Darkmans (edition 2007)

Ms. Barker may or may not be a good writer, but this isn’t a good book. I liked the characters, and much of her writing style, a lot, but there are so many problems.

Very mild spoilers may follow, not really giving away the plot though;


There is no plot. I was actually enjoying the book quite a bit in spite of the problems, but when I got to the end of the 800 pages I realized I didn’t know any more about the story than I did when I read the blurb on the back. There is no story. She sets up this interesting cast of characters and slowly unveils a complex web of some kind of supernatural, psychological, and possibly historical connection that binds them all together. I was intrigued and couldn’t wait to see where this was going. It doesn’t go anywhere. She simply doesn’t explain or even hint very strongly at an explanation for any of the things that were happening, not even how all these people are supposed to be connected except things like "oh, I worked with him on a project a few years ago". Ooh, I didn’t see that coming!

The book just ends. It could have ended like that at any point and been just as satisfying.

The strange part is that much of it is well written, and on the other hand it’s full of weird and cheap writing tricks, as well some just plain bad writing. It sort of felt like she just didn’t trust her writing skills, or Joe Eszterhas was brought in to pump it up.
1. She writes the whole book with the characters thoughts in italics between lines. Only there isn’t really any information there. It’s 95% "hmmm" "what?" "maybe" "so…" and this goes on for THE WHOLE BOOK.
2. There’s a lot of dialog in this book, and 9 out of 10 times one person says something, the other person says "what?" or "huh?" and then the first person repeats it. It’s truly bizarre how often this happens.
3. She writes in a pretty natural style (except for the things I’ve mentioned) so it was kind of jarring when she would suddenly throw these bad creative writing class sentences in, almost all in the exact structure of "the blank blanked blankly on the blank, like a blank in blank" as in "The dead whale bobbed soddenly in the tide, like the last pickle in the jar" (I’m too lazy to look one of hers up, that’s my impersonation). Suddenly there would be a couple of these per page, and then they’d go away for a while. It was like another writer slipped some parts in.
4. She introduces lots of ancillary characters in as part of this web, and then just drops them. At least you get some sort of feel for the main 4 or 5 characters. The others are introduced in ways that seem important. I’m thinking "aha, they both know Mr. X, I wonder what that means?". Turns out it means nothing. There’s lots of revelations that 2 characters have a connection by another character that suddenly shows up, but then that’s it, just the fact that they have a common acquaintance.

When you add that all up it’s a lot like listening to a child tell a long rambling that they’ve forgotten the point of halfway through.

It has a really interesting germ of an idea for a plot, but apparently she couldn’t figure it out.

Sometimes I read a book and don’t love it until the end, this was the opposite. I really don’t know what the point of this book was, it seemed like someone practicing writing characters for when they write a real novel. Even saying all that, it wasn’t at all terrible, or totally unenjoyable, just kind of pointless in the end. I’m sure there’s some sort of "The Tree represents longing" type theory going on here, but it was a flawed theory.
( )

It's about as challenging to describe Nicola Barker's writing style as it is to read it but picture Thomas Pynchon's twisty and chaotic words with an unreliable narrator in terms of depicting the true reality of every moment crossed with a bit of Flannery O'Connor and you'll have something close. Her vocabulary in and of itself is like a dense road to travel on but it's filled with some glorious wit and cultural references too, for those of us who enjoy sightseeing.

I don't use this term lightly but Ms. Nicola Barker is brilliant and that's something you pick up from the first thrusts of this ambition novel. This is a work of postmodern fiction that brings this genre to a pinnacle and simultaneously to it's knees. It's unfaltering and awe inspiring and perhaps the most inventive novel I've read all year. This one will leave you gasping to keep up and gaping at each new chapter. And truly, I haven't seen characters this vivid since Trainspotting..this is very different in terms of subject matter but the sense of these people really and truly alive is unmistakable.

This novel is a little bit about the relationship of a father and son as well as between a wife and a husband and their son who seems to definitely be on the Autism spectrum but seems centered mainly on delusions and how they affect everyone and everything. Of course, the reader must suffer to decipher through these delusions too and figure out what really is happening. Barker doesn't always spell things out. That would be way too easy on her readers and she clearly expects much more from us.

This is set in postmodern England but it draws from many different time periods in terms of the breadth of it's references. Decipher Barker's true meaning in all it's ways and you might hold the key to the entire universe. Either way, take a glorious stab at it. Even if you don't succeed, you'll be stronger for your journey.


Some quotes:

pg. 174 "He already had a well-documented genius for circumnavigation."

pg. 356 "'A man needs a maid."Kane automatically quoted Neil Young.
'Just someone to keep his house clean, fix his meals and go away." she quoted back
'Marry me!' Kane exclaimed.


pg. 773 "'Is it because of my line of work? Kane demanded, paranoid. 'Is it because I'm a dealer?'...'Does that just make you automatically assume,'Kane continued, furious, 'that I'm the kind of person who thinks pretty much anything can be bought and sold?'"

pg. 824 "The *truth*," Peta informed him, baldly, 'is just a series of disparate ideas which briefly congeal and then slowly fall apart again...The truth is that there is no truth. Life is just a series of coincidences, accidents and random urges which we carefully forge for our own, sick reasons-into a convenient design. Everything is arbitrary. Only art exists to make the arbitrary congeal. Not memory or God or love, even. Only art. The truth is simply an idea, a structure which we employ-in very small doses-to render life bearable. It's just a convenient mechanism."

pg. 825 "You were telling yourself a story. You were weaving a spell. You were making all the parts fit. You were feeding into a general energy, a universal energy. You were probably adhering to a basic archetype a 'first model' as the Ancient Greeks would have it-something like he's threatened by his father, he loved his mother, he's terrified of death...or maybe something more intellectual, more esoteric like...I don't know..like the idea of this disparity between fire and water. She pulled a moronic face, 'Or the absurd idea that language has these *gaps* in it and that lives can somehow just tumble through."





