The Anniversary - Stephanie Bishop (2023)

Rating: Mediocre

Even though I finished The Anniversary only two weeks ago I've had to look it up to remind myself what it was about and what happened across its interminable length. I'm finding it difficult to even write this review, such is my antipathy toward the novel. In any case, here I go: JB Blackwood, a novelist, and her famous filmmaker husband, Patrick, twenty years her senior, embark on a cruise in order to rekindle their relationship. There's much more to it, of course, taking in such weighty themes as the nature of narrative, which is often fragmentary and opaque (as the novel keeps reminding you) and the power imbalance that can exist between men and women, especially in the creative field, and, of course, the mysterious nature of marriage. It turns out that Patrick was JB's tutor (what a surprise!) and JB's rather naive crush turns into a marriage in which both fuel the other's artistic endeavours, until it all comes to an end on the cruise to celebrate the couple's anniversary (hence the title...). The story is told strictly from JB's perspective in a very claustrophobic first person style, with no direct dialogue, rather JB informs the reader what other characters are saying and doing. JB's perspective totally dominates, which is part of the thematic point of the novel. It doesn't take long to suspect that JB is an unreliable narrator and that the reader is only privy to a skewed and distorted version of events, both in the present and the past.

Marketed both as a mystery and a thriller, The Anniversary is neither. JB's musings have a soporific effect on the mind and body, as she endlessly ponders her past, her marriage, the publishing industry and most of all, the loss of Patrick, who has 'mysteriously' fallen overboard during a storm off the coast of Japan. Unfortunately there's no mystery about it, as it is obvious that JB herself was directly involved. It's hard to be sympathetic toward her, she is a distinctly unlikable character. For a novel to really have emotional resonance it needs to make you care about what happens to the principal protagonist, however I didn't care at all about JB's predicament; her struggle to get through the demands of an author tour right after the death of her husband, her traumatic childhood due to her mother's disappearance, and her attempts to outrun her part in Patrick's death. The novel slumps badly during a lengthy middle part in which JB stays with her sister's family in Australia, which very obviously explores the dysfunctions that lay at the heart of her wider family. The Anniversary does have something going for it, it is easy to read, but unfortunately it reveals itself to be one of those popular fiction novels masquerading as literary fiction. There's lots of them out there and perhaps that's what the novel is being compared against, surely this is why it was long listed for The Stella Prize? The Anniversary was a book club read and I have to report that it is one of the worst received novels in the near twenty year history of the Subiaco Library Book Club. I ask members to rate the novel out of ten at the end of each session and ninety percent of the ratings fell below five. No mercy was shown toward the novel by the members, making my comments in this review seem tame in comparison. Enough said!

 

10,000 Light-Years from Home - James Tiptree Jr. (1973)

 

Rating: Excellent

James Tiptree was actually a female writer using a male pen name to help her work be accepted in the male dominated world of science fiction. Her name was Alice Sheldon and judging from the fascinating and imaginative short stories found in this volume she was one of the best science fiction authors of the 1970s and 1980s. I grabbed 10,000 Light-Years from Home off the shelf because it presented a very different proposition to the heavy tomes I've been reading lately. It didn't disappoint. Tiptree's writing style and thematic bent reminds me of the short work of Walter Tevis. The stories are written in a vivid, almost hip style that pops out of the page with its inventiveness and intelligence. The unusual story titles reveal just how clever and snappy her writing is, the first being And I Awoke and Found Me Here on the Cold Hill's Side. Even after reading the story I'm not sure what it means, but the story slyly inverts the usual alien/human relationship, with the hapless humans totally addicted to the unique pleasures aliens provide. The Snows are Melted, the Snows are Gone drops the reader into an unfamiliar world with no explanation offered. The story is a vivid vignette involving an armless girl and her wolf, who trick a primitive human into capture. That's it basically, but Tiptree makes it very exciting and also leaves you wanting more. This story reminded me of the concepts found in the artwork of Moebius (Jean Giraud). In a similar fashion to Mobeius, Tiptree's stories are the kind that you just have to go with and not expect everything to be fully explained. The Peacefulness of Vivyan is the perfect example, an idiot savant who just wants to swim in an alien ocean is taken in by freaky seal-man creatures. All becomes apparent, kind of, but the writing is so good it doesn't matter either way, a big part of the reward is the narrative journey itself.

Alice Sheldon

One of the best stories in this collection is Painwise. A human starship pilot is along for the ride as his ship explores the galaxy, investigating worlds and the various freaky life-forms. He can't feel any pain, so when he is deposited on a planet it doesn't matter what happens to him, he'll survive and be patched up by the ship. Unfortunately he's had enough and tries many different ways to end his life, whilst also begging to be taken home. This is just the premise, what happens to him is ingenious and wild, you'll have to read the book to find out. Not every story has aged well, Birth of a Salesman is rooted in hip madmen style corporate argot that doesn't translate well for the current time, also the twist in the tale is just too obscure. However there's some great time travel stories, The Man Who Walked Home is brilliant and ingenious, as is Forever to a Hudson Bay Blanket, a tragic love story played out over a closed time loop. My favourite two stories are Mamma Come Home and Help. As with some of the stories in the Walter Tevis collection, Far From Home (1981), these stories feature reoccurring characters, in this case they work for NASA and are heavily involved when aliens, in the form of giant women, turn up. Tiptree has some fun satirising pulpy fantasies of giant sexy women, these women literally kill men by having sex with them, but not all is lost, as the clever ending reveals. In Help more aliens turn up and the crew have to try and deal with their religious fanaticism. Once again the satire is turned up to eleven and religion in general is the loser. These stories deal with some serious themes in fun and inventive ways, making you think a bit more deeply than you realise. Having finished 10,000 Light-Years from Home I'm not surprised that Alice Sheldon had a background in experimental psychology, worked for the CIA and was also a major in the US Air Force during WWII. Like her life, her fiction is a multifaceted and intelligent adventure. Recommended for those who want to be challenged, or who just love weird science fiction.

