Our Man in Havana - Graham Greene (1958)

 

Rating: Excellent

Graham Greene was a prolific writer, with many significant novels to his name, such as Brighton Rock (1938), The Quiet American (1955) and the screenplay to The Third Man (1949), a brilliant film that has aged extremely well. Greene also gets a pivotal reference in one of my favourite films, Donny Darko (2001), when a Greene novel that is censored by the high school gives Donny gnostic guidance. Due to his significant cultural presence and the fact that Greene is considered one of the finest novelists of the twentieth century, I've long known about him, but I had never managed to get around to reading his work. Apparently (according to Wikipedia) Greene divided his works into two genres, thrillers, which he referred to as 'entertainments' and the others as 'literary works'. I'm uncertain as how Our Man in Havana should be regarded, being a black comedy of sorts with a light humorous tone; ostensibly it's not a thriller, but I have a feeling that Greene perhaps regarded it as one of his 'entertainments'. The novel is genuinely funny, following the adventures of vacuum cleaner salesman, James Wormold, a world weary man who's wife left him to be the sole parent of his teenage daughter, Milly, who has a extravagant lifestyle to maintain. When Wormold is approached by the mysterious MI6 plant, Hawthorne, to spy for MI6 he reluctantly takes up the offer in order to help cover the cost of his daughter's many worldly desires. There begins a series of tricky situations, faked reports and run-ins with shady characters who threaten his life. Greene himself actually was recruited into the MI6 in 1941, where he encountered information about a character call Garbo, who was based in Portugal and filed fictitious reports in order to gain bonuses and keep his espionage career going. 

Greene, contemplating his 'entertainments'

Published four years before the Cuban Missile Crisis, which took the world to the brink of nuclear war, the novel is eerily prescient. Wormold uses the fittings from one of the vacuum cleaners he sells as inspiration for faked drawings of military structures in the mountainous areas of Cuba, and of course MI6 are very concerned. Wormold nominates a range of informants, some of whom he knows of, but does not know in person. Reality and falsehood collide when weird things start to happen to his informants, leading to some very tricky situations indeed. There's some romance too, when love interest Beatrice Severn is sent from MI6 to assist Wormold. There's also the comedic, yet pathetic character of Dr. Hasselbacher, an elderly German expat who is Wormold's only real friend in Havana. He also has to deal with the sinister threat of Captain Segura, a military thug and the owner of a wallet supposedly made from human skin, who has romantic designs on Milly. Such characters, on paper, could seem like caricatures, however Greene really brings them alive and imbues them with complex motives and human foibles. Greene's prose is concise and snappy, providing a propulsive edge to the narrative. It's a clever and classy novel and one gets the sense that, well, they just don't write them like this any more. If Our Man in Havana is typical of Greene's oeuvre then I'm keen to explore further novels. Greene was certainly prolific, with some 26 novels, numerous short stories, plays and screenplays published. Our Man in Havana was also adapted for a movie in 1959, starring Alec Guinness and Noel Coward and was critically acclaimed at the time, although hasn't had the same afterlife as The Third Man, but if it is any where near as fine as the novel it would be worth watching.

Our Evenings - Alan Hollinghurst (2024)

 

Rating: Excellent

Another book club read, the second by Alan Hollinghurst, with the first being The Stranger's Child (2011), which was the follow-up to the Man Booker Prize winner, The Line of Beauty (2004). I enjoyed Our Evenings a great deal more than The Stranger's Child, which, looking back at my review, I ultimately found 'turgid'. Our Evenings is character driven, told via the first person point of view of David Win, beginning when he is a fourteen-year old student at one of England's well to do private schools; he is also the beneficiary of financial support from Mark Hadlow, the philanthropist plutocrat patriarch, who's son, Giles Hadlow, is Win's frenemy and a future political force in the UK. Win is an outsider, is of mixed race (part Burmese), from a single parent family (his mother, Arvil, has her own significant role in the novel) and is gay. Despite Win's outsider status he thrives at school, at university (Oxford) and despite some setbacks, goes on to become a successful actor. Our Evenings is the story of his life and the story of the changing attitude to homosexual relationships over the decades, as well as the rise of a new era of intolerance as personified by Giles Hadlow, who goes on to be a right-wing Tory politician who campaigns to remove the UK from the European Union (Brexit). There's some serious themes at play, both personal and universal, but the novel proceeds at a languid pace as we follow the episodic narrative of David Win's life, rather than ratcheting up the tension. At first the novel appears too passively reflective, however as Win grows up and faces the challenges of adulthood the narrative becomes absorbing and fascinating. It draws you into Win's world of theatre, love and friendship, all narrated via his wry observational voice.

