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Better late than never -  1. Arpad Goncz - Homecoming and Other Stories (1990, 101 pages) trans. Katharina M. & Christopher C. Wilson Collection of short stories by the other writer to elected to President in the former Eastern Bloc: in this case, Hungary. One of the issues with reading literature from totalitarian states is that we are always reading beyond the text, searching for hidden meanings and covert criticism, that we ignore what is front of our eyes. This probably works in Goncz favour for many of the stories (i.e., 'Balance' or 'Power')in this collection are so run-of-the-mill, so predictable that they feel like a 100 stories we have read before. Perhaps it is the predictably that was the criticism of the regime - 'look even our stories are banal now'. Add in the one-two page 'fables' which fail to excite, this collection stands on the strength of three stories - 'The Front', 'Old People', and Encounter. 'The Front' concerns an old lady living alone who is visited by two Russian soldiers; the younger one returning later to rape her. She fends him off and then feeds him - he is so like her soldier son - they come to a mutual understanding. This could be read as an allegory of Hungary (the old woman) or it could just be a story set in war that tells us we are all "God's children". Despite the cliched aspects of this story it has stuck in my mind. 'Old People' sounds like it could be a black comedy - a committee is awarding a plaque to a writer who has dementia, i.e., the great writer deprived of words and so cannot resist the award the state wants to give, and he doesn't want to receive. In reality, the story focuses on the writer's wife and her chores - cleaning him, making the house tidy, etc. There is a Chekhovian feel to this story - the despair, the suffering, etc - but it fails to move beyond the furniture to philosophy as happens in Chekhov. The last, and longest, story in the collection is 'Encounter'. It is also the best story by far. In France, a bishop travelling to Rome to vote on the canonisation of Joan of Arc is left stranded when his car breaks down. The only place to seek refuge is a lonely farmhouse owned by a young woman. Soon we realise that the woman is Joan and the bishop, Cauchon, the magistrate who condemned her to burn centuries ago. Other characters from the past appear as the two protagnonists discuss aspects of the trial, religion, history. Goncz made his name as playwright and it shows here (it also has elements of Marai in it's construction) - characters sit and talk but this story transcends it's limitations in a manner the other stories fail to. It is the one time when reading this collection that there really is something beyond the text. Hard to recommend fully but it is short, and Encounter is definitely worth reading.  Message edited by its author, Jan 28, 2009, 12:15pm.  2. Joanna Russ - Extra(Ordinary)People (1985, 161 pages) Collection of five stories by leading feminist sf writer. The lead story, 'Souls', won the 1983 Hugo for best novella. As the blurb states "a mediaeval abbess defends her community defends her community against a Viking invasion". Being an sf story, the abbess is gradually revealed to be more than human, and that's when my problem with this story started. I enjoyed the realistic aspects of the story - the conversations between the abbess and the vikings, the attempts to counter swords with words, etc. When the true identity of the abbess is revealed, rather than a sense of wander, I was filled with a sense of disappointment. Still worth reading, shame about the ending. In 'The Mystery of the Young Gentleman' a young gentleman is gradually revealed to more than a man. Shares the same problem as 'Souls' - the sf element seems a little tacked on. Still, enjoyable lesbian wish fulfillment fluff (makes a change for teenage boy wish fulfillment fluff) but not much of a 'mystery'. 'Bodies' is a disappointing story about humans being resurrected by aliens in the distant future, whereupon the man acts like a disgruntled teenager, the woman as a surrogate mother. In some ways, could just as easily be 1970's California than the far future. 'What Did You Do During the Revolution, Grandma? is the strangest tale in the collection, yet another variation on the theme of a character not being what they seem. In this case, a woman is genetically altered to resemble a demon-god in order to be sent to another version of Earth, of which there are thousands. The revolution is two-fold, on the alternate Earth, one of ruling houses; on the orginal Earth dealing with the fact this version of Earth is not the one at the centre - i.e., prime Earth. Would-be gods replaced by other would-be gods. Everyday Depressions is a epistolary story where a woman outlines a gothic romance that eventually has lesbian overtones. Reading if felt like reading the outline to Sarah Walters and I couldn't help thinking if Russ had written the novel she too could have been reaping the rewards of greater success. Russ writes in an oblique style that hints at revelations to come but too often the revelations were less interesting than what has gone before - the style beguiles, the truth disappoints. This is an sf collection where I wish the author has written less sf - only What Did You Do...' benefitted from the sf element because it was a pure sf story. Still, Russ is a good writer and worth reading.  Message edited by its author, Jan 28, 2009, 1:21pm. 3. Milton Caniff - Steve Canyon: 1947 (2003, 148 pages) Message edited by its author, Jan 28, 2009, 1:29pm.  4. Alex Raymond - Flash Gordon, vol.1 Back in the day BBC didn't have any morning television until the school holidays and then they filled the time with an odd mixture of cheap homegrown product, strange shows from Eastern Europe (The Singing Ringing Tree is still disturbing) and classic American shows like Champion, the Wonder Horse and old cinema serials. The best of these to a burgeoning sf reader like myself was Flash Gordon with Buster Crabbe in the title role and Charles Middleton as Ming. Everything may have been made of cardboard and rubber but there was a genuine sense of wonder about it. Over the years I had heard of the Alex Raymond depiction of Flash but I had never investigated it to any extent. Finding myself at a loose end and wanting something light to read I found a copy of the original adventures to read. (FG wasn't the first newspaper sf series, that was Buck Rogers. Raymond was asked to create a rival strip to Rogers, and the new strip soon overshadowed the original). First off, Alex Raymond was a great artist, everything looks beautiful – all the heroes look like Greek Gods and the women like Goddesses. It is incredible how much of Raymond's vision reached the cinema (in both the 1930's and 1980 versions) – most of the design is simply lifted from the strip – even the garish colouring of the 1980 film resembles the strip: the colouring is the one area that lets the strip down visually. Raymond wasn't flawless though, some of the monsters look more like children's toys than vicious space creatures, although again some of that is down to the colouring – nowadays when we see a giant purple dinosaur-like creature we think of 'Barney', rather than feeling fear (although 'Barney' is, in his own way, very frightening). There is no doubt that Raymond's illustrations had a profound affect on the look and feel of exotic science fiction for subsequent generations. A comic strip comprises two disciplines however – illustration and writing (Raymond didn't actually write the script, it was ghostwritten by Don Moore) – and what lets FG down is the writing. It would be wrong to expect great writing on a comic strip but coherence is usually a useful skill. Firstly, it is written in a slightly odd style – rather than words and art working together to move the story together; the words state something, and then it is illustrated – they effectively duplicate each other. The problems with continuity are hilarious, especially when it comes to Flash himself – one minute he hasn't seen a spaceship, the next he flying one in a dogfight; nothing phases Flash, he adapts to very situation, very piece of technology instantly. (Of course, this could be down to his skill as an international polo player – never having played polo I can't comment on that). This is virtually never a panel of pause, as if the creators were paranoid about reader attention span. My favourite character is Prince Thun (lion-man), who is the missing fourth Stooge: never, with the exception of Tonto in the 1950's Lone Ranger tv series, has a character been knocked unconscious in so many different ways at crucial times. You have to wonder he why he even bothers to get up again. As for the plot, if you have ever seen or read any Flash Gordon at all, you know the plot. Overall . For the art  * the big unanswered question, in any media, regarding FG is 'why doesn't Flash just dump Dale and go off with Aura?' I mean, Dale is nice, but Aura is usually a stunner! Message edited by its author, Jan 29, 2009, 8:42am.  5. Ian McEwan - On Chesil Beach (2007, 160 pages) Upon finishing this short novel I couldn't help thinking, did I miss something? I found myself looking for viable subtexts. For example, the year 1962 must be a reference to Larkin - do Florence (classical music, upper middle-class, frigidity) and Edward (blues, lower middle-class, sexual desire) represent the past and future of the UK as of that date? Why Chesil Beach? A reflection of 'elemental' forces, or that a beach is traditionally romantic, walking hand-in-hand, but Chesil beach is hard and stony and difficult to traverse. If this wasn't by Ian McEwan, leading British novelist, would I have been looking so hard for something beneath the plot - perhaps sometimes a story is just a story. The majority of the book relates the courtship of Edward and Florence, and the build-up to their wedding night. For the most part, it is successful in capturing the young romance, and portraying the character's sexual anxieties and fears (admittedly, probably better when dealing from the male perspective). Some of the minor details such as the wedding meal at a third-rate hotel are excellent - accurate and funny. The problems arise, in more ways than one, in the wedding night's sexual encounter, and it's aftermath. I found myself amused with the former, and disbelieving of the latter - the forces that pushed young people into marriage in 1962 tended to keep them in that marriage as well. It is easier to enter a prison than it is to break out of one. The breakdown of communication between the characters was so extreme that they stopped being believable and became marionettes. The final section, which details the later lives of the two characters, struck me as completely unnecessary - any poignancy in previous events was instantly undermined by a cheap sentimentality, and by excluding the reader from imagining possible futures. By cutting this section, and tightening the other sections, McEwan could have produced a first class short story/novella. Overall, well-written but essentially slight tale that dissipates much of it's effectiveness towards the end of the narrative.  