Tomas Nevinson - Javier Marias (2021, English edition 2023)

 

Rating: Sublime

I had prior warning that Tomas Nevinson is a superb novel from both a colleague and a library patron, both of whom have excellent tastes. Turns out that they were right. Marias, who unfortunately passed away from covid induced pneumonia in 2022, was considered to be one of Spain's greatest ever writers. He was prolific, producing some sixteen novels, along with short story and essay collections. Apparently he was somewhat of a curmudgeon, complaining about the trials of modern life in his regular newspaper column. Tomas Nevinson is his last novel and is one of those works whose brilliance is apparent within the first few paragraphs. The prose is crystal clear, sophisticated, erudite and compelling. Told, initially at least, from the first person perspective of the eponymous protagonist, the novel is deeply psychological and philosophical, both thematically and literally. The first hundred pages are dominated by Nevinson's musings regarding his past, his present situation as a retired agent (from MI6) and his sunset job as a public servant. He meets his former boss in a park in Madrid, the debonair and sinister Bertram Tupra. Tupra wants Nevinson for one last job. They move to a cafe where Tupra tries to railroad Nevinson into taking the mission, which involves living in a north-western Spanish town called Ruan in order to investigate three women, one of which aided and abetted ETA terrorists from the Basque region. That's all that happens in the first hundred pages, but somehow, despite the glacial pacing and Nevinson's digressive musings, it is utterly compelling and absorbing.

Marias had a massive personal library

Essentially Tomas Nevinson is, like Donna Tartt's The Goldfinch (2013), an example of modern realism, giving no concession to the narrative greed of the modern reader. The pace of the novel adheres to the pace of living as a spy in a Spanish town, complete with the mist that obscures the figures walking back and forth over the main bridge opposite where Miguel Centurion (Nevinson's undercover alter ego) lives, spying on the three Ruan woman via various means.  After the long opening chapters in which Nevinson ponders his life and the way forward in the first person, here the narrative slips seamlessly into third person, until you realise that the narrator is actually Nevinson, referring in the third person to the actions and thoughts of Centurion. It's a skilful and clever sleight of hand by Marias, one that works extremely well, drawing you into the deep psychology of both Nevinson's character and that of his alter ego. Marias characterisations are superb throughout, the metrosexual Tupra is exceptional and, in particular, the husbands of two of the suspects stand out; one a vain and egotistical dandy dressed in lurid suits, the other a conceited control freak, arousing himself erect by play-fighting with his antique swords. Within all of the musings and serious moral themes there's some canny humour to be had.

Pondering The Trolley Problem

Tomas Nevinson is an examination of the moral conundrums of the famous Trolley Problem. The moral complexities Nevinson grapples with is confounding for Centurion (see what I did there...?), but crystal clear for the likes of Tupra and his many and varied associates. It's a complex but rewarding moral maze for the reader to get lost in, always compelling despite frequent slow passages of digression and almost neurotic musings from Centurion. Tomas Nevinson is a companion piece (specifically not a sequel, according to the author himself) to Marias' prior novel, Berta Isla (2017). They stand as individual works, however a library book club member who went on to read Berta Isla commented that it shone useful light of Nevinson's psychology and his back-story with Berta, who is Nevinson's wife. Berta does feature in Tomas Nevinson, but Berta Isla is her story, told from her perspective, allowing the reader to consider Nevinson from the outside, which indicates that it is probably best to start with Berta Isla. As someone new to the works of Javier Marias, I can't wait to read all of his work; at last, another worthy literary author discovered, too late to enjoy him while alive, but I'm sure that his brilliant work will live on.

Crime and Punishment - Fydor Dostoevsky (1866) This version translated by Richard Pavear and Larissa Volokhonsky (1992)

 

Rating: Admirable

"Why do people who read Dostoevsky look like Dostoevsky?": Here Comes a City - The Go-Betweens (1996)

For the record, I don't look like Dostoevsky, but by the time I finished Crime and Punishment I certainly felt like I could relate to how Dostoevsky might have felt (bleak, to put it bluntly). I thought it was time to try and read some of the Russian literary greats and chose to begin in the most obvious place with Dostoevsky. Firstly, reading a novel that was written in the middle part of the nineteenth century is a very different proposition to reading novels written a century later. It takes a while to adjust to the archaic writing style, let alone the very Russian archaic writing style. Crime and Punishment is written in the third person, but it is a very closed third person. The famous main protagonist, Rodion Romanovich Raskolnikov, very much dominates the oppressive narrative with his nihilistic world view. It is extremely claustrophobic and bleak, with scenes dominated by Raskolnikov cowering in his hovel of a bedsit or wandering the dark streets of St Petersburg; or scenes involving the many other characters talking to him, or talking about him to each other as if he isn't in the room. I wouldn't be giving anything away by mentioning the double murder he commits in the first part, as it is one of the most famous murders in literary history. The murder scene is quite gruesome, but what Crime and Punishment is really all about is what happens in the aftermath of the murders, enabling Dostoevsky to explore the moral quandaries of human nature and the intellectual and spiritual scaffolding humanity places around itself to cope with what lies beneath. As a precursor to the existential writers of the twentieth century, like Sartre, Celine and Camus, Crime and Punishment is a fascinating read. Raskolnikov rejects pretty much everything, God, religion, the State, education, work, money and close relations with other humans. He is completely alienated and is a totally unsympathetic character, to the extent that you couldn't even refer to him as an antihero. It's hard going and I needed to read the novel in three seperate periods of time. Frankly it was a triumph of will just to finish it, maybe I should have read Nietzsche in-between to give me strength (apparently Nietzsche loved Dostoevsky's work).

