Big Little Bestsellers

And can they make a seamless transition to our TV screens?

I discovered Liane Moriarty (what a splendid surname for a writer of murder – well, sort of – mysteries to have, by the way) rather late in the day. Somehow, her major breakthrough novel, The Husband’s Secret, passed me by when it released in 2013. It was only after I read her 2014 book, Big Little Lies, that I was intrigued enough to go back and see what else she had written. Suffice to say, I was not disappointed. And then, last year Moriarty released her latest novel, Truly Madly Guilty (yes, she is rather prolific that way) and I was well and truly hooked. And like most newly-converted people, I went around recommending her to all my friends and acquaintances (“Yes, yes, I know, you’ve never heard of her; but believe me, she’s fantastic!”).

Well, it now turns out that Liane Moriarty will no longer be such a tough sell in these parts. And that’s because Little Big Lies, far and away her best book so far, has been made into a television series starring such A-list stars as Nicole Kidman and Reese Witherspoon, with a cast that includes Shailene Woodley, Laura Dern, Alexander Skarsgard and Zoe Kravtiz, and is playing on a TV screen right in your living room every week.

Of course, it’s much more fun to watch if you haven’t read the book – and don’t worry, this piece contains no spoilers at all. But even those of us who know how it all ends, can’t help but get caught up with the twists and turns of the plot. And it doesn’t hurt that both Witherspoon and Kidman are rather easy on the eye, as are all the lush shots of rolling beaches, with their full complement of sun, sea and surf.

So, how does the TV series compare with the book? Well, I was prepared to be all sniffy about it, but as it turns out, the TV version captures the novel rather well, with its mixture of domestic drama, dark comedy, schoolyard (yes, I kid you not!) politics, sexual tension and, of course, suspense thriller. There is a murder at the heart of it, but that’s just the hook on which to hang a great story on. And the story survives the transition to a different medium rather well.

As I watched the latest episode this week, I started to wonder which other book had made the transition to TV series quite so successfully. And here, just off the top of my head, is my entirely subjective list of the top three:

Pride and Prejudice: The BBC adaptation of the Jane Austen novel aired more than 20 years ago, with Colin Firth playing Mr Darcy to Jennifer Ehle’s Elizabeth Bennet. But even two decades on, the show lives on in our collective memory thanks to that one scene of Firth emerging from a lake in a wet white shirt and bumping into Elizabeth. It is a tribute to Andrew Davies, who wrote the screenplay, that even though this scene never occurs in Austen’s book, it has become a seminal moment in popular culture.

But leaving wet shirts aside for a moment, this was a show that captured the intelligence and spark of Elizabeth Bennet, the constrained lives of women of that era, and raised an elegant brow at the snobbery and elitism that prevailed in the England of that day. Quite brilliant.

Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy: Anyone who has seen the TV series that came out in 1979 (do get a box set if you haven’t) will remember this because of Sir Alec Guinness’ star turn as legendary spymaster, George Smiley, who is brought out of retirement to hunt for a mole buried deep into the heart of the British secret services. Guinness was brilliant in this adaptation of John Le Carre’s novel of the same name, so much so that the author admitted that, “If I were to keep one filmed version of my work, this would be it.”

And it is easy to understand why. The plot unravels with the same stately pace that Le Carre brings to his own writing. Each character is fleshed out into three dimensions. The mechanics of spycraft are brought to light in intricate detail. And then, there is the quiet but unmistakable presence of Guinness’ Smiley, all repressed passion and suppressed feelings. An absolute masterpiece.

Game of Thrones: My chronology is a little off when it comes to the Game of Thrones books by George RR Martin. I was introduced to him by the first two seasons of the TV show, which I binge-watched while on vacation. Appetite appropriately whetted, I came back home to download all his books and devoured all five of them in one greedy gulp. So, when season three launched, I was prepared to be disappointed. After all, I knew what was going to happen, so how much fun could it be? Short answer: a lot!

The TV series brought the fantasy to life with such panache that it mattered little that I knew how things were going to turn out. I knew what was coming in the Red Wedding, how the dragons would save the fireproof Daenerys Targaryen, and how Arya Stark would hit rock-bottom. But seeing it on screen still brought a fresh thrill. It helped, of course, that as the series moved along, Martin and the screenplay writers shook things up by varying the endings of various storylines, to give us smug readers a bit of a jolt.

