Tuesday, November 19, 2024
celebrity lookeylikey of the day
Thursday, November 14, 2024
the last book I read
Who's Sorry Now? by Howard Jacobson.
Marvin Kreitman and Charlie Merriweather are old friends, despite being very different characters, which creates some occasional friction between them but on the other hand provides some rich material for a comic novel. Charlie is a slightly posh, tall, bumbling, generally pleasant sort of chap, who makes a fairly comfortable living from writing children's books in collaboration with his wife, confusingly also called Charlie. Marvin, on the other hand, is shorter, chronically and serially unfaithful to his wife Hazel, extravagantly Jewish (as befits a fairly transparent authorial alter ego) and also the pretty successful owner of a handbag and general leather goods business.
Charlie is experiencing a bit of middle-aged restlessness after twenty years of marriage to Charlie (who people seem to call Chas to distinguish her from her husband) and the raising of two grown-up children. He's still in love with his wife, and they still have nice albeit occasional sex, but he craves something a bit more...exciting? transgressive? dangerous? Moreover he feels like his old friend Marvin is a bit of an authority on excitement, transgression, danger, and (to put it more bluntly) facilitating sex with people whom you're not married to.
The conversation has just taken a bit of a left turn into Charlie suggesting that Marvin let him have a go on Hazel when, as they stagger out into the Soho night, Marvin is run down and hospitalised by a cycle messenger.
No permanent physical damage, fortunately, but Kreitman has doctor's orders to do a bit of rest and recuperation and so arranges some time off in a hotel on the edge of Dartmoor, where he and Hazel are soon joined by the Charlies. Strange things soon start to happen - Kreitman's cycling assailant, Nyman, an odd and enigmatic character who seems to exert a strange pull on everyone, also turns up and soon has Chas exerting a "strange pull" on him by giving him a furtive handjob in the hotel garden. Meanwhile Hazel and Charlie seem to have disappeared. Where can they be?
And so a new routine is settled into - Charlie and Hazel blissfully entwined while Kreitman, after a period of solitary moping, manages to persuade Chas into some sort of reciprocal arrangement. So after a bit of a lumpy period facilitating the swap and getting used to the new normal, everyone's happy, right? Weeeeeelll, up to a point: once Charlie's initial transgressive thrill has worn off he finds himself settling into the same routine of occasional nice sex with Hazel but without the satisfying working relationship and the twenty-odd years of shared experience that he had with Chas. So, perhaps she'd like to swap back? But where does this leave Kreitman and Hazel?
As I said here and here I read a few of Howard Jacobson's early novels (in particular Coming From Behind, Peeping Tom and Redback) quite a long time ago and remain of the opinion that they are his best work, for all that Who's Sorry Now? is fine and has some sly things to say about male-female relations in general and long-standing marriages in particular. There are some odd things, though: the Nyman character's odd sexual fascination to everyone is never adequately explained, and his sudden turn into an abusive girlfriend-beater at the end of the book is a bit jarring. It's nice that the novel avoids the easy way out of having Kreitman and Hazel get back together, but the specific circumstances are a bit odd: first the thing with Nyman beating up Kreitman's daughter Juliet, and then the even more bizarre business in the last chapter where Kreitman punishes himself by visiting a dominatrix and having his balls squeezed. It's as if the novel is hijacked by a different author for the last couple of chapters who just stomps on the gas and drives it wildly off the rails. There does also seem to be a dearth of characters who behave like actual real humans in a way that might make you warm to them; Hazel comes closest, which I suppose is what makes her defiant rejection of a nice cosy reconciliation with Kreitman at the end quite pleasing.
So it's funny, occasionally perceptive and highly readable throughout, but I still maintain that the first few books are the best. John Crace's Digested Reads version can be found here.
Sunday, November 10, 2024
stinky diedman
So obviously that last post prompted a more general review of the list and an attempt to come up with some sort of shortlist of potential future victims, not in a who's next Dead Pool kind of way, but just as a reminder for names to look out for in the obituaries, while wishing each and every one of them a long and happy life on an individual basis; I mean, I am not a monster.
Even this isn't exhaustive, as I eyeballed the list for people to check up on and may have missed people who are either a) older than I think they are and/or b) already dead in a way that makes them eligible for this list.
