The ending scene of this extraordinary book is just as surreal as the 300 pages that precede it: the little mouse that has appeared throughout as a kiThe ending scene of this extraordinary book is just as surreal as the 300 pages that precede it: the little mouse that has appeared throughout as a kind of murine Greek chorus of one decides to commit suicide by cat. It is a testament to the power of the novel that I, for one, cried at that ending.
I started the book with more than a little scepticism because -- well, surrealism --, but within 30 pages I was totally hooked.
I read it in French; there are, I believe, three translations in English. My internet research suggests that the earliest of these, "Froth on the Daydream" by Stanley Chapman, may be preferable, though judging the calibre of literary translation is a tricky game at best. American readers may prefer the more recent translation, "Foam of the Daze", by Brian Harper.
Jazz, the fantastical musical-olfactory invention of the pianocktail, death by water-lily, eels in the plumbing, the central doomed love-story of Colin and Chloé, Colin's friend Chick's fatal obsession with the works of "Jean-Sol Partre" -- heck, one can list the ingredients of this magnificent book without ever coming close to conveying its magic.
You will just have to seek it out for yourself. You won't regret it. trust me....more
You have to make it through the first 50 pages, which are heavy sledding. But then, somehow, it took off (for me, at least).
Which surprised the hell You have to make it through the first 50 pages, which are heavy sledding. But then, somehow, it took off (for me, at least).
Which surprised the hell out of me, to be honest. Because normally I just can't abide descriptions of furniture, and rooms and stuff -- I tend to skim right over it. Perec spends an inordinate amount of space in describing the furnishings, when he's not making up amusingly wacky lists, or telling another shaggy dog story about some guy getting fleeced or murdered or jilted in some suitably exotic locale.
Then there's the whole Oulipian constraint machinery because, you know, Perec. Apart from a bunch of ruminating about jigsaw puzzles, the big one is that the apartment building is laid out like a 10 x 10 grid, the chapters move around on this grid following a knight's tour trajectory. Then there's some other stuff about matching the constraints to the chapters according to a Graeco-Latin square design, though to be honest it's not clear that those particular constraints add a while lot to the soul of the book.
Because yes, the book most decidedly has a soul. It's not just the kind of sterile, cerebral Oulipian exercise you might be imagining.
Literary references out the wazoo, fun to spot if you enjoy that kind of game. A surprisingly poignant central trio of characters (the jigsaw jokers).
Oh, and quest stories. This book has an inordinate number of quest stories. Mostly they do not end well.
What I'm not managing to convey here is how much fun this book is. Clearly Monsieur Perec was a wicked smart dude. Equally clearly, and more importantly, he was a total mensch....more
This was terrific. I would not have expected a book about a polygamous Mormon family to be hilarious and moving as this one was. Brady Udall just nailThis was terrific. I would not have expected a book about a polygamous Mormon family to be hilarious and moving as this one was. Brady Udall just nails it. This is an extraordinary book....more
I can't quite justify a fifth star, because there is something about Grossman's writing that is a little too arch for my liking, and the pacing was a I can't quite justify a fifth star, because there is something about Grossman's writing that is a little too arch for my liking, and the pacing was a little off, but this was a terrifically strong followup to "The Magicians". It had the same grab-you-and-keep-you-reading-half-the-night power, and a much better story, one that raised the stakes and actually made you care about what happened to the characters. This one is an unabashed quest story, and though Fillory (Grossman's version of Narnia) is still a bit too thinly drawn to be particularly interesting, the parallel accounts of Quentin's ultimate maturing and loss, and of Julia's backstory, were gripping and satisfyingly worked out. I disagree with the reviews that found this less satisfying than its predecessor - I thought it was a much better story. In the "The Magicians", sometimes it seemed as if Grossman was just interested in satirizing the tropes of the Hogwarts/Narnia genre; "The Magician King" is a more sure-footed work, more original and ultimately more satisfying.
