Books

Missing the Beat

This is my review of The Devil’s Beat by Robert Edric.

Since "In Zodiac Light" caught my imagination, I have persevered in attempting Robert Edric's novels, which have also appeared on the shortlists (or longlists) of several literary prizes.

Set in 1910, this story describes a public investigation into claims that a group of teenage girls have been possessed by the devil. Clearly, this echoes the Salem Witch Trials, but compared to the fireworks and high drama of Miller's "The Crucible", it is a damp squib.

A few scenes are quite dynamic, as when the investigator Merrit and Doctor Nash (perhaps the liveliest character) are pursued by journalists on their way to view some graffiti related to the case, but most of the chapters make turgid reading, with very stylised, unnatural exchanges.

Chapter 6 begins, "The opening of the inquiry proved to be the disappointment Merrit always knew it would be." And so this proves to be the case for us as well. But why tell us this and then prove it with a laboured description? There was no hint beforehand that Merrit expected to be disappointed. Wouldn't it have been more dramatic if this had come as a surprise?

Although earlier books like "In Zodiac Light" or "Gathering the Waters" contain passages of striking, finely observed prose, I could not find many further examples here. The characters are developed as distinct personalities but one is told too often what to think about them, as opposed to deducing this for oneself. Individuals are portrayed as weak, domineering, clever, stupid, devious as the case may be, without much opportunity for the reader to sense any nuances in behaviour, or to note any changes over time.

They also all talk in the same highly articulate fashion. Since the setting is an imaginary Nottinghamshire town, I would expect the local characters to have more of a regional turn of phrase.

As in previous books, Edric creates a sense of anticipation, but the plot fails to deliver much action or insight. Unlike other reviewers, I found the ending quite subtle and effective, but the business of getting there required too great an effort. There is too much plodding detail to engage one's interest.

I had to suspend disbelief over the clumsy operation of the inquiry, with Merrit asking leading questions and getting wrong-footed like a novice. The way the other panel members were allowed to interrupt and pontificate made the whole process into an elaborate word game rather than a realistic inquiry.

Other reviewers have spoken of the background of interesting social change, but this did not seem to me to have been developed much.

Edric comes across as a deeply committed writer but for me, this novel lacks the vital spark, deep purpose, quicksilver wit , power to move or original idea, any one of which would set it apart as a good novel. Yet, on reflection, there is the framework for a gripping story, calling for a lighter touch, more ambiguity on the way rather than at the end, and scope for the reader to speculate, to be misled, and then be drawn, along with some of the main characters, to reassess the situation, rather than have prejudices confirmed.

I would recommend instead his previous "A London Satryr" as being more original and better plotted.

⭐⭐⭐ 3 Stars

The Devil’s Beat

Seeing Blindly

This is my review of Seeing by Jose Saramago.

Translated from the Portuguese, "Seeing" by the Nobel prize winner Saramago was published in 2004 as a sequel to "Blindness" which came out nine years previously.

"Seeing" can be read as a "standalone" although the final section makes more sense and has more poignancy if you have read "Blindness" which describes the rapid social breakdown after a nameless city is struck down by an epidemic of blindness in which everything appears white.

Whereas "Blindness" contains passages of almost unbearable but plausible violence and degradation, "Seeing" seems quite mild at first, more of a political satire. After a city election in which 83% of the votes casts are blank (parallel with white blindness?), the Government is uncertain how to respond to this apparent act of mass subversion, and takes a number of crass measures in which democracy and freedom are steadily crushed. Beneath the figurehead of a benign President, the Prime Minister assumes ever more roles as a sinister intelligence service exerts control in the background. The irony which seems to escape their leaders is that, far from breaking out into crime and disorder as predicted, people seem to behave much better when left to their own devices without being governed. Also, if they really start trying to organise themselves against the state, it is because they have been driven to it.

In a country like Portugal which experienced recent dictatorship, Saramago's vision seems very apposite, and his tendency to write in allegories is understandable. What is more, in view of recent unsettling events, growth of international monopolies and centralisation, endless proof of corruption and concealment, our growing disillusion with traditional parties and politicians, Saramago's parody seems very relevant.

