One Year of Excelsior

This time last year I began writing book reviews for Excelsior. It started as a way to develop writing discipline when I made up my mind to start writing creatively again. I figured that working on book reviews would keep me writing even when I didn’t feel particularly creative. It has worked wonderfully. My writing has improved significantly over the last year and I have made a start on a novel and some short stories.

The whole process has also made me think about criticism and its worth. After all, the Internet has helped make everyone a critic now, for better or for worse. Websites like my own and those linked from my bloglist offer a guide for people wondering just what book to read next or which book to avoid. For readers there is also great value in disagreeing with what a critic has to say about a particular book because it helps to develop their own critical abilities. This is also one of the best reasons for writing reviews – it makes you a far better reader and in my case, a far better writer.

Over the last year I’ve read and reviewed twenty-five books. Some of these I’ve read for the book club I run at Subiaco Library. Most of these I would never have read if it wasn’t for the book club. Although this is sometimes a chore I’ve come to realize over the years that reading books that you wouldn’t normally consider has great intrinsic value. It exposes you to styles and authors that wouldn’t normally come your way. There is also great benefit in reading a book that you don’t particularly enjoy. The critical insight gained can end up being invaluable. There’s also something to be said for a certain level of discipline when it comes to reading. Next time you start a book and it doesn’t appeal to you, keep going because it may just make you a better reader and a better critic.

Of the twenty-five books I’ve reviewed over the last year only two gained my highest rating of sublime. These were Carson McCullers The Heart is a Lonely Hunter and John Fowles The Magus. For these two novels it is excusable to wheel out that dead cliché – “work of genius.” Both are brilliantly written and both show just how weighty issues can be approached without resorting to dumbing down or empty cliché. Although the other books featured over the last year were not in the same league, they are all worthy in one way or another. The only book I’d advise readers to think twice about reading is Allan Hollinghurst’s The Stranger’s Child; although this book gave me valuable insight regarding just what to avoid in my own writing.

So, another year of reading and writing awaits. The publishing industry may be going through great changes at the moment, but something that I’m sure will never change is the desire to immerse oneself in a great novel from which so much enjoyment and knowledge can be gained. Surely there aren’t many better ways to spend your time? After all, reading and writing helps to both define and to critique humanity, something we must never lose sight of in this age of endless distractions. 

The Windup Girl – Paolo Bacigalupi (2009)

Rating: Excellent

Paolo Bacigalupi is hot property at the moment due to The Windup Girl winning both the Hugo and Nebula awards for speculative writing and now he has a new novel out called The Drowned Cities (2012). The Windup Girl is his debut novel after many years of publishing acclaimed short stories.

I started reading without really knowing much about either the author or the book and after a while it occurred to me that perhaps this was a new sub-genre of science fiction and the word Ecopunk came to mind. Once I finished and looked Bacigalupi up I found out that I was on the right track, but it’s actually called Biopunk. Biopunk is dystopian in nature and mega-corporations control the world, but unlike Cyberpunk the dominant technology is centred on genetics rather than computers. It’s a great example of just how influential the likes of William Gibson, Bruce Sterling and the other Cyberpunk writers are in this post-Cyberpunk era (that’s how I refer to it anyway).

The Windup Girl is set around 180 years in the future in Thailand. The characters talk about “The Expansion” and “The Contraction”. It’s easy to work out that the former is globalization and the latter was the subsequent collapse of globalization. The world of The Windup Girl is blighted by rising seas, the collapse of fossil fuels and deadly bioengineered diseases and organisms. As a result many plants and animals are extinct. Bioengineered diseases like blisterust, cibiscosis and Nippon genehack weevil are constant threats to Thailand and the rest of the world. Newly created animals such as the giant elephant megodonts are used in factories in place of machinery and the chameleon like Cheshire cats roam the streets, blending perfectly with their surroundings whilst they scavenge for carrion.