OK, so if (like me) you start this collection with the notion that there was something iffy about this Hitchens bloke -- I mean how can one dude's stuOK, so if (like me) you start this collection with the notion that there was something iffy about this Hitchens bloke -- I mean how can one dude's stuff be everywhere you look, Vanity Fair, Esquire, The Atlantic, all over the damned internet -- and he had that whole British obnoxiousness down to a T, and if you're predisposed to find a reason to dislike him, let me point you to the one demonstrably brain-dead essay of the hundred or so in this collection. It's on page 389, it's called "Why Women Aren't Funny", it's as stupid as it sounds, and it makes Hitchens seem like a complete tool. Upon reading it, you may be tempted to engage in a little confirmation bias, remembering a certain perceived shrillness in his contribution to the whole God debate thing. And wasn't he the guy who trashed Mother Theresa?
Slow down there. Time for a reality check. A few salient facts:
1) Mother Theresa undoubtedly had it coming (just ask Sinead O' Connor).
2) That dumb "Why Women Aren't Funny" is the ONLY DUD ESSAY IN THIS BOOK. Which means that Hitchens is batting over 99% here. Think about that for a while. When was the last time you came across a nonfiction collection with those kinds of numbers?
3) Yes, he can be scathing. But, to an impressive degree, it's only when provoked.
4) A defining feature of these essays, particularly those dealing with other authors, is their generosity of spirit. Frankly, this surprised me a good deal, because it didn't square with my preconceived notion of Hitchens as a kind of super-erudite arrogant asshole. He is indeed super-erudite. He can be a contrarian - it's a position he obviously enjoys. But he is not a jerk; quite the opposite, on the basis of these essays, at any rate.
5) A major part of the considerable appeal of this collection is just the fun in seeing such an intelligent mind at work. I recycled that sentence from my review of Zadie Smith's essay collection, but it's true a fortiori in Hitchens's case.
Among these essays, my clear favorites are those in which Hitchens discusses the work of other writers. There are about 30 of these, focusing primarily on English authors (though Flaubert, Marx, and Stieg Larsson make an appearance, as do Updike, Nabokov, Bellow, Twain, and Upton Sinclair). These essays benefit not only from Hitchens's apparently boundless erudition (lightly worn), but from his obvious desire always to educate the reader about the best qualities of the work under discussion. His introduction to Rebecca West's "Black Lamb and Grey Falcon" is simply astonishing. I cannot imagine a better introduction being written. To anything. Ever. Unless there's divine or demonic intervention. Maybe not even then.
At the time, I didn't pay all that much attention to Hitchen's death. Reading these essays has made me understand that it is a considerable loss. He will be greatly missed....more
I had read "Last Night at the Lobster", O'Nan's bittersweet account of the final shift at a Red Lobster restaurant about to close for good, and was hoI had read "Last Night at the Lobster", O'Nan's bittersweet account of the final shift at a Red Lobster restaurant about to close for good, and was hooked by his understated style, his ability to find meaning in the everyday details of ordinary lives, and by how unexpectedly moving that short book managed to be.
The same strengths are to be found in "Emily, Alone", the account of a year in the life of Emily Maxwell, widowed and living alone in Pittsburgh (apparently Emily also appears in an earlier novel, "Wish You Were Here", which I haven't yet read). O'Nan's style is leisurely and unhurried throughout; objectively speaking, not very much happens to Emily over the course of the book -- the focus is on the quotidian. This might not sound all that interesting, but the way O'Nan tells this story is riveting, and very moving.
If all his books are this good, then he is one of the most under-rated novelists writing today. His portrait of Emily will linger with you long after you have finished this extraordinary book. ...more
Ali Smith is one of those writers who is in constant danger of being too clever for her own good. This book follows a structure that is self-consciousAli Smith is one of those writers who is in constant danger of being too clever for her own good. This book follows a structure that is self-consciously clever, is loaded down with all kinds of puns and wordplay, has a central character who remains maddeningly opaque, and one of its four narrators is a ridiculously precocious eleven-year old, who would be completely toxic in the hands of a less gifted author. But, despite all this baggage, it works brilliantly. I found it completely engrossing, very funny, and extremely moving. It's one of the two best works of fiction I've read so far in 2012 ("Wolf Hall" being the other). ...more
I wish I could remember the exact search parameters that led me to discover this gem, but no matter. The important thing is that I did find it. It's dI wish I could remember the exact search parameters that led me to discover this gem, but no matter. The important thing is that I did find it. It's discoveries like this that make the wholesale scanning of old books into that insatiable e-library in the clouds a worthwhile exercise.
