's voice seems honest and true. After years of dedication to Terri, I hope that he is finding peace in his new life. Jeb Bush, as governor of Florida, abused his power, disregarded the courts and due process, and persecuted this man; I hope he never gets re-elected to any public office.

Rating (out of five stars):

Publisher: New York: Penguin, 2006, 360 pp. (counting appendices)

Jamie doesn’t have great luck. By age 20, she’s orphaned, debt-ridden, forced to quit college, and estranged from her only sister, her sole living relative. A surrogate motherhood opportunity can fetch $100,000; it seems like an offer too good to refuse.

Once pregnant, Jamie realizes that the elusive couple who have hired and practically imprisoned her have nothing but the worst intentions. Famous evangelists, they have close ties to the right-wing White House. They use these ties to the fullest extent when Jamie finally escapes, gives birth, and bonds with her new son, a baby she refuses to give up.

Then things get really suspenseful and sinister. Elements of this novel might have seemed fantastical ten years ago but the recent bugging of U.S. citizens by the state and other rights violations make them seem all too real.

Rating (out of five stars):

Publisher: New York: Simon and Shuster, 2006, 339 pp.

Whether you are vegan or not, this is a terrific cookbook. In fact, it is the best I've found in a long time. The recipes are generally nutritious but there is no way you can feel deprived devouring Lemon Yogurt Cake (I used plain yogurt instead of the soy yogurt recommended). Two friends asked me for this recipe when I brought it to a Christmas gathering.

Laura Matthias seems to have quite a sweet tooth and her dessert recipes are plentiful and strong. But there are many savoury dishes here as well. The soups — try Spinach Orange Yam Soup— are particularly yummy.

I borrowed this planet-friendly book from the library but have since ordered it on-line.

Rating (out of five stars):

Publisher: New Society Publishers, Garbiola Island, B.C., 2006, 268 pp.

Swiss tailor Corinne Hofman goes on a package holiday to Mombasa, Kenya with her boyfriend – and then falls in love with a Masai “warrior” called Lketinga. She pursues Lketinga and, over a few months, gives up her life in Switzerland and moves to her paramour’s isolated village.

She is madly in love, they marry--defying Kenyan bureaucracy and many naysayers--and have a daughter, Napirai.

Hofman makes no bones about it; she is completely captivated by her very own noble savage. There is no analysis here, just unadorned and sometimes cringe-inducing story-telling.

Yet life in rural Kenya is not easy and Hofman lived it for no less than three years. It’s hard to retrieve water and the remoteness of Barsaloi means constant hazardous six-hour trips to the nearest town. Reading about it actually makes you tired.

Ultimately there is a great irony in Hofman’s story. She attributes the inevitable break-up to cultural differences. But it seemed to me that insanely jealous and negligent husbands appear in every society. It wasn’t really the Masai way of life that made her flee (in fact, she seems endlessly adaptable); it was Lketinga’s deep personal flaws.

Memorable Line: “My sister doesn’t understand because I was always such an independent person. But she doesn’t know my husband.”

Rating (out of five stars):

Publisher: New York, HarperCollins, 2005 (English translation by Peter Millar)

I am no literary snob and have been intrigued by Diana, Princess of Wales ever since I accidentally encountered her when I was a student in London. I was biased against all things royal but Diana’s beauty quite literally took my breath away. She did indeed have an unmistakable aura, if you like. I’ve never seen her match since.

Anyway Paul Burrell was, as we all know, Diana’s sycophantic butler. He was apparently at her beck and call; no wonder those royals seem spoiled—they are!

This is a light read and very pro-Diana in an ongoing saga that encourages people to take sides. There are a few cute little stories and amusing digs at the haughty Queen Mother and at Diana’s “blood family”, the Spencers who appear not to have given a fig about the princess. And there is also the much-belaboured point that Dodi and Diana were not engaged (we believe you Paul!). But that’s about it.

Burrell claims this is the last book he’ll write on “the boss” but somehow I don’t quite believe him.

