Tuesday, January 14, 2025

the last book I read

A Visit From The Goon Squad by Jennifer Egan.

Hey, how are you? Come on in, there's some people I want you to meet. So this is Sasha - she's, eh, I dunno, thirtysomething? She works for a record company, primarily for this guy over here, Bennie Salazar. We'll get to him in a minute. Anyway, Sasha has a nice little flat in New York, a job she likes, as long as she can gracefully swerve Bennie occasionally making a pass at her. Strictly entre nous she's got a few, if you will, issues of her own, though; main one is she's kind of a kleptomaniac. Wallets, purses, little trinkets, you name it. She's in therapy, though - I mean, like all of us, right? - trying to work it all through. Anyway, back to Bennie - big record company exec and talent finder; trouble with that is you're only as good as your recent talent finds, though, right? And Bennie is a bit worried he might have lost his golden touch after a couple of finds turn out to be screechily unlistenable. Or maybe he's just getting old?

So here's Bennie's music industry mentor from when he was much younger, Lou. They got to know each other when Lou was screwing one of Bennie's friends, Jocelyn. Later we'll meet a couple of Lou's kids, Charlie and Rolph, on a safari trip with Lou's girlfriend, Mindy. Mindy in turn is eyeing up the tour guide, Albert. 

OK, so ... this is Scotty, another of Bennie's friends from when he was younger. Scotty's a musician but he's gone off the rails a bit lately and he's kind of a hobo these days, hoicking mutant fish out of the East River to eat. 

So you can tell we're moving backward and forward in time, here, right? I mean the episodes involving young Bennie and Lou are obviously in the past, and you sort of assume by default that the early parts involving Sasha and Bennie are in the loose "present", but, well, just keep your wits about you. Anyway, here's Bennie's second wife, Stephanie, living with him in suburbia and trying to fit in with the tennis club set. And here's Stephanie's brother Jules, a writer, but fresh out of prison after some bizarre incident involving a young actress. And here's Stephanie's boss at her PR firm, Dolly aka La Doll, who turns up shortly after running some sort of publicity scheme for a Middle Eastern dictator to humanise his image a bit (after some unfortunate publicity about murder and torture and genocide and tiresome stuff like that). The actress Dolly chooses to employ to fake a celebrity romance with this guy turns out to be none other than Kitty Jackson, the actress Jules assaulted.

Back in time a bit now to meet Drew and Rob, boyfriend and unrequited admirer respectively of Sasha. They hang out a bit, then decide, for ill-defined reasons (but following a night of drink and drug ingestion), to go for a swim in the East River, whereupon Rob gets into difficulties and drowns.

Then we meet Ted, Sasha's uncle, sent by the family to Naples to look for Sasha, this being her last known location before she broke off all contact with her family two years before. Ted takes a leisurely approach to searching, though, preferring to warm up with some sightseeing first, and when he does run into Sasha it's largely by chance. She's keeping up with the petty thievery but with a bit of the old prostitution on the side just to supplement her income. She is not best pleased to see him at first but in his clumsy but persistent way he eventually persuades her to jack it in and come home.

And now we see that our judgment of where to draw the chalk mark denoting "now" was a bit off as we zoom a couple of decades into the future where Sasha and Drew are married (having reconnected on the internet) and have two children. We also meet Alex, a former one-night hookup of Sasha's, also now married with a small child, who's been tasked by Bennie with performing some magical social media influencing to drum up interest in an outdoor concert in New York featuring none other than Scotty, still a bit mental but just about keeping it together enough to make a triumphal musical return.

Some notes on structure first: as the paragraphs above suggest this is a novel told in short and discrete chunks, featuring a wide cast of characters and not in any sort of chronological order. Indeed were it not for the loose narrative thread and the shared cast you might say it's more of a short story collection. Personally I'm not that interested in categorisation arguments of that sort, and it's more of a novel than, say, Invisible Cities. As it happens the only other thing of Egan's that I'd read before was Emerald City, which definitely is a collection of short stories. 

Secondly, the Stuff That Is Like Other Stuff list: much of what's here is reminiscent of modern American authors like Douglas Coupland and Rick Moody, the minutely detailed account Jules gives of the events leading up to his assault of Kitty Jackson is slightly reminiscent of Nicholson Baker and the heavy use of footnotes which simultaneously explain and undercut the main narrative is a bit Dave Eggers and a bit David Foster Wallace. Another thing that's a bit Dave Eggers is the last chapter, since it's quite reminiscent of The Circle in its depiction of a society five minutes in the future and just a little bit further down the social media rabbit hole than our own. 

