Week 16: The Narrative of Arthur Gordon Pym of Nantucket – Edgar Allan Poe
Recommended by: Tim Major
We're taking this back, way back, nineteenth-century style, and much as I may be tempted to simply copy and paste the lyrics to Mr Raven in lieu of a review, I'm going to refrain. The oldest book I've read so far and as a lot of my readers probably know, I can be pretty hit and miss with pre-twentieth-century fiction. Some novels I love and appreciate and understand why they have been canonised. Others, frankly, bore me to tears. That said, Gothic horror does tick my boxes and there are few finer writers of the genre than Edgar Allan Poe, one of those typically Victorian author-cum-poet-cum-editor-cum-critics.
While I've read most of Poe's masterful short stories and a smattering of his poetry, I had never read his only novel. That has now been rectified. For the second time in a few short weeks, I found myself plunged into a high seas adventure and, to the surprise of precisely nobody, this also has a dark side to it and also, as the narrative unfurls, takes a definite turn for the weird.
The story starts with the teenaged titular character stowing away on a ship, seeking excitement. And boy does he find it: mutiny, rival factions, and a rapid whittling down of numbers as the ship heads into the South Pacific. Starving and alone, grim choices await the characters as they deal with the moral consequences of their deeds. And so you might think it would end, either in desperate defeat or fortunate rescue. Except it doesn't finish here; for, with something of a jarring jolt, another adventure begins. It feels almost like two separate tales fused not entirely successfully together, this latter being more of an exploratory mission towards the South Pole, part ripping yarn, part Heart of Darkness, with the odd more factual chapter on previous explorations or local flora and fauna thrown in for good measure.
The ending, when it did come, felt both sudden and unfulfilling, yet I can't argue that it served the narrative purpose well enough. Compared to his shorter fiction, it feels less well-crafted, more disjointed and unwieldy, than, say, The Murders in the Rue Morgue or The Fall of the House of Usher (this latter incidentally a pretty much perfect title as far as I'm concerned). That's not to say I didn't enjoy it – I did – and it's easy to see how it might have influenced much, from Moby Dick to Jules Verne's voyages of the fantastic. It doesn't wholly succeed as a coherent novel, but as it stands, alone in Poe's oeuvre, it's a likeable oddity, a curiousity piece in his museum of the macabre well worth a little of your time.
Tuesday, 28 April 2015
Monday, 20 April 2015
The other shoe
Week 15: Remembering Babylon – David Malouf
Recommended by: Eleanor Shorne Holden
"You hear that, Mr Boor? That is the sound of inevitability." And eventually I suppose it did have to happen, both as a result of statistical probability and human nature. No, not waking up and wondering if I'd done the right thing by taking the red pill. But having to confront the reality of reading one of my recommendations and well, not really getting on board with it.
It wasn't terrible – and I realise I'm damning with faint praise even by saying it – but neither did it grab me in any way or forge a connection. It started with promise, a straightforward premise of a stranger in a strange land, except with a neat twist that the stranger is actually an English boy raised by natives ousted from his new homeland by early settlers. This is a neat concept, exploring the life of a community in 19th-century Australia.
Gemmy, the central character, is taken in by the McIvor family, kind-hearted and wanting to do their best by him. Yet not everybody has such positive feelings towards him, distrusting not only his aboriginal ways, but also how this clashes with his outward appearance, while Gemmy himself is internally conflicted by his position. And from this one simple action, a stone cast in a pond, there are many ripples, sending repercussions initially barely noticed or felt out into the community. Like a spreading spider's web crack in a pane of glass, the fault lines within the settlement are slowly exposed.
And that was it. Nothing much happened, in spite of the unravelling consequences of the initial action, it was oddly devoid of tension. Despite a variety of narrators, none of them had a particularly defined voice, nor did they feel well rounded. I have no problems with lives lived in a small and ordinary way but none of the characters really possessed any, well, character. And neither were they simply archetypes to serve a purpose and play a role, which would be fine if it was some kind of moral tale or fable.