Memorable Line: I have no doubt that, come the end of August 1997, the boss and Hasnat (Dr. Khan) still loved each other. Who knows what would have happened had the boss returned from Paris?

Rating (out of five stars):

Scurvy tells a remarkable tale, as explained by the lengthy but useful subtitle. Scurvy—not battle or anything else—was the most dreaded and deadliest threat as European nations sent ships off to “discover” unknown lands and claim their bounty for themselves. The disease causes the body’s connective tissue to degenerate, resulting in the frightening and dangerous opening of old wounds. Death comes gradually and painfully. So many sailors died of scurvy that the British Admiralty stuffed twice as many as they needed into the hold of every ship, using press gangs and occasionally raiding hospitals and asylums.

The horrific path of scurvy on Commodore George Anson’s four-year voyage—only 200 of the original 2000 men survived—led to some serious research into the disease, led by James Lind. Not because the powers-that-be were concerned for human life, but because with so many men sick and dead, expensive naval vessels had to be abandoned. Clearly something had to be done.

Ironically, conventional wisdom through the 16th century held that citric acid prevented scurvy so ships were well-stocked with Mediterranean lemons. But that was eventually seen as an unnecessary high cost and the practice was done away with. Even more worrying, the medical knowledge that underlay the practice was completely forgotten.

Finally in 1795 physician Gilbert Blane persuaded the Admiralty to supply lemon juice to every sailor. Scurvy would no longer appear at seas but it did develop whenever people experienced Vitamin C deficiency, such as during the California gold rush.

This book is incredibly detailed, maybe a little too much at times, so reading it requires a certain amount and type of energy. But the story is so compelling—and the folly of all involved so frustrating—that it’s worth the effort. The research is most impressive. However, Bown is something of an apologist for Captain James Cook’s cruel actions in Hawaii and I found that off-putting.

Memorable Line: Although he was convinced of the value of oranges and lemons in combating scurvy, a new theory was on the ascendancy, and this one placed no stock in expensive citrus concentrates.

Rating (out of five stars):

Publisher: Thomas Allen Publishers, Toronto, 2003, 229 pp.

I didn’t think poet Mary Dalton (above) could top her last book, Merrybegot, but Red Ledger is just as good. It’s rich with Newfoundland imagery and speech. Irises are personified and crackies trade witticisms at the Ship Inn.

I love the way that Dalton distills complicated political issues into a few sharp lines. A striking poem called “A Litany to be Said by Newfoundlanders” is the best example of this. A mature and able poet, Dalton can educate and politicize through one short verse.

Memorable Line: “Its core the marsh: cauldron-dark heart.” (From “Sestina for Frogmarsh”)

Rating (out of five stars):

Publisher: Publisher: Montreal: Vehicule Press, 2006.

Reading this book will surely increase your blood pressure. Here it is in 69 short pages: the years-long illegal detentions at Guantanamo Bay and elsewhere; the leveling of Iraqi universities, mosques, and homes; the deaths of possibly 100,000 Iraqi civilians; and the blatant lies (WMD, anyone?) from Dubya and his toy poodle, Tony Blair.

LeCarre fluidly and brilliantly describes the “historical madness” into which the United States has descended. Brian Eno is spirited in his examination of the West’s indifference to democracy.

The real gem here, though, is Haifa Zangana’s account of daily life in Iraq under the occupation of unchecked American soldiers and their practice of collective punishment. In occupied Iraq, intellectuals get mysteriously picked off one after another; Zangana believes that there is a deliberate campaign to destroy her country’s intellectual life and capacity. In occupied Iraq, the most liberated women in the Middle East are driven indoors in fear. In occupied Iraq, children go hungry—even more than they did under the dreadful UN sanctions.

I would have liked to have heard more women’s voices—from the West or the East—on this vital issue.

But this worthy little volume is an urgent call to peace.

Memorable Line: From Zangana: (Since the invasion) acute malnutrition among children has doubled.

Rating (out of five stars):

Publisher: Verso, London, 2006, 69 pp.