To be honest that last chapter works less well than some of the early ones, and there are a few episodes which don't work quite as well as the others, notably the bizarre episode with Dolly and the dictator she's taken on PR duties for. Perhaps this is because we've got attached to Sasha, who is the main character - to the extent that there is one - and are waiting to find out which part of her life we're going to shoot off to next. What the whole thing is about is more of a challenge: friendship, aging, how people simultaneously change and don't change as they get older, assuming they survive long enough to get the opportunity. It's very good, anyway, which is after all the most important thing. Various august bodies thought the same thing, as A Visit From The Goon Squad was awarded the Pulitzer Prize in 2011 (there's a list of previous featurees here) and the National Book Critics Circle Award the previous year (previous featurees are Ragtime, A Thousand Acres, Gilead, Wolf Hall and Lila). I therefore deduce that Gilead and A Thousand Acres are the only previous featurees to have won both.

Thursday, January 09, 2025

it's BOTY time again

So, hot on the heels of the stats roundup is another annual thing that I've now saddled myself with: the Books Of The Year thing. I'd say this was one of the more difficult years to pick three from as there weren't really three that stood out above the others - that sounds like a terrible indictment of a whole year of beige mediocrity novel-wise, but I don't think that'd be right.

The tail-end of 2026 will mark the scarcely-believable twentieth anniversary of this blog, so maybe if I am, or indeed any of us are, still alive at that point I'll do some sort of overall Top Ten countdown or something.

Year Author Title Comment
2024 Trevanian Shibumi tending his garden, perfecting his go technique, exploring the extensive local cave systems and having eye-wateringly athletic tantric sex
Jonathan Franzen Freedom Freed of any obligation to Patty, Walter and Lalitha quickly start going at it like knives
Christopher Priest The Prestige spooky banging on the table, rattling of curtains and maybe a bit of the old ectoplasm on special occasions

Tuesday, January 07, 2025

stats entertainment

Here's the obligatory end-of-year/beginning-of-following-year roundup of blogging activities and the like. Anyone who'd just like the management summary can take away the headline fact that 2024 was pretty similar to 2023 in most respects, remarkably similar in fact. 

Just to illustrate that point: 2023 had 59 posts overall and 23 book reviews, while 2024 had 58 posts overall of which 22 were book reviews. There is a little bit of a subtlety here, though, in that I actually read (or, more accurately, finished) 23 books in 2024 but the last one was so near to the end of the year that I didn't get round to writing the review until 2025. The overall page count and therefore average book length were very slightly up on 2023; the outliers here remain 2011 and 2021 (overall page count) and 2020 (average book length). The sex split (no, stop it) was exactly the same as 2023: 17 male authors, 6 female. Anyway, here are the graphs you ordered:





A quick note on the most recent review, still very much in the realm of stats nerdery: if we insist on actual words in the title (and therefore treat G. as a special case) then Ice jointly holds the record for shortest title in this list, along with Pig and Utz. It also joins the list of one-word titles referred to here

smallebrity lookeylikey of the day

Today's pair are my son Huw and 1970s yellow cartoon weirdo Bod. Small skinny-legged person, three-letter name, voluminous upper garment coming down below waist level, profile view that makes them appear to only have one leg.


A bit of context for both halves of the image: the thing Huwie is standing on is a groyne (no, stop it) on Southbourne beach where we were last weekend, and the thing Bod is looking at is, and I quote: "an enormous bowl of strawberries and cream". This is from the episode Bod's Dream which can be seen here. The thing people who grew up in the 1970s forget about Bod is that the animated bit was only the first 4-5 minutes of a 15-minute show, and the rest of it was filled with some stuff-spotting puzzles, random songs and the interminable adventures of Alberto Frog And His Amazing Animal Band, culminating in the impossibly thrilling climax wherein Alberto chose a flavour of milkshake for a reward (for solving some mystery or other) from a shortlist of about three. 

Monday, January 06, 2025

the last book I read

Ice by Anna Kavan.

A catastrophe of some sort has occurred, ill-defined but almost certainly the result of a nuclear conflict, and as a result the world's climate has been knocked all to cock and some sort of sudden and intense ice age is in progress, gradually progressing from the poles towards the equator. 

