The sun sets on 2024, Morley, Dec 31st |
Some of my books, before being imprisoned in boxes |
The sun sets on 2024, Morley, Dec 31st |
Some of my books, before being imprisoned in boxes |
Rating: Excellent
The Subiaco Library Book Club ended 2024 on a high with this fine collection of six short stories and one novella. Since emerging in 2011 with the successful novel, Rules of Civility, which was written across twenty years on weekends as Towles worked in investment banking, he has become one the era's most successful novelists. Table for Two has a direct connection with Rules of Civility, revisiting the character of Evelyn Ross, who, by the end of that novel had endured a car accident, the end of an engagement and had diverted her trip home to end up in Los Angeles. The novella Eve in Hollywood follows her adventures in late 1930s Hollywood, where she befriends actress Olivia de Havilland and, with the help of assorted characters, helps fend off those that would do her harm. The novella encompasses half of Table for Two and reads like a homage, but not a satire of, noir crime novels from that era. It is a fine novella, however it is slightly over-plotted and suffers in comparison with the six short stories that proceed it, which are beautifully written and succinct. Eve in Hollywood is well worth reading, but the short stories, which are among the finest I've ever read, are at the heart of this collection.
The short stories, grouped under the heading, New York, begin with The Line, set during the Communist Revolution in Russia circa 1917, with a married couple journeying from their farm to the heart of the revolution in Moscow. It's a clever story of finding one's place in the scheme of things by adapting in ways that are counter to the prevailing politic environment. The Line is funny and very clever, and, like many of these stories, dovetails nicely to a conclusion that brings delight. The Ballad of Timothy Touchett is perhaps my favourite. Touchett is young struggling writer who is befriended by an older gentlemen in the library, whilst he is practicing the signatures of some of history's greatest writers. The gentleman offers him a job in his book shop, which is filled with first editions, and Touchett is soon put to work forging signatures of long dead authors for profit, but it is the authors who still live that you need to watch out for. Once again the writing is humorous and very clever. Towles' prose is elegant and spacious, uncluttered of extranious detail, allowing the narrative to flow beautifully to its natural conclusion. All of the short stories have this in common, with many of them containing subtle irony and emotional poignancy. The characters are fully realised, even the ones who are described in just a few sentences, and scenes are acutely visual in their descriptive power. Table for Two really is a masterclass in short form writing and Towles' prose is literary fiction that elevates popular fiction to where it should be, quality but pleasurable reading.
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!
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.
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.
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 |
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.