My Bookcase - Literature

...And not always for the reason intended, though that never stopped me in any case. There aren't really that many books that actually make me Think (capital 'T') when I read them. Well, not unless probed, but that doesn't matter all that much. No, here's a rundown of some of those books that I have read which might or might not be called Literature, but which I'll call literature anyway.

If you can't find the book you're looking for here, try Filmed Books, Academic Books or Contemporary Books.

Kingsley Amis Lucky Jim

Martin Amis Time's Arrow

Margaret Atwood Alias Grace

Margaret Atwood The Edible Woman

Margaret Atwood The Robber Bride

Iain Banks Complicity

Julian Barnes England, England

Julian Barnes Metroland

Julian Barnes The Porcupine

Julian Barnes Talking it Over

Richard Beard X20

Peter Carry Oscar and Lucinda

Celine Voyage au Bout de la Nuit

Leonard Cohen Beautiful Losers

Leonard Cohen The Favourite Game

Roddy Doyle The Commitments

Ian McEwan Amsterdam

Ian McEwan The Child in Time

Sebastian Faulks Birdsong

Gustave Flaubert Madame Bovary

John Fowles The French Lieutenant's Woman

Charles Frazier Cold Mountain

Daphne DuMaurier Rebecca

Michael Ondaatje The English Patient

Michael Ondaatje In the Skin of a Lion

Graham Swift Ever After

Donna Tartt The Secret History

John Kennedy Toole A Confederacy of Dunces

The 'Reviews'

Oscar and Lucinda appears at first glance to be quite big, but it reads very quickly and although the story is very predictable, it was done largely intentionally and the story is captivating. Unfortunately, the factors which should be deemed unpredictable (or which I thought were meant to be unpredictable), are predictable as well (and generally I don't catch on very quickly). I mean, if a defrocked priest with a water phobia sits inside a glass church floating in the middle of a river, it's not that difficult to guess how the story will end, now is it? Then again, maybe it doesn't matter all that much, the focus is on the story more than the plot.
Back to top.

Charles Frazier's Cold Mountain... A debut by a guy who looks like a cross between Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young, with a beard (make that happen!) and although his age is not mentioned anywhere, he looks approximately 50. Jesus! Writing your debut when you're 50! We can hardly expect a wide range of books from him, now can we? He'll probably be dead before his second book is in its third chapter, so a young upstart (of say 20 or so, maybe one of his children, if he has any) can make an attempt to finish the book and cock up in the process so critics all around the world can react indignified.
And the title! I've always held titles in high regard - a title can make or break a book, and I thought that a book with a title like Cold Mountain would have to suck. It's not that bad, actually, and the snippets of reviews that litter the front, back, and first few pages of the book (speaking of over doing it) are, although a little over-the-top, close enough to the truth, though they should be taken with a grain of salt (the size of Cold Mountain).
The only reason why I decided to read this book is because Anthony Minghella decided to make it into a film. At least that's what he wrote in The Observer (but who am I to question that?). And I wanted to read the book before the film came out. But as I said, the book really isn't as bad as the title suggests. In fact, I quite enjoyed it at times, though Frazier does have a tendency to ramble on a bit about nothing special (but don't we all?).
However, on the whole it is an entertaining enough read, really, if you take all the endless descriptions of walking, sowing, mowing, shooting, killing (the list just goes on & on) for granted, and dig beyond that into the story of two people in need of finding each other (though, admittedly, Inman's needs seem greater than Ada's). I'm not going to tell you whether they succeed or how the story unfolds & all, but I will say that it takes place during the American Civil War and that Inman is a Confederalist who deserts from the army in order to go back to his wife.
Hmm, I could just see the 'slogan' with which the film will be advertised: Is it better to have tried and failed than never to have tried at all? And Barry Norman's reply: "And who cares, really?"
Back to top.