ps...every time I think of this book I end up with the title ringing through my head to the tune of Echo Beach by Martha & the Muffins. Message edited by its author, Mar 13, 2009, 6:13am.  6. Moondust - Thomas Burnett Swann (1968, 156 pages) Despite the popularity of fantasy today, Thomas Burnett Swann is completely out-of-print. His fantasy novels don't chime with today's readers - they are not multi-volume bricks about elves and mages and dark magic and so; his novels are thin volumes based on classical myth. Moondust takes it's starting point as Rahab, from the Book of Joshua - in this guise she is a prostitute, or food sellers, who harbours two Israelite spies in the city of Jericho, just before the city is taken. The narrator of the novel is Bard, a young emigre to Jericho from Crete. Bard's young brother, Ram, is swapped one night for a changeling, an ugly little girl, who eventually 'hatches' (her ugly body is a cocoon) and reveals a small beautiful girl with wings. After she is transformed, Rahab starts to sleep with anyone she can until she is impregnated by one of the spies. She then disappears and Bard, with his friend Zeb, go after her. Eventually, the two friends find Honey-Heart, a large underground garden and the home of Rahab's race, the People of the Sea (because they frolicked in the air as dolphins in the sea) but everything is not fine in this garden of Eden - it is soon revealed that the rulers of this kingdom are the Fennec (small desert foxes with large ears). The Fennec love beauty, and are essentially breeding Rahab's people (but only the females) - it is they that swap the children, who they use for slaves) over for changelings, as they did with Rahab. The ugly stage of Rahab's development turns out to be a pre-fertile stage, hence when she was born the need to procreate. In aerial combat (with kites, the wings are no longer strong enough for flight) Rahab wins Bard and Zeb's freedom - Bard then convinces Joshua to free the People of the Sea. The usual Swann obsessions are all in this novel - the delicate beautiful nymphs (who often need to be freed - sometimes from a creature's hold, sometimes from tradition); nature (Zeb has an almost supernatural ability with animals) versus the city; art (Bard is a potter who makes small animals), sex (although never explicit), etc. What lifts Swann's novels out of the usual fantasy dross is the prose, which is pared right back, something very unusual in a genre of bombast; sensuality - without ever being sexually explicit, Swann's novels exude sex - his mythical female figures have no inhibitions about sex, for them it is something natural, in effect, they come from a place before sin; and the strain of melancholy that runs through them. Swann is effectively writing the epithets for these classical creatures, they are on the verge of extinction - man will conquer or destroy nature, depriving these ancient beings of their environment, and, perhaps more important, breed them out of existence. Swann may not have been consciously aware of it but there is a strong Darwinian strain running though his fiction, it is the survival of the fittest, and the fittest is man. But Man's domination comes at the cost of something special, beautiful, irreplaceable. Swann has his weaknesses as well: he treads a very thin line between the acceptable and the twee, and occasionally can't stop himself falling into the latter; his tales can be very slight, often overlong stories/fables than truly successful novels; and, most tellingly, his novels can very strongly resemble each other, which can reduce the enjoyment of subsequent works due to an almost overwhelming sense of deja vu. His best works usually can still shine through though. Unfortunately, Moondust is a minor novel - it is occasionally twee, it is slight, and it does feel very familiar. On the other hand, it is short and sweet, and still unlike any fantasy you can pick up on the shelves today. Message edited by its author, Feb 11, 2009, 8:04am. 7. Tess Gallagher Portable Kisses (Expanded) (1994, 99 pages) Collection of romantic poems by American poet, Tess Gallagher, more commonly referred to as Raymond Carver's wife. There should be a golden rule about introductions that states 'writers should never refer to other writers who are indisputably greater than themselves'. Sadly, no such rule exists, and, in the introduction to this collection, Gallagher not only name-checks superior poems she actually quotes them (and also uses quotes to introduce each section of the volume). This leads to the uneasy realisation that these quotes are the best poems in the book. It's not that Gallagher is a particularly bad poet, she just strikes me as a little overwrought, and are not the best love poems deceptively simple? Too often reading these poems, it seems that Gallagher had an idea of the kiss being a central romantic image, and then decided to write poetry about it. The first problem stems from the fact that she kills this central image by sheer volume (24 poems have the word kiss in the title alone) - it's like gilding the lily with a sledgehammer. The second problem is more fundamental, by picturing the image from so many angles, much of this poetry just isn't very good - full of average prose chopped up, clunky or staid metaphors, and failing to convey the emotion of love: too much of the head, and not enough of the heart. Disappointing.  ps...Bill Knott, who on the cover states, "This is the best book of love poems since Neruda's., takes pleasure in describing himself as "the World's Worst Living Poet". Portable Kisses They will take you with them, stuffing their fat lips as they gallop, as they prance soulfully up to you with veils on their wrists, and they swim in the Atlantic and Indian Oceans in tuxedos rented in Havana. They are ready to bribe the guards who search your empty luggage by stomping on it. All the kisses fly out. What border? What passports? Through glass doors a lively sonatina begins to play just for you. Message edited by its author, Mar 13, 2009, 6:12am.  8. Selected New Poems, 1987-1996 by Duncan Glen (1998, 52 pages) Collection of poems inspired by Edinburgh and journeys to the Highlands, Italy and New York. I wanted to enjoy this collection more, being a resident of Edinburgh and having visited most of the places that Glen writes poems about but the whole turned out to be less than the sum of it's parts. My major problem with the poems is the dichotomy between the professorial and the colloquial - too often the use of Scots jars against the standard English; too often it feels forced into the poem. While it is difficult to fault Glen for attempting to utilise his linguistic heritage his use of Scots distracts, detracts, from the poem - the closer his work sticks to plain English the more successful it is. Despite being published a mere 10 years old some of the Edinburgh poems now describe aspects of the city that have already disappeared, giving them a sense of topological poignancy. What is obvious from the collection is that Glen has genuine affection for the Scottish capital and Italy, as these poems are superior to the ones about the Highlands and New York, which feel artificial, strained. Recommended (with some reservations). EDINBURGH SUNSET, AUTUMN This, that moment of stillness that foreshadows the sunset. As the red slowly fading, the evenin star shinin ever more brightly green. A light at the edge of the warld in that translucent and vertiginous blue. A moment only. The evening star now over that black cave in my auld, toom, skull. If only the spin of the earth could be felt. Message edited by its author, Mar 12, 2009, 10:12am.  9. Promethea by Alan Moore & J. H. Williams III (2001, 176 pages) In the land of the dedicated comics fan, Alan Moore can do no wrong but this is faith justified? The first book of Promethea is an oddly straightforward take on the superhero(ine) genre - Sophie Bangs, a young student, studying the appearances of the mythical Promethea, ends up being transformed into the eponymous heroine. Subsequently it is revealed that Promethea is a creature (Goddess?) of old magic (Egyptian) who is called forth from another plane (Immateria) through the power of imagination - in the 'real' world sharing her existence with the woman who called her forth. There are the usual Moore tricks - his introduction creates a literary history of Promethea; all the previous Prometheas still exist in the Immateria where they can watch, and comment, on the new version; there is an incredibly popular computer construct called 'Weeping Gorilla' that spouts inanities; the mayor has multiple personalities; there is a science hero group - the Five Swell Guys; amongst others. Initially Moore appears to constructing a tale that discusses concepts of the imaginary but it progresses it soon becomes obvious that what we have is yet another variation of Moore's take on magic. For all Moore's experience there is some surprising clunkiness to some of the writing: at one point during a fight a demon does a little plot exposition; Sophie's best friend is unbelievable enough to be cringe-worthy. It's strange that Moore, for all his supposed subverting comics and his pro-feminist political stance, still creates a superheroine who is a stunning statuesque goddess. This highlights the dilemma with Moore - he does create comics that are superior to the average monthly fare but part of him still panders to the inner adolescent. Perhaps this is the secret of his success. With a Moore scripted comic the art is often overlooked - Williams & Mick Gray do a sterling job here. When the look of the art is relatively standard comic book, the use of layout is excellent, giving a sense of freedom and exploration to the story. Relatively enjoyable and I will probably read further volumes but is it time to reassess Moore's real critical standing?  