Dostoevsky, looking like Dostoevsky after reading Dostoevsky

I've read that Dostoevsky is not necessarily known as a great literary stylist, or even as a storyteller, but that he is all about exploring ideas. Crime and Punishment is best read with this in mind and it will help, just. It's a hard slog through a dialogue heavy narrative, in particular during the scenes involving multiple characters, where it is hard to keep track of who is saying what and just who is in fact there, as each character is know by at least three different names. It is extremely long-winded, with whole chapters going by with not much happening in terms of action or plot, just long extrapolations of conjecture, philosophy, or just downright misery. With this in mind it is useful to remember that authors in the nineteenth century were often paid by the word and their works were serialised, giving them an income for as long as they could spin them out. The novel does not arrive at its main thematic thrust until 260 pages in, when suddenly Raskolnikov's murderous actions makes sense in terms of his world view. The novel then became a bit easier to read, for a while! One of the main problems, from a modern readers' point of view, is that there is not much in the way of extrapolation from the author, Dostoevsky's authorial voice is mostly absent, instead the characters explore the novel's themes via dialogue, or via their actions, which are often confusing or confounding. Looking on Goodreads I noted that some readers proclaim Crime and Punishment as one of the greatest novels ever written, while others condemn it as a bloated wreck of a novel, with few redeeming features. I sit somewhere in-between, whilst I appreciate the novel's historical importance, in particular in terms of its ideas and themes, I did not enjoy reading it much at all. However I'm pleased I've read it and it hasn't put me off reading other novels by the Russian literary greats. If you read Crime and Punishment, do some prior research and keep in mind that it was written for an audience very different to us and that will help you through the challenge of actually finishing it. Good luck!

Death Holds the Key - Alexander Thorpe (2024)

 

Rating: Admirable

I read this novel as a tie-in with the Subiaco Library Book Club and the Fremantle Press Great Big Book Club author talk event held at Subiaco Library. Fremantle Press is a great Perth institution, an independent publishing house of some repute. Local authors Alexander Thorpe and Robert Edeson spoke about their respective novels, resulting in an insightful evening of cosy crime. As with many crime novels, Death Holds the Key is part of a series, called the Itinerant Mendicant series, which has a nice archaic ring to it. The novel is the second in the series, following on from Death Leaves the Station (2020) and features a nameless, short statured monk who has the tendency of getting involved in solving murder mysteries. This time the action is set mostly in Western Australia's wheatbelt region of Kojonup in 1928. The central plot device is a locked room murder mystery in which much the hated patriarch, Fred O'Donnell, is found shot dead in his locked study with signs of a struggle and no weapon to be found. Enter rookie detective Hartley, sent from Perth to investigate sightings of a robed figure who is, prior to the shooting, creeping around and arguing with O'Donnell. Hartley soon encounters the mendicant monk and they make an entertaining investigative pair. The mendicant monk is intelligent and observant, but does not give much away until he really needs to, an ideal foil to Hartley, who is unconfident and nervy and doesn't feel up to trying to solve the mystery off his own bat.

Thorpe deliberately (I know this, because I asked him at the author talk...) writes in the rather formal style of the era. It works quite well, particularly during scenes set at the O'Donnell homestead involving the extended family,  although readers unfamiliar with such period stylings might find it both a bit staid and verbose. Thorpe does well to bring the extended O'Donnell cast to life, with distinct personalities and attitudes that make them potential suspects. The central mystery of how Fred was killed stays alive long enough to engage the reader, but it is the why that is more interesting. In this regard there's some surprises lurking within the narrative not usually associated with gentile cosy crime. Of course there's red herrings, twists and turns and some reprehensible characters that cause problems for the friar and detective. Along the way there's also a trip from Kojonup to Perth in which period representations of familiar Perth landmarks stand out as highlights. There's something about reading a narrative set in your part of the world, even if it is nearly one hundred years ago. Overall Death Holds the Key is a classy (and on occasion, humorous) novel that does enough to engage the reader and fulfil all the usual cosy crime tropes with a little finessing that will keep fans of the genre happy. Worth a read to relax while supporting a local author and local publisher.