Heehee, it's been years since I read Madame Bovary and I really can't remember much of it, although I do remember that I liked reading it. Don't expect to be shocked - it might have been shocking one and a half centuries ago, but now it seems (to the spoilt reader in any case) to be rather tame. The story is about a woman who's married, but has an affair with (I think) a count and she dies in the end. Suicide, of course, induced by the 'shame' and 'guilt' of the affair. No, I didn't just spoil the book for you, it only seems that way. It's a good read when the days are getting shorter and the time spent in bed is getting longer and you want something else than 'Real Stories of the Highway Patrol' or another John Grisham novel.
Back to top.

Would I be Maurice if I didn't mention Michael Ondaatje's The English Patient here? Of course not! I think it is the best book I have ever read, and I have read a few in my time (believe you me). The story is at first glance rather simple, a heavily burnt man is taken care of by a shell-shocked nurse in a ruined Italian monastery during the aftermath of World War II. The beauty of the book is more than just the story, it is the way in which the story is told which is so phenomenal, as Ondaatje uses a deeply poetical style of writing with some of the most peculiar metaphors I have ever seen. The beauty of the whole thing is not only the poetic way the story is told and the story itself, but lies also in the ways that all loose ends are tied up one way or another which sometimes don't surface until another reading of the book.
Back to top.

Sebastian Faulks' Birdsong is a novel about love & death in the trenches of the first world war. Well, partly then. It's the story of Stephen Wraysford who, after a disastrous affair with a married woman, joins the British army in France while, some sixty years later, his granddaughter tries to find out who he was.
Quoting Alm�sy in The English Patient (the film), 'An interesting read.' Faulks gives detailed descriptions of almost everything in the novel, bringing about the disastrous attacks of the British on the Germans with nauseating detail (people's heads being shot to bits by German snipers, soldiers swaying like cornstalks when shot by enemy machine guns, etc.). Interestingly enough, his characters do tend to remain somewhat flat, especially in relation to the background information, and none of the characters are ever really sympathetic, leaving you somewhat indifferent when someone dies. There are a couple of exceptions, though, but you'll have to read it for yourself to find out.
Back to top.

Celine's Voyage au Bout de la Nuit. I just didn't really seem to be getting around to really reading it. I enjoyed the book, that much is for sure, it's just taken me longer than strictly necessary to read it, and I've heard that happened to a lot of people who read the book. Weird.
Naturally, I've read the translation of the book - my French isn't that good (i.e. it doesn't extend beyond 'Je ne comprende pas') - and I'm not sure whether the things that annoy me about the style is the work of the translator or of Celine... In any case, the use of commas is terrible. Too many are in the wrong place & that really is dead annoying to have to read. On the other hand, though, the way things are worded is great. Perhaps it's tyically French, or something Celine did on his own (I don't know), but it is reminiscent of the styles of Herman Brusselmans and somewhat of Gerard Reve as well.
What Celine seems to be trying to say is that man is, by nature, bad, rotten and downright evil, and he gives us the option to either go through our lives lying through our teeth, wandering the world, living a life (however empty), or to just die.
I decided years ago already, and thus sympathise with the main character throughout all the events he is put in and the ways in which he does his best wherever he is.
Back to top.

Julian Barnes' Talking it Over is about three people in some kind of love triangle, which in itself is common enough, but what makes this book a little more interesting (apart from Barnes' infallible style) is that all the characters talk to YOU, or in any case to someone whom we can assume is the narrator of the story, relating it all to you.
What is annoying, at least to me, is Barnes' love of France. It seems that whenever a character moves to or visits France page-long descriptions of how beautiful the scenery is are obligatory. However, I DON'T CARE TO READ ABOUT THE SCENERY IN FRANCE!!! Honestly, I don't, and I'm sure no-one really wants to read that. Oh well...
As I said, it IS a pretty good book, all in all, and deserved the Booker Prize more than, say, Graham Swift's Last Orders (Booker Prize of 1996 or 1997 I think), which bored me to tears.
Barnes is no doubt one of my favourite writers, and I can really recommend any book by him, apart from Cross Channel (more France nonsense) and Letters from London (only interesting if you're interested in British politics of the early nineties).
Back to top.