10. The Well at the World's End by Neil M. Gunn (1951, 280 pages) A middle-aged professor goes in search of the mythical well at the world's end in the Scottish Highlands. Structurally, The Well at the World's End is a picaresque; the hero, Peter Munro, embarking on a quest to find the legendary well, which is rumoured to hold both the secret of eternal life and knowledge, finds himself drawn into a number of adventures - including a ghost story, a storm at sea, a run-in with moonshiners, and a hunt with an old schoolfriend who now could be a spy. Picaresque narratives are, by their nature, fragmentary and usually through a series of adventures the hero finds enlightenment. To an extent, this happens here but Gunn never seems particularly interested in the adventures, he is more interested in the protagonists talking to each other about the importance of land, ways of live, etc., which means the narrative never quite fully gels. The second strand of the novel is a love story - the professor's wife, Fand, is widely acknowledged as being modelled on Gunn's own wife. Throughout the novel Munro has flashbacks to his courtship, and we see how important she has been, and is, to all aspects of his life. To use a cliche - she is more than his wife, she is his soul-mate. Interestingly, the segment where this is to the fore, the first 30 pages or so, are strangely clunky - they read poorly and the novel is in danger of completely stalling. It is only when Munro has his first "adventure" that it really the novel gains any real momentum. In writing this paean to his real wife Gunn seems have forgotten that he also has to appeal to the general reader. In the end, these segments do have an important impact on the novel for as Peter moves closer to enlightenment the more he understands how important Fand, and their love for each other, is in giving his life meaning. Throughout the novel, the hero is searching for the "other" - that intangible sense of communion with the universe (for want of a better expression). In each of the places he visits one of the characters (a shepherd, a bootlegger, a sailor, for example) describe to him a specific moment in their life when they have felt the sensation of passing beyond the reach of human experience. It is no accident that the people who experience this moment exist so close to nature as the Highlands themselves have a almost mystical atmosphere - not only may they contain the eponymous well and a rare plant that can rekindle love, but they seem to conspire with those that accept them and against those who would exploit them. Even whisky has a spiritual aspect, being in Gaelic is "usquebaugh", translated literally as 'the water of life'. Gunn is too clever to openly acknowledge the existence of the supernatural though - these things have the impression of happening out of the corner of the eye, so the narrator (and the reader) is never quite clear if something magical has happened, or it was just a trick of the light (or imagination). At least one study has looked at Gunn as a Zen writer but it seems to me that this state of transcendence that the characters are searching for relates closer to the spiritual quest within the works of Dostoevsky (this can be seen much clearer in an earlier novel, The Serpent). Through his adventures Peter Munro has to travel through an invisible barrier to true understanding of what is really important. It is this semi-mystical spiritual quest that lifts Gunn's novels out of the ordinary. The Well at the World's End is not one of Gunn's best novels. At times the writing is unusually awkward and the narrative structure is not fully satisfying but Gunn is always reading - even more today than when this novel was published he offers an alternative view of Scotland and Scottishness to the dominant urban view. Gunn is one of few Scottish writers who looks up at the stars rather down at gutter. Message edited by its author, Mar 13, 2009, 10:20am.  11. Full Volume by Robert Crawford (2008, 62 pages) Collection by leading Scottish poet. While much of Crawford's inspiration is drawn from history, place, and technology - with poems on disparate locations such as Wyoming, France, and the Shetlands; poems covering subjects such as the Aztecs and the Bronze Age; poems on broadband and Satnav - some of the most impressive poems drawn their inspiration from other poets. There are versions of poems by writers like Paz and Pessoa, not to mention a number of reworkings of Latin poems by Scottish writers like George Buchanan. The Latin ones provide the subject matter for the majority of the longer poems in the collection, and tend to be meatier and grittier than Crawford's own more playful work. (This does raise interesting questions about poetry in translation - just whose poems are we now reading? The original author's or the translator's). Crawford's poetry may not be philosophically or intellectually the deepest but these are sharp, enjoyable poems. Worth searching out. THE KIRK Good for directions, creeds, and mysteries Of blood-bead, mustard seed, bread, water, wine, You're part of the horizon in our midst Skymark and landmark, take-off point, and stark Terminal building where, at start or finish, Some seek the spirit like a mislaid passport To daily light, or past the Milky Way's Communing disc of otherworldly stars; Some live God's sums of plenitude and loss, Christ on the cross and then the Christless cross; Some hear the seasoned Word clear as a bell; And some, an inch, a clinch, a world away, Touch and discover what it is to love The carved wall of a church that's without walls. YING AND YANG after Pessoa In my body you scour the sgurr For its sun buried deep in the forest. In your body I search for the boat Let slip in the middle of the night. Message edited by its author, Mar 13, 2009, 10:46am.  12. Charley's War, 2 June - 1 August, 1916 by Pat Mills & Joe Colquhoun While American comics of 1970s were dominated by (mainly) single character monthly colour titles, British comics of the same era were weekly, black & white, and anthologies. The subject matter was different as well - rather than superheroes, British boys* were treated to adventure strips, the majority of which seemed to be based in WWII. The third major difference was that British strips carried no credits, with the exception of 2000 A.D.. (Sadly, they are all gone now - only 2000 A.D. remains). Charley's War was first published in Battle, in 4, later 3, installments from 6 January 1979. Pat Mills, the creator, had worked in comics for years. Joe Colquhoun, the artist, had helped make another Battle strip, Johnny Red popular. (Interestingly, Mills reveals in his notes that he never met Colquhoun despite working together of CW for 6 years - he used to write the script and send it to Colquhoun, and that was that). Opting for a WWI was a risk as traditionally these stories had lacked the dynamism of the WWII stories but Mills felt he wanted to tell the story of the ordinary soldier in the trenches. The premise is simple - Charley Bourne, aged 16, lies about his age and joins up to fight the Hun. The comic strip follows Charley through the last years of WWI and beyond. This first batch follows Charley through his initial call-up to the front and the Battle of Somme**. Despite being in a comic aimed at the young boys CW doesn't pull many punches - characters get suddenly killed by a stray bullet or random shelling (the risk often coming from their own side), they get massacred when charging, they go mad in the mayhem, etc. Colquhoun's art is fantastic, the B&W giving the illustrations an edge that colour would have removed, i.e., the gothic atmosphere of a gas attack when Charley has to fight a German soldier hand-to-hand in order to steal his mask, or the last major cavalry charge that ended in carnage. The level of detail, and the accuracy, of his drawings is something special - especially when you consider he wasn't particularly well-paid for this work. (Not giving credits to the artists was a way of keeping pay-rates down). Mills script is solid, keeping the action going but still allowing for some moments of contemplation of the horror surrounding Charley. This batch of strips is slightly different from the others as Mills initially used letters between Charley and his family as a way to undercut the visuals. (In his notes, he states that he dropped the letters as they became constraining to the story). There are some cliches still - Mills is an an old-style leftist with strict ideas of class, hence some of the officers are unfeeling, cowardly, etc; Charley's platoon contains a comedian, a strong man, etc. (Mills' notes on the script have some strong words on historians who don't tow the line of the British upperclass officer using the ordinary Joe as cannon fodder). On the other hand, the Germans are not faceless villains, or inhumane killers - they have the same mix of characters as the British. Obviously, being a comic means losing some psychological depth but this book is superior to any number of novels on WWI - it hits hard and relentlessly. Despite the plethora of highly regarded British comics creators over the last 20 years this is probably still the best comic to come out of the UK - it may have a claim to be the best comic produced in English. The adventures of people in lurid spandex doesn't hold a candle to this. Highly recommended.  * Girls & boys comics were separate - girls comics tended to focus on school stories, horse stories, etc. Bizarrely, these stories were more unsettling the boy's war stories, as they often involved a substantial level of suffering in them; editors having learned that young girls empathised with characters who had to overcome struggles. ** to put the Somme in context - by the end of the first day, 1st July 1916, 20000 British soldiers were dead, with a further 40000 injured. By the end of the battle in October, the British had suffered 420000 casualties, the French 200000, and the Germans more than 500000. Message edited by its author, Mar 13, 2009, 10:51am.  13. The Time Traveler's Wife by Audrey Niffenegger Love story with a difference: husband randomly time travels. When I attended the bookgroup meeting for this novel I was surrounded by women saying how much they loved it, and how it made them cry. Then when I suggested that this was the worst book I had read in the last 3 years they looked at me as if I was freak, which was made worse by me attempting to explain why I thought it was a bad novel. "All your criticisms don't matter because this book is so emotional. You, being a man, have no heart and therefore cannot relate to this novel." Why is this book so bad? Firstly, it is severely overwritten, as many recent novels are - probably 150 pages too long. Niffenegger can't help explaining everything in detail even when it doesn't matter. Do we really need to spend pages on the heroine making paper? Or paragraphs detailing menus or music they liked? And so on. It felt like Niffenegger had done research on certain topics and she was going to include it whether or not it was cogent. The main couple, Henry and Claire, seem less real people than 'cool' constructs - they like 'cool' ethnic food; Henry is a 'punk' (ha ha) but only likes the 'cool' punk bands; they have 'cool' artistic/literary jobs; they have 'cool' friends who want to make the world a better place, and so on. Niffenberger can't stop (see point above) telling us how 'cool' and 'meaningful' their lifestyle is. These are not characters drawn from real life, they have escaped from bad romance novels. The other characters are worse. Claire's one alternative to Henry in the novel is Gomez, Henry's best friend and best man, who we know can't be all good because he is a lawyer (albeit one that helps the poor and needy...). He is a sleezebag. You would think Niffenegger would want to create a decent alternative to give some poignancy to Claire's situation. Then we have the parents - both Claire and Henry have troubled parents: Claire's father is distant (we know he has problems - he's a real lawyer), and her mother is distant because she has personal problems (she also writes poetry and when she dies, Claire finds a poem written about her and everything is OK); Henry's mother, an Opera singer, died in car crash that he escaped from due to his ability to 'time jump', and his father, a first violinist, turns to drink and becomes distant (he is cured when Claire has a child). Henry is supposedly traumatised by his mother's death and constantly revisits the scene time travelling but we never see that, we only get told it - yet again Niffenegger misses a trick. Now we get to the really disturbing characters - the nice ethnic caricatures: the nice Korean woman downstairs who looks after Henry when his father is drunk, and the nice black cook who looks after Claire when her mother is being distant. It's good to know that 70 years after Gone with the Wind minority characters still know their place. (Mind you, to be fair, so does Claire - waiting patiently for 40 years or so for Henry to return). As for the time travelling, I'm not bothered by the silly explanation of why Henry can time travel, after all it's just a conceit. I am bothered however by the lack of imagination and adventure Niffenegger exhibits when dealing with it. (I'm not going to comment on the slightly disturbing aspects of a grown man visiting a young girl and 'grooming' her to be his wife). Niffenegger never discusses anything remotely interesting about time travel - it is only exists in service of a very cliched love story. Even the structure of the novel sidetracks the issues of time travel by following Claire's timeline, hence creating a more or less linear narrative. Despite being marketed as upmarket, this novel has all the intellectual rigour of a marshmallow. Recommended for those who can't read and think simultaneously; for everyone else, avoid.  Message edited by its author, Mar 17, 2009, 5:28pm.  14. Charley's War, 1 August 1916 - 17 October by Pat Mills & Joe Colquhoun The second volume of the renowned Battle strip sees Charley Bourne slip deeper into the hell of WWII. If anything this volume is even harder hitting than the first. Charley finds that the Germans are not his only enemy as he falls prey to British military justice - being made to drill in full pack until dropping and being tethered at the wheel. Charley ends up in this situation because he refuses to participate in a firing squad that executes his commanding officer - his crime is lead his men to safety rather than let them be slaughtered holding a meaningless piece of land. Charley also finds himself involved in the first tank assault, which is a mixture of power, tragedy and farce - WWI tanks being effective but notoriously unreliable, and when stuck being overheated coffins. This volume also contains one of the most shocking moments in the whole series - when Charley returns to his trench carrying a sack containing the remains of his mate, Ginger, who has literally been blown to pieces. Again, Mills and Colquhoun deliver the goods - a strong, action-packed script and first-rate illustrations. Recommended.  15. From Hell by Alan Moore & Eddie Campbell Yet another take on Jack the Ripper.* My initial thought on this work is 'why has this work been so lavishly praised?'. I'm not spoiling anything by revealing that Moore pins the murders on Sir William Gull, the Queen's physician. This is a why done it, rather who done it. (Most of Moore's plot is taken from Jack the Ripper: The Final Solution by Stephen Knight**). In Moore's interpretation of Knight's version of events Gull goes mad when he suffers a stroke and starts to see visions. Unfortunately for everyone neither the Queen or his Masonic brothers release this before they entrust to him the job of covering up the Prince of Wales illegitimate child (pre-stroke he has already dealt with the mother by operating on her and leaving her with diminished mental capabilities) from four women who, in order to raise protection money, attempt blackmail. Gull's madness ensures that the task, rather than being quietly hushed up, results in bloody carnage whereupon he sacrifices the women to his own mystical plan. It is this plan that allows Moore to go on another one of his trips into esoteric magical theories - this time involving the masons, the mystical importance of parts of London, and so on. Moore also links the Ripper spiritually with a number of other killers to come - Peter Sutcliff (the Yorkshire Ripper), Ian Brady, and even Adolf Hitler. In parallel to the Gull thread we see the victims and the abject poverty they lived in - turning to prostitution for a few pennies to earn enough for a bed. We also follow Inspector Frederick Aberline as he attempts to solve the crimes, latterly with the help of the psychic Robert Lees, while Masons higher up in the force arrange a cover-up. To give it more cultural depth Moore has cameos galore from celebrities of the era - for example, Oscar Wilde, William Morris, Joseph Merrick ("The Elephant Man"), a young Aleister Crowley - most of them don't add much other than a little (lurid) colour. There are good things here - the depiction of everyday life, the inescapable poverty, the sordid nature of the victims existence. The problem is that Moore doesn't actually do anything new with the subject matter and what he does do has been done better elsewhere. The Knight book was used as the basis for the film Murder By Decree, within Sherlock Holmes solves the murders but finds the establishment closing rank - the use of Holmes highlighting more effectively than Moore the protected nature of the British elite. Most of the mystical ramblings about London are drawn from Iain Sinclair, who draws them more effectively and powerfully; the magical aspects of Hawksmoor were told in Peter Ackroyd's excellent novel. Once you remove everything that Moore has borrowed from superior sources all you are left with is an empty baggy monster of a book. I was pleasantly surprised by Campbell's art, I remember when he first started out and his work would best be described as an acquired taste. He still appears to have some technical shortcomings but the rough scratchy illustrating style adopted here is entirely appropriate. Disappointing - the epitome of the emperor's new clothes. * is there really anything left to say on this subject? Really? Really? ** Moore acknowledges his sources and discusses them and his reasoning in over 40 pages of notes on the text.  16. A Feast Unknown by Philip Jose Farmer (1969, 286 pages) Pulp pastiche with added sex and violence. Farmer was always fascinated with the pulps he read when a boy and once a professional writer returned to them repeatedly for inspiration. In this case we have a clash between Lord Grandrith (Tarzan) and Doc Caliban (Doc Savage) written for the erotic publishers, Essex House. Narrated by Grandrith, the novel starts when his African home is attacked by the Kenyan army, the government seeing him as an 'white colonial' embarrassment they want rid of, and a group of Albanian mercenaries who want the secret of immortality. Later these two adversaries are joined by Doc Caliban, who is intent on revenge, being convinced that Grandrith abducted his cousin and lover. These foes chase Grandrith across the African plain until he reaches the home of the Nine, a group of nearly immortals, who control the potion that conveys long life. Caliban is another beneficiary of the Nine, and it is decreed that Grandrith and Caliban should fight to the death but not in the sacred chambers. Subsequently, Grandrith learns that the leader of the Albanian mercenaries has gone to England to capture his ancestral home and wife. Grandrith rushes back to England, Caliban follows him, everybody fights everybody until death or conciliation. With