The Painter's Daughters - Emily Howes (2024)

 

Rating: Excellent

Another book club read, another historical fiction novel, but The Painter's Daughters is a quality example of this sometimes maligned genre. Thomas Gainsborough was an excellent landscape portrait artist, pretty much inventing the form due to his love of landscapes combining with the need to produce portraits to earn enough money to keep his family going. Married to Margaret, the illegitimate child of the union between a commoner (see below) and the Duke of Beaufort, they had two daughters, Mary (Molly) and Margaret (Peggy). As the novel's name suggests, this is about the lives of Molly and Peggy, as told through Peggy's voice, who, although the youngest of the two, spent her life looking after Molly. Molly suffered from an unnamed mental illness that led her to take flights of fancy and risked being sent to an asylum, a terrible fate in the eighteenth century. The historical aspects of The Painter's Daughters are fascinating and, from the research I undertook, stays true to what is know about the Gainsborough family. The novel follows the family from country Ipswich in Suffolk, to Bath and then onto London. As the daughters get older the pressure to fit into normal polite society mounts, and so does the narrative tension as Peggy attempts to keep Molly in check and navigate the demands and mounting frustration of their mother, who is alarmed by Molly's mental illness and their inability to fit in. There are also chapters involving said commoner, Meg, whose unfortunate story is told via past flashbacks and brings the present world of the Gainsboroughs into sharp relief.

Howes is a skilled writer, and considering that The Painter's Daughters is her debut novel, it is remarkably assured. Howes descriptive powers are such that scenes are vivid and encompass all the senses, in particular those set in the bustling streets of Bath. Although sometimes relegated to the background, Thomas Gainsborough comes to life as the affable and eccentric painter of renown. The scenes involving him painting in his studio are fascinating, atmospheric and beautifully written. The Meg chapters build in tension, despite the prior knowledge that everything does work out, Howe's makes you worry and care about her eventual fate. Peggy and Molly's story is tragic, yet contains many moments of tenderness and hope. They are extremely sympathetic characters and in Howes skilled hands they come to life. All of the characters are well developed, from the daughters themselves, through to Thomas, Margaret and the array of minor characters, such as Gainsborough's patron, the humorously named Thicknesse, his eventual wife Ann Ford and finally the bounder, (the operator of the playboy type*) of the story, Johann Fischer, an oboist of dubious renown. Fisher's presence in the Gainsborough house-hold is insidious, flirting with both sisters without compunction. That the sisters' story ends in tragedy lends a melancholic tone to The Painter's Daughters denouement, however the novel is still satisfying. Most of the book club members enjoyed the novel, finding it easy to read and replete with fascinating historical detail. It was remarked that The Painter's Daughters would be a great holiday read, although one with some substance and emotional clout. Recommended, whether you are on holiday or at home with a cup of tea and a cat on your lap.

* See Whit Stillman's film Damsels in Distress (2011)

In the Approaches - Nicola Barker (2014)

 

Rating: Excellent

First of all, In the Approaches is a very strange novel. Secondly, only an English author could write such a novel. In the Approaches is a multifaceted beast, a romantic comedy, of sorts, a surreal tale of eccentric characters being very odd in the English country-side in the 1980s, a metafictional narrative, a rumination on faith and, also, terribly chaffed and inflamed buttocks (yes, you read that correctly). The narrative unfolds in alternating first person chapters, mostly swinging between the two main protagonists, Franklin D. Huff and Carla Hahn. Hahn is a resident of the sea-side village of Pett Level in the UK and Huff is a visitor, on a quest to try and discover what happened many years prior when his wife lived and worked there, before she was horrifically burnt in a bomb blast. Stylistically it is a difficult novel to get used to, Barker loves to leave sentences unfinished, the thoughts of the characters are left there hanging as they try and make sense of the situation and how they feel about it all. She also loves parentheses (apparently this is a hallmark of Barker's writing), so much so it is made fun of throughout the novel, particularly by one of the minor characters, Clifford Bickerton. Bickerton is a thoroughly post-modern character, complaining about having to be part of the story, raging against the author (referred to as 'she') and undergoing an existential crisis due to his self awareness about just being a minor character in a novel. At one point printed words stream out of his mouth as he has a breakdown, trying to deal with the awfulness of it all. It is, in actual fact, all quite entertaining.

Once I got used to Barker's idiosyncratic style and settled into the characters and the story-arc, In the Approaches shaped up to be a satisfying read. The characters are potentially irritating, in particular Franklin D. Huff, but Barker manages to make them endearing and their continued perplexed state of being becomes a plus, rather than a minus. Just how Barker manages to do this is somewhat of a mystery, as the seperate ingredients seem like a recipe for irritation, rather than satisfaction. Perhaps it's Carla Hahn's propensity to continually flick her hair behind her ear with her hand, or her tendency to take no heed of feminine gender norms. Perhaps it's the chapters entirely given over to a parrot called Baldo (or is that Teobaldo?) who shrieks and scratches its way through what seem like entirely too long chapters (yet somehow, in the end this works). Or perhaps it's the mystery of the thalidomide child, Orla, who became saint-like in her obsession with Christianity before her death and who went on to influence proceedings in gnostic ways that perplex many of the characters who inhabit In the Approaches. Perhaps it is the romantic pull and push between Huff and Hahn, which involves a dead and rotting shark under a bed, a tiny sauna perched on a clifftop about to fall into the sea, and the strange smell of eucalyptus that surrounds them both. Intrigued? Then maybe this is the novel for you. The novel's denouement is oblique and perhaps a tad disappointing because of it, but then Barker is not a typical author prone to cliches used to wrap things up neatly, after all, the novel is aptly named, as in the end, the reader, like the characters who populate the novel, is also trapped in the approaches. 