Roddy Doyle's The Commitments. I'm actually reading what is called The Barrytown Trilogy, which includes The Commitments, The Snapper and The Van`, but as I'm still only halfway through the second book I thought it was a better idea to just talk about The Commitments, which incidentally is a remarkably thin novel (under 150 pages, half of which are filled with lyrics) but rich enough in content to entertain in a pleasent kind of way. Gee, what else can I say? Nothing much, really. See the film, spot the similarities and read on in the rest of The Barrytown Trilogy.
Back to top.

Margaret Atwood's Alias Grace is about an apparently famous Canadian murderess who lived in the 19th century, although Atwood interestingly describes her as, 'one of the most notorious Canadian women of the 1840s, having been convicted of murder at the age of sixteen.' Not too difficult to spot the differences. But it's indeed another book about a 'marginal figure of history' (like Ondaatje's Coming Through the Slaughter or his The English Patient, Peter Ackroyd's Hawksmoor or Dan Leno and the Limehouse Golem), though fortunately the question is not how much of the original character was retained. No, there are different matters at hand. Erm, or something.
Anyway, the story's 'present' takes place when Grace is already convicted and relays her story to a doctor-of-the-mind, Simon Jordan, starting with her childhood and telling it up to the present. Indeed, you have to be patient and sit through a lot of details like the number of bone buttons Grace buys to fit on her new dress, but what the hey.
Apart from the usual Atwood themes like role of the female in a male-dominated society, the workings of the female mind and how easy it is for a woman to con a man, I'm, as always, surprised at the brilliant way in which she manages to portray men (how does she do it? "I take a woman, then take away reason and accountability" (a free interpretation of Jack Nicholson in As Good as it Gets)), and in this case also the way in which she manages to adopt a style which brings about the 19th century convincingly. In fact, she does this so well that at times it gets as boring as an actual 19th century novel, and in a way it reminded me of Bram Stoker's Dracula. Of course without the vampires… Whatever.
Back to the story. Questions are raised as you read on, 'Is Grace guilty?', 'Did Mary Whitney ever exist?', 'What's the deal with that peddler, Jeremiah?' and so forth. I cannot say whether or not these questions get any answer simply because it might spoil the novel for you, but also because I just don't know. I have ideas, but that's that.
I enjoyed this novel (perhaps because of my 'shite taste in books' - cheers mate), but I can imagine it being a bit daunting/ boring/ uneventful for some readers. Still, I'd recommend it.
Back to top.

Julian Barnes' England, England. What can I say about it? Not an awful lot I'm afraid. It's 'typically Barnes', if such a thing exists. The characters are predominantly flat (but so are the characters from Dickens, so who's complaining?), and their ideas are nothing short of wonderful, as in all Barnes novels.
The novel is (partly) about a VERY rich (and rather 'evil') man called Sir Jack Pitman who decides to buy the Isle of Wight and construct a miniature version of England there with only the touristy bits, so you get a replica of Big Ben and Parliament, a 50% scale model of Buckingham Palace (inhabited by the actual king and Queen of England), a reconstructed version of the white cliffs of Dover, and so on. And the scaled-down replica of the Tower of London has a mall inside it!
What's even more frightening about it is that all the tourists who'd normally go to England (or Old England as it comes to be known) now prefer to go to the replicated England England, not caring whether what they see is the original or the replica. Indeed, as a result, Old England slides into poverty and reverts to some kind of pre-20th-century form of cohabitation while England, England thrives.
Being a big fan of Barnes it's hard to get some kind of criticism from me about this novel, but I'll try nonetheless. The representation of the royal family is downright weird. No Charles and Camilla, no Harry and the lot, just a king called King and a Queen called Denise, with rather sad allusions to sexual infidelity which do not live up to the Real Thing. Barnes could have done a lot more with that, but he didn't. Of course, it doesn't really matter all that much as the novel is about authentic vs. replica and all that stuff, and to have a whole subtheme devoted to the perils of the royal family might have been a bit too distracting from the main themes.
I thought it was a wonderful read, although it's perhaps a little thin (266 pages) in comparison with what you pay for it (hardback, �16.99 - really expensive), but the ideas alone are worth the price to me.
Back to top.