The facetious style of "Seeing", so that at one point the author implies he is wondering how to finish the novel, makes the occasional acts of brutality all the more chilling, and because you know that Saramago is capable of utter ruthlessness, the anticipation of violence and tension can be quite high. Yet the novel is often very funny, such as the dialogue in which the interior minister, insisting on the code-name albatross inflicts bird names on his unfortunate superintendent (puffin) and all the other parties mentioned. This is all the more ironical since Saramoga never describes any of his characters by name.

This brings me on to the style, which was quite effective in "Blindness" by creating a flow of words to carry you through the horror, but which in "Seeing" can be quite confusing. I refer to the lack of paragraphs, to the exhausting multiple-clause sentences, and the suspension of normal punctuation of speech with inverted commas and a new line for each speaker.

"Seeing" has much more dialogue than "Blindness" and some sharp, amusing , play-like exchanges were marred for me by the problem of working out who is speaking. Even when I attempted to do this, I still wasn't always sure, and the rhythm of reading was destroyed in the process. It's also hard to refer back to a point in the dense mass of text without any "landmark" line breaks.

Whereas "Blindness" left me feeling upbeat – perhaps that the ending was "too happy" – "Seeing" had a more depressing aftertaste. Another of Saramoga's ironies. Despite the effort required to read him and the numerous often tedious digressions, Saramago's books are thought-provoking and last in one's memory.

⭐⭐⭐⭐ 4 Stars

Seeing

A Jolly Hunter with a Mixed Bag of Grouse

This is my review of The Return of John Macnab by Andrew Greig.

This modern update of John Buchan's 1920s classic recounts the attempt of three men who have become jaded with life to spice it up with a wager to poach game "by fair means" and return it to three large Scottish estates, including Balmoral: the loser in each case will pay a donation to charity and cast a vote for "the political party of the winner's choice". You need to suppress the question of why on earth any estate owner should honour a one-sided wager imposed on him. Also, apart from a desire to expose the shortcomings of the laws on access to the Highlands, aren't there a host of more worthwhile challenges to achieve?

The plot is quite intriguing, with an unpredictable yet satisfying ending, and the author conveys his deep knowledge and love of the Scottish Highlands, where the blue hills resemble hump-backed whales.

Greig becomes at times the all-knowing narrator, observing that a scene may not have occurred quite as described, or that a certain character who is mentioned in passing will never appear, and that the young daughter of one of the men will remember in seventy years' time the nostalgic pleasure of listening to the adults plotting how to escape from the gillies with the poached game. This writing ploy only served to distance me from the drama.

The word "nostalgia" is key, along with "sentimentality" and "escapism", which may be the book's appeal for many readers, but I felt with growing unease that I was reading a mixture of "The Famous Five Never Grow Up and Go to Scotland" and a male take on a "Mills and Boon" romance, in which the female love interest is a jolly tomboy who holds her drink but can act the femme fatale when required, with something deeper and finer underlying all this. This plucky heroine Kirsty, whom I sensed I was meant to love, irritated me continually, such as when she kept calling herself "a silly old tart" and, when she should have been totally incapacitated by drink, leaping up to perform old pop songs uninvited to an apparently enraptured pub audience and guess what, her maybe love interest, the reserved and moody Neil can spring into a vaudeville act at the drop of a hat too!

The conversations between the female characters struck me as particularly unnatural and cringe-making plus many small points grated, such as the unlikely fact that dishy, middle-class dark horse Neil is godfather to dyed-in-the-wool left-wing agitator Murray's daugher Eve. This seemed to me to reveal the author's unconscious assumption of conventional, "establishment" values which the book purports to flout – I'm taking this too seriously, I know.

The suspense depends a good deal on revealing only slowly, or not until the last minute, what is afoot, but the resultant short, fragmented scenes cutting between various characters make the narrative tedious when it is unclear what is going on for pages on end.

Eventually, in the middle of a bitty account of an attempt to capture some grouse, I lost patience and skimmed to the end to be able to discuss the novel at a book group.

⭐⭐ 2 Stars

The Return of John Macnab

“Maigret et le corps sans tête”: Another World from “Engrenages”

 

This is my review of Maigret Et Le Corps Sans Tete (Ldp Simenon) by Georges Simenon.