( )

I was totally surprised to see this book averaging out at 3 and a half stars. For me it went slap bang into my top twenty reads of all time! When you first get the book and see that it is 838 pages long you think you are going to be in for rather a long haul. I polished it off in a few days though and really wanted much more. A lot of the reviewers giving lower scores here have mentioned lack of plot. Who cares! If it is plot you are after that has a nice beginning, middle and end then you need to read something a little lighter. This is a book that makes you think and like all the best books it makes you think about yourself. Don't worry about the plot, just enjoy the interplay between the fascinating and bizarre assortment of characters in this extremely clever and funny novel. Now on to the Yips - soonish. ( )

Ramshackle ghostly, wordy, epic, excellence

The truth' Peta informed him, baldly, 'is just a series of disparate ideas which briefly
congeal and then slowly fall apart again...'
'No,' Kane shook his head, 'I'm not buying that. What's been going on feels really ... really coherent, as if everything's secretly hooking up into this extraordinary ... I dunno ... this extraordinary jigsaw, like there's a superior, guiding logic of some kind...'

A chaotic, epic brilliant mess of a book. A book where history bleeds into the present, of cruel practical jokes, cold revenge, of ghostly possession. A book where language explodes onto the page, into the font, into the layout. Where characters stop half way through their sentence tripping over the sudden complex etymology of words.

"Yeah. My . . . uh . . . My bat . . . uh . . . my beit . . . bite . . . my boat. . . .

A book of lust and love, of extreme comedy, of dysfunctional families and embarrassingly accurate social scenes. A book where I have no clue what just happened but I love it.

For there is no nice plot summary here, they flow and eddy, are hinted it, disappear and sometimes come back and don’t expect them all to be resolved. The characters carry the novel and its themes enrich it. Barkers unusual style allows you to dive straight in their souls and swim in dirty waters. She has an ear for natural dialogue and knows how to write with and nail down social scenes.

"I couldn't play along because I didn't know what the rules were."

The cast isn’t large for a tome of this size but it feels beautifully stuffed. So we meet salad fearing Kurdish immigrant Gaffer, who goes into beautiful monologues in Turkish that no one can understand. We are pulled into upright, uptight Beede’s (non) relationship with his charming, drug dealer son and their love of Elen (a chiropodist, a witch?). There there’s her narcoleptic (possessed?) husband and their gifted son Fleet (who is manically building the medieval Cathedral at Albi out of matchsticks). No one is a kooky oddball stereotype and everyone is pulled into the Darkman's disturbing embrace. It's hard to pin down a favourite though: probably outrageous, chav Kelly who finds god in visions and coincidences or that mocking unseen narrator.

Kelly frowned and tucked in her skirt so the wind wouldn't lift it and
show off her thighs. It was a little short -

Should'a thought of that

-and the fabric was rather flimsy (for something supposedly military)
-although she'd never yet seen anyone wearing a mini-skirt in a situation of mortal combat.
Except for Lara Croft

Tank Girl
That pretty cow in Alias

-and she always did okay).

For such a weird book it flows well, Barker spends time at the beginning careful crafting the characters and building the world, layering its mystery. As a reader you have to relax and go with it, some of it is actually explained in the end and what isn’t well, choose your interpretation or wallow in lovely uncertainty. It’s never odd for oddness sake, its incredibly easy to read and look you can pay attention the 2nd time round.

It’s a brilliant book, quite unlike anything I have read and worth trying (50 page rule firmly in place). Lovers of oddity and language, history buffs and anglophiles will lap this up. Those who like neatish tales, wrapped up endings and tight action will probably want to steer clear.

Highly recommend and thank you to Anders & visbleghost for sticking it on my radar.

'The truth,' Peta smiled, 'is that there is no truth. Life is just a series of coincidences, accidents and random urges which we carefully forge - for our own, sick reasons - into a convenient design. Everything is arbitrary. Only art exists to make the arbitrary congeal. Not memory or God or love, even. Only art. The truth is simply an idea, a structure which we employ - in very small doses - to render life bearable. It's just a convenient mechanism, Kane, that's all.' ( )

Be prepared for a difficult ride if you decide to heft this 838-page exploration of history as a malevolent prankster infiltrating our present lives. This theme is personified in John Scoggin, the medieval court jester who takes possession of a number of the book's characters, including a narcoleptic security guard and an estranged father and son living in the same house. Add an art forger, an unscrupulous builder, a precocious 5-year-old engaged in the chronological construction of a French village, a Kurd with a lettuce phobia, a stolen paralyzed dog (complete with mobility cart) to the cast and it becomes clear that this is a comedy. This book earned Barker the 2008 Hawthornden Prize and a place on the 2007 Man Booker Prize for Fiction shortlist. I award this 7 out of 10 stars: the plotting is difficult and the characters unlikeable, but the language is exquisite. ( )