Julian Barnes' Metroland is actually Barnes' debut novel, for which he won the Somerset Waughn prize. Interestingly, all the typical Barnes-things are already present here: his inclination towards writing about France (or in French), characters with interesting ideas which remain somewhat flat nonetheless, the opening chapter which has a sideways, though still subatantial, influence on the rest of the novel, love, betrayal & the lot.
Metroland is about a guy, Chris, who's friends with a schoolmate of his, Toni, and the first half of the novel takes place during their youth, establishing their likes and dislikes and especially the bond that exists between the two which is basically cemented by their mutual disgust of the bourgoisie.
Indeed, you probably guessed it, one of the two (Chris) becomes bourgois himself while Toni more or less remains true to his old self (or does he really?). About a third of the novel takes place in Paris, although (unlike later Barnes novels) the scenery descriptions remain minimal. A plus if you ask me.
This novel has also been filmed with Christian Bale as the main character. I haven't seen it and I doubt that I ever will, but the novel is fun enough. Not for its story really (which is nothing special), but (as with every Barnes novel) because of the ideas that are represented by the characters - ideals or thoughts which are not provoking, but do provide something to think about, or to make you see something from a different angle.
If you don't like Barnes' work, this will certainly not convince you to think otherwise, but if you do, and you haven't read this one yet, I'd surely recommend it.
Back to top.

Ian McEwan's Amsterdam won the 1998 Booker Prize, though God knows why, as in the whole of this short novel (178 pages �14.99) really very little, if not nothing at all, happens!
As can be expected early on, the novel ends in death, and as the novel started with a funeral the Simulated Booker Prize jury response could be, 'Oh! How clever, starting with a funeral and ending with a death - shouldn't it be the other way around! How intelligent! Blablabla.' May God have mercy on us all.
Indeed, I'm not too impressed with the story. It's about two friends who both knew one girl (whose funeral they attend at the start of the novel) and then they fall out about some moral dilemma, but both are guilty in their own way blablabla and may God have mercy on us all. And all they did in their lives goes straight into the bin; one is writing a millennium-symphony which turns out to be a dud as it plagiarises Beethoven, and the other is editor-in-chief of a lousy 'newspaper' who thinks he has a scoop, but sees it dissolve before his very eyes.

Don't read this over-expensive piece of shit.
Back to top.

I could write an essay on Margaret Atwood's The Robber Bride and still not be able to answer many of the questions that are, sometimes subtly, sometimes not so subtly, raised in it.
For those who have not read it (and I take it that, since you're reading this, you haven't), the book (calling it a novel would not do it justice, this really is a book) is about three women (Tony, Charis (pron. 'Karis') and Roz) who have all been more or less conned out of their man by a fourth woman called Zenia. At the start of the book Zenia is dead, but five years after the funeral, she suddenly pops up again, and tries, once more, to force herself into their lives.
Although Zenia plays an important part (she's the instigator), the book never allows you directly to see things from her point of view - she remains somewhat of a mysterious character - while the other three's history and present are so highly detailed that after a bit you no longer feel really sorry for them, but rather a kind of dislike, almost to a point where you feel you should cheer Zenia on. I'm not sure whether this is really what was meant, though I suspect that Atwood did want you to like Zenia in a way. That is, I thought Zenia was great, a fantastic character who knows what she wants and how to get it, while the others more or less blunder through their lives and mourn the loss of their lover or husband, who, in all honesty, are all pricks: Charis' lover Billy is just a plain creep, Roz's husband Mitch is one of those (stereo)typical male control freaks who sees women as his playthings, and West, Tony's husband, is a softy. And a boring one at that.
Indeed, despite all the lies Zenia tells, you cannot help but think she speaks the truth when she tells the three women that she did them a favour by taking their men away from them.
To say Zenia is evil is ridiculous - it's just that she isn't as subdued like the others, which finds a good reflection in the daughters of Charis and Roz who, give or take a little, display more characteristics of Zenia than of their mothers.
Another major point of the book is the duality of people - having two sides. Tony (Antonia) has a mirror side to her (Tnomerf Ynot - her name backwards), Charis used to be called Karen and her duality is between the material and spiritual world, while Roz (Rosalind) Grunwald/Greenwood/'O Casey's duality can be found in her religion (Catholic/Jew) and her matriarchal/patriarchal upbringing.
Right, so what did I think of the book? Well, I thought it was great because I was cheering on the 'baddy', hating the male characters and despising the good characters (I've reached that age where I identify with the cynical villains in a book, to quote Alm�sy in The English Patient). What I disliked about it, though, was that Atwood made you read up on the three women's past so much which, at one time, made me lose track of the time in the book, as well as annoyed with the whole process - I don't care about their past! Ah well, that's just a minor point.
One more thing: In the section called The Robber Bride a character called Boyce is introduced who is, in my opinion, the best character of all.