Our unnamed protagonist is clearly a tough and resourceful sort of guy with links to senior figures in government and military organisations. He's not on official business at the moment, though; for one thing the fabric of society is starting to unravel as the ice grinds its way remorselessly downwards (or upwards, depending on your point of view and which hemisphere you're in), and for another he's nursing an obsession with a strange, fragile, silver-haired (and, I think we can assume, much younger) woman who he seems to have had some sort of prior relationship with.

So is he hoping for some rekindling of former sexy sexy times with this girl, perhaps as a sort of defiant last hurrah for humanity before the glaciers engulf everything and everyone's bits freeze off? Well, maybe, but it seems a bit more complicated than that; much of his internal thought process in relation to her seems to involve having an urge to hurt her in some way, and there are dark references to traumas in her past, maybe involving him, maybe not. 

Anyway, his pursuit of her requires him to travel from country to country, including some locations that are a bit close to the encroaching ice-front for comfort. During one of his longer stays he comes into contact with another nameless individual (basically no-one has names here, or, rather, presumably they do but we're never told what they are) known only as "the warden" who seems to occupy a position of some power and influence in society (or what remains of it) but also seems to have some hold over the girl, who currently resides, not entirely willingly (but not entirely unwillingly either), at the castle where he lives. 

So, storm the castle, rescue the girl, nick a car/boat/whatever, flee to warmer climes, have a nice cold pint and wait for all this to blow over, right? Well, it's not quite as simple as that for a few reasons: firstly the complex and ambiguous nature of the warden's relationship with the girl, but also, more confusingly, the complex and ambiguous nature of the warden's relationship with our protagonist. Despite them seemingly never having met before there is some oddly fluid melding/merging of their personalities going on - the protagonist openly muses on whether they might actually be the same person, and the girl seems to have had the same idea. Whatever, eventually a crisis point is reached and the warden takes the girl away southwards by car (a trip they barely survive intact). Meanwhile our protagonist is airlifted out by the (presumably government) organisation he still - in some nebulous way - reports to.

Deposited in another country further from the approaching ice he is subjected to a strange Kafkaesque trial on ill-defined charges, escapes, falls in with a group of technicians setting up some sort of radio antenna near a border with a neighbouring country which his (presumably military) knowledge allows him to help with, hops the border and finds himself face-to-face with the warden again. What are the chances?

And so it goes on: another unnamed country, another seemingly-miraculous encounter with the warden and the girl, an escape, sometimes with the girl, sometimes not. And all the time the ice grinds onwards and time is running out. Eventually the scene repeats itself in a beachside cabin, and subsequently a headlong car ride through the driving snow, and it looks as if this may really be it this time. Or is it?

Firstly, let's do the list of novels on this blog where there's been some sort of apocalyptic event before the narrative even starts, in no particular order and with no particular hope that it'll be complete: In Watermelon Sugar, Virtual Light, The Road, Riddley Walker, O-Zone, Barefoot In The Head, On The Beach, The Pesthouse, Dr. Bloodmoney, The Death Of Grass, Station Eleven. Just to pick out a couple of obvious parallels, the inexorable approach of doom across the whole world is very reminiscent of On The Beach, and the distinct possibility that humanity's time may be up in the fairly near future is similar to The Road. But Ice exists in a weird little dream-like bubble of its own, and could very easily be a metaphor for something completely different. But what? An obsessive and abusive relationship? The author's own lifelong heroin addiction? In an odd way the book on this list which it most resembles is none of the ones listed above but instead Christopher Priest's The Affirmation with its odd dream-like quality, the sudden jarring shifts in perspective, weird coincidences and the voyage through a series of unfamiliar and unnamed countries (coincidentally Priest wrote a foreword to an earlier edition of Ice). There's also a whiff of JG Ballard about the whole thing, and a bit of a parallel with The Ice Palace: short book, icy title and setting, dream-like quality, enigmatic young female characters with opaque motivations. None of that quite captures its strangeness, though, and it certainly passes the "lingers oddly in the mind" test that I've mentioned before. It was the last thing Kavan (not her real name) published during her lifetime; she died in 1968, a year after its publication.

