What is it with writers putting themselves in their books? Brett Easton Ellis went from being a kind of bored god to me to totally frickin insane (in a bad way) in Lunar Park, and Douglas Coupland did much the same by sauntering into JPod in an exercise in twee pointlessness. It’s a sequal of sorts to Microserfs, one of my favourite novels, but where ‘serfs has feeling and characters that seem like *actual people*, Jpod has pointlessness and a bunch of totally un-charming cardboard cut outs. The narrative gets more and more lazy as it goes through and just feels like a first draft, complete with gimmicky typography stunts. Really disappointing. Not at all recommended.
Category: books
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Read: White Teeth by Zadie Smith
This was kind of like reading Michael Chabon for the first time – I couldn’t wait to finish so I could rush out and read everything else she’d done. Set in London, White Teeth bucks its way over a hundred years or so to tell the story of three London families. But that’s kind of like calling The Simpsons a sitcom about a family of five. All kinds of little non sequiturs pop up, and Smith jumps out of the narrative regularly with a snappy metaphor or observation just to make it clear she’s way smart. You know she’d be great company over a pint. It’s a roller coaster ride that gathers up all the threads neatly just when it seems totally impossible. Recommended.
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Read: Flesh and Blood – Michael Cunningham
American family from immigrant background live an increasingly desperate life. Cunningham has an extremely skillful turn of phase, and despite several hard twists and turns in his story (there’s several ‘oh shit‘ moments), the characters’ path seems grimly inevitable. Thoroughly enjoyable.
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Read: To Have And Have Not – Ernest Hemmingway
Wikipedia says Hemmingway reckoned To Have And Have Not is ‘a bunch of junk’. I reckon he’s right. It’s a mish-mash of a couple of short stories. One’s about Harry Morgan, a hard on his luck fishing boat captain forced to take increasingly desperate measures to feed his family. The other’s about a bunch of utterly charmless writers drinking and shagging about in the Florida Keys. Both stories are shoved up against each other in a fairly artless manner (Heh. A half arse blogger calling Hemmingway ‘artless’. that’s what the Internet was made for, team.). The best bits are the very start, with some enthralling writing about big game fishing in the Cuban gulf stream, and the last three pages. The rest is fairly forgettable.
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Read: Grapes Of Wrath – John Steinbeck
I’m doing a quick, one paragraph review of novels I read this year – so I’ve got a record, apart from anything else.
Like a roller coaster, the first bit was a bit flat, but when it started picking up speed… I haven’t had a *physical* reaction to a novel like this in a long time – my heart beat faster, my stomach churned, and I swore aloud on the bus. The story of the Joad families’ trip from Oklahoma to California to find work in the depression era is gritty, bleak and graphic. Again, like a roller coaster – just when you think everything’s going to be alright, that’s usually when things turn to shit just that little bit faster. Beautifully written, with characters you want to take home for a BBQ and a bath. Highly recommended.
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Fav reads of 2008
I read embarrasingly little that was *new* in 2008. But I did get lots read – thanks, bus commuting and baby-enforced early nights. My best were:
– East of Eden, with a surprising amount of sex and violence for a book written in 1952 and set at the turn of last century.
– In Cold Blood, Truman Capote’s journalism / novel crossover. Mind bogglingly detailed and chilling.Best of the rest were James Ellroy’s The Cold Six Thousand that made me. Want to. Write short sentances, Emily Perkins‘ Novel About My Wife made me want to live in London again, and I’m revisiting an old favorite in my holiday reading, Boy and Going Solo.
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Heavy going
David Foster Wallace killed himself at the weekend.
I should really attempt Infinite Jest again – I stalled at about the 600 page mark. It’s probably not one for the bus, in fairness. Dave Eggers reckons it takes a solid month.
Two links – Roger Federer as religious experience. And one from The Onion.
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Sick. But I like it.
Here’s the paragraph that made me snort on the bus today:
I noticed a stuffed spaniel poised by the fireplace with a yellowed newspaper rolled into its mouth. Madeleine said ‘That’s Balto. The paper is the LA Times for August 1, 1926. That’s the day Daddy learned he’d made his first million. Balto was our pet then. Daddy’s accountant called up and said ‘Emmett, you’re a millioniare!’ Daddy was cleaning his pistols, and Balto came in with the paper. Daddy wanted to consecrate the moment, so he shot him. If you look closely, you can see the bullet hole in his chest. Hold your breath lovey. Here’s the family.