Euphoria - Elin Cullhed (2021)

 

Rating: Admirable

Sylvia Plath was a brilliant writer of both verse and prose and even the most casual reader of literature would know something about her. Her only novel, The Bell Jar (1963) made a huge impact on me when I read it some eighteen years ago, it seemed brilliant and radiant in its intensity, despite its challenging subject matter. Plath was married to English poet, Ted Hughes, and during her last year she was living in Devon whilst pregnant with their second child. Their marriage unraveled and Plath ended up living in London with her two children whilst Hughes pursued his need for ‘freedom’ (as quoted in the novel) with another woman. Plath’s tumultuous relationship with Hughes is well documented and for most of the rest of his life Hughes was attacked by feminists and critics for having treated Plath poorly or for even being the cause of her death. Elin Cullhed, in an interview, relates how she read Plath’s journals during a trip to England when she was twenty, which made a big impact on her. Then years later, during a period in which Cullhed was diagnosed as having extreme exhaustion, she was inspired to write a novel about Plath’s last year before her untimely suicide at the age of thirty. In Euphoria’s forward it is noted that the depiction of Plath is a fictional one, a 'literary fantasy' as Cullhed puts it, a notion that the reader should remember while reading the novel. 

Hughes and Plath

Euphoria is a novel intense with emotion and inner psychological tension and in this sense Cullhed has succeeded in portraying both a troubled individual and a marriage compromised by interpersonal and professional struggles. Written in the first person point of view of Plath, the prose is ripe with a heightened state of self-awareness, of neurotic desperation and self-sabotage. The portrayal of Plath's state of mind is suffocating and unrelentingly neurotic and, as a result, Cullhed has done Plath no favours, as she comes across as impossibly demanding and impossible to live with. Ted Hughes was undoubtably flawed, but the Plath of Euphoria weakens her position as a hard done by literary genius who battled depression while not getting the sympathy or help she needed from a husband who ultimately cheated on her and left her caring for two young children. Hughes comes out of the novel in quite a sympathetic light and with Euphoria so heavily weighted toward Plath's first person perspective it seems very unbalanced. Ultimately it’s an exhausting read and in the end I was speed reading just to get it over and done with, which is, obviously, never a good sign. I'm also troubled by the moral implications of putting words and thoughts into the mouth and mind of such a well know literary figure and portraying Hughes' and Plath's relationship in such a skewed manner. Despite the 'literary fantasy' warning at the beginning of the novel, I can't help but feel that readers will come away from the Euphoria with the notion that they have an accurate perception of Plath in her final year and her relationship with Hughes. Ultimately I admire the quality of the writing, but didn't enjoy the novel overall, an impression shared with many of the book club members, although some did enjoy it unreservedly. Euphoria is a flawed novel with dubious moral standing, so read with caution!

Pattern Recognition - William Gibson (2003)

 

Rating: Admirable

Around the turn of the twenty first century William Gibson stated that any possible future that he could imagine would not be as weird as what was happening in the present. Accordingly, Pattern Recognition was the first of his novels to be set in the (then) present, so weirdly it is now set in the past. It has been a long time since I’ve read a Gibson novel, longer than the life of this blog. Pattern Recognition attracted me due to its fantastic premise, involving a female protagonist, Cayce Pollard, who displays allergic reactions to logos. Cayce makes a living as a marketing consultant, the worst her reaction is, the better the logo. Cayce is employed by the marketing company, Blue Ant, owned by the toothy Tom Cruise-like Hubertus Bigend (one of the best character names ever). In London to meet with the Blue Ant marketers, Cayce starts to experience a sequence of unsettling events, including being bullied by Blue Ant hard bitch, Dorotea Benedetti. In addition, Cayce, along with a world-wide coterie, is obsessed with very short arty film clips (referred to as ‘the footage’) that appear intermittently via the internet, and are created by an anonymous source, a source that Bigend wants to uncover, seeing it as a brilliant marketing art-form. Bigend, all toothy and hirsute, uses his persuasive powers, basically oozing cinematic charm, to hire a reluctant and paranoid Cacye to track down the creator.

Gibson, feeling weird in the (then) present

Pattern Recognition reveals a Gibson different to the one who produced significant novels such as Neuromancer (1984) and All Tomorrow’s Parties (1999). I always felt that although Gibson’s ideas were brilliant, technically his prose was slightly clunky. Not so with Pattern Recognition, in fact after only fifty pages I was comparing his prose style with that of DeLillo and Ballard, and I started to see the world differently while under the novel’s influence, something that happens rarely (but does with Ballard and DeLillo). Typically, Gibson displays a fine degree of cultural insight, tapping into the opaque signs and signifiers that lurk in our oversaturated media dominated world (as it already was back in 2003). Curiously, however, there are some quaint uses of technology; to watch segments of the ‘footage’ Bigend uses a potable DVD player! The novel was published six years before Smartphones became sophisticated and cheap enough to completely change our interactions with media, therefore DVD technology seems completely out of date as a portable medium now. Gibson produces some brilliant lines, and the novel is replete with visually expressive writing. The overall feel is very noirish, especially when Cayce ends up in Tokyo, perhaps the most natural environment for a Gibson novel. Despite an excellent start the novel begins to taper off about two thirds of the way through, particularly after several mysteries are cleared up. The novel’s denouement is melancholic (a good descriptor for the overall tone of the novel) and subdued, which was disappointing after such an intriguing beginning. Recently I read that short stories tend to be all middle, which is an appropriate descriptor for Pattern Recognition, as it doesn’t quite ignite. Overall, the novel is full of promise that doesn’t completely deliver, but I haven’t been put off and will read the second and third books in the trilogy, Spook Country (2007) and Zero History (2010).  