Grandrith as narrator Farmer is able to to retell the story of Tarzan, creating hybrid ape-humans known as 'the people' who raised him without the traditional morality of the original character (although being a pulp hero this immorality can only go so far), and giving him 'Jack the Ripper' as his father (it later turns out that Caliban is his half-brother). Sadly Farmer has his narrator short-shift the interesting aspects of the story to concentrate on the action scenes. Rather than being exciting however, this turns out to be slightly wearying, especially in the second section of the novel, which is just one action scene after another. One reason for this could be the length of the novel, at over 250 pages it is significantly longer than most of the works it is pastiching - the original short sharp jolt being replaced by a constant bludgeoning. (Interestingly, this pulp attitude now appears to inform the modern blockbuster - overcome by a fear of the audience losing interest, editing becomes ever more kinetic - the end result often being the audience losing interest). So on the whole this is a pure pulp novel - lots of action, unbeatable heroes, secret societies, etc - but with added violence and sex. It is revealed early in the novel that both Grandrith and Caliban have started to have orgasms when they kill with their bare hands, although neither can understand why. The overblown way Farmer portrays the sex (both the men and women are physically cartoonish) and the violence is meant as satire but Farmer undermines his own work by the affection he feels for the original pulps - he can't bring himself to portray Grandrith and Caliban as either socio- or psycho-paths. Without re-imagining the characters within these new sexual and violent boundaries the novel reads less like a successful satire than a gratuitous children's adventure story. Time has possibly done this novel few favours as the idea of a violent sociopathic hero is now almost de rigeur in the pulp/comic arena. This leaves the sexual element, sex still being a predominately no-go area in this type of fiction: for a novel written for pornographic publishing house, the actual sex is relatively tame and sparse, with only a couple of scenes, male rape and genital mutilation, that some readers may find distasteful. But these readers will be few and far between because the line of acceptability has moved so beyond where it was in 1968. Unfortunately, without either the novelty or shock value to boost it, Farmer's novel is little more than a adult pulp novel, as he has little of interest to say about the themes of sex and violence raised by his story, nor is he capable of a post-modern deconstruction of pulp heroes. Arguably the most interesting reading of this work now is one that Farmer and his publishers may not have intended - that of the homo-eroticism of both his and the original pulp characters. As an action novel with a twist, A Feast Unknown is competent, if a little dull. As a novel exploring the nature of pulp heroes, A Feast Unknown raises interesting questions but lacks the will, or skill, to answer them. Message edited by its author, Mar 29, 2009, 12:44pm.  17. The Barnum Museum by Steven Millhauser Collection of short stories by well-regarded American writer. Millhauser could be the poster boy for post-modernism, with his stories being full of textual jokes and narrative quirks. How much you like this stories could possibly be determined by how much you enjoy the techniques he deploys. A good example of Millhauser's approach is exhibited in the first, and longest, of the stories, A Game of Clue. This novella consists of three strands - one, the story of four people playing a game of Clue; second, a story about the fictional characters in the game; and, three, a detailed description of the game paraphrenilia. These three threads are interwoven but comprise of named segments, i.e., the segment titled 'The Library' describes the library as it appears on the game board. This fragmentary approach works surprisingly well, with each thread being interesting enough to Millhauser returns to this triptych format, with slightly less success, in The Eighth Voyage of Sinbad, where apart from the adventure of the 8th voyage, we see Sinbad as an old man trying to remember his voyages, and a history of the English version of the Arabian Nights. (Sinbad isn't the only literary character to appear, Lewis Carroll's Alice takes centre stage in Alice, Falling, the title describing the story nicely). The use of 'Clue' also highlights another one of Millhauser's main techniques - the use of everyday objects as being integral to the narrative. Klassik Komix #1 takes this idea further, with the story comprising of a panel by panel breakdown of an imaginary comic - it is, of course, a joke on the literary theory of deconstructionism as well, reducing a work to it's constitute parts. The Sepia Photograph places the eponymous object at the centre of a story about a writer coming to terms with the breakdown of his relationship, with the photograph disturbingly changing to reflect his state of mind. (It is hard not to see this as a homage to M.R. James masterly ghost story, The Mezzotint). Two of the best stories in the collection also play with form. The Barnum Museum is a long detailed description, an informal guided tour, of a huge museum central to the imaginary city. This is a museum of the imagination, where everything is possible - it also sets out what may be Millhauser's approach to writing:
This story also reveals one of Millhauser's main influences - Jorge Luis Borges. It would not be overpraising Millhauser to say at his best he is able to produce intelligent literary fantasies the equal of the Argentinian master. The other story that takes the form of an essay, in this case an analysis of a magician's career, is Eisenheim the Illusionist. This story won the 1990 World Fantasy Award (unusual for a non-genre writer, although in truth, Millhauser is the kind of writer who gives fantasy a good name) and was disappointing adapted in 2006 as The Illusionist. What the story achieves, and where the film fails miserably, is in creating a strong atmosphere of the unknowable. We never get close to Eisenheim, we remain seated in the audience trying to understand how he does his tricks (are they tricks? could they be real?) and wondering who he really is. The Invention of Robert Herendeen is probably the most autobiographical story in the collection - as an academic high-achiever has returned to live with his parents, and is supposedly writing the great American novel. In what appears to be a homage to both Borges The Circular Ruins and Poe's The Fall of the House of Usher the character of the title learns the dangers of the purely imaginary life. Although Millhauser's writing is fairly dense, heavily descriptive at times, repeating certain tricks - he loves lists, and a number of the stories repeat motifs (although some of them, such as the furniture feet may just be jokes), it is always intelligent and interesting. Some may find his stories a little dry and with too many post-modern tricks but, on the evidence in this collection at least, to my mind, Millhauser is one of the finest literary fantasists around.  Manuel Puig - Betrayed By Rita Hayworth (1968, 224 pages) - translated by Suzanne Jill Levine Novel told in multiple voices in order to create portrayal of ordinary Argentinian lives in the 1930s/1940s. It is almost impossible to provide a plot summary for this novel since there is very little coherent plot - what Puig attempts is to portray the tedium of ordinary live in a small Argentinian town using a number of different voices and techniques. If there is a hook to the novel it is the character of Toto, who appears in most of the sections in one form or another. Toto could be seen as an avatar for the author as he shares a number of characteristics with him - homosexuality, love of films, storytelling, etc - but if this is autobiographical it is a few steps removed and seen from an acute angle. Puig is more influenced by European modernism than the magical realist or fabulist writers that have come to represent Latin American fiction to many readers. At various times in the novel Puig uses untagged conversation, stream-of-consciousness, diary entries, a school essay and a letter. For example, the untagged conversations are used as a method of getting across general information at the start of novel, a more fractured and oblique version of "In the town of...". Most of the other techniques allow us to see into character's heads, giving us a sense of the narrowness of the town concerns, the restrictiveness of the society, the hopelessness of it all - it is only through the medium of film (and to a lesser extent, literature) that the characters can dream of an existence outside this confines - and fragment time - the narrative jumps with each new voice. This is a novel more to admire for it's aspirations than the delivery as Puig is unable to fully utilise his chosen structure successfully. The main problem hinges with the voices of the characters - while it is acceptable that they share similar issues it is less acceptable that they sound like they are also sharing the same voice. Puig struggles to individualise the characters even when he changes the technique - the diary entry could just have easily been introduced as another stream-of-consciousness narrative - which undermines the pattern he is attempting to create. Puig never changes the voice, only the point of view. The cultural concerns never really feel completely worked into the text as well; although the book is titled Betrayed by Ria Hayworth and films as a form of escape are central to the themes of the novel, often this strand just goes missing or tacked on. It is interesting to compare this novel with the later Kiss of the Spider Woman in this regard - in the later work the characters love of the cinema is central to the story, and is used to comment on the political and personal situations they find themselves in. In this novel we never quite feel the true escape of the cinema, the hope it offers in face of the hopelessness of Argentinian society in the 1903/1940s. Puig once said that "As a rule, one should never place form over content", but in this case he failed to follow his own rule.Betrayed by Rita Hayworth is an interesting enough read but never fully satisfying as the writer is unable to successfully bring together structure, theme and voice.  George Herriman - Krazy and Ignatz: 1927-1928 - Love Letters in Ancient Brick Compilation of classic newspaper strips from the late twenties.