A note of clarification. According to the goodreads rating definitions, 5 stars mean that a book was "amazing". Not necessarily brilliant, or even good. Just amazing. There are books that amaze us by their badness. For instance, any collection of the poetry of the unforgettable William McGonagall. Or the infinitely hilarious English as She Is Spoke: Being a Comprehensive Phrasebook of the English Language, Written by Men to Whom English Was Entirely Unknown. This book more than earns its place in the pantheon of truly bad books. The question is, does it manage to be so appallingly dreadful that it achieves its own kind of greatness?
I believe that it does. Though it falls short of threatening McGonagall's tenacious hold on the crown of the world's worst writer, there are passages that are simply breathtaking in their badness. I will limit myself to quoting just three in this review, but I sincerely hope that these will convince you to seek out the entire online text (a skimpy 50 pages that house a stunning gallery of crimes against the language). Should you do so, please don't try to read more than a few pages in one session. Such a high concentration of linguistic mayhem could be enough to unhinge the mind.
A little background for what follows. Angus McDiarmid is a hunting guide who works on the estate of the Earl of Breadalbane. A visiting Gentleman is so taken with Angus's unique descriptions of his surroundings that he arranges to have them published, in their original form, with no editorial interference.
Here follows the evidence that I believe qualifies this slim volume for inclusion in the Pantheon of Shame:
Exhibit A - (taken from the dedication)
To the right honourable Earl of Breadalbane. May it please your Lordship, With overpowering sentiments of the most profound humility, I prostrate myself at your noble feet.... With tumid emotions of heart-distending pride, and with fervescent feelings of gratitude, I beg leave to acknowledge the honor I have to serve so noble a master... That your Lordship may long shine with refulgent brilliancy in the exalted station to which Providence has raised you, and that your noble family, like a bright constellation, may diffuse a splendour (sic) glory through the high sphere of their attraction...
That's some pretty inspired grovelling right there, if you ask me.
Exhibit B - from the introduction by the Gentleman instrumental in the book's publication
With a due tenderness for the Author's reputation, not a word nor a letter has been altered from his manuscripts; .... His speech, bold, rugged, and abrupt, as the rocks which defy all access but to the wing of the eagle and the vulture, bids equal defiance to those who would scan his meaning by the regular steps of criticism. Like the torrent shooting impetuously from crag to crag, his sentences, instead of flowing in a smooth and equal tenor, overleap with noble freedom the mounds and impediments of grammar, verbs, conjunctions, and adverbs, which give tameness and regularity to ordinary compositions.
Exhibit C - the first paragraph of Angus's striking and picturesque delineations
Of the different remarkable curiosity flowing from the excellencies of the cataract at Edinample, which partly perspicuously to the view of the beholders; its finitude confined between high wild rocks of asperity aspect, similar to a tract of solitude or savageness; its force emphatically overflowing three divisions; but, in the season of the water dropping from the clouds, its force increases so potently, that these divisions, almost undiscoverd, at which its incremental exorbitance transcended various objects of inquisitiveness, peradventure in manuscript, in such eminently measure, that its homogeneously could not be recognish at the interim, except existing in emblem to the waves of the ocean in tempestuous season.
"in the season of the water dropping from the clouds" is truly inspired badness. I rest my case....more
Sometimes you wonder, among the various apocalyptic and post-apocalyptic novels out there, which will pass the test of time. I recently re-read Nevil Sometimes you wonder, among the various apocalyptic and post-apocalyptic novels out there, which will pass the test of time. I recently re-read Nevil Shute's "On the Beach", whose vision of the aftermath of a nuclear war had chilled me when I read it as a teenager. It didn't hold up well -- the understated, stiff-upper-lip, dignity of his calmly accepting Australians as they waited for the nuclear cloud to waft their way seemed implausible, and hopelessly naive. Where was the rage? Where were the crazy people. A significant fraction of the population is constitutionally incapable of going gentle into that good night. A world after nuclear war might not be as savage as that in "The Road", (I'd like to think not, but really I want the question to be purely academic) but it's a safe bet that some degree of civil unrest would be part of it.