The Bee Sting - Paul Murray (2023)

 

Rating: Excellent 

Paul Murray is an Irish writer and fittingly in the long tradition of Irish literature The Bee Sting is an epic literary work filled with weighty themes and experimentation with form. Essentially a novel about family dysfunction, it also deals with wider themes, such as climate change. The Bee Sting weaves a tapestry of alternating perspectives into a whole that is, at times, overwhelming and demanding to an almost maddening extent. The Barnes are a wealthy family living in a town just outside of Dublin, with the patriarch, Dickie, running a car dealership that has run into financial trouble. This appears to upend the family dynamic, with his wife, Imelda, and their two teenagers, Cass and PJ at odds with each other and themselves. However, there is far more going on under the surface due to a dysfunctional past that has led the Barnes family to an inflection point of crisis. Murray reveals the inner perspective of each character in turn, piecing together a narrative jigsaw puzzle that eventually leads to an understanding of both past and current events. The reader is granted direct access into the mind of Imelda via Murray’s use of stream of consciousness for all her sections. An old Modernist technique, it causes the reader the tumble over her thoughts and actions, as if you are inside her traumatised and harried mind. As a technique it is a risky move, as the lack of punctuation makes it difficult to read, but you do get used to it and ultimately it is totally appropriate for Imelda, as her experiences form the backbone of the narrative. In the latter stages of the novel Murray utilises second person intermittently, which, once again, takes a bit of getting used to, but it effectively places the reader right in the shoes of the characters.

The Bee Sting has been critically successful and was shortlisted for the Booker Prize for 2023, however once I finished it, I realised that, for me at least, it is a novel to admire, rather than one to enjoy, at least in a conventional way. Strangely, however, despite my misgivings, that The Bee Sting is far too long, has too many unsympathetic characters and forces you to relent to the overwhelming urge to speed-read large sections, I did enjoy it in a weird, almost perverse kind of way. The novel is a challenge to read, which brings its own level of enjoyment, depending on what you want from a novel. The plot presents a host of surprises, most that were already lingering in the background, but not visible enough for the reader to guess (except for the actual bee sting, that was obvious). As the plot twists and turns, it propels the reader on through a sea of words that often present a real drowning threat. It doesn’t help that all the main protagonists are dysfunctional, which makes for bleak reading, even the humour is darkly ironic. Despite these challenges The Bee Sting is a fine novel, and I can’t help admiring Murray’s literary bravery with his liberal use of narrative techniques that challenge the reader. There’s also the shear bulk of the book to consider, coming in at over 650 pages, which places unrelenting pressure on the modern reader’s attention span. Read The Bee Sting, give it a chance, but be prepared to be pushed beyond the boundaries of literary endurance. Many of the book club members hated the novel with a passion, but the few that did admire it, also hinted at some enjoyment, or at least satisfaction that they finished reading it.

Blood on the Moon - James Ellroy (1984)

 

Rating: Mediocre

Most regular readers of this blog would know that I don't read much in the way of crime, but I've long known about James Ellroy, in particular his tragic back-story, with his mother's unsolved murder. I also know that he is an intense guy and this was confirmed when I read about his upbringing, in particular after his mother died, but that's another story. I picked up an omnibus (I've always loved that term...) edition of all three novels in the Lloyd Hopkins Trilogy, his first major series of novels, preceding the L.A. Quartet (1987 - 1992), which includes L.A. Confidential (1990), which was then made into a great movie of the same name. So, a big build-up, but unfortunately I was disappointed. In an introduction to the omnibus written by Ellroy, he talks about reading Red Dragon (1981), the book that helped inspire the Silence of the Lambs (1991) movie (along with the book of the same name), after writing Blood on the Moon and realised that it was far superior. Blood on the Moon is Ellroy's third novel and you can tell that he's learning to write as he's actually writing; it's a transitional piece of writing, and I assume that he improved later, as he is so well regarded.  Here the writing is poor, in that you can see the joins, it's a bit clumsy and ham-fisted. The depictions of character psychology, and this includes the renegade sex-addicted cop, Lloyd Hopkins himself, comes across like a lurid cartoon. Everything is exaggerated into a hyperreal state, including the dialogue and scene descriptions. It became tiresome after a while unfortunately.

What Ellroy does have going for him, at this point at least, is his that his intense personality is shining through. There's something compelling about his style which urges you on and sometimes overcomes the poor writing. The plot moves along at a brisk pace too, although it's sometimes kind of ludicrous. The killer is a florid creation, bordering on the ridiculous. His motivations become apparent in the last third of the book, and are kind of cliched. That Ellroy is conflating Hopkins with the killer (I can't even be bothered looking up or recalling his name), showing that they are not that dissimilar, is handled reasonably well. Thanks to Hopkins Protestant ethics he's been drawn onto the side of 'good', although a highly flawed version. Hopkins dealings with women are cliched as well, the women are initially wary and then are irresistibly drawn to him, they just can't help themselves! Even the feminist poet can't help herself! The depictions of the mean streets of L.A. is also cliched, along with the corrupt drug-using gay cop who gets in the way of Hopkins crusade to find the killer. Fortunately the novel ends quite quickly, with the showdown between Hopkins and killer wrapping up before tedium kicks in. Will I read more Ellroy? I'd say so, I'm still curious and I acknowledge that Blood on the Moon is an early book. I don't think I'll bother with the other two books in the trilogy, Because the Night (1984) and Suicide Hill (1985), but I will try the L.A. Quartet, after all, they've been republished as Everyman Classics, so that should count for something.