Krazy Kat shouldn't really work, at least not beyond a few strips, as the 'plot' is so thin. Essentially, Krazy Kat loves Ignatz the mouse, who only wants to throw a brick at him, while Officer Pupp (as suggested by the name, a dog) tries to prevent this crime or punish the culprit. While it shouldn't work, it does. The execution being so successful that when the Comics Journal, in 1999, listed the 100 best American comics and comic strips of the 20th century Herriman's creation was top of the pile. As an illustrator Herriman approachable initially appears quite simplistic but look more closely and you can see how clever it is - full of visual jokes, subtle variations, the expert use of detail and, as importantly, no detail. Like the best art it repays repeated viewings. Herriman, the writer, is very playful - utilising a significant amount of alliteration, punning, deliberate mis-spellings and mis-understandings. It is fun and witty, and complements the visuals perfectly. The sophistication of Herriman's creation can be seen in how he is able to work variations again and again on the same theme - we, the reader, know that the payoff is Ignatz throwing the brick and hitting Krazy on the head, and Krazy believing it to be a manifestation of love. (I'm surprised no-one has written an essay on the nature of Krazy and Ignatz's relationship as symbolic of domestic violence). Much of the enjoyment is in the anticipation of the brick, which may never be thrown or miss; sometimes Ignatz will get arrested even though he has done nothing, sometimes he gets away with his crime - this is something very human about the tripartite relationship the main characters are trapped in. And occasionally Herriman will produce a strip of poignant lyricism that transcends the media of the cartoon strip. If you get a chance to visit Coconino Country then it is well worth a visit.   20. J. L. Carr A Month in the Country (1984, 116 pages) Short novel about a young man uncovering a fresco in a village church in the summer of 1920. Tom Birkin, as an old man looks back to the time when he was a WWI survivor with a nervous facial tick and had been deserted by his wife, and when travelled to the village of Oxgodby to uncover a mural found in the local church. There he meets Moon, another WWI veteran, who is supposedly there to find an unmarked grave but is actually using the time to study the remains of an old church. This brings both of them into contact with the Reverend Keach and his wife Alice, whom Birkin falls in love with. Birkin is also dragged into the life of the Ellerbecks, which leads him into the Wesleyan community, Sunday school and preaching. It would be easy to dismiss this novel as a piece of nostalgia - the village of Oxgodby is standard creation in English bucolic literature: remote from the trappings of "civilisation", strong sense of community, nestled in beautiful countryside, etc. - but Carr's approach is more interesting than that; if this is nostalgia it is nostalgia for what could have been rather than what was. The villagers are not the collection of eccentrics that so often provide local colour, they are portrayed as real individuals - no more tellingly than in the case of the Reverend Keach, who could so easily have been the pantomime villain but Carr cleverly flips our exceptions to create a sympathetic character, one who is at much at sea as the two veterans. Carr could just as easily have bathed his characters in bathos, hammering in the tragedy of the Great War. What we get are glimpses, small memories that makes the sense of loss more poignant. We also get honesty - when it is revealed that Moon was dishonourably discharged from the service for immorality, despite being awarded medals for bravery, Birkin is indignant but admits that the relationship between the two of them was never the same again. The book is beautifully structured; Birkin arriving in the rain, spending a perfect summer in the country, and leaving as the coldness of autumn is in the air. He finishes uncovering the fresco, which is revealed to a be masterpiece; Moon finds the body outside the graveyard and both discoveries are beautifully dovetailed. In the end, the true revelations are one of self. Subtle and full of grace, Carr's prose is wonderful at revealing the small moments in life that are the really important, that we are often drawn back to the momentary window of opportunity that has disappeared almost before we have acknowledged it's existence. Like the summer in the novel - gentle, refreshing, beautiful. Message edited by its author, Apr 15, 2009, 10:03am.  21. Laurie Lee - Cider with Rosie (1959, 231 pages) Classic memoir of growing up in an English village circa 1916-26. This is not a chronological memoir that follows Lee through his childhood - it is more impressionistic with each chapter focusing on some aspect of village life or Lee's family, hence we get chapters on Winter/Summer, Lee's mother & uncles, etc. This approach is (probably) partially the reason why it is so popular - it is packed with vignettes that readers pick up on (and are short enough not to lose the interest of children - it is a favourite book in schools for teaching both literature and creative writing). Ask most readers about CWR and they will respond with an answer along the lines of "I loved the part when...". It is also suits the style of writing which is consciously poetic, Lee was already a published poet, which is why many readers describe it as beautiful. There is little doubt that it is well-written although the style is likely to alienate as many readers as it hooks. What is most interesting about the method Lee adopts is what happens to Lee himself - he effectively becomes a ghost, an often peripheral figure who haunts his own book. Even when the author is centre stage - at the beginning when the family moves to the village, or discussing his childhood illnesses, or with Rosie - he is never completely there. We never get an insight into Lee's feelings or thoughts. (Interestingly, even friends and family of Lee described him in his biography as a renowned liar, a master manipulator, a man frightened to reveal his true self to anyone). This lack of a central character, allied with the structure, can be seen as a strength, allowing other characters to take the limelight, creating a more universal feel but it means the narrative has no over-riding arch. Apart from the opening and closing chapters, and perhaps even including them, the book could be read in any order. Another reason why the book is so well-loved is nostalgia. The village has a peculiar place in the English psyche - an Arcadia with the added attraction of a community of (usually) lovable eccentrics, a pub, and a sense of belonging. It is a flavour of Englishness that still sells to the masses - Sunday night television in the UK over the last twenty years has been packed with programmes based in such an environment. Even when the village is set in Scotland or Ireland the scenario remains the same. It is life with all the unpleasantness removed - a kitsch life. Lee, to be fair, does acknowledge this less pleasant side but in an odd manner. There is a murder in the village, when someone who has done well for himself elsewhere gets beaten up and left to freeze to death - the murderers are never brought to justice though everyone knows who they are. The suggestion is that the community looks after it's own regardless, and insinuates that the victim got what he deserved by coming back and lording it over the locals in the pub. Lee builds on this idea near the end, when he is lamenting the death of village life - he admits that the community had it's problems (violence, rape, incest) but that it was dealt with when needed and the coming of civilisation, of law, was not necessarily a good thing. The idea that there may have been a section of the community, particularly women, who were victims and needed protection never dawns on him. Just as Lee abdicates from the text, he practices a form of moral abdication. This is the black heart of Lee's memoir - his cider-tinted memories dismiss the truth, creating an illusion, a precursor to all the false television environments that make viewers feel warm and safe before returning to the drudgery of work on a Monday morning. The truth remains, however, that even when you acknowledge the flaws in Lee, the book remains a beguiling one while you are reading it - a lovely chocolate box of nostalgia that you know isn't good for you but you can't resist. However, you may just find yourself feeling a little stuffed and queasy afterward. Enjoyable reading but take with very large pinch of salt. Message edited by its author, Apr 22, 2009, 6:00am.  Joann Sfar - Vampire Loves (2006, 192 pages) Compilation of 4 short volumes based on the romantic trials and tribulations of Ferdinand the vampire. Sfar is a French writer and artist, best known for his children's series, The Little Vampire, which this (adult) volume is loosely linked to. Unlike the (hyper) realist style that dominates Anglo-American comics Sfar's characters are portrayed in a loose and simplistic style, with the detail being lavished on backgrounds, if at all. This produces a quirky free look that suits a story littered with supernatural creatures such as vampires, tree spirits, witches, and a golem. Ferdinand the vampire is dumped by his girlfriend, a tree spirit, despite the fact it was her that cheated on him. (She can't help it - mandragoras are just built that way). All Ferdinand wants is to find someone special, to be love, and these tales follow his (mis)adventures in seeking this special partner. And really that's all there is to say about it, Sfar's skill as a graphic artist is not much by his skill as a writer - his characters may be supernatural but their problems are commonplace. Ferdinand can't get over his girlfriend, he meets women/female creatures who like him or don't like him or like him but not in that way. It's all nice and pleasant and completely run-of-the-mill - having a vampire or tree-man debate whether or not to phone someone is no different than having a man or woman debating it. It may look new and quirky but the words remain the same. Sfar may be French but this feels like Nick Honrby-land but not as honest, or as amusing. The level of Sfar's humour is illustrated by the fact that he calls two of the main female characters Ritaline and Aspirine. The level of his sophistication is shown by the character who chases women is revealed to be a (were)wolf. It's as if Sfar decided to create an adult tale but used the same section of his imagination that he uses for his children's works - standard jokes and heavy symbolism that work for children feel laboured to an adult. Enjoyable fluff but nothing special. Message edited by its author, Apr 22, 2009, 7:03am.  