Anyway, rather than list individual ages in a tedious and time-consuming way I've grouped everyone over 80 (at the time of writing) into three groups:
- 90 and over: Alan Garner, Penelope Lively, Frederic Raphael, Michael Frayn, David Malouf
- 85-89: Renata Adler, Margaret Drabble, E Annie Proulx, Frederick Forsyth, Thomas Keneally, Don DeLillo, Joyce Carol Oates, David Lodge, Mario Vargas Llosa
- 80-84: Marilynne Robinson, Barbara Trapido, Isabel Allende, Anne Tyler, John Irving, Paul Theroux, Margaret Atwood, Susan Hill, JM Coetzee, Peter Carey, Howard Jacobson, Richard Ford, Michael Ondaatje
Frederic Raphael at 93 is the oldest person in that list. What I also discovered is that I missed another authorial demise, this one much more recent - mystery novelist and country music artist Kinky Friedman, who died in June of this year at the age of 79. This requires another addition to the list, as below: note that Friedman claims the longest curse length title from Milan Kundera at around sixteen and a half years. The two Friedman books to feature here were Spanking Watson all the way back in December 2007 and A Case Of Lone Star in July 2011.
colegate: a brush with death
While I do my best to keep up with the steady snuffing out of the lives of novelists wreaked by this blog on an ongoing basis, I'm a busy man and I will occasionally miss one. It's happened a couple of times before that I've had to retrospectively insert a couple of lines in the list, here in 2019 for instance, and again here in 2021.
Anyway, it came to my attention during some random perusing of the internet (definitely not for porn, I deny that completely) that Isabel Colegate died back in March 2023. She was a double featuree here with 1981's The Shooting Party (her most celebrated novel) in 2009 and again in 2016 with 1964's Statues In A Garden, which (as I see I sort of said at the time) reads as an earlier and slightly less brilliant draft of the later book.
Colegate was 91, which is towards the higher end of the scale in terms of people featured on this list (Milan Kundera remains the oldest victim). The curse length is one of the longest ones (Kundera holds the record here too); to move the needle significantly on the average age of death (which remains around 82, or, if you prefer a median, 86) at this stage - there are 38 names on the list, all between 59 and 94 - a novelist would either have to die while still in the womb, or live to about 500. Not saying it can't happen, but it's unlikely.
Friday, November 01, 2024
wordy num num
I was reminded by seeing Freedom juxtaposed with its immediate predecessor Candide that I'd done a post a while back about one-word book tiles. Here it is, and at the time (i.e. in early 2018) there had been 54 one-word book titles in this list; Freedom takes the current running total to 84. You may also recall (or just get off your arse and go and read the post now) that I also mentioned that the run of three consecutive one-word titles was unique; well, so it was, and so was the eventual run of four (Stick, Matter, Exposure, Nausea). I can tell you, without giving too much away, that the current run will end at two, so that record will stand for a while yet.
Here's a more general survey of book title length over the lifetime of this blog:
- 84 one-word titles as described above;
- 114 two-word titles, most recently Feersum Endjinn;
- 91 three-word titles, most recently The Devil's Star;
- 53 four-word titles, most recently Strange Fits Of Passion;
- 42 five-word titles, most recently The Tiger In The Smoke;
- 12 six-word titles, most recently The Bridge Of San Luis Rey back in May 2017;
- 3 seven-word titles, most recently The Folks That Live On The Hill in February 2020;
- 2 eight-word titles, most recently One Day In The Life Of Ivan Denisovich way back in November 2008;
- finally, a single solitary nine-word title, The Sailor Who Fell From Grace With The Sea in January 2019.
Some way to go to crack the world record for greatest number of words in a book title, though, as this apparently stands at 4,558. Maybe next year.
the last book I read
Freedom by Jonathan Franzen.
Berglunds, meet the Berglunds, they're a Minnesotan family. In the town of St. Paul, they're about to be in this story. So there's Walter and Patty and their teenage kids Jessica and Joey. Walter is a lawyer, Patty is a former teenage star basketball player, now a "homemaker". We meet them just as some destabilising changes are afoot, mainly prompted by Joey's involvement with Connie, the girl down the road. The friction this creates causes Joey to eventually move out of the family home and into Connie's home, where he comes into the orbit of Connie's Mum's new boyfriend Blake, a man of robustly Republican political leanings, another thing that doesn't sit well with the Berglunds, who are classic middle-class liberals. Eventually, with Joey seemingly moved out for good and both kids coming up to college age anyway, Walter and Patty decide to up sticks and move to Washington.
And so ends the first section of the book. The next section takes the form of an autobiographical memoir written by Patty Berglund, apparently at the prompting of her therapist as some sort of act of catharsis or exorcism. It details her early life, her brief years of sporting stardom, the knee injury that ended them, and her meeting with Walter and his charismatic friend Richard Katz. It also includes some details about her that are not commonly known, even by Walter, such as her being raped at a party when she was seventeen, or the on-and-off affair she's been conducting with Richard Katz at various times during her marriage to Walter.