I've owned "A Canticle for Leibowitz" for ever, but only just got around to reading it. I was pleasantly surprised. Miller spins a fine story (it's actually a sequence of three novellas, spanning several centuries), and his vision of how things might unfold after a cataclysmic nuclear war is chillingly plausible. What I hadn't expected was how funny the book is. This is a book that fulfils all our expectations of good literature: it tells a good story, and tells it well - the author creates a world which is both completely alien and entirely convincing. The story is an important one, touching on deep moral questions. Finally, though we might find the author's view of the human race as a species trapped in an endless escalating cycle of self-destructive violence depressing, the power of this story does not allow us to dismiss it out of hand. This book may not change the way you view the world, but it will stay with you long after you read it.
"A Canticle for Leibowitz" is generally considered to be a classic in its genre (which the back cover helpfully identifies as "modern speculative fiction"). You'll get no argument from me on that score. You may wonder, as I did, about the apparently endless fascination the Jesuits exert on authors of "modern speculative fiction". (I think it was Manny who first raised this question). Don't let the Jesuits put you off. This particular post-apocalyptic story deserves to pass the test of time. I highly recommend it.
WHY IS GOODREADS SUDDENLY QUIZZING ME ABOUT TENSES? Good God. "The author shows commendable skill in his mastery of verb tenses". Does knowing that affect the likelihood you will read it? We need fewer boxes, not more, Goodreads management. ...more
Normally I'm not beguiled by first-person narratives, especially when the voice is that of an obnoxious boorish narcissist. Mykle Hansen's HELP! A BeNormally I'm not beguiled by first-person narratives, especially when the voice is that of an obnoxious boorish narcissist. Mykle Hansen's HELP! A Bear is Eating Me! is an honorable exception. Despite having a protagonist of unparalleled loathsomeness, unblemished by even a hint of concern for others or a scintilla of self-awareness, this book charmed the pants off me. The title is sheer genius, and completely accurate. As the story opens, its truly despicable antihero, Marv Pushkin lies pinned under his all-terrain vehicle somewhere off-road in Alaska. The rest of the 120-page story is structured as an ongoing monolog from Marv to the reader.
If you think about it for a second, you realise that Mykle Hansen set himself a nearly impossible challenge. A first-person narrative in the voice of a complete jerk that still manages to engage the reader is a pretty tall order. I'm happy to report that the author rises to the occasion, magnificently. I read H! ABiEM! in a single afternoon. It was hilarious. And written so smoothly that you ask yourself "how did he do that?"
Lying trapped and helpless isn't the only trial Marv has to survive. There's that angry bear whose cub he ran over with his Rover who takes revenge by gnawing off his extremities. He also suffers several hallucinatory visitations, both human and ursine, as he self-medicates to counter the mounting pain. This makes him the quintessential unreliable narrator.
The character of Marv works as a (hilarious) caricature, but the thought does occur that Hansen may have sacrificed the potential for greater emotional impact by making him so relentlessly loathsome. Most readers will be ambivalent on whether to root for the bear or for Marv. Scrooge's four ghostly visitors ultimately cause him to undergo a change of heart. Lear's misadventures in the storm teach him compassion and effect a reconciliation with Cordelia before he dies; Gloucester learns to see more clearly as a result of his blinding. HELP! A Bear is Eating Me! is not a story of growth and redemption. But so what? It's brilliantly realised and genuinely funny.
Before reading this book I was not a fan of Rebecca Solnit. Upon the insistent recommendation of several friends who rarely steer me wrong, a few yearBefore reading this book I was not a fan of Rebecca Solnit. Upon the insistent recommendation of several friends who rarely steer me wrong, a few years ago I bought a copy of her earlier book about Eadweard Muybridge ("River of Shadows") and found it completely unreadable. I could sense that Solnit was smart, but it was as if she were speaking in tongues - wading through her prose was sheer torment. So I ditched it.
