Customer Reviews

Corduroy Mansions: A Novel

5 star:		(24)
4 star:		(13)
3 star:		(10)
2 star:		(5)
1 star:		(2)

 

 

Whenever I tried on Wikipedia to say that Alexander McCall Smith was the Dickens of the 21st century, some officious editor would complain and say that McCall Smith is no Dickens. Well, in a way that is true: CORDUROY MANSIONS is far more fun to read and not even remotely depressing, which Dickens can often be.

And even the most fastidious Wiki editor had to admit that McCall Smith has revived the serial novel, the form that Dickens made so famous in the 19th century. First we had the magnificent series set in Edinburgh (44 Scotland Street) and now we have the equally wonderful and totally enjoyable CORDUROY MANSIONS.

The characters are as brilliantly drawn as always and are just as funny, poignant, thoughtful and superbly observed as ever. We have got to know a lot of wonderful new people through the serialization in the Daily Telegraph and now we have it in permanent book form.

(And some of the characters are real people, as at least one chapter shows....)

One final thing: ALL McCall Smith's novels are as good as each other: this really ought to have the same sales as the No.1 Ladies Detective Agency series, as it is every bit as enjoyable and fun to read.

I will be buying several copies of this and giving them to friends - why not do the same? Summer is coming, and this is the ideal summer present to have as holiday reading.

Christopher Catherwood (author of WINSTON CHURCHILL: THE FLAWED GENIUS OF WORLD WAR II)

What I relished in the 44 Scotland Street series of 'serial novels' published by Alexander McCall Smith was the uniqueness and quirkiness of his characters and the gentle pace of the narration, where life simply happens, the way most of us experience it in fact (as opposed to the frenetic pace of thrillers or the intense drama of romantic novels.) But after four or five volumes of that series, the formula had already begun to wear thin. Ultimately, I like anything I read -- fiction or fiction -- to have some kind of point (the eggheads refer to it as a narrative arc) and there simply isn't one here. It's not impossible to achieve this in a serial novel (after all, Dickens managed it with aplomb), but McCall Smith is flagging.

This book simply transplants the 44 Scotland Street formula to the streets of London; specifically a particular street in Pimlico, where stands a house transformed into a block of flats that is known to one and all as Corduroy mansions. Anyone who has already read McCall Smith's other serial novels (which I expect will be 95% of the potential readers for this book) knows what happens: the building's various inhabitants interact with each other and with those outside its walls. (For instance, one of the girls sharing one of the flats is the personal assistant to the only nasty Liberal Democrat member of Parliament, rejoicing in the name of Oedipus Snark; one subplot involves what happens to Oedipus's mother and her brother, who rejoices in the name of Terence Moongrove; another follows his girlfriend, Barbara Ragg, after their breakup.)

But the plotlines stutter along at best, leaving the reader dangling. For instance, we learn that Barbara's new lover has a traumatic event in his past -- he tells her half of the story but the book ends without the other half, while Oedipus's mother discusses the nature of her literary plans but that's about it. Ultimately the number of loose ends of that kind, combined with the frequent digressions (one of Barbara's co-workers is discussing a real plot-related element with his wife, and suddenly the two start pondering the nature of crimes against others and forgiveness -- "Mr. Blair said sorry to Ireland, but he was the first British leader to find it possible to do that") become increasingly irritating. The philosophical musings that work in McCall Smith's series of serial-style novels featuring Isabel Dalhousie work because the nature of her profession is philosophy; these lofty internal monologues and ramblings don't work, particularly when the extend for pages on end.

I've rated this 3.5 stars, because McCall Smith has an eye for a goofy character and because I think it's great to have this approach to storytelling still around. (He's also, at heart, a good writer with an ear for dialogue.) But while writing about Botswana in this manner can work for readers simply because most of us aren't familiar with daily life there (see his Number One Ladies Detective Agency series), the same isn't true of writing about daily life in London. His characters have begun to feel precious and neither they or their various predicaments felt real to me; when that happens, I don't care about what happens to them or the story as a whole. I began the book with hopes that by shifting his geographic focus, McCall Smith had rediscovered his storytelling prowess, but within the first few dozen pages, hope was the only thing that kept me turning the pages. When feel relief rather than sadness on finishing a book, I know that it's at best a three-star read.

Recommended only for the author's die-hard fans. After this one, I'll be getting his books in paperback or from the library.

Corduroy Mansions appears to be the start of a new London-based serial story, similar to McCall Smith's 44 Scotland Street series (based in Edinborough).

Once again we are introduced to a group of interesting characters who live in the various households of the building and their loves and lives both within and beyond the building. Well, sort of. Some of the residents get very little attention and remain very shadowy characters in the book. Some get better fleshed out, but really much of the book is devoted to the loves and lives of people who don't have any connection to Corduroy Mansions.