The propeller of an overladen canal barge catches up a package containing the severed hairy arm of a man, a novelty since it is usually women who are cut up and thrown in the Seine. The rest of the corpse is brought to the surface by a wonderfully named “schaphandrier” or diver, apart from the head which would reveal the victim’s identity.

After a diet of frenetic modern detective thrillers which seek to set an ever-moving goalpost for ingenious , often extreme, violence, no holds barred sex and ever more cynical and amoral detectives, it makes a pleasant change to be reminded of the slow-paced world of le commissaire Maigret, in which police practice and the painstaking collection of evidence in a DNA-free world are described meticulously. There is always time for a glass or two of wine or spirits, and he always remembers to phone his wife if he is likely to be too late home to eat the cassoulet she has prepared.

Although the plots may be slight and lacking in high drama or dramatic chases, Maigret thinks himself into the psyche of suspected victims and murderers, trying to understand the motivations behind a crime. If someone tells him the answer, he feels rather peeved, but convinced he could have worked it out for himself.

I also like the description of the atmosphere of the police station and the politics of the workplace – the over-cautious “juge d’instruction” who puts pressure on Maigret to make arrests before he is ready. He would prefer to leave the suspects to stew a little, worrying over whether they will be caught and more likely to make slips and give themselves away.

To add to the unexpected subtlety of the writing , there is the atmosphere of 1950s Paris – the dusty bistro with its canvas sunshade and influx of customers when the factory shift ends, the butcher who will look after a suspect’s cat provided it doesn’t fight with his own, the shrewish concierge who rushes to the defence of the neat widower who cannot possibly be a murderer , the bartenders keen to close up after selling liqueur brandies into the small hours, the ramble along the banks of the Seine in a vain attempt to walk of the effects of too much alcohol.

Although I found the ending a little flat and abrupt, the slow path towards it engrossed me completely, plus I learned a good deal of clear, well-expressed, verlan-free French.

⭐⭐⭐⭐ 4 Stars


Maigret Et Le Corps Sans Tete (Ldp Simenon)
 

Beyond Adlestrop

This is my review of Now All Roads Lead to France: The Last Years of Edward Thomas by Matthew Hollis.

I read this as much to find out about a period, in this case the development of the “New Poetry” of the early C20, as about the poet in question, in this case Edward Thomas. However, this biography requires a strong interest in Thomas and familiarity with his work.

A poet himself, the author is good on showing you Thomas composed, striking out lines and on occasion suffering from “poet’s block”.

I was interested to see how the now famous poets of the day formed a kind of community of fellowship, rather than work in isolation.

The friendship with Robert Frost which helped move Thomas from a prose writer to a poet caught my attention. Even more so, I was intrigued by the depressive personality which Thomas himself felt might be a necessary condition for his work, raising the question of whether he could have been so creative in a modern age where drugs are so widely prescribed as a solution.

The author is very honest in showing how the generally gentle and sensitive Thomas was often driven to thoughts of suicide, cruel words and neglectful treatment of his patient wife Helen: one can understand his pent up frustration over having been trapped in marriage after getting her pregnant while still an undergraduate, missing out in the process on the expected First in History which would have given him an academic career and the financial security to look after his three children with the freedom to write creatively without worrying about having enough money.

Although I wanted to admire this book, it did not engage me as it should have done. I think this was because of the rather disjointed structure, and the tendency to cram too many disparate famous names and unassociated facts into a passage.

However, I think that lovers of Thomas will enjoy it and it has certainly left me with the intention of reading more of his poetry.

⭐⭐⭐⭐ 4 Stars


Now All Roads Lead to France: The Last Years of Edward Thomas

The price of truth

This is my review of Mafia State: How One Reporter Became an Enemy of the Brutal New Russia by Luke Harding.

