Nick Hornby

This is a book for readers. ... Even more so than all other books, which kind of by definition are also for readers. There's not a single book, or even publication, that has so drastically blown up my to-read list in the last year or so. Hornby is a person who loves books in the same way most millenials love television — enthusiastically, unrelentingly and with numerous exhortations as to why you should love it, too.
I appreciate that Hornby doesn't assume we've all read the book before he show more gets around to talking about it. Like a good (regular) book reviewer, he largely avoids spoilers and (unlike most regular reviewers) is forbidden by decree from slagging on those things that don't meet his taste.
Even past the book recommendations, though, are Hornby's insights and quips about reading, life, and other redundancies. His idea that some books are bad but also sometimes they're just not read properly, for example, is one of the best arguments in favor of a "no negative reviews" policy I've ever heard. And even if you hate Arsenal (or don't care about sports in any way), his excuses and slackening reading pace through some months will give comfort to all those who sometimes can't find the time for books in a given month (or two). show less

Rating: 4* of five

The Book Description: “Read what you enjoy, not what bores you,” Nick Hornby tells us. That simple, liberating, and indispensable directive animates each installment of the celebrated critic and author’s monthly column in the Believer. In this delightful and never-musty tour of his reading life, Hornby tells us not just what to read, but how to read.

Whether tackling a dismayingly bulky biography of Dickens while his children destroy something in the next room, or show more getting sucked into a serious assessment of Celine Dion during an intensely fought soccer match featuring his beloved Arsenal, or devouring an entire series of children’s books while on vacation, Hornby’s reviews are rich, witty, and occasionally madcap. These essays capture the joy and ire, the despair and exhilaration of the book-lover’s life, and will appeal equally to both monocle-wearing salonnieres and people, like him, who spend a lot of time thinking about Miley Cyrus’s next role.


My Review: What fun. What a perfect way to smile and wile a few hours away. What a terrible thing to do to myself, read a book of a book-lover’s book review columns. By dint of the most severe self-talk imaginable, I held myself to requesting one—ONE—book from the liberry after reading Hornby's review of same.

A biography. Of Charles Dickens.

Yes, that's right, Nick Hornby the Book Incubus, the Boy-Siren, has convinced me, the arch-hater of Chuckles the Dick, to eat his turnips and read a book about the horrid bore. If I'm honest, which depressingly enough I am, I must say that Claire Tomalin's disparagement of several of the Great Satan's novels played a large part in my willingness to put myself through this misery.

So if you don't know me at all, let me assure you that there are several jaws now being scraped off of floors on several continents and a selection of islands. Hornby? He got the goods, my man, he got the goods if he can convince Richard to read about Dickens.

And he does. Hornby's mix of personal life, professional writing career, and lifelong reader-of-stories is perfect for a grazing read, pieces of just the right length to amuse without burdening the pleasure-seeking reader with interesting but useless information. His sharp eye for the way books work, what makes Novel X miss where Novel O works brilliantly, and why biographies only ever get fatter and fatter as a person's life is serially biographized, and how history could be improved by thinning the cast...well, all that's so much a part of his observed world that it's merely the scaffolding he hangs funny, wise, glib, snarky sentences on.

Fourteen bucks retail. Worth every one of 'em, too. show less

If you're too vinyl records and classic pop music, this is definitely the book for you. Since that's not really my thing, I struggled a bit with this book, since it left me to simply rage at the characters. The narrator Rob is exactly the kind of male character I can't stand (especially in real life!): he runs through women with no consideration to commit to them, he's obsessed with music and very judgmental of those who don't meet his standards for "good taste", and manages a record store show more on the edge of bankruptcy. Seriously, I applauded his girlfriend Laura for leaving him and wanted to smack her when she went back to him. Maybe I'm sexist, but I'm very much over novels which romanticize the experience of under-employed men who can't seem to get their lives together. show less

Back in March, I reviewed a play called The Ledge, about two young men on a rooftop contemplating suicide.

This prompted my brother Andrys to send me a copy of A Long Way Down, by Nick Hornby, which starts with basically the same scenario only with four characters on a London building: a disgraced male TV presenter, the mother of a severely disabled boy, a brash teenage daughter of a politican, and a young American man whose rock band has broken up.

I mentioned in my review of The Ledge, “an show more absurd dark comedy”, that suicide is tricky territory to negotiate, and especially to make funny.

Hornby, however, has built a solid reputation for finding humour in unlikely situations, often involving depressed people lamenting their failures.

His million-selling 1992 novel High Fidelity was about a deeply depressed record store owner who literally revisits his past failed relationships with women. And it’s very funny.

His equally million-selling 1995 novel About A Boy was about the relationship of a feckless man with a bullied youngster and his suicidal mother. And it’s also very funny.

You could say Hornby has made a (vey successful) career out of writing with great wit and humour about the interplay of sad and lonely characters trapped in deep emotion, and in doing so he reflects the absurdity and desperation of modern life.

Well, I could, anyway. And A Long Way Down certainly fits that profile.

It’s notable that Hornby has the four main characters narrate the book, taking turns to tell their collective story in first person, alternating between chapters.

That he sustains this successfully throughout shows Hornby’s skill as a writer, jumping around between four very distinctive voices while maintaining a consistent storyline.

This lets you kind of skim over the fundamental absurdity and frequently unlikely turns of events. And somehow, he manages to also work in a supporting cast of characters in each narrator’s story who are weird and wonderful in their own way, and who inevitably intersect in unexpected ways with all the main characters.

It all seems impossible when I describe it like this but Hornby is truly gifted at making you believe the unbelievable while you laugh out loud. I actually did that on the bus, my spluttering drawing the attention of my fellow passengers – not recommended.

At the same time, we never forget that we’re reading about significantly damaged people – although perhaps not as damaged as they think they are – who share some deeply emotional moments as they struggle with suicidal thoughts.

Modern life, indeed.

Like Hornby’s aforementioned novels, A Long Way Down has been made into a movie. The cast don’t seem to me to resemble the characters in the book, but then it is described as “loosely based” on the novel, as these things often are.

In any case, I’m grateful to Andy for sending me A Long Way Down. It’s funny and sad in a way that will make many readers reflect on their own lives, for better or worse. show less