Surprisingly, Rory and Ita is Roddy Doyle's first non-fiction book and recounts (largely in their own words) the tale of his parents' lives from their first memories to the present. Doyle is (as his publishers proudly claim) "Ireland's most famous living writer", and his storytelling acumen (matched with an impeccable knack for conveying with maximum vividness the day-to-day detail of his colourfully-drawn locales) has made his books essential reading for anyone interested in contemporary writing. He is, of course, very funny-and who says writing of real distinction should not have us laughing uproariously? Books such as The Snapper and The Commitments proved this beyond doubt. Rory and Ita is something new in his work-rarely have a writer's parents been brought to life in such vivid, tender detail-and rarely have two outwardly ordinary people had such fascinatingly offbeat, surprising lives. Born in 1923 and 1925 respectively, the couple have a total recall of every detail of their Dublin childhoods, their eccentric relatives and, crucially, the politics (both came from Republican families). Inevitably, some of Doyle's keenest followers may be wary of this departure from his customarily idiosyncratic novels (even the much-acclaimed A Star called Henry wrongfooted many readers with its marked departure from the areas we customarily associated with Doyle), but Rory and Ita is actually quite as entertaining as any of Doyle's fiction. His parents come across as remarkable talkers (his mother, in particular, has some very surprising tales to tell), and the book (with its rich and colourful portrait of a country caught between the backwardness of religious repression and the indomitable human spirit of its people) creates a picture of a very human and often very funny world that has now all but vanished. Doyle enthusiasts may hesitate-but they'd be wise to add this one to their libraries, as it has all the insight and humour of the author's best work. -Barry Forshaw.

Reading this biography of Mervyn Peake one is left with undiluted admiration for his seemingly boundless creativity. Best known for his Gormenghast trilogy, which has now been introduced to a wider audience with the BBC's all-star television adaptation, Peake made his name as a painter first, one of the outstanding talents of his generation, and was also prodigious in his output in other media, notably his poetry and wonderfully interpreted illustrations of classics such as Alice's Adventures in Wonderland and The Rime of the Ancient Mariner. G Peter Winnington, who has previously edited the Mervyn Peake Review and Peake Studies together with revised editions of the Gormenghast trilogy, is both a sympathetic and astute guide to the life and works of a remarkable talent. His considered appreciation offers much intriguing insight into the imagination of the man and the creative processes that brought forth such extraordinary creations, particularly Titus Groan, the first of the Gormenghast books. Peake comes across as a wonderful man-vivacious, considerate and humorous-as the book recounts his life from a childhood in China as the son of a missionary, through the development of his own distinctly idiosyncratic style on the Channel island of Sark to his years of marriage and fatherhood in London. In later life a degenerative illness prevented him from working and led eventually to a premature death, though the book doesn't dwell too long on this more tragic element which has been the focus of some previous accounts. This will be a fascinating read for fans of Peake's work and particularly for those who are interested in the act of artistic creation, but one feels that there may yet be a book to come that will more completely capture Peake's life and character, if, as seems likely, his reputation continues to grow. In part this is owing to the fact that Winnington has not been afforded permission to use all the material he would have liked to, but more noticeably, there are loose ends which leave the man shrouded in mystery, most notably when we are told, without any further comment, that there is little doubt he had at least one extramarital affair. Still, this is a fluent and highly readable book that is sure to enhance Peake's standing as one of the jewels of 20th-century British culture. -Alisdair Bowles.

Sir Frank Kermode's Shakespeare's Language is a deeply significant publication, the result of a lifetime of writing and thinking on the Bard by one of our greatest critics, and it certainly lives up to its expectations. Kermode's numerous critical studies, such as The Sense of an Ending, have become classics and his recent memoir Not Entitled vividly captured a life of letters, characterised by a passionate commitment to the value of literature. The author begins by lamenting the fact that general readers have not "been well served by modern critics, who on the whole seem to have little time for [Shakespeare's] language". However, rather than launching into a diatribe against current literary fashions, he proceeds to offer an elegant and detailed account of how "Shakespeare became, between 1594 and 1608, a different kind of poet". For Kermode, Shakespeare "moved up to a new level of achievement and difficulty", associated with the rich complexities of Hamlet and the enigmatic poem The Phoenix and the Turtle. Kermode defines that shift as "the pace of the speech, its sudden turns, its backtrackings, its metaphors flashing before us and disappearing before we can consider them. This is new: the representation of excited, anxious thought; the weighing of confused possibilities and dubious motives". This leads Kermode to break his book into two parts. The first deals with the plays up to 1600, including some controversial dismissals of plays, including As You Like It, whilst the second part offers 15 detailed chapters on the tragedies, problem plays and romances. Each chapter is full of detailed and illuminating interpretations of the difficulties, but also pleasures of Shakespeare's language. [+]

It could be argued that the best biographies are written by novelists: Ackroyd's Dickens would be the classic example. Taylor is a deft if underrated novelist (his Trespass is particularly absorbing), who has also written a number of good critical studies of the contemporary novel. Tackling a topic as major as Thackeray is a bold move and one that takes him out of his usual arena. But he pulls it off with spectacular aplomb; it is hard to see how this could have been done better. Everything about this book is just right: from the Thackerayan illustrated initial letters that decorate each chapter opening, to the fluid intelligent tone, and the broad grasp of subject. Taylor points out that, from a biographer's point of view, Thackeray presents an "elusive, or even protean" character; a function of the vigorous compartmentalisation that he undertook in his life. However, Taylor provides a convincing a sense of him. His wife confined to an insane asylum, he fell in love with Jane Brookfield, the wife of a friend; a passion which lasted throughout his life, which cost him his friendship and which brought him a great deal of melancholy as well as joy. Taylor is particularly touching in the latter part of his biography, sketching in this unfulfilled love affair. His accounts of the novels are good too; and he pauses at moments in the chronological flow to ponder questions such as "Why Thackeray Matters?" The greatest praise of this fine biography is that you come away in no doubt that Thackeray matters a great deal. [+]