About a month ago I heard her speak about this latest book on a local radio program and she was so incredibly smart and passionate and articulate, and her thesis was so appealing, that I felt compelled to give her another chance. A Paradise Built in Hell was well worth it. It's an extraordinary book -- fascinating, thought-provoking, and ultimately persuasive in supporting Solnit's thesis. And although her style is still somewhat undisciplined, and the material could have been more tightly organized, I found these aspects less annoying than in the previous book, probably because they seemed to be primarily a manifestation of her infectious enthusiasm for the material.
Viewers of "The History Channel" will be familiar with its habit of broadcasting a regularly scheduled "Apocalypse Week", during which they attempt to goose the ratings by scaring the bejasus out of their viewing audience. A typical day's programming during Apocalypse Week takes one possible way in which the world might end (megavolcano explosion, meteor impact, nuclear holocaust, deadly plague, climatic catastrophe, the Rapture, Armageddon as prophesied in the Book of Revelations, insert your own favorite apocalyptic nightmare here ...) and develops it in depth. The cynicism and idiocy with which these scenarios are fleshed out cannot be overstated (e.g. alleged "experts" pontificate on whether emergency services are likely to be overextended, or whether planes will fall out of the skies, in the immediate aftermath of the Rapture; or the apocalypse is linked to the prophecies of Nostradamus, or the Mayan calendar; boundless idiocy runs rampant). Certain themes are common to all apocalyptic scenarios, however- in particular, a complete breakdown of the social order, with people reverting overnight to atavistic stereotypes, resorting to looting and hoarding as they fight tooth and claw for limited resources. This projected behavioral model is also popular with government and law enforcement agencies, e.g. to justify the aggressive intervention by armed law enforcement personnel with broad powers and orders to shoot to kill (think of the official response to Hurricane Katrina). It's based on a depressing and frightening view of human nature.
In A Paradise Built in Hell Solnit mounts a spirited argument that this pessimistic view of how people respond to catastrophe is fundamentally wrong. Instead, she argues, disasters are far more likely to bring out the best in people -- there is a natural desire to help one another, which is actually easier to put into action, given the relaxation of social barriers that often prevails in the wake of a disaster. You might go for years just nodding at that neighbor across the street, but after the earthquake/fire/blackout the two of you may just end up having a real conversation.
Solnit grounds her argument in five specific case studies:
* the San Francisco earthquake of 1906 * the 1917 explosion of the munitions ship Mont Blanc in Halifax, Nova Scotia * Mexico City's 1985 earthquake * the World Trade Center attacks of 2001 * Hurricane Katrina and its aftermath.
There were instances where a bad situation was made worse when those in power, through fear or panic, resorted to extreme and unwarranted measures (General Funston's imposition of de facto martial law following the SF quake, where soldiers were given license to shoot to kill anyone who did not cooperate satisfactorily; FEMA's and law enforcement's response after Katrina, where citizens were treated as likely criminals rather than people who needed to be helped). The fear-mongering narrative of barely contained pandemonium often finds traction with the media, but is rarely accurate. By detailed examination of the five case studies, Solnit makes an extremely convincing argument that the "natural" response to disaster is increased cooperation, a sense of solidarity and future possibility, indeed a degree of exhilaration among most survivors.
All five examples are interesting, but her discussion of the WTC attacks and Hurricane Katrina stand out as exceptionally measured, thoughtful and thought-provoking.
This is an extraordinary, wonderful book, which I recommend to everyone....more
Like, omigod dudes and dudettes!!! This book is pants-crappingly awesome*.
Over the past few days the smart folks on GR have been engaged in an onLike, omigod dudes and dudettes!!! This book is pants-crappingly awesome*.
Over the past few days the smart folks on GR have been engaged in an ongoing discussion of Richard Powers, in particular the reputed-to-be-remarkable Galatea 2.2. "Ah", I think to myself, "I missed the whole Bolano bandwagon, but here's a chance to make up some ground - I'll order Galatea 2.2 and then I can maybe slip a few pseudo-profundities into the discussion so I can appear smart by association". (This being goodreads, contributing to the discussion when you haven't read the book is a very risky strategy - these are the smart kids after all). So I log in to Amazon, submit my order, and through the miracle of FedEx, my very own copy of Galatea 2.2 is right there, just waiting for me to crack it open.