The Windup Girl presents a beautifully realized world filled with weird and terrifying possibilities that are, for the most part, not too fantastic to exist. I’m impressed by Bacigalupi’s imagination, as there are some great ideas on display in this novel. The narrative is also jammed full of atmosphere, sweat, grit and the stench of the dirty back alleys of a future Bangkok; a Bangkok in which Anderson Lake, just one of the many protagonists, roams searching for lost genetic material. Although the novel features political subplots and can also be seen as a critique of the present and future discontents of capitalism, it’s the notion of genetic tampering that gives this novel its dystopian bite.

There’s an ensemble of characters crammed into this moderately sized book, and even though some of them only have bit parts, they have presence and charisma. There’s a conflicted heroine (of sorts), sinister politicians vying for power with the military, fanatical ‘white shirts’ that protect the nation from outside genetic contamination and suave but slimy traders. One of my favourite characters is Hock Seng – Anderson’s untrustworthy Chinese accountant bent on survival and with his own compelling back-story. Then, of course, there is Emiko, the seemingly fragile engineered Windup Girl abandoned by her Japanese master; she bleeds through the plot like the blood of the Megodont killed in the opening section and ironically she provides some humanity to proceedings.

The writing is tight and well structured and Bacigalupi’s pacing is something to be admired. Even in the slower sections there is enough colour and intrigue to satisfy. It’s refreshing to read a science fiction novel set in South East Asia that also has enough great ideas for it to make a genuine claim for originality. Lets face it, dystopian novels proliferate and it takes something special to stand out. The Windup Girl is certainly not perfect – some of the later sections are too episodic, which slows the momentum somewhat, but this is a minor shortcoming.

Bacigalupi’s vision is certainly disturbing, but what is even more disturbing is that The Windup Girl ultimately comes across as a very possible vision of the future. Such prescience is something that the greatest science fiction offers and The Windup Girl would be an interesting book to read in 50 years time. Don’t wait that long though – read it now.

The Stranger’s Child – Alan Hollinghurst (2011)

Rating: Mediocre

In 2004 Alan Hollinghurst made literary headlines by winning the Man Booker Prize for his novel The Line of Beauty. Set in Thatcher’s 1980’s Britain it courted mild controversy with its depictions of cocaine abuse and graphic gay sex. Seven years later The Stranger’s Child made the Man Booker long list and then fell out of contention, which led to bitter complaints from those critics who believe that Hollinghurst is Britain’s greatest living writer.

I approached this book with optimism. I hadn’t read The Line of Beauty but I knew enough to realise that Hollinghurst could be an interesting proposition. The novel begins just prior to WWI and finds the sixteen-year-old Daphne Sawle reading poetry and awaiting the arrival of her older brother George and his university friend Cecil Valance - a poet from a wealthy family who also happens to be bisexual. Cecil’s impact over the course of his stay is significant; he upsets George’s mother, who suspects the truth of their relationship, causes a servant to marvel at his collection of silken underwear, frolics with George in the woods and flirts with Daphne. Most significantly he writes a poem, supposedly for Daphne, called “Two Acres”, after the name of the Sawles property. After his death in the war Cecil and his poem become immortalised when Winston Churchill quotes from “Two Acres” in a speech.

The events of this first section, just one of five, set the novel up for an exploration of mythmaking, the changing attitudes to homosexuality and the subjective nature of truth. Hollinghurst also devotes a great deal of space to the question of the moral ambiguity of biographers and their trade, particularly during the latter half of the book. Such a concentration of weighty themes seems more than enough to make the novel both entertaining and philosophically intriguing. Disappointingly The Stranger’s Child mostly fails in both regards, although it does have its moments.