Albert Camus - The StrangerClassic existential (sic) text. The results of a study in 2006 revealed that The Stranger was the favourite book of British men. It was revealed that this had less to do with British men suffering from existential angst than it was a short and they had read it as teenagers. I like to think that Camus would appreciate the absurdity of this. Absurdity is vitally important to this short novel because Camus, as was always at pains to point out, was not an existentialist, he was an Absurdist. For Camus, man exists in an Absurd universe - a universe which is cold and silent in response to man's quest for significance and meaning within it. The logical conclusion for Camus was that man had three basic choices in life: suicide - life without meaning is pointless, the easy way out; leap of faith - a rejection of the rational, embracing abstraction, a philosophical suicide; and recognition - embracement of the absurd nature of the universe, freeing man to create his own meaning and purpose. As Camus put it himself in The Myth of Sisyphus- Thus I draw from the absurd three consequences, which are my revolt, my freedom, and my passion. By the mere activity of consciousness I transform into a rule of life what was an invitation to death, and I refuse suicide. To understand The Stranger we must understand Camus' philosophy, for the novel is a fictional representation of that philosophy. The story is simple. In the first section, Meersault, a young Frenchmen, attends his mother's funeral. He exhibits none of the emotion he is expected to, preferring to have a cigarette and a cup of coffee rather than viewing the body. Returning home, Meersault helps his neighbour, Raymond, by writing a breakup letter for him to send to his Arab girlfriend. He embarks on an affair with Marie On a blisteringly hot day, Meersault, Raymond, and Marie take a trip to the beach. There they are confronted by some Arabs, a knife fight ensues and Raymond is injured. Meersault, having acquired a pistol, stumbles across one of the Arabs on the beach and shoots him repeatedly. The second section deals with Meersault's trial and stay in prison leading up to his execution. At the trial, Meersault is tried more for his lack of emotion at his mother's funeral than the killing. The suggestion is that he would have been set free for murdering the Arab in self-defence if he had not broken the social taboo of not feeling anything at his mother's death - if a man cannot cry at his mother's funeral then he must be a dangerous misanthrope. While awaiting execution Meersault is visited by the chaplain who attempts to get him to embrace God but Meersault refuses, finally accepting the true state of the universe. The first section of the novel sets up a scenario where Camus can dramatically portray the question of Absurdism in the second section. Initially, it appears that Meersault has chosen suicide - he lives an unexamined life, a life devoid of meaning being pointless there is no sense in defending himself against the death sentence. Meersault is given the chance of recognition - he has a girlfriend who loves him, wants to get married; he has friends and colleagues who speak up for him - but he can't see the point of anything, he prefers being with Marie than not and agrees to get married but there is no involvement there. He is living without meaning. The chaplain offers Meersault a leap of faith - embrace God and you will be saved from the cold universe - but Meersault cannot accept this. He knows there is no God and to obtain faith would be a lie. The falseness of the cleric's position is shown by the fact that he will accept Meersault into the faith even if he doesn't truly believe. In his prison stay, Meersault starts to dwell on his life, and through this process of examination begins to realise that there is meaning in life: that you don't need false idols, that you create your own meaning. Meersault finally achieves recognition on the eve of his execution which results in one of the most powerful last paragraphs in modern literature - As if that blind rage had washed me clean, rid me of hope; for the first time, in that night alive with signs and stars, I opened myself to the gentle indifference of the world. Finding it so much like myself — so like a brother, really — I felt that I had been happy and that I was happy again. For everything to be consummated, for me to feel less alone, I had only to wish that there be a large crowd of spectators the day of my execution and that they greet me with cries of hate. It is ironic that Camus is now lumped with the existentialists and seen as a writer lost in self-regarding angst for he is a life-affirming writer. Camus is shouting from the pages of his books that we should choose to live, and live with meaning and purpose. Brilliant.  Message edited by its author, Apr 22, 2009, 10:45am.  Jim Harrison - Legends of the Fall (1979, 276 pages) Collection of three novellas, two of which have been adapted for the screen. About ten pages into the first novella, Revenge, I thought the storyline seemed familiar so I checked Harrison's biography. Sure enough, it had been adapted in 1990, starring Kevin Costner and directed by Tony Scott - not a good proposition. Cochran, a retired fighter pilot and keen tennis player, develops a friendship with Tiburon ("Tibby"), a Mexican businessman, who though legitimate now has a very shady pass. He has also has a very beautiful, and much younger, wife, Miryea. Before you know it, Cochran and Miryea are head over heels in fall (a point Harrison keeps making - there was never been a love like this before), which makes Tibby unhappy. He subtlely warns Cochran off but the American is too much in love to listen to anything. so Tibby extracts revenge for this betrayal - Cochran is beaten up and left for dead; Miryea is scarred, shot full of heroin and sent to a brothel (though later moved to a convent). Of course, Cochran doesn't die, he is found and nursed back to health by a mission doctor and a simple Mexican and his daughter. Now he wants revenge. On his way down to Mexico, he helps an ailing horse trader sell a thoroughbred, keeping the money after his travelling companion dies. He then calls in some favours, ends up in Durango posing as a movie producer, and getting new a sidekick in a wily Mexican. Eventually, after a few people get their comeuppance there is a showdown between Cochran and Tibby; followed by a tragic ending. If this had been written in 1958, or even 1968, it would have been a western - the lone gunmen out for revenge against the evil landowner/businessman/whatever. The concept of revenge is slightly different however - a western hero would never seduce the villain's wife before he was dead: in this version, the hero wants revenge for punishment for doing something wrong in the first place. Where westerns move from the wilderness to civilisation, this novella seems to become an anti-western, moving from civilisation to wilderness but inevitably it too ends up in civilisation - the showdown between the two antagonists is not settled in a hail of bullets but a few words: they apologise to each other. Both men have outgrown their simple need for revenge to a more complex form of acceptance. (The people that are killed are given no inner life, they are just thugs, unable to develop beyond this). Miryea, on the other hand, doesn't grow, she withers and dies. To be more precise, she pines herself to death. But we always knew she was going to die - once her beauty was destroyed, and her body defiled, there was no place for her in the future - an icon of love cannot be a damaged woman in this world. The second novella, The Man Who Gave Up His Name, is arguably the best story in this volume. Nordstrom, a rich successful businessman, suffers a midlife crisis resulting in him wanting to leave his job, giveaway his money and disappear into the masses. It's a fairly conventional plot and done at length (the dirty realists, Ford, Carver, Wolff, who had just published roughly around the time of this publication would have covered the same ground in a fraction of the page count) but succeeds where the others fail in the character of Nordstrom. All the main characters in these stories are too perfect - handsome, successful, cultured, loved by women, looked up to by men - but Harrison produces a more believable figure in Nordstrom; despite zipping around the country in chartered Lear jets we can empathise with his doubts and fears. What Harrison can't do is leave Nordstrom an ordinary man - near the end of his story he gets involved with criminals and then proves his toughness. This just undermines the credibility of the story - it's as if Harrison doesn't trust his readers, or himself, to accept an ordinary man. The final novella, and best known piece, thanks to the heavyweight film adaptation starring Brad Pitt and Anthony Hopkins, is the title story. Legends of the Fall is nominally the story of William Ludlow, a rich successful rancher, and his three sons (Alfred, Tristan, and Samuel) but is really the story of the middle son, Tristan. Tristan is the wild son, raised as much by Ludlow's old Indian scout, One Stab, than Ludlow himself; Alfred is the conversative son