The In-Between - Christos Tsiolkas (2023)

 

Rating: Excellent

The In-Between, the first book club book after a long break of five months, is the latest novel by Christos Tsiolkas, infamous author of such around the water cooler conversation starters as The Slap (2008) and Damascus (2019), (actually, not a around the water cooler for this one, more like around the pulpit). The In-Between follows too middle-age gay men, Ivan and Perry, as they first date and then embark on a relationship that causes both to have to come to terms with prior significant romantic disappointments. As usual for Tsiolkas the sex scenes are explicit and detailed, especially the initial one between the two main protagonists; Tsiolkas does not hold back, and this may be too much for some readers. There are several such sex scenes throughout the novel, and, after a while, they do come across as a tad performative and become slightly tedious. Far more interesting, however, is the psychological intensity of both men’s attempts to come to terms with their past and to move on into the kind of functional relationship they both really want. In the end it is insightful and tender writing, coming across as very believable and relatable to anyone who’s ever loved and lost and loved again, regardless of sexual orientation. Despite the eye-opening sex scenes and the focus on relationships, the main thematic thrust of The In-Between is really class, as explored in the extended dinner party scene (see below) and also in the stark cultural and societal difference between Perry and Ivan’s worlds. The other major theme is generational change, as explored in depictions of how older gay men had to live, in comparison to contemporary Australia, in which marriage between gay couples is legal and there exists an increased level of acceptance within the community. 

Around the middle of The In-Between Tsiolkas produces the best dinner-party scene I have ever read. Perry is university educated, has travelled widely, and works as a translator, whilst Ivan is a landscape gardener and has barely travelled. At the dinner party, with some of Perry’s old university friends, Ivan is subjected to a thinly veiled, class conscious, ‘friendly’ grilling about his background and worldview. It’s cringeworthy stuff, with the portrayal of Perry’s friends, who on the surface project left-wing acceptance, as judgemental and reactionary. Another interesting aspect to the novel is the device of using minor characters, often ones with no significant presence in the narrative, as a means to observe and comment on the main protagonists. It’s a clever way of thinking about the characters from a perspective outside that of the reader’s, and Tsiolkas uses it to great effect several times. After the brilliant dinner party scene the novel loses some of its focus and tension, in particular when the setting moves to Greece and focusses on another gay couple, however this is a minor quibble, as ultimately The In-Between ends poignantly and effectively with a scene that would touch even the most cynical among readers.

Sound Man - Glyn Johns (2014)

 

Rating: Excellent

When Peter Jackson’s long-awaited re-fashioning of The Beatles Let It Be footage emerged in 2021, retitled Get Back, it was a revelation. The three-part documentary totally recontextualized the original film, featuring hours of unseen footage. Glyn Johns had worked on the sound recording part of the project and he remarks in Sound Man that when Allen Klein become The Beatles manager, he wanted only The Beatles to feature in the film, which Johns reflects was a pity, as it meant that he wouldn't feature. One of the highlights of Let It Be was seeing Johns working with the Beatles and parading around in sartorial splendour, out doing even The Beatles themselves for elegant cool. Sound Man details working with The Beatles during this era, and it is fascinating stuff, but it was only a small part of Johns career, which saw him working with some of the most significant artists of the 60s and 70s, such as The Rolling Stones, The Small Faces, The Faces, Led Zeppelin, The Eagles and The Who. Sound Man is both Johns story, beginning from his early years and how he managed to get into the cloistered world of English sound production in the early 60s, and a cultural history of one of the most amazing periods in musical history. It's worth reading for this fact alone. 

Johns at work, circa late 60s

Johns writing style is economical and to the point, but with a light touch that is highly readable. He is also honest about the lows of his career and certainly does not come across as an egotist. The book is chronological, yet also moves back and forth in time when needed, as Johns worked with many of the artists over a span of decades. There’s plenty of great stories among the making of many significant albums. One that comes to mind was when Johns suggests to Keith Moon that he gives up drinking so he can manage demanding drum parts and he fires back to Johns that he was just as bad, smoking cigarettes constantly. So Johns suggest that they both give up their vices, which Johns duly did, but, of course Moon did not and went on the cause more chaos with his drink fuelled capers, many of which Johns details in Sound Man. Engineers and producers like Johns don’t really exist in today’s world of digital and fragmented recording techniques. Johns recorded many of the bands playing together in a room, with overdubs later to correct or flesh out the songs. Johns does lament the passing of his type of recording and producing (as does the likes of Tony Visconti, who when asked what modern producers he admired a few years ago replied, “None”), however he does still work occasionally and as evidenced by this book, he will be remembered as part of musical history due to the sheer number of amazing albums he worked on. I recommend Sound Man to any reader interested in the great music of the 60s and 70s and musical history in general. Sound Man is a classy book, well written and is absolutely fascinating. Makes for good holiday reading, or for when you are recovering from Covid, as I was when I read the bulk of it. The book also made me want to listen to the albums in question again, many of which have been done to death, which can only be a good thing, as I really think that the 1970s was the greatest decade in modern musical history.