At best I was ambivalent towards it – that damnation again – at worst, bored. I think there was probably a good book in there somewhere, and certainly the fact it won literary awards means that at least several someones disagrees with me, but I couldn't summon one up out of it. If The National's City Middle wound the clock back one hundred and fifty years ago, it would come out sounding something like this, a tale of inane memories and mundane actions. "I think I'm like Tennessee Williams," sings Matt Berninger, "I wait for the click; I wait, but it doesn't kick in." I, too, am still waiting.
Recommended by: Eleanor Shorne Holden
"You hear that, Mr Boor? That is the sound of inevitability." And eventually I suppose it did have to happen, both as a result of statistical probability and human nature. No, not waking up and wondering if I'd done the right thing by taking the red pill. But having to confront the reality of reading one of my recommendations and well, not really getting on board with it.
It wasn't terrible – and I realise I'm damning with faint praise even by saying it – but neither did it grab me in any way or forge a connection. It started with promise, a straightforward premise of a stranger in a strange land, except with a neat twist that the stranger is actually an English boy raised by natives ousted from his new homeland by early settlers. This is a neat concept, exploring the life of a community in 19th-century Australia.
Gemmy, the central character, is taken in by the McIvor family, kind-hearted and wanting to do their best by him. Yet not everybody has such positive feelings towards him, distrusting not only his aboriginal ways, but also how this clashes with his outward appearance, while Gemmy himself is internally conflicted by his position. And from this one simple action, a stone cast in a pond, there are many ripples, sending repercussions initially barely noticed or felt out into the community. Like a spreading spider's web crack in a pane of glass, the fault lines within the settlement are slowly exposed.
And that was it. Nothing much happened, in spite of the unravelling consequences of the initial action, it was oddly devoid of tension. Despite a variety of narrators, none of them had a particularly defined voice, nor did they feel well rounded. I have no problems with lives lived in a small and ordinary way but none of the characters really possessed any, well, character. And neither were they simply archetypes to serve a purpose and play a role, which would be fine if it was some kind of moral tale or fable.
At best I was ambivalent towards it – that damnation again – at worst, bored. I think there was probably a good book in there somewhere, and certainly the fact it won literary awards means that at least several someones disagrees with me, but I couldn't summon one up out of it. If The National's City Middle wound the clock back one hundred and fifty years ago, it would come out sounding something like this, a tale of inane memories and mundane actions. "I think I'm like Tennessee Williams," sings Matt Berninger, "I wait for the click; I wait, but it doesn't kick in." I, too, am still waiting.
Sunday, 12 April 2015
It's nice to be important...
Week 14: Wonder – R.J. Palacio
Recommended by: Becky Ewan
Just in case you were wondering, no, this was not a biography of Mr Superstition himself, Stevie Wonder. Instead it's a young adult novel about August Pullman, a ten-year old born with extreme facial disfigurement. Told predominantly from August's viewpoint through his first year in school, but also advancing the story from several other character's perspectives, we get to see how others see him and also to understand how each individual feels about things, which is not always how they are perceived.
It's a neat touch, reminding the reader of the limits of first person narration and that things are not always what they seem. This is useful for the target audience, for this is definitely aimed at the younger end of the YA spectrum. The subject matter it tackles is bold and August is an interesting and likeable character. for me though, at times the story is a little overshadowed by the fact that this is definitely a book with a Message.
The main points that the novel makes is that we shouldn't judge people by appearances, that friendships can have deep roots, and that kindness is important. All great lessons and perfect for the middle school audience this is written for. Yet it does feel a little too worthy at times, and while I can't fault the message, I'm not convinced that all of the events are wholly realistic. Let's face it, kids are often jerks, particularly between the ages of 10 and 16, and do and say pretty horrible things. Some of this happens in the book, but it still feels a little too PG, and while I like a happy ending, everything was just a bit too perfect – bad guys get their comeuppance, people learn to look beyond appearances and to look out for each other. It was only a tiny step away from 'And they all live happily ever after'.