This is only the third novel by Atwood I've read, but thusfar she hasn't let me down.
Back to top.

John Kennedy Toole's A Confederacy of Dunces is a funny book, if you get its humour. What I mean is that it is really a deeply tragic affair about a fat, bemoustached and hideously dressed obstinate man of thirty (Ignatius J. Reilly) who lives with his mother, resents work and makes a mess (or show, depending on your point of view) of everything he does. Sounds far-fetched? Not in this novel! It is one of the few novels I've ever read which could actually make me laugh out loud due to Ignatius' ridiculous, though tragic, behaviour, his New York (girl)friend's (Myrna Minkhoff) total misinterpretation of his writings, and the truly disarming simplicity with which the plot unfolds which is both hideously unconvincing and totally natural within the parameters of the novel. The only qualm I had with it was that it was just a bit too much on the feelgood side. You know, the Happy Ending kind of thing.
Also, there's a LOAD of characters: Ignatius, his mother Irene Reilly, Myrna, Jones (a negro guy), Darlene (B-girl in a club called The Night of Joy), Lana Lee (proprietor of foresaid club), George (of dubious origin), Gus Levy (president of Levy Pants), Mrs. Levy, Miss Trixie (employee with L.P.), Gonzalez (employee with L.P.), Mr.Clyde (proprietor of Paradise Vendors (sells hotdogs)), Dorian Greene (a fop/gay), Patrolman Mancuso (a sort of inspector Clouseau), his aunt Santa, Claude Robicheaux (Irene's beau-of-sorts)... Erm, that's about it I think, apart from all the minor characters that appear.
Anyway, as I said, this book is funny if you get the humour if you don't, I can imagine this is one Hell of a boring book and you'd just be annoyed with the characters who all act horribly (there's not one truly sympathetic character in the whole novel). Indeed, all the characters are, in fact, dunces, to some extent, and those who aren't have their lives screwed up by those who are (just like in real life, really).
Unfortunately there's no reason to expect another novel from this author as he committed suicide before it was even published. His mother kept harrassing publishers until one finally relented and published the thing.
Anyway, if you haven't read this one, then DO. I mean it. You can test whether you have a sense of humour. If you think the novel is not funny you're probably a sad proletarian who can identify with the main character (which should not happen!). And if you think it is, well you can work it out.
Back to top.

In Martin Amis' Time's Arrow time is, as the title suggests, reversed: people walk and talk backwards, the toilet is the source for all nutrition and life starts for people with them lying on their death-beds, and so also for the main character of the story, Tod Friendly. However, to make the story understandable up to a point, Tod's body is inhabited with a narrator for whom time is going the normal direction (i.e. forward), and it is he who tells the story, observes the outside world (through Tod's eyes) and, in his own way, tries to make sense of it.
Making sense of the world, however, is not as easy is it may sound: relationships often start with an argument, and sometimes an abortion (but backwards!), and while Tod is travelling backwards, we also get to know about his history, why he has such an odd name and why he's having nightmares about babies and a doctor in a white coat wearing black boots.
The answer is: Tod Friendly was a Nazi. A camp doctor in Auschwitz who, under the name of Unverdorben (meaning unspoilt, go figure) did the most horrible experiments on Jews. However, since time is going backwards, it appears to the narrator that Unverdorben is creating life! Is, indeed, doing good. And while time is going backwards, and the horrors that were done to the Jews are undone, the narrator takes a liking to them and wonders why Unverdorben doesn't have the nightmares about the babies and the doctor in the white coat anymore, reflecting on the 'human ability to forget'. And also on how creation is so easy, but destruction is hard.
This novel did weird things - every time I put the book down I had to realise time was going the right way around again, which is a good point - I was in the story, going backward and thinking backward, making sense of things in reverse order (which really isn't as hard is it sounds - if you know what's going to happen you can more or less work out what happened before). This novel (or novella, actually, it's not even 200 pages) was fun enough to read, not as special as the quotes (front & back) make it out to be, and not as good as London Fields, but an interesting concept worked out well.
Having said this, I do have one qualm about the story. Or rather it's form. Or rather, the form of its ending which I just didn't think was any good, really. Not that it matters all that much - after all, it's only the ending, the climax has been and the questions have all been answered, so it's okay, it's alright.
Back to top.