Much of the book is actually about the remarkably named Liberal Democrat MP Oedipus Snark (whose personal assistant lives at Corduroy Masions so there is some conection) along with Snark's mother, Snark's uncle, Snark's girlfiend and Snark's ex-girlfriend's new boyfriend, whose connection to Corduroy Masions is quite unclear. Perhaps in subsequent books these characters will become more enmeshed into the world of Corduroy Masions, but at the moment, it feels almost like two novels in the one book - "Corduroy Mansions" and "The Relatives and Friends Of Oedipus Snark".

If you are already an Alexander McCall fan, by all means read this book. If you are new to Alexander McCall fan, try 44 Scotland Street first and wait and see if this new Corduroy Mansions series develops better than it started.

This is the first book that I have read by Alexander McCall Smith. I realize that I have been missing a lot! This novel is set in a London residential section and a building complex called Corduroy Mansions. What makes this such a great read is that the characters are all a little crazy, even down to the vegatarian dog. The dog enters the scene when William, the wine merchant, wants to get his adult (do-nothing) son out of his appartment at the Mansions. His son does not seem to take any hints about leaving, those obtuse or in-your-face. The idea is that since the son has a dog phobia, getting the dog will make his son leave the apartment - but that plan backfires and he moves on to other plans (which also do not work out quite as he expects). Thus the joy in reading the book. Looking into the lives of these eccentric people. I love the part where one of the characters has a "near death" experience by charging his car's battery with bare wires and does not realize he needs a battery charger for the task.

It is just one crazy event after another, told in that charming rather droll way that some Europeans have. I can't wait for the next installment of this series and I will certainly be hunting for the other series of books from this author.

As usual, I was in my normal state when reading this work; a day late, and a dollar short. This is my first Alexander McCall Smith read. This I suppose could be a bad thing, or a good thing, depending on how you look at it. In my particular opinion it was truly a good thing. I was not weighed down with excess baggage or preconceived opinions as to this author's work, had nothing to compare it with, had no expectations; in short, I simply enjoyed every page of this novel! It was a very pleasing read; very entertaining.

The story passes around and in anchored by a group of very quirky people living in a crumbling mansion area in London's Pilico neighborhood. This cast of characters included one very bright dog, a dog that was a trained sinner dog that lost his job due to the fact that the authorities found he was male and due to the fact that there were more male dogs employed than female dogs, adjustments had to be made; equal opportunity, you know. (For me, reading of this dog was one of the best parts of the book...smart, smart dog!)

The story follows the little ups and down of various individual living in this area and individuals connected to these characters. I felt, for a new series and limited pages space, that the characters were quite well developed. Unlike many readers, I do not particularly have to like the characters, nor do I have to feel sympathetic toward them to enjoy the work. The author has set this group of people up quite well for future works.

Smith is a warm and personal writer and this trait shines through in the people who inhabit his work. These are quite ordinary individuals, viewed through their thoughts, as well as their actions. You could almost view this work as a series of Seinfeld episodes as many of the intertwined stories here are really about nothing; they are just charming tales. I could not help agreeing with another reviewer here in that there is a shade of Charles Dickens here, yet I too enjoyed reading these wonderful mini-characters sketches without the horrid depression that the work of Dickson often brings me.

I was very favorably impressed with this work enjoyed it, felt it was well written, and will certainly be reading more of this author's work.

Don Blankenship

The Ozarks

Alexander McCall Smith is one of my favorite writers, but unfortunately "Corduroy Mansions" is not a winner. Set largely in London, it seems to be far too much like the "44 Scotland Street" series but without the charm of Edinburgh. Indeed, there is so very little sense of place that the London scenes might often just as well be set in Boston.

Here he recycles tropes from other works (in addition to the small apartment-house setting, as with "44 Scotland Street," there are the shoes that speak to their owner, as in "The No. 1 Ladies' Detective Agency" novels, and the older woman/younger man combination, as in the Isabel Dalhousie series). This struck me as cheating. Of course, writing a serial novel must be very difficult, but McCall Smith is such a talented writer that this sort of thing suggests a certain of lack of imagination, something I never would have thought he could be accused of.

The characters are rarely engaging (except for the dog, and I like Cyril better) and often far too unbelievable. There is an MP who is so totally odious that one wonders how he managed to have both a girlfriend and a mother who are fairly likable, and there is a man who seems industrious, meek, and inoffensive but whose son appears quite lazy, cruel, and nasty. Yes, that could happen, but to be credible it would require more character development than can be done in a work like this.

All in all, not worth more than three stars.

I really enjoyed this book! It has the same style that makes his books so enjoyable. I really like the 44 Scotland Street Series, which this book is similar but based in London. I love how McCall Smith can paint pictures of peoples souls with his words and show human weakness and triumph in such a way that you feel good after reading his books.

In London, several eccentric people reside at Corduroy Mansions. Wine merchant and connoisseur William wants his twentyish year old son Eddie to move out, but a nuclear bomb is not going to budge his offspring. He gets Freddie the vegan canine whose prime mission is to propel Eddie to move in with people his age. Restaurateur Marcia wants Eddie out of the house also so then she can make a move on empty nester William.