Speaking of Walter, he has jacked in the old lawyering game for a job doing something closer to his heart - nature conservancy and eco-activism. Not something you'd think there'd be a ton of money in, but Walter has found a super-rich benefactor whose methods are a bit, erm, unconventional, but who is prepared to throw a large wedge at some of Walter's pet projects. He has also provided Walter with an assistant, the young and super-efficient Lalitha, who also appears to be in love with Walter, much to Patty's chagrin.
Walter and Lalitha are tasked with facilitating the purchase of a large area of mountain country in West Virginia in order for it to be turned into a bird sanctuary by the unorthodox method of mining it down to the bedrock, trousering the profits and then re-landscaping it, planting a few trees, and designating it a haven for the cerulean warbler, whereupon those guys will presumably move in and warble away to their hearts' content. Needless to say among those who aren't sure about the whole idea are the current occupants of the land and the local and national media, who are further riled by Walter's rather blunt approach to public relations.
Joey, meanwhile, is at college, still in a relationship with Connie despite adopting a fairly lax attitude to fidelity, and, while disdaining much contact with Walter, regularly accepting cash gifts from Patty, much to Walter's annoyance. Richard has become a minor rock star off the back of an album of songs inspired by his fling with Patty. Richard also has some involvement as a figurehead for some of Walter and Lalitha's eco-work and notices their obvious attraction to each other. Eventually, pissed off at Patty's avoidance of his attempts to rekindle their relationship, he leaves some of Patty's confessional writings where Walter can find and read them, which results in Walter throwing Patty out.
Patty moves in with Richard for a while but quickly realises it isn't going to work out. Freed of any obligation to Patty, Walter and Lalitha quickly start going at it like knives, also finding some time to expand their eco-activism into population control, in particular trying to persuade people to voluntarily stop having kids. On her way to do some setup work for an upcoming charity concert Lalitha's car is involved in an accident on a mountain road and she is killed.
Six years pass, with no contact between Walter and Patty. Patty, after moving out of Richard's place, has got a teaching job in New York, while Walter lives a reclusive and irascible life in his family's old lakeside cabin, formerly gloriously isolated but now just down the road from a new housing development whose inhabitants' cats wreak havoc upon the local bird life and whom Walter soon comes into conflict with. Patty unexpectedly runs into Richard in New York and he suggests that she get over herself and make contact with Walter, and so she takes herself off to Minnesota and parks herself on his doorstep in the cold until her lets her in. Eventually Walter relents and a reconciliation is effected, helped by another section of confessional memoir from Patty which Walter reads while she is thawing out.
You might recall I read The Corrections back in the fairly early days of this blog - that was Franzen's big breakthrough novel and he took nine years to follow it up, probably being a bit busy raking in the royalties and having pointless feuds with (and subsequently making up with) Oprah. For what it's worth, despite Freedom being a bit less garlanded with awards (and with the caveat that I read The Corrections 17 years ago) I enjoyed it more. Some of Franzen's discomfort about the whopping success of The Corrections was connected to the whole balancing act between wanting a large readership (which novelists, with very few exceptions, do) and the purity of your Art. If you don't want to get into a pointless discussion about the distinction between Important Literature and Just Books then you might just observe that both The Corrections and Freedom tick the boxes of being highly readable multi-generational family sagas with characters you care about while also being smart, occasionally funny and engaging with some topical issues of the day while (mostly) avoiding shoehorning stuff in in an obvious and clunky way.
The topicality in Freedom is around ecological issues like deforestation and population growth, which oddly echoes some of the main topics in The Overstory (though it's worth pointing out that Freedom was published eight years earlier), but with perhaps slightly less of a manic evangelical gleam in the eye. Besides, Freedom has other fish to fry as well, like the main family saga - love, aging, betrayal, the mutual delights and disappointments that parents and children inflict upon each other. There is the usual tricky balance to be struck when large sections of the narrative are supposedly written by one of the characters - Patty's memoir(s) in this case - i.e. they've got to be readable but not displaying a totally implausible level of literary merit. I think Patty's voice comes across pretty convincingly in these bits, as befits the most rounded and interesting character in the book.
Anyway, it's certainly not perfect but I enjoyed it very much, and it's pretty easy to scoot through despite being only a couple of pages short of 600 in length. By an odd coincidence I read The Corrections (which was itself 600+ pages) immediately before a very short book (Bonjour Tristesse) and here I'm reading Freedom immediately after an even shorter book (Candide). Life, oh life, etc.