Ian McEwan's The Child in Time starts off pretty good, plunging you into the world of a man who's lost his daughter and, because of that, 'lost' his wife. Well, more or less. Several different plotlines are introduced: an old friend of the main character, his parents, a committee on childcare and a lunch with the PM, but none of them ever converge, lead up to something. I mean, if a gun's mentioned in chapter 2, someone has to be shot with it later in the novel. Not here. A carcrash is mentioned, but it never goes anywhere. A shame, 'cos if these lines had all converged this would have been a good book. As it is, it's just fine. Nothing more, nothing less.
Back to top.

Second of the novels I've been reading recently in-between marking tests is Lucky Jim by Martin's father Kingsley Amis. The book is older than my mother (this is not a hyperbole, but the truth!!) and thus takes place before there were Beatles or computers or any other things that make life 'easier' to live these days.
Indeed, it's a people book. Rules of socialising are important, reactions to what people say, proper ways of behaving and all that. You know, back when things were still (un)complicated (depending on your point of view).
So what's it about? Well, it's about the title character, James 'Jim' Dixon, who is a college teacher in some backwater city somewhere in England, teaching medieval history. He hates his job (but don't most of us?), he's stuck with a bunch of terrible colleagues, most importantly the nigh-demented Professor Welch and some of his family/acquaintances, and he's stuck in a no-go relationship with a girl who's begging to be pitied (Margaret).
And so the scene is set, the actions develop and the story unfolds. Needless to say, things all work out (hence the title, "Lucky Jim", as opposed to "Unlucky Jim") and whatever happens in between is at times fun, at times contrived, but mostly a little dated. The humour is probably decade-dependent and perhaps at the time it was hilarious that Jim makes a speech while drunk. Or something. Ah, yes, times change.
The novel was fun enough, though, just no surprises and no must-read. Indeed, on a scale of 'recommended' to 'not recommended' this falls under 'dated English sitcom material'.
Back to top.

So what's Iain Banks' Complicity about, then? Well, it's about a journalist called Cameron Colley who gets caught in some kind of intrigue-type stuff and quite a few people kick the bucket, and all evidence points to the main character. Of course, intelligent readers as we all are, we KNOW that dear old Cameron could not possibly be guilty, so there's someone else involved. Undoubtedly someone who knows Cameron and someone who has a grudge against some people, which is why they're killed in the first place. All quite creatively, I dare say, using vibrators (killing someone with one of those? I still can't really imagine, but I read it) and other means all relating to the reason why they're killed. (The one who bought it with the vib. had refused to convict a couple of rapists, see, there's the connection, so he gets it 'up the arse'.)
Back to the story. So here Cameron is, investigating some lead or other (the what seems like a wild goose chase instigated by an 'informer' called Mr. Archer - a rather dubious character all in all) while cuckolding a friend by sleeping with his slightly odd wife (with a love for S&M) and playing a computer game called Despot (I never heard of it, and from what I know about homecomputers back in 1993, it couldn't really have existed back then).
The question which I think this novel raises is not a 'whodunnit'-type question, which, I'm afraid that Mr. Banks just isn't cut out for anyhow, nor a 'whydunnit', that too isn't really interesting because you've already read by page 100-something why it's happening. Anyway, I think this novel is neither one, it's a... 'whatnext' I guess. You find out who the killer is way before the novel ends, and you find out why he kills even before that, so the only point is, What happens next?
Moreover, the question also is, and I'm going to have to be careful in case anyone wants to read this novel, is there one killer at the end? Iain's simple use of writing style (he uses the first person for the protagonist and the second person for the killer) seems to indicate that story might not be 'finished' (for as far as you can speak of that) by the end of the novel.