Another occupant Dee works at a vitamin store where she tries to help a peer who she feels needs to cleans his system of excess salt. Her flat-mate Jenny earns a difficult living working for detestable MP Oedipus Snark, who treats his employee like a low form of dog excrement. Snark's mom Berthea is writing the definitive biography of her son while her agent Barbara wants to become Mrs. MP.

As the walls crumble around the quirky residents, their squabbles make for an enjoyable slice of London life. Low keyed and not for everyone, fans of the author will enjoy the jocularity of everyday people interrelating in a dysfunctional manner as Corduroy Mansions is sort of like an aging supercollider with the people living there as the subatomic particles being sliced and diced. More like Alexander McCall Smith's 44 Scotland Street books, than his No. 1 Ladies' Detective Agency, this is a fun look at the foibles of human interactions.

Harriet Klausner

If you love the Scotland Street series as I do, you will be highly pleased with this new series from an author who specializes in dissecting character and studying its humanity. Alexander McCall Smith takes the reader to Corduroy Mansions, a building of London flats filled with quirky residents seeking love and companionship.

Most entertaining of all is Freddie de la Hay, a Pimlico terrier who has been working as a bomb-sniffer at Heathrow. Because of a gender-bias lawsuit which found all the sniffers were male and half must be replaced with females, Freddie loses his job and finds himself adopted on a time-share basis by William, a middle-aged wine merchant residing in the top-floor flat at Corduroy Mansions. Raised as a dog for the twenty-first century, Freddie is a vegetarian who insists on wearing a seat-belt when traveling and eats Belgian shoes and valuable art work while relaxing at home.

William hopes Freddie will drive his lazy son Eddie to find another home, Marcia hopes William will marry her, and Basil just wants to be fashionable in a jaunty blazer and boater. Also sharing one of the flats are four young single women whom the author uses to advance such varied causes as colonic irrigation and getting one's best friend to change sexual preferences. There's also a despicable government official whose own mother is writing a scathing biography of the son she has no good feeling about and her somewhat-addled but Porsche-driving brother.

Will Eddie ever get into his Daddy's good graces? Will James change his sexual radar? Will Marcia redirect her matrimonial radar? Will Freddie de la Hay be rehired at Heathrow when it is discovered the presence of female dogs has led to less bomb sniffing and more puppy making? Stay tuned for the next sure-to-be-rollicking installment of this engaging series.

With gentle wit and a kindly eye, Alexander McCall Smith, best known for his novels about a female detective in Botswana, unveils a new cast of characters - British, this time around - in "Corduroy Mansions." Set in London, the warm, breezy tale explores the ups and downs of a varied lot of generally likable humans characters - and one eminently lovable pooch.

The residents of the Corduroy Mansions apartment building include William French, a widowed, middle-aged wine merchant saddled with a slacker of a son who refuses to move out; four young women, one of whom works for Oedipus Snark, an odious member of Parliament; and reclusive Sri Lankan transplant Basil Wickramsinghe, an accountant.

Into this mix bounds Freddie de la Hay, a Pimlico terrier that French takes in as a parttime boarder, to finally convince his dog-hating son Eddie to get his own place.

Freddie is no ordinary pooch. A vegetarian, he has been trained to wear a seat belt when he's riding in the car, and gets upset when people fail to buckle him up. He's almost as intriguing as the human denizens of Corduroy Mansions, albeit less talkative. (We're privy to his thoughts, but he does not speak.)

McCall Smith's whimsical sense of humor is on display here. We learn, for example, that Freddie lost his job in airport security because someone filed a gender-bias complaint after discovering that all of the sniffer dogs were male. And we're reminded that the best way to avoid unwanted small talk at a party is to wear "a discreet lapel badge" that says "please talk to me about salvation" or "no longer infectious."

While "Corduroy Mansions" bubbles over with camaraderie and good cheer, that's not to suggest that the characters are saccharine. Far from it. Snark, as his name implies, is a repulsive creature whose far-from-maternal mother is writing an unflattering biography of him because she can't stand him.

Although the plot chugs along in a comfortable, mug-of-tea-on-a-rainy-day style, there is action aplenty.

Two characters narrowly escape death. A third suddenly loses her job. Freddie de la Hay disappears. (Don't worry. It's only temporary.) A stolen painting is discovered. There's even a kidnapping. French does battle with his son as fine-art student Caroline tries to convert a friend into a boyfriend and the self-absorbed Snark manipulates everyone who is unfortunate enough to fall within his orbit.

Early on, I was struck by the fact that "Corduroy Mansions" reads as if it had been written to be serialized. In tone, it strongly resembles Armistead Maupin's Tales of the City novels, several of which were serialized in San Francisco newspapers, before being published in book form.

Only later did I learn that "Corduroy Mansions" did, in fact, debut in serialized form on the web site of the British newspaper, The Telegraph, in much the same way that Charles Dickens published some of his work sequentially in 19th-century magazines. A sequel, "The Dog Who Came in from the Cold", also was serialized at telegraph.co.uk.

And the resemblance to Maupin's work may not be entirely coincidental. McCall Smith initially serialized another novel, "44 Scotland Street," in The Scotsman newspaper back in 2004, after chatting with Maupin at a party in San Francisco.