It was a good plan, and would have worked just fine, had I not included "Everything Explained Through Flowcharts" on the same order. It was a bit like unpacking the new Soloflex machine you'd ordered, only to find that someone had thoughtfully included a crack pipe with a week's supply in the package. What's it going to be? Edifying Galatea 2.2 or a hit of delicious literary crack?
I'm ashamed to confess, that was eight hours ago. There has been ample opportunity to set the crack pipe** aside in the interim. But why would you? Because, I mean, it makes no sense to read the Powers book until I've absorbed all of the wisdom that Doogie Horner has packed into this work. A work of sheer fucking genius, I might add.
Ultimately, my contribution to the ongoing Galatea 2.2 discussion can only be more insightful, more incisive, once I've fully absorbed the insanely comprehensive taxonomy of heavy metal band names, the stunningly complete exegesis of movie heroes and villains, doomsday scenarios, superpowers, designer paint names, casual and fast-food dining. How did I manage to survive this long without having access to the "equivalent health effects of deadly fast food" chart (sample entries: Carl's Jr. Double Six-Dollar Burger = nail hammered into your pancreas; Bloomin' Onion = bullet)?
If you need further convincing, you can find a sample from the book at this link .
Or you could just take my word for it. THIS BOOK IS SHEER GENIUS FROM START TO FINISH.
*: I realize that this particular phrase has been trademarked by a certain GR reviewer in Indiana, and possibly by Spike TV, but it's really the only possible descriptor here. **: For younger readers, or those unskilled in discerning sarcasm - please note that "crack" is being used as a metaphor throughout this review. There is no actual crack pipe - i have never smoked crack, and neither should you. In the immortal words of Whitney, 'crack is wack'....more
I'd been consciously avoiding this book. It seemed to be ubiquitous there for a while, jostling for position among my Amazon recommendations, enjoyingI'd been consciously avoiding this book. It seemed to be ubiquitous there for a while, jostling for position among my Amazon recommendations, enjoying pride of place on the "Our staff recommends" shelf at various physical bookstores, just generally trying to ingratiate itself into my shopping basket. I resented this, so I would find excuses not to buy it - I'd already read half a dozen books on this topic within the past couple of years, the author looked like a precocious teenager with attitude, this was his second book already (clever bastard!), I didn't like his essay in the recent Science writing anthology, etc etc etc. But finally, at the San Francisco yuppie Borders going out of business sale, I broke down and put it in my basket.
I still think that recent essay was weak. But this book is terrific. (to be continued)...more
I'm the product of an Irish Catholic boarding school for boys. In September 1968, at the tender age of 11, I left the warm (over-)protective bosom of I'm the product of an Irish Catholic boarding school for boys. In September 1968, at the tender age of 11, I left the warm (over-)protective bosom of home and family -- not just one, but two grandmothers, and a housekeeper to fuss over me while my mother saw patients -- and became one of the 80 or so boys in the first year class at a Franciscan boarding school, about 25 miles north of Dublin, and 160 miles from home. The experience, particularly the first year, was incredibly brutal*. But it was also entirely necessary, and completely transformative. I can trace back almost all of what I consider to be my defining character traits to that first year at Gormanston. I wouldn't consider the time I spent at boarding school the "best years" of my life, but it was definitely formative. The survival strategies I learned there pretty much set the pattern for the rest of my life.
So I approached Skippy Dies with reservations, and a certain amount of trepidation. The defining characteristic of life in a boys' boarding school is tedium - would Paul Murray be able to capture the tedium accurately and still write an interesting book? Would reading it stir up a bunch of memories best left undisturbed? And could the book possibly live up to the considerable hype that it has generated?