It’s good to see a book from a smaller publisher on the GG short-list for English language fiction. But this one makes the reader work, at least if the reader is interested in the geometry-related gimmick upon which Glennon relies.

By coming up with stories that are related to each other like the sides of a dodecahedron (image above), Glennon set an ambitious task for himself. He is obviously very smart, but he is too clever for me. The connections between the stories are not always apparent and I’m not sure why the author wanted them. Glennon plays with or is influenced by many kinds of writing – academic writing, journalism, etc. – but I felt like I was always inside his head. The writer’s hand should not be this obtrusive. It’s not for nothing that Glennon is known as a “writer’s writer”.

This is not to say that his stories are without merit. “Why are there no penguins?”, the tale of a hallucinating sailor stranded on Arctic ice, was my favourite and really stayed with me. At first I found the writing cold (pun intended) and almost too stark. But I can see that this serves to convey the horror of the man’s situation as well as the futility of early polar exploration.

This is my last mini-review of the English fiction short-listed for the Governor-General's Literary Awards. The complete review can be read in Toronto's Catholic Register. By now, though, many readers will know that the prize was won by Peter Behrens. Congratulations to Peter.

Memorable Line: The boy isn’t really here. (From “Why are there no penguins?”)

Rating (out of five stars):

Publisher: Porcupine’s Quill, Erin, Ontario, 2005, 220 pp.

Bill Gaston’s short stories are crafted, very loosely, around the idea of gargoyles. But I’m not completely sure why such stunts are necessary: Shouldn’t a good story or a collection of short stories stand on it own?

Further, I don’t think Gaston needs gimmicks as he is perfectly capable of convincing writing; some of his writing is lovely and crisp. I was particularly taken with a character called Tyler, the wise child of a troubled mother.

But from my perspective there is too much writing for the author’s amusement in this collection. Focusing on language to the point where plot and character development is neglected seems to be in fashion, at least in Canada. I’m not convinced that works of this nature, such as Michael Ondaatje’s and Anne Michaels’, will be remembered in the long run. For the things that make a book last—including good writing—my bet is on Britain’s Kate Atkinson, Andrea Levy, Tony Parsons, Monica Ali, and Nick Hornby; Stateside’s Anita Diamant and Alice Sebold; and Canada’s own Miriam Toews, Joan Clark, Ed Riche, Bernice Morgan, Stephen Heighton, and Ann Marie McDonald.

Memorable Line:Tyler saw how he could fall to an easy hate of his mother’s boyfriend. (From “The Night Window”)

Rating (out of five stars):

Publisher: Anansi, Toronto, 2006, 251 pp.

The Fearsome Particles brings micro-worlds and macro-worlds together and in so doing provides insightful commentary on North American ambition – or the American dream as lived out in Southern Ontario – and far-away war. But Trevor Cole is not preachy; in fact, he is quite funny, which is, alas, not common in Canadian fiction.

This book, told from three points of view, is about control. Window-screen executive Gerald Woodlore needs to be in control. His luxury home-stager wife, Vicki, is the ultimate good girl/Martha Stewart combo, trapped in her need to deny everything she doesn’t want to see. The couple learns tough lessons when their son Kyle cannot finish his contract in Afghanistan and mysteriously returns home. As Trevor Cole has said in interviews, “. . .the thing you most want to control and protect, and the thing most likely to resist that control is a child”.

Cole has given us well-drawn memorable characters. Gerald is aware of his inadequacies as he tries to be a good father; he is real and human. Kyle is withdrawn and badly damaged but also sweet. His friendship with the cocky Legg is the emotional core of the story. Cole has done his research, too (which is something many other Canadian novelists, among them Wayne Johnston and Michael Winter, should do more of). The camp in Afghanistan is very well-drawn; it comes as no surprise that Cole spent time in Bosnia-Herzegovina and then talked to soldiers who’d been in Afghanistan.

Memorable Line: Every boy’s room in Vicki’s stagings offered the burnished life that Kyle or any boy should have wanted, a life of milk-white teeth and exercise, high spirits, and limitless possibility.

Rating (out of five stars):

Publisher: McClelland and Stewart, Toronto, 2006, 342 pp.