Stronger than fiction

There’s something to celebrate in each fully-formed, three-dimensional female character in our favourite books

As season five of Game of Thrones debuted on television, I decided to go on a refresher course of sorts. That is, I began to read the Game of Thrones books (yes, all five of them!) in order. The first time around, I had virtually galloped through them, racing to the end, so that I could find out what happened next, and next, and next. This time around, because I already know what lies ahead, I am lingering on every page, giving myself a chance to savour the incredible skill of George R.R. Martin as a storyteller.

And what a storyteller he is! The plot twists and turns in ways you could scarce imagine, aided by the fact that Martin is not afraid of killing off some of our favourite characters. As the immortal line goes: Valar Morghulis (All men must die).

But what I like best about Martin is that he has given us some of the strongest female characters I have ever met in fiction. You may well carp and moan about the excessive sexual violence and the ‘objectification’ of women, but I am loath to impose modern standards of feminism and gender justice on a fantasy set in what most closely resembles medieval times. 

I would much rather rejoice in the strength and complexity of the women in Game of Thrones. They are smart, they are cunning, they are brave, they are good, they are evil, they take no prisoners (except, of course, when they do), and they stand up for themselves in a hostile and frightening world. 

There is no easy black-and-white study here, every character is delineated in shades of grey. Lady Catelyn Stark may be earth mother to her children but is the stepmother from hell, who cannot bear to even lay eyes on Jon Snow, her husband Eddard Stark’s bastard. Cersei may be an adulterous, incestuous, harpy with an alcohol problem but there is no doubting her unconditional love for her children (yes, even the monstrous Prince Joffrey). Sansa Stark may have lost her moral moorings momentarily in her infatuation for Joffrey but she recovers to show true courage and quiet grit in surviving in a court full of intrigue and malevolence.

As I read my way through the books, though, I began thinking back to the other delightful female characters I had encountered in fiction, those women/girls who had shared my growing-up years, who had served as role models, life lessons, even witty companions as I negotiated my journey from child to teenager to adult. So, here is no particular order of importance is my top five list of my favourite fictional characters.

• Arya Stark: This was a close-run thing, because with Daenerys Targaryen, mother of dragons, in the mix, it is tough choosing any one single character from Game of Thrones. But in the end, Arya made the cut, because of her indomitable spirit, her soaring courage, her refusal to stay within the confines of gender stereotypes, her water dancing, and of course, her proficiency with her tiny little sword called Needle. When it comes to dealing with life’s villains, “Stick them with the pointy end” is a philosophy I can get fully on board with.
• Scout Finch: She begins the book at five years and is only eight when it ends, but the entire story of To Kill A Mockingbird is told from her perspective. The view of the adult universe as seen from a child’s eyes brings with it a particular poignancy, as we see her struggling to understand how the world works and trying to cope with her dread of the unknown, as symbolized by the mysterious Boo Radley. If life is all about confronting one’s demons, then Scout Finch could teach us all a lesson or two.
• Elizabeth Bennet: Intelligent, spirited, lively, Elizabeth is a young lady who is convinced of her own worth. And such is her self-esteem that even the pompous Mr Darcy, with his obsession with class and station, can’t destroy it. In the modern world, I am sure that Liz would go on to have a fabulous career as a writer, make her own fortune, and live happily ever after alone. In Austen’s world, she has to make a good marriage, but she manages to do so on her own terms. And in that era, that was victory enough.
• The Grand Sophy: The heroine of Georgette Heyer’s eponymous Regency novel, Sophy is a woman to gladden every feminist heart. She rides a horse better than any man, she thinks nothing of confronting an evil money-lender with a lethal little pistol, she handles her own finances, she match-makes like the best of interfering mamas, and she does all this looking like an Amazonian vision. And best of all, she brings her young cousins the greatest present of all: a monkey called Jacko to grace their nursery. How can you not love her?
• Barbara Havers: The working-class detective in Elizabeth George’s novels, Havers is prickly, defensive, angry, and very conflicted. She is torn between the demands of her career and caring for her aged mother who is suffering from Alzheimer disease; between her class hatred of her boss, Thomas Lynley (also the Earl of Ashteron), and her recognition of his innate decency. But somehow, despite her chaotic private life, her disastrous eating habits, her very questionable fashion sense, and her hostility to all authority figures, Havers manages to make that detection gig work quite brilliantly. Full marks for that.