One of the strengths of Our Evenings is Hollinghurst's elegant style, there are plentiful beautiful passages throughout. The novel rewards close reading, revealing a narrative dense with sophisticated descriptive power. I rarely quote from books, but I just have to share my favourite passage in which Win is enduring a speech from Giles Hadlow: "I blanked out what he said, tipped my head back and gazed up at the great glass dome. Beyond it, in slow transition of dusk, silver planes could be seen escaping, bright in the last sun above the darkening city." It's so evocative and beautiful, but also it shows a character in opposition to the mainstream attitudes as personified by Hadlow, of conservative righteousness and philistinism. This opposition between Win and Hadlow's lives, and what it represents, is not laboured by Hollinghurst, but it is palpably felt throughout the novel, even during lengthy periods in which Hadlow is absent, but not forgotten. Our Evenings is both a very personal exploration of what it meant to be gay and an artist in the era since the middle of last century and an exploration of where we've ended up politically and culturally. It's subtle, clever and close to brilliant. In the great novelistic tradition of showing, but not telling, Hollinghurst sums up the era of the likes of Trump and Boris Johnson (whom Hadlow mostly resembles) with a great scene in which Hadlow, now the Minister for the Arts, leaves early during a performance involving Win in a helicopter, which completely drowns out the performance in a show of ugly egotistical distain. Although some readers may find the novel's slow pace and character driven narrative too much of a slog, Our Evenings really is worth the time and stands as a beautiful, topical and touching literary work.

Dark Magus: The Jekyll and Hyde Life of Miles Davis - Gregory Davis and Les Sussman

Rating: Mediocre

I absolutely love jazz, but I'm the first to admit that it is not for everyone. I've always advised the jazz novice to begin with Miles Davis, due to the fact that he both excelled at and helped create so many types of jazz that he offers something for everyone. It's just a matter of finding a way in, but if you want to read something to help you try and understand Mile Davis, then unfortunately Dark Magus is not that book. I found my copy in a pretty cool op-shop in Melbourne, it has a great cover and when I opened it the couple of paragraphs I read convinced me to spend all of five dollars to gain access to a family member's thoughts about the great man himself. Gregory Davis is Miles Davis's oldest son and as such he spent a great deal of time with him as his PA, bodyguard and general dogsbody. In the introduction Gregory promises "...not just another chronicle of his life and career..." and also that there are "...no sour grapes to this book..." He then proceeds to give a fairly chronological account of Miles family, his childhood and early years developing his jazz career. To be fair it does contain quite a bit of information that only a close family member would know, which is mostly interesting. As for the sour grapes, well, Gregory does go on to talk about being cut of the will (which is rightly something to be upset about), so I'll give him the benefit of the doubt there. Apart from the first six chapters, which covers Miles early years, most of the book does jump around in time and features chapters named after either albums or songs, such as Quiet Nights and Miles Ahead. Miles Davis had a career that was so multifaceted, influential and successful you'd think there would be no end of amazing anecdotes and obscure facts to bring to light. Well, they are there, but are buried within repetitious accounts of Miles moods, his impulsiveness, his women, his drugs and his apparent Jekyll and Hyde duel nature.

Miles Davis, contemplating his moodiness.

