William Boyd (1) (1952–)

This fictional journal of the writer Logan Mountstuart kept me enthralled for the bulk of this bulky novel. I was sorry to see it end. I miss it. When starting with his childhood, I twitched and sighed hoping that we would soon be into Oxford days, but after twenty or thirty pages, I was hooked. Not a fan of roman a clef or historical fiction, here I was enjoying both, in a journal format, particularly the protagonist's encounters with real life figures like Hemingway or Joyce or Picasso or show more the Duke of Windsor. Settings were seductive, Oxford, Paris , Zurich, Bermuda or New York City. The spy tasks during WWII, the haunting prisoner of war years and aftermath, the art gallery milieu, the publishing business fascinated me. There is a Meiner Badhof interaction toward the end, oddly involving our hero, which didn't seem to fit, but I never faltered in my bulldozing through the book, picking it up at even a hint of insomnia. My favorite quote from his Southern France retirement oasis of which he writes:

The pleasures of my life here are simple – simple, inexpensive and democratic. A warm hill of Marmande tomatoes on a roadside vendor’s stall. A cold beer on a pavement table of the Café de France – Marie Therese inside making me a sandwich au Camembert. Munching the knob off a fresh baguette as I wander back from Saint-Sabine. The farinaceous smell of the white dust raised by a breeze from the driveway. A cuckoo sounding in the perfectly silent woods beyond the meadow. The huge grey, cerise, pink, orange and washed-out blue of a sunset seen from my rear terrace. The drilling of the cicadas at noon – the soft dialling tone of the crickets as dusk slowly gathers. A good book, a hammock and a cold, beaded bottle of blanc sec. A rough red wine and steak frites. The cool, dark, shuttered silence of my bedroom – and as I go to sleep the prospect that all this will be available to me again, unchanged, tomorrow. (p.479)

I need only the hammock and cold, beaded bottle of blanc sec to supplement this good book. show less

Unlike the last book I read, this one has a strong central theme. It is: Men Are The Worst. I’m not sure whether Boyd intended this theme to bring the stories together; nevertheless it does. Throughout, women are images, objects, and possessions rather than people. Even the one story with a female narrator is entirely concerned with men and their feelings. Additionally, as with many short story collections, the first is the best and gives the book its title. ‘The Destiny of Nathalie show more ‘X’’ is an often hilarious satire on Hollywood film-making. I especially enjoyed everyone’s solemnly expounded theories. The subsequent stories are well written - although Boyd is too keen on the word ‘farinaceous’, which is best used sparingly. Their content, however, was laughable. I’ll summarise each in a sentence so you can see what I mean.

- War is hell, philosophy is hell, all my friends are dead.

- My car broke down but I banged a hot chick from Paris so it’s all good.

- I really wanted to bang this Portuguese waitress because I’m obsessed with Brazilian music, but she turned out to be Italian so my life is tragic.

- I’m obsessed with these French sisters and an American dude pays for all my drinks because I promised I’d introduce him to them.

- I’m banging the less hot one of identical twins and it’s making me insane with jealousy.

- My wife, who I can only describe in terms of her appearance, has left me and none of my immense wealth or privilege is any comfort whatsoever.

- My husband died, then this guy who seemed nice turned out to only want to see me for a few days a year in order to act out his weird sexual fantasies.

I simply can’t take this kind of thing seriously. Sorry, William Boyd, faced with characters such as these in real life I would laugh in their faces and strongly discourage my friends from dating them. The Hollywood satire is great, though. Probably because it isn’t about a man’s feelings. show less

I found myself in a bit of a reading rut lately, and William Boyd’s Trio turned out to be just what I needed. The eponymous “Trio” are the three slightly interconnected characters who anchor the book with rotating short chapters—Talbot, Anny, and Elfrida. Set in 1968, the trio are all in the seaside city of Brighton for the filming of a movie—Talbot as the producer, Anny the star, and Elfrida the wife of the director. Boyd brings subtle English humor, his distinct attention to show more detail, and a convoluted story that unravels in an amusing but thought-provoking way. Trio gives us three lost souls in the same world but traveling completely divergent paths to their distinct ends. show less

Any Human Heart is written as a series of journals throughout the life of the fictional character Logan Mountstuart, from his public school days in 1920s England through to his final days as an elderly man in rural France in 1991. Such is the quality of Boyd's writing, I had to double check at one point that this character was in fact definitely fictional, as he weaves in a cast of famous names as bit characters in Mountstuart's life which ebbs and flows between wealth and poverty, love and show more sorrow, fame and invisibility, all played out across a backdrop of fascinating locations.

At it's heart it's quite a sad book, a chronicle of a life that superficially seems so have been so full yet ultimately echoes with loneliness. show less