It’s 1847. Fergus, the product of an Irish tenant farm family, watches his siblings drop off one by one and then sees his childhood home burned down by the landlord. It’s the workhouse for young Fergus but he doesn’t stay there. This novel is Fergus’ odyssey, through Ireland, to Britain, and across the wicked Atlantic waves in a death ship to the New World. The Law of Dreams is a sprawling story, an adventure that has at least something in common with Edward Rutherford’s Irish epics, The Princes of Ireland and The Rebels of Ireland.

The immigrant ships land at Grosse Îsle near Montreal where the Irish are “dying like shad flies” that year. In some ways the book is a tribute to the quarantined and dead here and, like all settlement narratives, it is part myth-making. When an older man teases a younger one, “We’ll find you a pretty Blackfoot wife up the country”, I felt like I was reading one of dozens of settlement tales, mainly from south of the border. This far into our history, the romanticism is still there, the Indigenous people are still off-stage stick figures, and I think we are meant to assume that Fergus will do well on this side of the pond. Further, I’m not sure that Behrens says anything new about the Great Famine and its effects—though it’s no harm to keep bringing grave cases of injustice to the fore.

The book is nicely produced but, like so many publishers, Anansi should keep in mind that those of us over 40 have trouble with such small print.

Memorable Line:Cutting loose the old, the everything. The country of the waves now, green and wild. (Behrens has a penchant for sentence fragments.)

Rating (out of five stars):

Publisher:Anansi, Toronto, 2006, 394 pp.

For the next five weeks I will be reviewing the five English language novels short-listed for Canada's Governor-General's Literary Awards. I'm writing a mega-review of these books for the arts section of the Catholic Register, a Toronto newspaper, and thought I might share some of my thoughts here.

De Niro’s Game is Rawi Hage’s first novel and it is written in his third language, Arabic and French coming before English. That is no mean feat and it helps to explain the clear flow of the writing. Hage is not playing with words here, amusing himself as so many post-modern lyrical writers do. Happily for us, he is telling a story.

His book is a bit unusual in that there is little of the redemption for which readers often thirst. But that, I think, is part of Hage’s simple point: that war damages and destroys people. Bassam wants to leave war-torn Beirut behind him and will do anything to do so. His mafioso friend George wants to remain. After all, “Thugs never wait in line.” The absence of sympathetic characters in any novel, however, can turn reading into a chore, if not a punishment. Thankfully, Hage’s fluid writing style prevents this.

De Niro’s Game (named after the Russian roulette scene in The Deerhunter) is brave, too, in that Hage doesn’t shy away from the 1982 massacre of Palestinian refugees by Christian militia men. This is a bleak world of AK-47s, spies, and secret identities. Hage frequently reminds us that war is big and dominant; he writes of ten thousand cigarettes, ten thousand needles penetrating a woman’s arm, and ten thousands bombs “splitting the wind”.

Memorable Line:War is for thugs.

Rating (out of five stars):

Publisher:Anansi, Toronto, 2006, 273 pp.

Isak Dinesen was the pen name of Danish author Baroness Karen Blixen (pictured above) who famously managed a coffee plantation in Africa.

Anecdotes contains five stories including “Babette’s Feast”, which was made into a gorgeous and stirring movie in 1987. “Babette’s Feast” is a beautiful story. “The Ring”, about the teenage bride of a squire and a transformative experience she undergoes, is a striking tale.

Blixen’s prose, in translation, of course, is simple and sturdy. Her characters, notably the repentant General Lorens Loewenhielm and the colourful Achille Papin of “Babette’s Feast” and Lise of “The Ring” are memorable.

Memorable Line:“With this lost ring she had wedded herself to something.” (From "The Ring")

Rating (out of five stars):

Publisher:Penguin, London, 1988, 244 pp.

Normally I find Chomsky’s prose dense, turgid even, and, well, too much for me. So I like this quite readable format consisting of interviews with David Barsamian. Here Chomsky is articulate, blunt, and lively.