I can’t help but feel that Dark Magus is marred by Gregory Davis’s inherent closeness to his subject. It's not a book about Miles the music-maker, rather it is about Miles the moody patriarch. What is missing is some kind of insight into his music-making impulses. Miles seemed to be able to make the intangible tangible in his music, channelling something authentic from within to create some incredible music, perhaps the greatest in jazz, period. Another problem is that there’s not much in the way of revealing insights into his relationships with key musical colleagues, there’s Charlie Parker and Dizzy Gillespie early on and Clark Terry (Bebop trumpeter) writes the foreword, but what about the likes of Wayne Shorter, Joe Zawinul and Herbie Hancock? Possibly Gregory was not privy to such musical relationships, despite being his eldest son (born in 1945), PA, bodyguard, whilst living with Miles on and off for years. It’s a shame, but I would not recommend Dark Magus to anyone interested in his music. It’s as much Gregory’s story as it is Miles, and that’s fair enough, but Dark Magus seems like a wasted opportunity. Also the quality of writing in Dark Magus is subpar at best and could have done with some judicious editing to improve the constant repetition and the banal style. For insights into Miles Davis the man, it's best to look elsewhere, such as Miles Davis: The Definitive Biography, by Ian Carr (1999), which I read in the era before I started writing this blog. Or perhaps Miles: The Autobiography, with Quincey Troupe (1990), which I haven't read, but Miles apparently over-uses the word 'motherfucker' a great deal, which sounds promising to me! 

The Granddaughter - Bernhard Schlink (2024)

 

Rating: Admirable

Bernhard Schlink’s renown outside of Germany is based mostly on The Reader (1995), which is considered to be one of the greatest Holocaust narratives, exploring the struggle for the German people to confront the sins of Nazi Germany. The Granddaughter is a reunification novel, exploring the wider impact of German reunification (1989-90) within the microcosm of two family units, one, a couple living in West Germany and the other who live in a Neo-Nazi community in East Germany. The novel begins in contemporary times with the death of Birgit, an elderly East German who fled the communist East Berlin enclave to be with Kaspar, who had got to know her when visiting East Berlin in the mid 1960’s. Kaspar must not only contend with his wife’s tragic death, but also the private life she kept hidden from him for decades; something that is revealed once he gains access to her unfinished novel and journals. Kaspar is shocked to discover that she had abandoned a baby before she joined Kasper in the West. Kaspar’s subsequent search for his step-granddaughter leads him into the heartland of Neo-Nazi society and allows Schlink a narrative vehicle to explore the divide that lies at the heart of German society, stemming from WWII, the Cold War era and reunification.

Told via simple, yet powerful prose, Schlink focusses mainly on the impact that reunification had on his characters. Kaspar, a native West German, finds his rather naïve and idealistic notions about reunification are challenged by his late wife’s secret struggles and his interactions with his step-granddaughter, Sigrun, who has been indoctrinated with Nazi ideology, which includes an outrageous rewriting of German history. It’s mostly fascinating stuff and makes for perfect book club fodder, with weighty themes that are both historical and contemporary. Obviously Schlink’s aim is to raise awareness of the origins of the rise of the right in Germany. He takes a measured approach, the neo-Nazi characters are not painted as one dimensional right-wing nutjobs, rather their point of view is explored with a degree of humanity, although ultimately their world view is rightly rendered incompatible with objective reality. At times there is a problem with pacing, after a slow first third, in which Kaspar reads a long section of his wife’s writing, therefore revealing their back-story, the rest of the novel is dotted with abrupt decisions and some improbable plot devices (huge loans taken out by a 70-year-old bookseller and a minor’s sudden access to an official means of escape). I don’t normally worry too much about realism in novels, but within a novel of serious themes such oversights stood out, although it is still a minor quibble. Ultimately The Granddaughter is an important novel for our times; and, as previously mentioned, a perfect novel for book club discussion, recommended for all those book clubs out there embarking on their endless search for a decent read.

Money: A Suicide Note - Martin Amis (1984)

 