After mastering Russian with impressive speed, Luke Harding spent about four years based in Moscow as a foreign correspondent for "The Guardian". Making the most of opportunities to travel which he clearly found fascinating, Harding was more energetic and courageous than many of his colleagues, in reporting on the growth of corruption and undemocratic "vertical power" under Putin, crushing the opportunities opened up by Gorbachev's "perestroika". He describes unflinchingly how former KGB agents (siloviki) have gained key positions in the Kremlin, with the recently formed FSB (Federal Security Service) as insidious as the KGB and if anything even more of a law unto itself.

Regular readers of the "quality press" will already know how journalists like Anna Politkovskaya have been shot in broad daylight for investigating and writing about the truth, how Litvinenko was poisoned in London by Russians who brought polonium into the UK to put in his tea, and how the "oligarchs" who made vast fortunes out of Russian privatisation are now salting away their wealth in places like London. Harding builds on all this to explain how Russia is hardening back into an authoritarian state in which senior politicians enrich themselves, links with international organised crime grow, freedom of speech is crushed and the gaps between rich and poor widen.

Harding's outspoken stance attracted adverse attention from the FSB from the outset. He repeatedly found evidence of his flat being entered – not to steal anything, but leaving a window open next to his son's bed in a high rise flat, tampering with a computer screen, even following the old trick of placing a sex manual beside his own bed – weird signals to unnerve him and his family. Eventually, he was told he would have to leave because of some irregularity in his paperwork, a convenient and overused charge, and he was refused entry, his visa stamped "annulled" on a return flight to Moscow. Perhaps Harding's cardinal sin in the eyes of Putin and his henchmen was the journalist's inevitable association with the US embassy cables critical of Russia published as "Wikileaks" in "The Guardian".

"Mafia state" is written with the air of breathless haste of an article written to meet a deadline, but, as a book, requires more careful editing. Passages often seem disjointed, and although the chapters are themed, they tend to dodge back and forth in time rather confusingly, with continual use of the present tense for past events an added distraction. Harding's courage may include a touch of foolhardiness, and his apparent surprise at being thrown out of the country appears a little naive.

In the interests of balance, he could have shown a greater understanding of the fear, ignorance, insecurity or conditioning which may explain the lack of democracy and suppression of freedom in the Former Soviet Union. Also, perhaps we are not quite as politically and even morally superior as we like to assume.

I would have liked a bit less on Harding's family members (details no doubt included to bring home the reality of the harassment they suffered in Russia) and more on the background to some of the issues covered, in particular the political upheavals in the various outlying republics. A few more maps would have been invaluable. In fact, I found some good ones on Google images which increased my grasp of the geopolitics a good deal.

Overall, this is an important record of some alarming trends of which we need to be aware, even as our leaders are in the invidious position of turning a blind eye because of the perceived need to work with Russia on the world stage, and Harding has done us a service in putting himself on the line to expose the truth. I also have him to thank for introducing me to the wonderful "Peredvizhniki" painters who captured the beauty of C19 rural Russia.

⭐⭐⭐⭐ 4 Stars

Mafia State: How One Reporter Became an Enemy of the Brutal New Russia

Lundi comme tous les lundis

This is my review of Kiffe kiffe demain (Le Livre de Poche) by Faiza Guene.

Kiffe Kiffe Demain (Same Old Tomorrow) is notable for being the work of Faïza Guène, written when still a teenager and making use of her experience as a girl of Algerian origin growing up in Paris.

The short, journal style chapters record the thoughts of Doria, a fifteen-year-old girl living in a grim tower block in a Paris suburb, understandably bitter because her father has returned to Morocco to find a new wife who will hopefully give him a son. Her illiterate mother struggles to make ends meet with a hotel cleaning job, where the racist boss calls all the Arab women "Fatima" and the Chinese workers "Ping Pong". Forced to accept charity from neighbours and buy untrendy clothing at cheap sales, Doria and her mother have to endure visits from a social worker, while the teenager is also required to visit a psychiatrist to improve her withdrawn behaviour, and low school grades.

Doria is far from a tearaway – she frantically cleans the cooker to pass muster when the social worker pays a "spot check" visit, and dresses as her mother wishes. Yet, she is quietly subversive in her private thoughts, and is drawn to unconventional people like the local drug-dealing dropout Hamoudi, who challenges the system, and quotes Rimbaud's poetry at her, encouraging her to better herself.