Friday, October 25, 2024
celebrity lookeylikey of the day
Special recently deceased sporting celebrity slash dreadful 1980s music throwback edition today, as we see recently deceased former Olympic shot putter, World's Strongest Man and budgie enthusiast Geoff Capes face off against Joe Fagin, singer of various songs soundtracking the hit TV series Auf Wiedersehen, Pet (a show I should say I have never seen even a single minute of) one of which, That's Livin' Alright, gave him his solitary chart hit in early 1984.
Despite the one-off nature of this brush with the charts, Fagin had the barefaced chutzpah to entitle his 1996 compilation album All The Hits Plus More. The cover images available on the internet for his earlier album Time Is A Thief reveal an amusing typo in the title of the song Love Hangs By A Thread which puts a whole new Berlin leather bar spin on it:
Thursday, October 24, 2024
all right, smart alec
You might recall that when I reviewed Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy here a while ago I mentioned that I'd seen the highly-regarded 2011 film (starring Gary Oldman as George Smiley) in the cinema when it came out, and furthermore that I'd never seen the 1979 TV series, which famously starred Alec Guinness as Smiley.
Well I'm just checking in here to tell you not only that the full seven-part series is now available on BBC iPlayer, but that I have spent a few days, as I believe the kids say, binge-watching it. I mean, a proper binge-watch would have done the full thing in a single five-hour sitting breaking only to occasionally go for a wee and buy more Pringles, whereas I managed about an episode a day for a week.
Anyway, you'll be wanting a verdict, I imagine. It's worth making the point first that order is important here, and mine is: 2011 film, book, 1979 TV series. Obviously the TV series, occupying over twice the screen time of the film, has a bit more space to stretch out and luxuriate in the detail, and even include some stuff from the book that the film didn't have time for. As far as the actors go I'd say Mark Strong is a better fit for Jim Prideaux, Ian Bannen being a bit too old and not physically imposing enough, and Colin Firth's Bill Haydon has a slightly more brittle and less reptilian charm than Ian Richardson's. Yes, yes, but what about Smiley? Well, Alec Guinness is slightly more twinkly and charming than Gary Oldman, and you get more of a sense of his penetrating intelligence. Oldman's Smiley is grey and cold almost to the point of anonymity, which of course is what makes him such a dangerous adversary. That said, and with the caveat that Smiley's age in the various books he appears in is a bit elastic, Guinness was probably a bit older than the book's version of Smiley. Of course both versions can exist without either detracting from the other, or there having to be a definitive verdict about which one is better. On the other hand, this is the internet, so people will of course get all aerated about it.The other Alec Guinness series, 1982's Smiley's People, is also available on iPlayer. They missed out the second book in the loose trilogy, The Honourable Schoolboy, apparently for cost reasons, presumably because it features some exotic overseas locations that they couldn't afford to film in. I have some tentative aspirations to read all three books so I may defer watching that series until I've done so.
Tuesday, October 15, 2024
celebrity lookeylikey of the day
MP for Ashton-under-Lyne and our current deputy Prime Minister Angela Rayner, and, hem hem, adult entertainment performer Lauren Phillips (that link is safe, search for anything else and you're on your own). I mean, obviously it's mainly the hair. Anyway, one of them has regular encounters with Black Rod, and the other is a British politician; I expect you can make up your own jokes.
Leaving aside the knob jokes for a moment, I suspect Ashton-under-Lyne is one of the most commonly mis-spelt British place names, in that many people will assume it mirrors the form of the slightly better-known Newcastle-under-Lyme and therefore put an "m" in it. Ironically both suffixes seem to derive from words meaning "elm", in this case presumably elms on a hill, since the "under" conjunction usually (as you might expect) denotes that the thing after it is either the name of a nearby hill or a prominent thing on a nearby hill.
There are quite a few place names of this type in Britain, some hyphenated, some not, including the splendidly named Weston-under-Lizard, which, like Newcastle-under-Lyme, is in Staffordshire, and not, as you might imagine, Cornwall.
Anyway, other easily mis-rendered place names include Mevagissey (which is in Cornwall this time) which I genuinely spent a good chunk of my life assuming was called Megavissey, which not only rolls off the tongue more easily but also allows me to adapt the joke I made here and here and suggest that you get there by going through Millivissey and Kilovissey; if you get as far as Gigavissey you've gone too far. There is also the strange case of the Scottish town of Dumbarton (with an "m") being in the county of Dunbartonshire (with an "n") which can only be a cruel joke designed to catch people out.