It turned out to be pretty amazing. Paul Murray does indeed get boarding school life down right - he completely nails it. His more significant accomplishment is to have written a book whose appeal transcends the specificity of its setting. Skippy Dies is a sprawling, ambitious doorstopper of a book, with an extensive cast of characters (jocks, nerds, priests, lay teachers, parents, drug dealers, psychopaths), not unlike a Dickens story. Fortunately, Murray has the skill to bring these assorted character to life and to tell a story that grabs and keeps the reader's interest.
The main focus of the book is to present the events that led up to the death of 14 year old Skippy and to explore its effect on the school community. Along the way, Murray considers a huge variety of disparate themes, ranging from string theory to ancient Irish burial mounds to trench warfare in World War I. Not to mention the pervasive adolescent obsession with sex. At times it seems as if these are mere digressions in a book that's already quite hefty, but the author knows what he's about, and pulls the various threads of his tapestry together to a powerful and satisfying conclusion. With so many balls in the air, you keep expecting him to crash and burn, but he doesn't -- the writing is superb throughout, the story never flags, you don't want it to stop and are a little bit sad when it does.
What do we ask of a good novel? A question with as many answers as readers (a pointless question if you live in Toronto and are called Buck). I take a slightly old-fashioned view. If an author can create a vividly imagined world, make me care about his characters, and tell a good story that moves me, then I'm a happy camper. Paul Murray does all of these things in this terrific book, and does them so brilliantly that the story transcends the specificity of its particular milieu. Other reviewers have suggested that the book is likely to appeal only to male readers - I couldn't disagree more.
This is a terrific book. The Man Booker judges should hang their heads in shame for their failure to include it on this year's shortlist.
*factors that worked against me included my age (at least 2 years younger than anyone else in my class), my generally spastic performance at all sports (even more unforgivable was my unwillingness to even pretend to care about sports) and - fatally - showing up on the first day only to realize that I was the only kid in the school still outfitted in short pants. I might as well have had a "KICK ME" sign around my neck - my mother carried her guilt about this rare misstep with her to her grave.
If you asked me to choose a writer particularly skilled at illustrating the latent nastiness that lurks in small provincial towns, my first choice wouIf you asked me to choose a writer particularly skilled at illustrating the latent nastiness that lurks in small provincial towns, my first choice would probably be a French author -- either Balzac or de Maupassant. The cruelties and resentments of village life are recurrent themes in their work -- a good illustration is one of de Maupassant's earliest and best-known stories, Boule de Suife , which paints a devastating picture of the meanness and nastiness that characterizes the behavior of the powerful towards those they perceive as being lower in the social pecking order. It's not a particularly uplifting view of human behavior, but de Maupassant is so convincing that you don't doubt him for an instant.
I haven't read any other fiction by Penelope Fitzgerald, but "The Bookshop", a novel of only 120 pages (but of staggering brilliance), immediately places her in the same league as de Maupassant. Which is to say, way up there. It's astonishingly good. (Why am I only now discovering this author?)
So I face the reviewer's problem of being reduced to babbling incoherence by a book that I really, really loved. (Ideally, I'd have this problem more often). Efforts to isolate the exact locus of its brilliance have a way of foundering in the overworked cliches of reviewerspeak. What the heck - why don't you just mix and match at will from this partial list:
# terrific, idiosyncratic characters, in particular # Florence, the totally kick-ass heroine, who is pitted against # some totally hissable villains - the kind it's fun to hate # a story that pulls you in - Fitzgerald grabs your attention and never lets go (now, a hyper-critical reviewer might point out that having your story be about a plucky widow who tries to improve life in her town by opening a bookshop amounts to stacking the deck - c'mon, admit it, who didn't love 84 Charing Cross Road growing up - but there will be none of that niggling hypercriticality in this review) # originality - this is not a book that fulfils one's cosy expectations (it's no 84 Charing Cross Road, refer to the first paragraph above re pettiness and meanness of village life) # excellent writing - specifically, Fitzgerald's uncanny ability to create vivid characters, situations, and a sense of place with amazing economy # etc, etc, etc
Oh, what the heck, all I really need to say is that I strongly encourage you to read the book yourself, if you haven't already done so.
I'm heading off to track down some more of Penelope Fitzgerald's books. Between this and the even more awesome "Winesburg, Ohio", this was a weekend in which it was good to be a reader!
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