The novel’s strengths lay in the way it depicts the evolution of British culture during the twentieth century and how it affected people’s lives. In this regard the scope of the novel is ambitious and does at least move the plot forward. The naiveté and pleasures of the pre war section give way to the bleak post war section, in which Daphne has married Cecil’s brother – Dudley, who is beset by mental problems due to his part in the war. Everyone suffers, including the children, Daphne and an old German woman who comes to an untimely end (a parody of Agatha Christie?). The third and most pleasing section, set in 1967, finds several gay characters, including the future Cecil biographer Paul Bryant, discussing the impending decriminalization of homosexuality in Britain. By the novel’s close, set in 2008, everything’s changed and significantly the gay characters are marrying each other and can now live their lives in the open.

Despite the novel’s initial promise and Hollinghurst’s ambition I was quite often utterly bored with The Stranger's Child. Turgid is a good adjective to use. There is simply too much dialogue, with endless boring interactions between characters at parties and dinners. During these extended scenes the characters are regularly nervous to the point of being neurotic. Often they appear to be hamstrung by politeness and therefore never say what they really mean. Hollinghurst is probably making a point about what it is to be English or even human, but unfortunately it happens so often that you begin to tire of it and start to feel that way yourself.

With many of the major events taking place outside of the narrative the plot is stretched thin and therefore there is virtually no tension generated and no real desire to find out what may happen next, or to invest emotionally in the characters. The novel is also overwritten to the point of exhaustion. No character can speak without a description of their facial expression or how they are looking narrowly at another character or off into the middle distance. Hollinghurst’s writing is incredibly detailed, which is sometimes quite startlingly effective, but his obsession with the minutiae of everyday interactions does not make for riveting reading.

As a literary monument to the cultural history of Britain over much of the twentieth century The Stranger's Child succeeds to an extent, but it is ultimately hamstrung by its flaws. As with most books some readers respond well whilst others do not. A handful of my book club members absolutely loved this book, but most either marginally appreciated it or thought that it was too long and tedious. In the end The Stranger’s Child simply made me yearn for the succinct brilliance of Carson McCuller’s writing. Despite Hollinghurst’s fine reputation my advice is to approach this novel with caution, or perhaps not at all. It seems that the judges of the Man Booker prize were right after all.

New Blog - Closed Groove

There are, fortunately, quite a number of things in life that make it all worthwhile. Books and literature are certainly up there, there’s no doubt about that. But in my opinion music listened to on a vinyl record is one of the greatest pleasures offered up by this crazy culture we find ourselves living in. In many ways the humble LP can say just as much about humanity as a well-written novel.

I've been collecting and listening to records since my early teens. When I thought about starting up a blog records appeared to be a more obvious choice than books, but for some reason it didn't feel right at the time. Since then I've been visiting many blogs run by vinyl obsessed collectors and I've realized that not only is it fun to read about records and view pictures of them, but it must also be great fun to write about them.

But still, why write about music? There are plenty of critics out there and perhaps even more so than books records are subject to unending criticism. There are a number of good reasons to write about music – for one it is a challenge! It’s actually really hard to write about music and I admire those critics who can write a well-considered review of a record.

What Closed Groove hopes to achieve is to not only be a forum for vinyl junkies to check out records, but also a place for the uninitiated to be introduced to the world of record collecting. I’ll also offer my humble opinion about the music and who knows, maybe you’ll discover your new favorite record or artist. If you are interested then check it out and if not I’ll still be writing about literature here on Excelsior. 

Carson McCullers - Charles Bukowski (2001)

After I finished The Heart is a Lonely Hunter I was scouting around on the net looking for information about Carson McCullers and I stumbled upon a poem about her by one of my favourite writers – Charles Bukowski. Bukowski was one of the greatest writers of the twentieth century, in my humble opinion anyway. This poem beautifully sums up McCullers, although how she died is inaccurate, but why let that get in the way of great art? I’m pleased that Bukowski rated McCullers – he didn’t suffer fools, but also I’m not surprised. Anyway, enjoy the poem.