Anyway, it's very good, very short (170 pages) and I recommend it, as long as you're not wedded to ideas of strictly linear narrative or satisfyingly-resolved plots.

hunting lodge

I expect you've made some New Year's resolutions for 2025, and I imagine mine are in no way out of the ordinary: match or exceed the paltry running schedule I managed in 2024, try to take it a bit easy on the old sauce, at least before breakfast anyway, finally perfect that perpetual motion machine, world peace, etc. etc. This blog, on the other hand, has stormed out of the traps in 2025 in pursuit of one thing and one thing only: DEATH. And you would have to say it's made a pretty strong start with the demise at the age of 89 on New Year's Day of David Lodge, author of Thinks... which appeared here in March 2008, and also a dozen or so other novels of which I have read a handful including the three (Changing Places, Small World, Nice Work) which are now grouped together rather grandly as The Campus Trilogy

Those are probably the three novels you want; if you must have only one I'd say the first, Changing Places, is probably the best. Much is made of Lodge never winning the Booker Prize and he features highly (alongside Beryl Bainbridge and a few others) on lists of best authors never to have won it. As I said elsewhere it's probably the case that his books were a bit cosy and middle-class to win, though as befits a literature professor he did discreetly sneak in a bit of experimentalness in places. 

At a couple of months short of 17 years Lodge also wrests the title of longest-surviving cursee from the barely-cool dead hands of Kinky Friedman. 

Author Date of first book Date of death Age Curse length
Michael Dibdin 31st January 2007 30th March 2007 60 0y 59d
José Saramago 9th May 2009 18th June 2010 87 1y 40d
Beryl Bainbridge 14th May 2008 2nd July 2010 77 2y 50d
Russell Hoban 23rd August 2010 13th December 2011 86 1y 113d
Richard Matheson 7th September 2011 23rd June 2013 87 1y 291d
Iain Banks 6th November 2006 9th June 2013 59 6y 218d
Elmore Leonard April 16th 2009 20th August 2013 87 4y 128d
Doris Lessing 8th May 2007 17th November 2013 94 6y 196d
Gabriel García Márquez 10th July 2007 17th April 2014 87 6y 284d
Ruth Rendell 23rd December 2009 2nd May 2015 85 5y 132d
James Salter 4th February 2014 19th June 2015 90 1y 136d
David Cook 24th February 2009 16th September 2015 74 6y 205d
Henning Mankell 6th May 2013 5th October 2015 67 2y 152d
William McIlvanney 7th September 2010 5th December 2015 79 5y 90d
Umberto Eco 30th June 2012 19th February 2016 84 3y 234d
Anita Brookner 15th July 2011 10th March 2016 87 4y 240d
William Trevor 29th May 2010 20th November 2016 88 6y 177d
John Berger 10th November 2009 2nd January 2017 90 7y 55d
Nicholas Mosley 24th September 2011 28th February 2017 93 5y 159d
Helen Dunmore 10th March 2008 5th June 2017 64 9y 89d
JP Donleavy 21st May 2015 11th September 2017 91 2y 114d
Ursula Le Guin 6th December 2015 22nd January 2018 88 2y 49d
Anita Shreve 2nd September 2006 29th March 2018 71 11y 211d
Philip Roth 23rd December 2017 22nd May 2018 85 0y 150d
Justin Cartwright 7th September 2008 3rd December 2018 75 10y 89d
Toni Morrison 18th July 2010 5th August 2019 88 9y 20d
Charles Portis 3rd April 2018 17th February 2020 86 1y 320d
Alison Lurie 24th March 2007 3rd December 2020 94 13y 254d
John le Carré 21st February 2008 12th December 2020 89 12y 295d
Joan Didion 14th December 2010 23rd December 2021 87 11y 12d
Hilary Mantel 22nd October 2010 22nd September 2022 70 11y 338d
Greg Bear 4th October 2021 19th November 2022 71 1y 48d
Russell Banks 4th December 2018 7th January 2023 82 4y 35d
Isabel Colegate 24th October 2009 12th March 2023 91 13y 140d
Cormac McCarthy 22nd September 2009 13th June 2023 89 13y 265d
Milan Kundera 27th March 2008 11th July 2023 94 15y 105d
Christopher Priest 6th January 2015 4th February 2024 80 9y 26d
Paul Auster 22nd April 2012 30th April 2024 77 12y 8d
Kinky Friedman 19th December 2007 27th June 2024 79 16y 191d
David Lodge 4th March 2008 1st January 2025 89 16y 301d

Thursday, January 02, 2025

the last book I read

The Leopard
by Giuseppe Tomasi di Lampedusa. 