Through these conversations, Chomsky explains how the United States, seeking to control Middle Eastern oil, attacked Iraq because it appeared easy, because they could. After years of sanctions, Iraq was no threat to anyone—Kuwait wasn’t even worried about Saddam. But Iraq made an easy post-911 scapegoat and allowed the U.S. public, wool completely covering their eyes, to be whipped into an even more fearful state. Might means right and we’re gonna do what we want and take what we want—that’s what the invasion of Iraq was all about.

Nothing is sacred here: not cuddly elder statesman Jimmy Carter, and thankfully not crypto-Republican Michael Ignatieff.

Baffled at Western apathy, Chomsky calls and hopes for an anti-war movement like that of the 1960s, which did ultimately help to end the Viet Nam war. Chomsky believes in democracy. He’s an Elder now so that’s very refreshing and a sign of hope.

Memorable Line:(Of Falluja and other places) That’s universally called genocide when Serbs do it. When we do it, it’s liberation.

Rating (out of five stars):

Publisher:Metropolitan Books, New York, 2005, 220 pp.

Ever notice how many poetry anthologies include only a few women? This book is a joy because it so beautifully redresses the balance.

My favourite is “The Lament for Art O’Leary”, excerpts of which are published here in Irish as well as English (thankfully). A cousin of Daniel O’Connell, Eibhlin Dhubh Ni Chonaill, born in 1743, wrote the lament after her husband’s riderless mare brought her to his dead body. The O’Learys had been brutalized by the penal laws which, in a round-about way, caused Art his life.

Eibhlin wrote of their life together:

“You whitened a parlour for me, Painted rooms for me, Reddened ovens for me, Baked fine bread for me, Basted meat for me, Slaughtered beasts for me; I slept in ducks’ feathers, Till midday milking-time, Or more if it pleased me.”

Many anthologies that claim to reach back into time contain only a token entry or two from the earlier centuries. But Kelly’s includes 20-odd poems that came before the 1900s. Short, interesting biographical notes on each poet are provided, as is a 15-page introduction that focuses on the challenges faced by women poets, especially in Ireland.

As I said, this book is a joy!—whether you’re Irish or not (I am part Irish, by the way, with Mi’kmaw and English ancestry and God knows what else as well).

Memorable Line:From “At the Sunset” by Margaret Mary Ryan, c. 1855-1915: Will you weep for me, should you learn to grieve?

Rating (out of five stars):

Publisher:Wolfhound, Dublin, 1987, 168 pp. (includes index).

Sarah, married to Henry Miles, a bloodless senior civil servant, and Maurice Bendrix, a cynical writer, have an affair in wartime London. The main narrator is Maurice who, despite being in love, cannot let go of his jealousy and wont toward cruelty. Sarah leaves him suddenly after a bomb lands on Maurice's house just after they have made love. She fails to explain her departure.

Maurice cannot live without her and we learn eventually that Sarah cannot live without him either. When it appears, Sarah's voice provides relief from Maurice's hard, hard edges. Her diary reveals all and it seems that perhaps the two will be reunited.

Maurice claims this is a record of hate but it is also one of love in all its irrational, beautiful, and messy permutations. Faith is an even larger theme in the story; The End of the Affair has been called one of Greene's "Catholic novels", a notion the author resented. Both Sarah's and Maurice's relationships with God are well-drawn. Greene skilfully and successfully turns a "sinner" into a "saint"—no mean trick, especially for the time in which he wrote this book.

But the story drags on toward the end or, perhaps more accurately, it should have ended earlier than it did. This is one of the few cases in which the film (the 1999 version) is stronger than the book. The Neil Jordan film starring Julianne Moore, Ralph Fiennes, and Stephen Rea is sharp, tight, and never loses momentum.

Incidentally Greene dedicated the English publication to C and the American publication to Catherine, lending credibility to the belief that the book was based on his affair with the married Lady Catherine Walston.

Memorable Line: "You're a devil, God, tempting us to leap."

Rating (out of five stars):

Publisher: Vintage, London, 2004 (first published in 1951), 160 pp.