On the scale of recommended to not recommended this one's definitely a 'rainy day in bed at 2am' novel.
Back to top.

Graham Swift's Ever After. Well, it took some time, but I've finally finished this one. For those with short attention spans: better than the abysmal Last Orders, not as good as the fantastic Waterland, which are the only other two novels by Graham Swift I've read.

Some facts:
Title: Ever After
Author: Graham Swift
Year of publication: 1992 (UK)
Number of pages: 261 (approx.)
Cover: White. Totally white, with dark red (maroon, I guess, though perhaps just a shade lighter) letters embossed on it. And a pear (A Williams pear). Oddly enough, the book has the line, 'By the writer of the 199- Booker Prize winner "Last Orders"'. No recommendation in my book, as you know.
Back: Woa! Another ugly mug! Graham Swift is one of those who should hire a stand-in for photoshoots, like Tim Winton, Julian Barnes and many, many others. (If any writer wants to do this, I'm available! ;) )

The story:
The story is simple. And complex. There's this old guy, the narrator, who tells his story, his mother's story and his (great*)grandfather's (Matthew Pearce) story more or less at the same time. Any summary is moot, I think, as everything's connected to everything else and I'd need to tell the whole story, which would take approximately 261 pages. So I won't bother. I CAN say the following: everyone in the book is either old or dead (one exception, but she doesn't have any lines) and sex seems ever present, but also ever elusive. (Like real life, come to think of it. Well, my real life anyway.)

* I can't recall whether it's his grandfather, or his mother's. Or whether it's his great-great grandfather, come to think of it. He's dead anyway. And related.

The connections:
For some reason I was reminded of Ondaatje's In the Skin of a Lion and The English Patient at times while reading Ever After. Swift seems to be on a similar level (or train of thought) as Ondaatje with this novel. Specific example elude me at the mo' (BAD review). Also, it reminded me of the truly horrible Angels and Inects by ASS Byatt, but that's just because one of the themes is Creation vs. Evolution.

The verdict:
I felt it was tough to get through the first half of the book, especially concerning some of the Matthw Pearce stuff, but once things start connecting and interconnecting and crossconnecting and intercrossconnecting it gets better. Unlike "Last Orders", the story isn't boring and the characters not (as) annoying / predicatble / two-dimensional. Unlike "Waterland" the story isn't THAT interesting to read (but it's well thought-out, which helps a lot), and, as I said, the first half isn't very interesting at all.

The recommendation:
Well, on a scale of recommended to not recommended I'll give this a "not quite his best but good enough".
Back to top.

With finishing Julian Barnes' The Porcupine I've now read everything he's published in book form. For those of you who don't know, I'm a Barnes fan - he can't really do much wrong in my opinion (except rambling on in French or about France (although I thought Flaubert's Parrot to be absolutely fantastic)). And, no, I don't know anything about him. I don't know how old he is, I don't know where he lives, I don't know what education he's followed - nothing. This is simply because I really don't care about who he is. It doesn't matter at all, and might possibly even spoil his novels for me (you never know - he could turn out to be some fascist or something if you dig too deeply).
Back to The Porcupine. The title doesn't refer to the prickly animal, but to Stoyo Petkanov, the former president of an Eastern-European country whose counter-revolutionary forces have overturned the Communist government, and who is now tried for 'crimes against the country'. Well, let me correct that, he's tried for things they believe they can find him guilty of in much the same way as Capone was tried for tax-evasion rather than homicide, smuggling & the lot. Moreover, he's tried by a lawyer (Peter Solinsky) who is determined to have him convicted. If only because his father had been exiled by Petkanov back when. The whole event is broadcast on live tv and we also follow the reactions of a couple of people who are watching the event, commenting on it.
In the meantime, the country is in ruin, like most of the countries who overturned their Communist governments are in ruin: nothing's for sale, money is scarce, electricity suffers continual blackouts, warm water is mostly unavailable, things are in disrepair, and so on. The novel reflects this, as it is one of Barnes darkest works.
So while Solinsky believes the cat is bagged (or the porcupine is bagged), Petkanov tries his best to turn the tables, changing things round and shifting points of view in the way only Barnes can. And while all these things are happening, the result of the trial starts not to matter anymore (at least not to us, the readers), but different things take over, about which I can't tell you because it would spoil the novel and I want you to read this one.