Yes, it's a man's life in 1860s Sicily. Well, if you happen to be a Prince commanding a substantial kingdom. all the quails you can eat, etc., anyway. The man in this happy position is Fabrizio, patriarch of the aristocratic Salina family, and a generally impressive and physically imposing individual (as befits the leopard which is the family crest), knocking on towards middle age but still capable of taking a carriage down to the local village for a bit of recreational whoring, coming back to the family castle and after nothing more than a quick reviving limoncello administering a teeth-rattling seeing-to to the wife as well before a hearty breakfast.

Italy at this stage in its history doesn't really exist as a nation-state in the modern sense, being instead a series of contiguous kingdoms controlled by various aristocratic families. But changes are afoot - various coarse and malodorous proletarian types are agitating for the formation of a united Italy, including a group under the leadership of Giuseppe Garibaldi, taking some time off from inventing biscuits to do a bit of the old revolution. 

The Prince is an intelligent and thoughtful man, and realises that the changes that are probably inevitable will have a major impact on him and his family, but also recognises that there is little he can directly do to influence the tide of history. In any case, there are local and family matters to attend to, including the betrothal of his nephew Tancredi to Angelica, the daughter of the local mayor. Tancredi is marrying a bit below himself socially here, but the complex calculations involved in making a good and mutually beneficial marriage have to take into account the fact that Angelica's father is absurdly rich, while the Salinas, despite possessing aristocratic pedigree up the wazoo, are a bit strapped for cash.

With the possible end to his family's rule over their portion of Sicily in sight, Fabrizio has cause to reflect on questions like: what is the point of any of it, really? The strategic marriages, the endless social whirl, the dinner parties that no-one particularly enjoys and which serve merely as an opportunity for the hosts to show off their wealth and their cooks to show off their abilities to slaughter various items of local wildlife and stuff them inside each other. 

Fast-forward 25 years or so to 1883 and we find Fabrizio contemplating the end of his life as he sits in a bath-chair on a hotel balcony. Suffering what we are probably meant to infer is a series of strokes, he drifts further into his own internal thoughts as people rush around him moving him onto the bed and administering the last rites. Has Tancredi's marriage to Angelica been of any benefit politically, since it seems not to have been as happy as they'd hoped personally? Will he, Fabrizio, be the last of his line as Prince? What will become of Sicily and the new Italy? 

Finally we jump another quarter of a century to 1910 and see what is left of the Salinas dynasty: basically not much except Fabrizio's elderly daughters overseeing what remains of their property. The ruthless utilitarian march of progress is represented here by the state overseer of religious relics who visits and conducts an audit of the family chapel, declares most of the supposed relics housed there to be worthless (and in some cases blasphemous) and orders their removal. 

As always, write about what you know is a good maxim for a first novel; in this case an only novel as The Leopard was published a year or so after Giuseppe Tomasi di Lampedusa's death in 1957. He was himself the last of a line of Sicilian princes, a line which ended in 1946 when Italy abolished its monarchy and became a republic. Its posthumous publication adds it to a short and ill-defined (and quite possibly incomplete) list on this blog which certainly includes Notice, The Book Of Ebenezer Le Page and all three of the Stieg Larssons. Previous books on this list which were originally published in Italian include Invisible Cities, The Name Of The Rose and Foucault's Pendulum. A not-particularly-up-to-date list including other languages can be found here. Lastly, the themes being explored here of privileged types contemplating the end of an era about to be swept away by momentous events are a bit reminiscent of The Shooting Party

Anyway, it's very good, wryly and slyly humorous and doesn't wed itself to any particularly firm position on the regime that Fabrizio represents or the one which is about to replace it: sure, the whole idea of inherited ruling privilege is a bit absurd, and while Fabrizio himself is a benign and (relatively) progressive figure the system has nothing in place to prevent the odd insane tyrant popping up in the line of succession. But is the alternative better? And even if it is, does it justify the inevitable upheaval and bloodshed in bringing it about? The fact that it's taken me over a month to read a relatively short book (just over 200 pages) shouldn't be taken to mean that it's indigestible or forbidding, more that it's been Christmas and solitude (and therefore reading opportunities) has been hard to come by. 

The Leopard was famously made into a film in 1963 starring Burt Lancaster, something which might make you think: wow, I didn't know Burt Lancaster spoke Italian. Well, he may or may not have done, but his lines were delivered in English (and dubbed into Italian for the Italian version) while most of the cast delivered their lines in Italian (which was dubbed into English for the English version), something I would imagine might have made the filming a bit confusing. Like many people I became aware of Luchino Visconti's oeuvre through the potted summary delivered by Inspector Leopard here