Carson McCullers

she died of alcoholism


wrapped in a blanket


on a deck chair


on an ocean
steamer. 



all her books of


terrified loneliness





all her books about


the cruelty


of loveless love 



were all that was left


of her 



as the strolling vacationer


discovered her body 



notified the captain





and she was quickly dispatched


to somewhere else


on the ship 


as everything


continued just


as


she had written it

****

Charles Bukowski

The Heart is a Lonely Hunter – Carson McCullers (1940)

Rating: Sublime

I’ve long been fascinated by Carson McCullers and finally it was the right time to pull this novel off the shelf. Even a cursory glance at McCullers biography reveals that she led a life beset by tragedy and illness. A misdiagnosed case of rheumatic fever as a teenager led to strokes later in life that eventually killed her at the age of 50. Her tumultuous marriage to James McCullers ended with his suicide (he tried to talk her into a double suicide). Despite such traumas McCullers managed to produce quality work that included poetry, plays, short stories and novels.

The quality of The Heart is a Lonely Hunter suggests that McCullers was one of those rare writers who tackled big issues whilst being free from the excesses inherent in such polemical narratives. McCullers beautiful but pared down style provides an excellent narrative framework to explore the inner psychological worlds of her characters. Her writing subtly draws you into the characters lives and then manipulates you into caring deeply about what happens to them.

The novel opens with the description of two friends who are mutes – Spiro Antonapoulos and John Singer. They live in a mid-sized southern American town. Their relationship is central to the novel, even though Spiro spends long periods as a peripheral figure. As the novel unfolds an ensemble of characters are introduced. The Afro American doctor Benedict Copeland works tirelessly for the improvement of not just the health of his fellow Afro Americans but also of their political status. A teenage girl - Mick Kelly, yearns for the freedom of a life of travel and music; she is also apparently based on McCullers own life. The mysterious Biff Brannon runs the all night New York Café in which many of the characters meet. Then there’s Jake, a barely restrained alcoholic at odds with the state of America who flirts with communism. These characters all coalesce around Singer, who despite being a mute earns their respect and friendship.

The manner in which McCullers weaves together the stories of this disparate group of characters builds significant narrative power. Dr Copeland is a particularly compelling character, through which McCullers explores the trials and sorrows of racism. Copeland’s Christmas speech to his people, of which is an attempt to help them realise just what the struggles in their lives mean in the wider context of history and politics, is one of the highlights of the novel.

Mick Kelly is an engaging and sympathetic character. Her insightful notion of having an inside room and an outside room when it comes to dealing with life is particularly telling. Her emotional life, with all its yearnings and frustrations, perfectly crystallises just what it must be like to be a teenage girl. As the novel progresses Mick becomes a character in transformation and just where she ends up helps create a significant part of the emotional impact of the novel’s conclusion.

The novel is aptly titled, with each character looking to other people to fill an emptiness or need within them that simply can’t be resolved on their own. Most of this focus is on Singer, whose silence lends a sympathetic and stoic air to his personality. Essentially The Heart is a Lonely Hunter is a brilliant examination of what it means to be an outsider with a need to communicate and connect with someone who understands. It is the loners, radicals, dispossessed, persecuted and downright confused who somehow find solace in friendship with Singer.

With Singer positioned as a savior it is especially poignant when McCullers turns her attention to his inner emotional world. His loneliness, his confusion and his hopes for the future are revealed as he makes his long walks around the town. It is through the life of Singer that McCullers deftly presents a subtle subtext that involves a minority that had no voice and had to stay underground during that era. The manner in which she presents this subtext has implications throughout the whole novel, and would, as suggested by the blurb on the back cover, make The Heart is a Lonely Hunter a rewarding book to re-read.

Although The Heart is a Lonely Hunter has a satisfying plot, it is the brilliance of the characters that really make this novel. Despite the novel having been written in the 1930s these characters are universal, transcending time and place to be relevant for modern readers. McCullers wrote superbly about the human condition and I’m still thinking about this book two weeks after finishing it. In the canon of American literature both McCullers and The Heart is a Lonely Hunter are highly regarded and justly so, and now she’s also included amongst my favourite writers of all time.