Bee Gees: Children of the World - Bob Stanley (2023)

 

Rating: Excellent

Many years ago I became a casual fan of the Bee Gees, specifically their 1969 album Odessa, a double album that is eccentric, over the top, fascinating and, as I concluded after a while, pure genius. Over the years I've bought quite a number of their albums second hand and have become a big appreciator of the Bee Gees unique musical world. Their albums are still cheap to buy, despite second-hand vinyl prices rising in general due to the demand generated by a new generation of collectors and vinyl lovers, because, well, the Bee Gees are still pretty uncool. They may be uncool, but the reality is that they were song-writing geniuses. Children of the World delves deeply into both the Bee Gees personal lives and their music, with the emphasis on their music. Somehow Bob Stanley has managed to give the reader a well rounded sense of the Bee Gees as people, whilst mostly being concerned about their music. Stanley notes that the three Gibb brothers, Maurice, Robin and Barry, were basically outsiders, despite their stellar commercial successes. They lived in their own hermetically sealed world, for example, he points out, that even their version of disco was very different to that of other acts disco; in one of Stanley's many great lines, he compares Bee Gees disco to a wafting summer night's breeze, as opposed other acts disco, which he describes as like stepping into the oversaturated perfume section of a department store. In telling the Bee Gees musical story, from the Isle of Mann, through to their decades of both slumps and global dominance, Stanley writes supremely well about music. To convey both the technical aspects of music and its intangible magic, is a very difficult thing to do without resorting to cliches, but Stanley manages it. Essentially Children of the World is perhaps the best music book I've ever had the pleasure of reading.

Odessa - eccentric brilliance

One of the things that Stanley does best is make you want to hear the music he's talking about, so be prepared to be listening to the Bee Gees a great deal whilst reading. It is double the pleasure basically. Stanley also begins each chapter with a rundown of either the US top ten chart, or the UK top ten chart, which gives the reader great context regarding the musical world the Bee Gee's were existing within. The thing that Stanley convey's really well is just how unique the Bee Gee's were, there is nothing else like them in the history of popular music really. It is best to read this book, as it is difficult to explain this adequately within a few words, however, to give it a go, the Bee Gees were kind of kooky, eccentric and unhindered by the kind of restraint that rendered many other commercial acts of their era banal. Actually to understand the Bee Gees unique appeal it is best to start listening to them properly, not just their many hits; albums like Idea(1968), Odessa (1969), Cucumber Castle (1970), To Whom it May Concern (1972), Trafalgar (1971) and Main Course (1975) would be good starts. The story of the Bee Gees is one of true graft, they worked really hard, sheer musical talent and also personal and family troubles and tragedies (no pun intended). Andy Gibb's story is also included, which is both inspiring and very sad. Like Brain Wilson, Barry Gibb has ended up being the last brother left in the family, with the premature deaths of Maurice and Robin. Stanley has been criticised for paying scant attention to their deaths in the book, but he deals with their deaths with taste, and besides, it's mostly all about their lives and their music. Another criticism is that there are no photos included, however this is barely noticed, as Stanley's writing is so good images are rendered unnecessary, besides, that's what the internet is for. Essentially Children of the World is a must for Bee Gees fans, and if you are a casual admirer of their music, reading the book will turn you into a big fan, which is one of the best things that could happen to you frankly, just make sure you don't care about being cool.

The Bee Gees in action, circa the late 1960's

David Bowie: Rock 'N' Roll With Me - A Memoir - Geoff McCormack (2023)

 

Rating: Excellent

Imagine growing up as a close friend of a man who would become the most influential rock star ever, well Geoff McCormack was lucky enough to be a close friend to David Bowie for most of his life. Luckier still McCormack had some talent as a singer and percussionist, which gave Bowie the opportunity to invite him along on tours as both a buddy and a band member. For this reason core Bowie fans have long known about McCormack and this makes the book a welcome edition to the huge amount of Bowie books out there, rather than just yet another product of the Bowie economy. Originally published quite a number of years ago in a deluxe, autographed edition, this is one for the masses. Essentially McCormack's memoir, from childhood to now, Rock 'N' Roll With Me comes across with lots of charm, but not as much detail as one would think, at least in terms of the professional workings of Bowie and his music. The book reads more like a travelogue, more impressionistic than detailed oriented. However the content is still fascinating and unique, with plenty of great stories about travelling with Bowie, being a touring musician and having lots of fun along side the great man. Although McCormack was, as mentioned, lucky enough to both work with Bowie and be his close friend, you come away with the impression that Bowie was actually the lucky one, with McCormack being a very good friend indeed.

Bowie and McCormack in Russia

Perhaps the main draw of Rock 'N' Roll With Me is the amazing array of photos taken by McCormack himself, having taken up photography in parallel with traveling with Bowie. There's many not seen before, taken while traveling through the former Soviet Union via the Trans-Siberian Express, on several American tours, the making of The Man Who Fell to Earth (1975) and the Station to Station (1976) album. McCormack is a natural when it comes to photography, the photos are not merely snapshots, but are professionally executed. Bowie and McCormack remained friends until Bowie's untimely death in 2016, so there's chapters about Bowie and Iman's wedding, Bowie's fiftieth birthday gig at Madison Square Garden in 1997, hanging out at Bowie's apartment in New York with he likes of Lou Reed; and finally, an account of their last communications, which is both touching and sad. The book ends with an afterward written by Bowie in 2007, during a period when he had mostly retired from public view, in which he asks "Will you actually be able to get this stuff published do you think?". For Bowie fans Rock 'N' Roll With Me is an essential book and it is presented beautifully in a hard-back format with quality photographic reproductions. 

From the Station to Station sessions