Rating: Sublime

Money is acknowledged as the beginning of a run of brilliant Amis novels that represents his imperial period, that continued with London Fields (1989), the booker Prize shortlisted Time's Arrow (1991) and ending with The Information in 1995. Narrated in first person by main protagonist John Self, the novel follows his trashy, decadent life as he moves back and forth between London and New York while attempting to get a film project off the ground based on an idea drawn from his own life. Money was inspired by Amis' involvement with the screenplay for a stinker of a film called Saturn 3 (1980), starring Kirk Douglas and Farrah Fawcett, which I actually managed to watch last year; it's a truly terrible, yet fascinating folly. One of the characters in Money is based on Kirk Douglas, the fantastically named Lorne Guyland, who is a total prima donna, fretting about getting enough sex scenes with the young leading lady and often ending up naked whilst having long rambling narcissistic conversations with Self. Everything around the supposed film, variously called 'Good Money', then 'Bad Money', is satirically brilliant, from the exorbitant excesses undertaken by Self and his partner Fielding Goodney in the name of tax breaks on expenses, to the actors themselves, including Spunk Davis (who is outraged when he finds out what his surname means in England), Caduta Massi and Butch Beausoleil, two leading ladies with their own neurotic impulses. Of course Amis takes things much further by inserting himself into the novel, not just once, but many times, and as a writer for hire no less, a fixer for the screenplay that Self is distinctly unhappy with. There's even some discussion from Amis (the character) about the nature of the relationship between author and protagonist which is just brilliant. It's the best example of author as character I've ever read. Apparently Kingsley Amis threw his copy of the book across the room, never to be read again, when he reached the part that includes Martin, talk about generational envy.

Amis, contemplating the nature of the self

John Self (who is based on John Barry, the director of Saturn 3) is one of the great anti-hero protagonists, a total hedonistic slob who careers throughout the novel consuming vast amounts of alcohol, drugs, fast food and porn, whilst coming onto any and all women in his vicinity. Amis described Money as a voice novel, rather than a plot driven narrative. Fortunately Self is such a vivid and charismatic character that you can't help but get swept up into his world of dubious logic and decadent self-sabotage. Self's narration of his follies and adventures is unrelentingly hilarious and tragic. It is a difficult thing to write a funny novel, but Money is the funniest I've ever read. It is undoubtably a masterpiece of literary comedy. Money is also exceedingly clever, not just for its biting satirical themes around the film industry, wealth and class, but also for the above mentioned post-modern metafictional techniques. The keys to unlock the novel's multi-layered narrative is the game of tennis played between Goodney and Self in the first third of the novel (Self is literally being played) and the game of chess toward the end between Amis and Self, in which Self thinks that he is winning, before he's brutally taken down by Amis. The relationship between author and protagonist is revealed for what it is, sinister manipulation. The epilogue, printed in italics, appears to be Self free from authorial manipulation, his own 'self', down and out, but with a new found freedom. Essentially Money is a must read novel, a work of genius, with mercilessly satirical prose and irrepressible humour. It certainly was a huge step up from the otherwise excellent Other People (1981) which proceeded Money. Martin Amis, despite John Self's poor opinion of his work and lifestyle, was definitely a genius level novelist. 

Leviathan - Paul Auster (1992)

 

Rating: Excellent

I'd long wanted to read a Paul Auster novel, having seen his books on shelves for many years, without really knowing that much about him, other than he seemed to be a typical 'New York' writer. That phrase could be taken as a compliment, or a put down, in Autser's case it's definitely a compliment, as Leviathan is a cut above the typical narratives about kooky New Yorkers getting into scrapes. The critical opinion of Auster is that he was a significant post-modern author, using multilayered narratives, and typically exploring themes of identity, chance, the nature of truth and identity. His childhood directly influenced his writing, having witnessed a lightening strike that killed a teenager while they were on a school camp, Auster became obsessed with the role of chance in life. Leviathan explores chance through the lives of various characters, most notably the friends, Peter Aaron and Benjamin Sachs, who are both writers (Auster's protagonists are typically writers apparently). Chance events and chance meetings with other characters drives Sachs to take some radical directions in his life, all told from the perspective of the narrator, his friend Aaron. Sachs struggles with self-worth and the nature of purpose, and being a novelist ends up being viewed by him as a trite manner in which to engage with the world, instead Sachs takes a more radical path. Sachs' journey is compelling, maddening and, ultimately, tragic. 