The Player of Games – Iain M. Banks (1988)

Rating: Excellent

Iain M. Banks Culture novels represent some the greatest science fiction of the last twenty-five years. The Player of Games is the second of nine Culture novels released so far and like the other Culture novels it revels in its ability to go out on a limb and explore big ideas whilst providing well-developed characters and compelling plots.

Perhaps the greatest achievement of Banks’ science fiction writing is his ability to overturn tired clichés of the genre and make them exciting and fresh again. Banks’ imagination is something to admire – it seems that he is never short of a great idea. It also helps that Banks’ writing is highly literate, displaying a level of sophistication not always seen in science fiction.

The Culture is a representation of human civilisation thousands of years into the future. In The Player of Games one character refers to the benefits of eleven thousand years of space travel. They travel in style too, with a range of massive spacecraft that are ‘Minds’ – conscious, sentient, intelligent and with senses of humour. The Culture also has varied habitats. This time the protagonist lives on an artificial structure orbiting a sun with ‘plates’ - massive artificially constructed environments with landmasses and oceans. Another feature of the Culture are the ‘drones’ – sentient machines that share equal rights with humans. Basically the Culture is a near utopian society in which technology is almost boundless and where no needs or wants remain unfulfilled. Of course it’s not as simple as that and the Culture certainly has its dark side - represented by the mysterious and sometimes nefarious organisations ‘Special Circumstances and ‘Contact.’ 

The Player of Games is the story of Jernau Morat Gurgeh, one of the greatest game players the Culture has ever seen. As far as protagonists go Gurgeh is complex, flawed and grumpy but likeable. In fact I think that Gurgeh is modelled on the author himself. Gurgeh is described bearded with pointed features, which is how you could describe Banks himself.

After years of winning and luxuriating within the Culture Gurgeh is bored. When he mentions this to his drone friend Chamlis, some strings are pulled and Gurgeh finds himself being visited by a rather contrite drone from Contact. Gurgeh eventually finds himself on the way to the Small Cloud of Magellan (called the Lesser Cloud by the Culture) to the Empire of Azad - a barbarous but complex civilisation that is dominated by a game that mimics life itself and helps decide who will rule and who will fall by the wayside.

Iain M. Banks - brilliant even in the absence of colour

What transpires is compelling entertainment and is never predictable. Having said that I guessed what was really going on at a certain point, but then perhaps I’ve read too many science fiction novels. Banks doesn’t bog down the narrative by trying to explain how the game works, instead he focuses on the psychological intensity of actually playing the game itself for both Gurgeh and his opponents. Along the way there are plenty of entertaining encounters with the Azadians, a race of beings that have three sexes and whose society is intensely hierarchical.

Perhaps the most entertaining section of the book is when the game players travel to the planet of Echronedal, a fire planet with a bizarre ecology dominated by the incandescence – a strip of volcanic fire that travels around the equator. The planet’s ecology is based around this destructive fire and Banks makes the effort to explain how it all works. Banks’ imagination is wild but he always makes the effort to build a cogent world around his sometimes outré ideas. On Echronedal Banks also indulges in his love of castles, with the final rounds of the game being played within the halls of a giant and sombre castle. Here the novel reaches an exciting and terrible climax.

Player of Games is one of the best Culture novels I’ve read. As usual Banks delivers well-drawn characters, including the machines, coupled with a tightly constructed plot that is littered with excellently executed ideas. You couldn’t ask for more really and I’m looking forward to finally catching up with the last couple of Culture novels – Matter (2008) and Surface Detail (2010) before the new one – The Hydrogen Sonatas is released. If you are curious about modern science fiction or have never read Banks, then head on down to your favourite bookstore (you do have one right?) and invest in this great writer’s works, you will not regret it.