who ends up in politics, while Samuel is the weaker clever son, who is killed in WWI. In the space of 70 pages Tristan manages to become a WWI hero, go mad with grief and start scalping German soldiers, desert and flee to Cornwell where he meets his grandfather, who teaches him how to captain a ship. This leads to smuggling and a gun-running mission for the British for which he gets the VC - which is a joke and proves Harrison did no research on the British military. After a few more adventures he settles down with the daughter of his father's headman, only to become bootlegger after his wife is accidentally killed by lawmen looking to stop bootlegging, which results in a dispute with Irish gangsters, the conclusion of which results in his exile from the US, and effectively concludes the story except for a short epilogue wrapping everything up. (The tale even has another doomed woman - Susannah, Tristan's fiance, who eventually marries Alfred but slowly goes mad due to her continued love for Tristan). As you can see, this tale has spills and thrills, action and adventure, all compressed into a few pages. It reads like the fully fleshed outline for a full novel, or the plot for a film, or, most of all, like an upmarket pulp tale. Tristan is the literate son of the pulp heroes - handsome, rugged, tough, an expert at everything he turns his hand to, but essentially moral at heart. It's all good, (mostly) clean fun. I'm not sure what to make of Harrison from this book - he has a big reputation in certain circles in the US but the stories contained herein don't live up to that. They are enjoyable, with the exception of Revenge which is just a little silly, and are relatively well-written, though Harrison does have an issue with telling the readers, rather than showing then, but they lack depth that would raise then above that level. (Harrison does go for an emotional punch here and there but it's all a bit over-blown and maudlin). On the basis on this work it is easy to see Harrison as the heir to Hemingway with his slightly over-the-top masculine heroes - men's men, a-hunting and a-fishing, a-fighting and a-loving - although Harrison does have an acceptable style for most modern readers. His female characters are barely there at all - women who can't live, and literally die, without the love of the right man; sex objects; plot catalysts - it is an attitude that seems incredible for a modern piece of literature. I will read Harrison again - (virtuall) every writer deserves a second chance and I did enjoy this book on one level but was disappointed on a few more. Enjoyable action fiction, disappointing literary fiction. (For men only?) Message edited by its author, May 1, 2009, 5:59am.  The Hot Jazz Trio by William Kotzwinkle (1989, 153 pages) Collection consisting of a novella and two short stories by American fabulist. The main story, Django Reinhardt Played the Blues, is a surrealist concoction starring the eponymous jazz guitarist (and the other two members of the Hot Jazz Trio), Jean Cocteau, and a magician called Le Blanc; in addition there are cameos by Picasso, Satie and Andre Breton. Leblanc's assistant, Loli, is kidnapped by a vanishing cabinet while attempting the 'vanishing girl' act. The magician enlists the help of the Hot Jazz Trio and Jean Cocteau, and soon they find themselves in another plane of existence where they encounter the city of boxes, a forest of umbrellas, a land of silk scarves, etc. There are some nice touches such as the scenery stalking the characters; Loli falling in love with a scarf, who when shot bleeds dye; and Picasso making another a replacement half for Django when he accidentally gets halved between the real and fantasy worlds. It's all good clean fun, clever and written with affection for the characters and surrealism, but like much surrealist influenced writing it does get a little wearisome at times, and doesn't add up to much - unless, it is a warning to be nicer to your furniture. Blues on the Nile, the shortest of the three stories, is fairly predictable; a self-obsessed Pharoah dies and wakes up in the afterlife, where he is joined by his Chief Praiser and a nasty dwarf that used to entertain him. They are all travelling to their respective destinations which in the Pharoah's case may not be what he expects. The final story, Boxcar Blues, is closer in feel to the Django novella. A pair of trapeze artistes, Poppo and Melrose, make a mistake, resulting in a 50ft drop which should leave them dead. They set off to rejoin their circus, team up with a couple of hobos (Soup Kitchen Salamancus and the Dipper), who agree to help them. On their way they are joined by a cashier called Pearl. In pursuit is a slicked back black haired, pale-faced man who, of course, turns out to be Death. Kotzwinkle again produces some nice touches: the ghost town created by coyotes to lure their victims; Soup Kitchen's face revealing all the places he has travelled, etc. Being half the length of the first piece works in this story's favour, making it the most satisfying, in toto, of the three. This volume is neatly illustrated by Joe Servello, producing a neat package but not necessarily adding much to the tales. It may not amount to much more than a hill of beans but this is an enjoyable little collection. Message edited by its author, May 1, 2009, 6:05am.  Rushing to Paradise - J. G. Ballard (1992, 239 pages) Environmental horror story. Neil Dempsey, a 16 yo boy still recovering from the death of his father, is dragged into the ecological campaign, "Save the Albatross", led by the mysterious Doctor Barbara Rafferty. During their first trip to the island of Saint-Esprit Neil to protest against the French military occupation is shot in the ankle, making him an instant hero to the environmental movement. On the back of Neil's new-found fame, Rafferty is able to fund a new better campaign against the French on the tropical island. On board the Dugong, in addition to Neil and Rafferty, are - Kimo, who dreams of a new Hawaiian kingdom; David Carline, president of a small pharmaceutical company with a penchant for participating on do-gooding missions; Professor Saito, a botanist, and his wife come assistant; Monique, an air stewardess whose father was one of France's leading ecologists; and, Malcolm and Janet Bracewell, film-makers. Upon reaching Saint-Esprit the second time the French attempt to stop them by ramming the Dugong, resulting in the death of Malcolm Bracewell, all captured on film, which creates a media storm resulting in the French leaving the island. It also makes Saint-Esprit the holiday choice of every environmental campaigner, and the island is swamped with people and donations. Rafferty announces that the island will be another ark, a place to protect all the endangered species of the earth. As the stream of people and materials continues Rafferty eventually cracks and engineers situations to destroy all the supplies and close the island off - returning the island to purer simpler place. Inevitably, tensions mount as supplies run out but Rafferty organises a new society, one in which the men are surplus to requirement, with the exception of Neil, who being young and healthy could be of potential use. The men start to suffer from unknown diseases, rumours of the French returning start growing, and the body count keeps growing. All the elements we expect from Ballard are here - a mysterious doctor whose motives may not be what they seem; a closed environment that is both paradisaical and dangerous; a motley group of individuals with various pyschopathological reasons for colluding with disaster. The protagonist, Neil, appears to be a spiritual companion to Jim from Empire of the Sun. He even shares similar nuclear dreams -
It was this sideways look at aspects of modern technological culture that first piqued my interest Ballard - it seemed that was a writer of modernity, while so many of his contemporaries were essentially still writing 19th century novels. But times change and the nuclear dreams of Neil seem forced in this work, a homage to better earlier works. In fact that is the problem with the whole novel - we have been here too often, the scenery may have changed but the story remains the same. (To be honest, Ballard always uses the same plot - how successful each novel is is down to Ballard's engagement with the subject matter). That's not to say there is nothing to enjoy here, even lesser Ballard is worth the effort. Rafferty's attempt to recreate Eden and produce a paradise with no men is fun, as is her murderous rampage (Neil finding the bodies in the greenhouse is a nice nod to classic detective fiction); using the zoo stuffed full of rare animals as a larder - Rafferty, the saviour becomes the angel of destruction. There are some good satiric jabs at the environmental movement, feminism, the weaknesses of men, etc, but they are nice soft targets. This is Ballard going through the motions, with the result being a solid professional read. When this novel was first published most critics were writing Ballard off as a spent force but a few years later he was to embark on a series of novels that cemented his reputation as one of the best post-war British novelists. Not prime Ballard but still worth a read. (It could be that first-time Ballard readers may enjoy this more, not being so au fair with Ballard's techniques). Debug test: your member name is: |
Touchstone worksTouchstone authorsalbert camus Mike Allen J. G. Ballard Iain M. Banks Eddie Campbell Milton Caniff J.L. Carr Ted Chiang Arthur C. Clarke Robert Crais Robert Crawford Carol Ann Duffy Glen Duncan Philip José Farmer Stephen Fried Neil Gaiman Arpad Goncz Simon Gray Ursula K. Le Guin Jim Harrison Nina Kiriki Hoffman Mahjoub Jamal Kathleen Jamie Kij Johnson Gwyneth Jones William Kotzwinkle Mary Robinette Kowal Anthony Lappe Laurie Lee Suzanne Jill Levine Ian McEwan GUNN NEIL M Steven Millhauser Pat Mills Alan Moore Alan and Moore William Morris Robert Nathan Ruth Nestvold Audrey Niffenegger Ruth Padel Manuel Puig Thomas Pynchon Alex Raymond Mary Rosenblum Greg Rucka Joanna Russ Sarah Walters Joann Sfar Wallace Stevens Charles Stross Thomas Burnett Swann John Wagner Sage Walker J. H. III Williams Bill Willingham |