Auster, contemplating the nature of chance

Auster's writing is dense, layered and full of tension and mystery, which makes for compelling reading. This novel really gets under your skin, you begin to live it. The unravelling of the mystery of just how Sachs ends up at the point of his ultimate fate is engaging and fascinating. Auster could really write believable and complex characters, including the female characters, such as Sachs wife, Fanny, who is also a romantic interest for Aaron. Another brilliant female character is Maria Turner, a photographer who is based on French conceptual artist, Sophie Calle. Turner is the fulcrum around which the other characters move through the complex plot, in particular Sachs, who is strongly influenced by Turner's experiments with art, chance and lifestyle. Aaron's narrative voice draws in the reader, like a story-teller around a camp fire, you want to stay with him and be pulled further into the story (or even the fire). The plotting is circular in nature, with Sachs' fate revealed at the beginning, and the path that led him there is then fleshed out by Aaron's musings and investigations. It's like a detective story with political and cultural leanings, piecing together fragments of the complex life of Sachs and his search for meaning within the context of America and its place in the world. The novel's title is a direct reference to Thomas Hobbes exploration of society and the nature of government, Leviathan (1651); some familiarity with its themes would help decipher Auster's Leviathan, although it's not essential. Appropriately the novel begins with a dedication to DonDello, one of the twentieth century's greatest writers, who is also another 'New York' writer who transcends that label. Auster and DeLillo were friends, but on the evidence of this novel, they were certainly also equals. It's such a pity that Auster passed away in 2024, but at least there's his rich body of work, of which I'll be reading more of in the coming years, and so should you.

Childhood's End - Arthur C. Clarke (1953)

 

Rating: Excellent

It's been some twenty five years since I last read Arthur C. Clarke's work. As a teenager and beyond I must have read at least a dozen of his novels, but I never got around to reading Childhood's End. Somehow I even missed out on encountering any hint regarding its plot or themes, and for that I am grateful. It has long been regarded as a true science fiction masterpiece, despite many of its tropes becoming science fiction cliches in the ensuing decades. Essentially an alien invasion narrative, Childhood's End begins with the space race, but not that one, instead it begins with an opening chapter that Clarke rewrote in 1990, replacing a competitive cold war race to land on the moon, with a united effort to reach Mars in the twenty-first century; until it is interrupted by the arrival of massive alien spacecraft that hover over the major cities of the world. Sounds familiar? Such a scenario has been played out countless times, particularly in the TV series V (1983, 1984-85) and the godawful movie, Independence Day (1996). Fortunately Clarke's approach is far more subtle, intelligent, philosophical and powerful. The aliens remain hidden for the first third of the novel, instead they direct humanity from behind the scenes into a utopian age in which all suffering ceases and world peace endures. I'd forgotten just how good Clarke's writing was, he was certainly stylistically sound, but more significantly he really knew how to build suspense and create an expectation that the secrets that are bubbling away under the surface would be worth the wait. This is exactly how it played out for me, not knowing the true nature of the aliens, dubbed the 'Overlords' by humanity, the reveal that arrives a third of the way through the novel was impactful and satisfying. 

Arthur C. Clarke - master of suspense

Childhood's End contains themes that Clarke would explore later in his career, but here the notion of a transcendent higher power comes with definite uncertainty as to just how benevolent it really is, unlike 2001: A Space Odyssey (1968), in which there seems to be a no stings attached evolutionary assist from higher powers. The Overlords themselves appear consistently benevolent throughout, however Clarke gives subtle hints as to what is really going on throughout the novel. When an Overlord known as Rashaverak attends a party at the residence of a man called Rupert Boyce and is found to be perusing his large collection of books on the paranormal, you can't help but be intrigued as to what is really going on. Clarke takes his time to let the reader in on the secret, something some modern readers can get impatient about, perhaps confirmed by some of the comments on Goodreads, with a couple of readers remarking that the novel is "tedious to get through". Actually the novel is perfectly paced, with the reveals regarding the Overlord's planet of origin, their ultimate role in Earth's fate and the nature of that fate itself, coming as well timed rewards for a little bit of patience. Childhood's End is an almost perfect science fiction novel and is rightly regarded as Clarke's best, it was also the moment when Clarke broke through as a novelist, both critically and commercially. On completion I was left with feelings of both wonder, and a nameless dread. Despite the unscientific paranormal elements Clarke utilises in the novel, the hard science aspects are sound, and given what we now know about the nature of the universe (that most of what is going on in the cosmos is a total mystery), the notion that we could at some stage be ultimately confronted by the shocking truth of the true nature of existence is not beyond the realms of possibility.