Doria is inevitably naive in many ways, and her dreams and reactions are generally couched in terms of the cartoons, soaps and American films she has absorbed on the TV. Her language is often crude – a weird mix of Arabic and French "verlan" – leading her to comment on how she has to make an effort to speak correctly to her "shrink" since they are "not really on the same wavelength".

There are some moving moments in the book, as when she takes her mother to see the Eiffel Tower for the first time, although it is only a short ride from home, but they meekly accept that they cannot afford the tickets to climb to the top. On another occasion Doria tells us that her eyes are like her father's so that when she looks in the mirror she sees his nostalgic look – an admission that he has been pulled back to Morocco partly through homesickness. When she can look in the mirror and see only herself, she will be cured.

The book is revealing on the status of women in Arab communities. It is interesting that three of the young women mentioned manage to escape into careers or relationships with men on equal terms – but at the price of losing contact with their roots, at least for a while.

Although the author has probably been seeking realism in plodding through a succession of mundane events, the plot is very slight and tails off at the end, with even the final note of optimism seeming rather woolly and doubtful. Most of the characters seem somewhat underdeveloped and two-dimensional, all described through Doria's eyes rather than breathing with a life of their own. What makes the story bearable is Doria's sharp-eyed observation of life, with her wry humour.

This book has been so popular that it must appeal to teenagers, but I think they deserve something a little more challenging. Guène has plenty of time to progress to this, but in the meantime I only read to the end to practise my French and learn a bit more of the "argot" which increasingly divides the generations on France.

⭐⭐⭐ 3 Stars

Kiffe kiffe demain (Le Livre de Poche)

Losing Face

This is my review of Stupeur Et Tremblements (Ldp Litterature) by Amelie Nothomb.

"Fear and trembling" describe the behaviour expected of the Japanese on entering the presence of their Emperor, when he was still regarded as a living god. These extreme emotions were still found to apply when Amélie Nothomb took up a year's contract in 1990 as a translator in the authoritarian, anti-individualistic, inward-looking Japanese corporation of "Yumimoto". The shattering of her illusions was all the more painful since this young Belgian had lived happily in Japan as a child.

In the semi-autobiographical book based heavily on her experiences, Amelie describes her humiliating descent through a series of tasks, ending up spending months as the lavatory attendant on the forty-fourth floor. The decision to endure this fate rather than resign is her only form of retaliation, since her ludicrous demotion reflects badly on her boss. The only way the other staff can show sympathy, if not solidarity, is by boycotting the loos in her charge.

I was torn between frustration through not knowing how much of this parody is true or just very exaggerated and unsubtle,irritation over Amélie who is clearly a pain in the neck at times and brings troubles upon herself, and a sense of unease over the very negative one-sided portrayal of the Japanese. Amélie chooses not to mention her life outside work at all, which gave the story a very narrow, claustrophobic quality, which in artistic terms could be thought quite effective.

Nothomb, who is on her own admission quite eccentric and clearly enjoys attention, has become something of a cult novelist with some, but is considered by others to be overrated. I tend to agree with the latter view. The novel could have produced a much more nuanced, informative, thought-provoking analysis of cultural differences. However, this slim novella with big print is a quick read, and will develop your French skills (useful idioms and colloquialisms) if read in the original.

⭐⭐⭐ 3 Stars

Stupeur Et Tremblements (Ldp Litterature)

The Revenge of the Loo Brush

This is my review of Fear and Trembling by Amélie Nothomb.

"Fear and trembling" describe the behaviour expected of the Japanese on entering the presence of their Emperor, when he was still regarded as a living god. These extreme emotions were still found to apply when Amélie Nothomb took up a year's contract in 1990 as a translator in the authoritarian, anti-individualistic, inward-looking Japanese corporation of "Yumimoto". The shattering of her illusions was all the more painful since this young Belgian had lived happily in Japan as a child.

In the semi-autobiographical book based heavily on her experiences, Amelie describes her humiliating descent through a series of tasks, ending up spending months as the lavatory attendant on the forty-fourth floor. The decision to endure this fate rather than resign is her only form of retaliation, since her ludicrous demotion reflects badly on her boss. The only way the other staff can show sympathy, if not solidarity, is by boycotting the loos in her charge.