One of the reasons I liked the multiple narrators was that we got to see from some of the inner monologues that things weren't perfect, we got to understand the reasons behind words and deeds, and to remember that everyone is both human and an individual. While what August really wants is to be normal, he also feels it is nice to be important once in a while: "I think there should be a rule that everyone in the world should get a standing ovation at least once in their lives." An admirable sentiment that I'm sure would do wonders for many people's sense of self and value. However, even better, at the end of the day, I do agree that it's more important to be nice.
Recommended by: Becky Ewan
Just in case you were wondering, no, this was not a biography of Mr Superstition himself, Stevie Wonder. Instead it's a young adult novel about August Pullman, a ten-year old born with extreme facial disfigurement. Told predominantly from August's viewpoint through his first year in school, but also advancing the story from several other character's perspectives, we get to see how others see him and also to understand how each individual feels about things, which is not always how they are perceived.
It's a neat touch, reminding the reader of the limits of first person narration and that things are not always what they seem. This is useful for the target audience, for this is definitely aimed at the younger end of the YA spectrum. The subject matter it tackles is bold and August is an interesting and likeable character. for me though, at times the story is a little overshadowed by the fact that this is definitely a book with a Message.
The main points that the novel makes is that we shouldn't judge people by appearances, that friendships can have deep roots, and that kindness is important. All great lessons and perfect for the middle school audience this is written for. Yet it does feel a little too worthy at times, and while I can't fault the message, I'm not convinced that all of the events are wholly realistic. Let's face it, kids are often jerks, particularly between the ages of 10 and 16, and do and say pretty horrible things. Some of this happens in the book, but it still feels a little too PG, and while I like a happy ending, everything was just a bit too perfect – bad guys get their comeuppance, people learn to look beyond appearances and to look out for each other. It was only a tiny step away from 'And they all live happily ever after'.
One of the reasons I liked the multiple narrators was that we got to see from some of the inner monologues that things weren't perfect, we got to understand the reasons behind words and deeds, and to remember that everyone is both human and an individual. While what August really wants is to be normal, he also feels it is nice to be important once in a while: "I think there should be a rule that everyone in the world should get a standing ovation at least once in their lives." An admirable sentiment that I'm sure would do wonders for many people's sense of self and value. However, even better, at the end of the day, I do agree that it's more important to be nice.
Monday, 6 April 2015
Hippocampus
Week 13: The Secret History – Donna Tartt
Recommended by: Cat Rayson
Some initial points about The Secret History: 1. It wasn't perfect. 2. It very much reads like a debut novel. 3. It very much is a campus novel. 4. I bloody loved it.
Here are some reasons why: It's smart. It's pretentious. It's intellectual. It's pseudo-intellectual. It has brains. It has (in its own way) a heart. It's small-scale. It's melodramatic. It's ordinary. It's extraordinary. It's everything that a campus novel should be, capturing the essence of being a student, being part of an elite and not living in the real world. The posturing, the social positions, the drama, the characters, the ability to pursue one's interests, the weird distortions of time, the white middle classness of it all.
If one were disposed to, many of these things could be levelled at it as criticisms. Yet I suspect these are perhaps criticisms of students and university life in general rather than of the book, which lives in its own little bubble in a way that nails many facets of this peculiar lifestyle many of us choose for a few short years. It might not have been my university experience, but I certainly recognise and can relate to many aspects of it. It has a brilliantly described small-town sense of place, decidedly New England and WASPish, a particular slice of America. I didn't know Tartt used to date Bret Easton Ellis but certainly the disaffection of the characters, the availability and casual drug and alcohol use, are reminiscent of him, though to me there is more warmth and empathy, even coming through the eyes of a narrator who is far from ruled by emotions and seems to lack strong passions for anything.
This is one of the reasons I think Richard is an excellent narrator because as part everyman, part outsider, he's anonymous enough for the reader to possess him. Indeed, at one point I'd totally forgotten what his name was and was jarred by a reference to him by name (Richard? Who?) We don't know a lot about him, a bit of nondescript family background and I don't think there's a visual description of him at all. This is in stark contrast to the vivid descriptions of the other characters, a wonderful collection of imperfect oddities, who we get to know intimately as their relationships shift and change and more of the narrative is revealed, spilling the titular secrets.