Murder, she wrote

The spirit of Agatha Christie lives on…in a new Hercule Poirot book by Sophie Hannah

It probably marks me out as irredeemably middle-brow, but I am a complete and utter devotee of Agatha Christie. The queen of the intricately-plotted murder mystery, Christie is a past mistress of setting the scene just so, littering the story with red herrings, before pulling together all the clues (and false clues) together in a denouement that I never ever saw coming. I read my first Christie when I was still at school, and ever since, I pull out her books every couple of years or so to re-read them, just so that I can experience once again the thrill that I felt when I first came upon them. And Christie, bless her dear departed soul, never disappoints.

Of the two staples of her fiction, I always preferred Hercule Poirot, the quirky, eccentric, French-expostulating, terrifying bright, and brilliantly (or should that be Brilliantined?) moustachioed Belgian detective, to the English spinster, Miss Marple, whose inquisitive disposition and propensity to meddle made me feel positively squeamish on occasion. So, you can imagine my delight when I read that Hercule Poirot was being brought back to life by the Christie estate, with his new adventure being assigned to the British writer, Sophie Hannah, who is quite the dab hand at writing psychological crime thrillers.

I have been a fan of Hannah as well, though she doesn’t inspire the same devotion as Christie, but I wasn’t quite sure if she could bring the spirit of Christie and the personality of Poirot come alive once again on paper. Well, I have just finished reading The Monogram Murders (as it always is with every ‘Agatha Christie’, in one greedy gulp) and I am happy to report that, for the most part, Hannah succeeds very well indeed.

The turning-and-twisting plot is worthy of Christie herself, the portrayal of Hercule Poirot is dead-on (is it just me who can never read the name without conjuring up the image of David Suchet in my head?), and Hannah – a big Christie fan herself – does a splendid job of conjuring up the atmosphere of England between the two wars, a society in flux in which the old moral certainties are fraying rapidly. Where she fails is in replicating the classic simplicity of a Christie whodunit. The devices are all intact but the plot is much too convoluted and the denouement stretches credulity a tad. That said, I was glad to have read the book and sad when it finished – which is sometimes all you can ask of a novel.

But would the story have worked just as well if the detective had been an Italian called Gianni Pirelli? And if the only author credited was Sophie Hannah? Yes, it would. And perhaps it would have worked better because the reader wouldn’t constantly be referencing Agatha Christie in his or her head.

Which brings me to this week’s question: does it make sense to rework old classics by having them reinvented by new authors? Or should we leave them well alone?

Speaking for myself, I always believed that classics were best left well alone. If you needed to tell a story, why not do it with through characters that you had dreamed up? Why cannibalize those that had their birth in other people’s imaginations?

What made me change my mind was P.D. James’s homage to Pride and Prejudice, a murder mystery called Death Comes to Pemberley. This opens six years after the protagonists of Jane Austen’s magnum opus, Elizabeth Bennet and Fitzwilliam Darcy, have married and settled down to blissful matrimony in their sprawling Derbyshire estate, Pemberley. They are all set to host the autumn ball when an ugly, violent death intrudes upon their perfect ordered world.

Like all P.D. James’s suspense thrillers, this one was immaculately crafted as well, but what brought particular pleasure to an Austen fan like me was the glimpse into the married life of Mr and Mrs Darcy, now the proud parents of two young boys. For all of us who wonder what happens after the happily ever after, this was a big bonus, indeed.

For some reason, of all of Austen’s novels, Pride and Prejudice is the one that exercises the maximum hold on our hearts. But even so, it took particular guts and an amazing leap of imagination for Jo Baker to write Longbourn, the book that tells us the story of the servants who served the Bennet household. And it worked because Baker didn’t just indulge in Upstairs-Downstairs conceit, but instead fleshed out the staff as living, breathing characters with stories of their own (though I still haven’t forgiven her for the needless calumny heaped on poor, old Mr Bennet – no sorry, I’m not telling, you’ll just have to find out for yourself!)   

But while these may be triumphs of imagination over hope, do all such recastings of old classics work? I have never been a fan of Ian Fleming – or James Bond, for that matter – but those who love the spy with a license to kill tell me that William Boyd’s recreation of James Bond is immeasurably superior to that of Jeffrey Deaver’s.

For my part, I have just discovered Jill Paton Walsh’s resurrection of those legendary characters of detective fiction, Lord Peter Wimsey (later the Duke of Denver) and Harriet Vane, created by the inimitable Dorothy L Sayers. And I have a horrid suspicion that they are going to keep terribly busy in the foreseeable future.