I was torn between frustration through not knowing how much of this parody is true or just very exaggerated and unsubtle, irritation over Amélie who is clearly a pain in the neck at times and brings some of her troubles upon herself, and a sense of unease over the very negative, one-sided portrayal of the Japanese. Amélie chooses not to mention her life outside work at all, which gave the story a very narrow, claustrophobic quality, which in artistic terms could be thought quite effective.

Nothomb, who is on her own admission quite eccentric and clearly enjoys attention, has become something of a cult novelist with some, but is considered by others to be overrated. I tend to agree with the latter view. In her crude and unhelpful treatment of cultural differences, revenge and self-promotion seem to be the main objectives.

⭐⭐⭐ 3 Stars

Fear and Trembling

Gold dust beneath the mounds

This is my review of Our Mutual Friend (Wordsworth Classics) by Charles Dickens.

What would I make of the first novel by Dickens that I have read for years? I was struck by how much it is Victorian soap-opera-cum-sitcom.

At times, I found almost unbearably irritating the hammy theatrical caricatures, the convoluted prose with catchphrases, the mawkish sentimentality over children particularly when sick, deformed or about to die, the patronising treatment of a plump, dimpled young heroine over-attached to her father, and the probably unintentional anti-semitism in that the Jew in this case is portrayed in a sympathetic light. These are all modern-day criticisms of an accepted Victorian style, yet I am sure that George Eliot, Anthony Trollope, the Bronte sisters, Thomas Hardy and even Wilkie Collins, were not quite so "over the top".

Beneath all this, there lies an intriguing main plot. John Harmon returns from years spent abroad to claim the inheritance left by his harsh and uncaring father. Reluctant to comply with the odd condition of the will that he must marry Bella Wilfer whom he has never met, he decides to "go missing for a while" to gauge what sort of person she is. Then, a body dragged from the river by Gaffer Hexam is identified as John Harmon's.

The main plot is enmeshed in a series of interconnecting sub-plots with different degrees of parody, likely to appeal to a variety of readers. I was most taken with the effete Eugene Wrayburn's attraction to a beautiful working class girl, much to his own surprise and that of his close friend Mortimer Lightwood. Eugene's rival in love, the similarly wonderfully named Bradley Headstone is an overintense schoolmaster, driven to madness by jealousy and frustration over Eugene's superior, mocking wit and contempt.

I found other threads laboured and tedious, such as the socially aspiring Veneerings with their "bran new" possessions and their endless dinners for suitable members of society, including Twemlow, invited so often because of his social connections that he is likened to one of the spare leaves in the dining table. I realise that this is part of Dickens' attacks on the snobbery and false values of the middle and upper classes. His ranting over the rigid workhouse system, which frightens away "the deserving poor" who prefer to die instead in proud destitution, hits home.

Dickens gives us vivid descriptions of how ordinary people lived in Victorian times, and may in fact have known more about this firsthand than some of the other famous contemporaries noted above.

He also produces striking evocations of the choking London fog and the unspoilt beauty of the countryside surrounding the city. The opening chapter conveys a strong sense of the sinister, Hexam finds a body in the Thames without this being spelt out specifically, "the ripples passing over…what he had in tow……were dreadfully like changes in expression on a sightless face". Dickens writes some profound studies of the shifting emotions of most of his main characters although some, like Mrs Wilfer, her daughter Lavvy and sidekick suitor George Sampson remain increasingly tedious pantomime parodies.

The changes in popular language are also fascinating: "shepherds both" meant inexperienced, "hipped" was depressed, "galvanic starts" were electric shocks, and so on.

Trollope parodied Dickens as "Mr. Popular Sentiment" and an anonymous critic found "Our Mutual Friend" to be "wild and fantastic, wanting in reality, and leading to a degree of confusion which is not compensated by any additional interest in the story…..the final explanation is a disappointment". Yet there is no denying Dickens' ability to appeal to a mass audience and become over time the best-known English novelist.

⭐⭐⭐⭐ 4 Stars

Our Mutual Friend (Wordsworth Classics)