Indeed, on a scale of recommended to not recommended I'm giving this a 'one of Barnes' best'.
Back to top.

I read Margaret Atwood's The Edible Woman. I liked it, even though the main character, Marian, is such a nitwit, Peter, her boyfriend, is such a jerk and I involuntarily identified with the 'weird one', Duncan. The story: Neat girl with rebel soul (hidden deep, deep down) has to choose between neat man with good job (Peter), or skeletal construction studying English (Duncan), or none of the above (Yay! That's Atwood!)
There's also some subplots, one involving Marian's room mate who wants to get pregnant, but doesn't want to get married because (and I'm doing this form memory, so the correct quote eludes me) it's bad for the child.
And , of course, there's Atwood's style of writing which is essentially enough to keep a novel interesting. Take for example the fact that the story is divided in three parts; the first is written in the first person, the second written in the third, and the thirs part written in the forst person again. The significance? Read the novel.

On a scale of recommended to not recommended I'll give this a 'Atwood bordering on the rom com'
Back to top.

Richard Beard's X20 is, I guess, not a book entirely suitable for the non-smoker (i.e. someone who's never smoked), as all the characters in this book smoke, quit smoking, try to quit smoking, get others to smoke or quit smoking or othwerwise do smoking-related things. This includes the two animals in the novel, a dog who loves the smell of pipes and a cat who's addicted to ashes and the smell of tobacco.
Amidst all this is the main character, Gregory Simpson, who tried to quit smoking and thus occupies his hands writing the novel you're reading, telling his recent history a-chronlogically, and basically divided into four parts: before he started smoking, after he started smoking, while he is smoking and when he tries to quit smoking, dividing the whole novel into 20 days, each day telling bits and pieces on these four parts.
Simpson's entire life is smoke-related: his uncle smoked (and died of lung cancer), his mom and dad desperately try to convince him not to pick up smoking, his college friends Julian Carr (rather familiar last name, eh), and Lucy Hinton both smoke and try to get him to smoke. Lucy even goes as far as to sleep with him in order to make him try a cigarette. He sleeps with her, but breaks his promise and doesn't smoke. Next to that are people like Theo, who is a botanist specialised in the tobacco plant (also heavy smoker, also dies of lung cancer) and who lives with Gregory. Theo also hands out free cigarettes to people who need them. Then there's Walter, a 104-year-old smoker, and his friends who, together with Gregory and Theo form the Suicide Club (the name's meaning is obvious), and Walter's daughter Emmy, who is a militant anti-smoker.
All in all, Gregory's life is an empty one (containing just smoke, so to speak), and he rejects the two girls, Lucy and Ginny, he meets on account of them a) wanting to get him to smoke (Lucy), or b) because they don't smoke (Ginny). Indeed, smoking is the only constant in his life, rejecting everything else from it and leaving him with pretty much nothing at all.

Beard's style is good. Considering this is a first novel it might even be called excellent. Obviously, he's paid a lot of attention to his contemporaries who have already established their names as good writers. Even though the storylines cross all the time, it's easy to follow them all without effort, creating a narrative strand not unlike, say, Ondaatje's novels, which comparison is enforced by all the bits and pieces of extra information Beard manages to squeeze in about, among other things, opera and Paracelsus, without it looking strained or contrived.

On the scales of recommendation, this old smoker gives it a whole-hearted 'satisfaction of the first cigarette of the day combined with a cup of coffee early in the morning'.
Back to top.

Back to My Bookcase | Filed: 1974 | The Creative Process | Who is Maurice? | The Guestbook