As I said, it may not to be to everyone's taste because of the subject matter. It's smart and it knows it. It suffers from debut novel syndrome in that it feels at least partly autobiographical (a doubled-edged sword probably dependent on the strength of the book). It's probably overlong and possibly feels a little like the author was trying to throw in a few too many ideas, showing off a bit. But if you can write this well, can create a study of such depth, a group portrait of real intensity and a compelling, detailed look at what could make people commit such a crime and how things would change under stress and scrutiny in the aftermath, then I'm going to be pretty forgiving.
I'm trying to decide if I would have enjoyed it even more had I read it while I was a student, either living it or living through it, or if a decade or so of hindsight has brought (I hope) a little wisdom and perspective that has allowed me to see things I might not have done at the time. Obviously I can't answer that but my suspicion is that like all great books, they bear up to repeat readings and say new things to the reader at different stages of life. I hope that I'm right and that The Secret History has more secrets to reveal in the future.
Recommended by: Cat Rayson
Some initial points about The Secret History: 1. It wasn't perfect. 2. It very much reads like a debut novel. 3. It very much is a campus novel. 4. I bloody loved it.
Here are some reasons why: It's smart. It's pretentious. It's intellectual. It's pseudo-intellectual. It has brains. It has (in its own way) a heart. It's small-scale. It's melodramatic. It's ordinary. It's extraordinary. It's everything that a campus novel should be, capturing the essence of being a student, being part of an elite and not living in the real world. The posturing, the social positions, the drama, the characters, the ability to pursue one's interests, the weird distortions of time, the white middle classness of it all.
If one were disposed to, many of these things could be levelled at it as criticisms. Yet I suspect these are perhaps criticisms of students and university life in general rather than of the book, which lives in its own little bubble in a way that nails many facets of this peculiar lifestyle many of us choose for a few short years. It might not have been my university experience, but I certainly recognise and can relate to many aspects of it. It has a brilliantly described small-town sense of place, decidedly New England and WASPish, a particular slice of America. I didn't know Tartt used to date Bret Easton Ellis but certainly the disaffection of the characters, the availability and casual drug and alcohol use, are reminiscent of him, though to me there is more warmth and empathy, even coming through the eyes of a narrator who is far from ruled by emotions and seems to lack strong passions for anything.
This is one of the reasons I think Richard is an excellent narrator because as part everyman, part outsider, he's anonymous enough for the reader to possess him. Indeed, at one point I'd totally forgotten what his name was and was jarred by a reference to him by name (Richard? Who?) We don't know a lot about him, a bit of nondescript family background and I don't think there's a visual description of him at all. This is in stark contrast to the vivid descriptions of the other characters, a wonderful collection of imperfect oddities, who we get to know intimately as their relationships shift and change and more of the narrative is revealed, spilling the titular secrets.
As I said, it may not to be to everyone's taste because of the subject matter. It's smart and it knows it. It suffers from debut novel syndrome in that it feels at least partly autobiographical (a doubled-edged sword probably dependent on the strength of the book). It's probably overlong and possibly feels a little like the author was trying to throw in a few too many ideas, showing off a bit. But if you can write this well, can create a study of such depth, a group portrait of real intensity and a compelling, detailed look at what could make people commit such a crime and how things would change under stress and scrutiny in the aftermath, then I'm going to be pretty forgiving.
I'm trying to decide if I would have enjoyed it even more had I read it while I was a student, either living it or living through it, or if a decade or so of hindsight has brought (I hope) a little wisdom and perspective that has allowed me to see things I might not have done at the time. Obviously I can't answer that but my suspicion is that like all great books, they bear up to repeat readings and say new things to the reader at different stages of life. I hope that I'm right and that The Secret History has more secrets to reveal in the future.
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