Wednesday, 20 September 2017

Book #43

The Figure in the Carpet by Henry James


The story of an unsolved literary mystery that explores what James referred to as "troubled artistic consciousness" 

I enjoyed this, but I’m not too sure why; it was no Turn of the Screw.

Our protagonist is a keen book reviewer for a popular periodical. After reviewing the work of a pretty famous author, he is lucky enough to meet him at a social gathering. The author hints to our protagonist that no critic has ever successfully hit upon the one thing he has peppered throughout his novels. This maddens the protagonist, and we join him on a journey to uncover the meaning behind all of the novels.

There’s a lot to be said here about author intention. To this day, authors still subtly refer to their meaning, and their intent, in words. Does it really matter? If one enjoys a novel, what are the consequences of deriving a meaning no where near that of the author? Is author intention relevant in every book, or are they just trying to encourage us to read (or reread) their work? Do we subconsciously look for meaning in works of literature? Does finding meaning give us pride? Accomplishment? Who the hell knows.


Although not as compelling as his other works, it’s (ironically) fun to try and deduce what James is getting at with this one. I was only glad I remembered whose pages I was reading from before the finale came like a kick in the gut.

Sunday, 17 September 2017

Book #42

As I Lay Dying by Willian Faulkner

Faulkner's harrowing account of the Bundren family's odyssey across the Mississippi countryside to bury Addie, their wife and mother. Told in turns by each of the family members—including Addie herself—the novel ranges in mood from dark comedy to the deepest pathos.


I’ve never read Faulkner before now, and I’m really kicking myself about it, because As I Lay Dying is a complete masterpiece.

Faulkner employs multiple voice narrative to help us get under the skin of each of the Bundrens, and various other characters. An open mind is essential, however, as this is no stream of consciousness walk in the park; nor is it in any way linear, with the characters moving from past to present, to what ifs, to maybes. One character would explain what was going on, only for the next to go back and explain it again on their own terms, and from their own perspective. Their narratives confused the life out of me until I settled into their utterly weird voices, and only then was I truly able to enjoy what they were telling me. 

There are various instances in the plot where everyone knew exactly what was going on, expect me, the humble reader. Initially, I felt idiotic, as though I’d missed something, but after this happened a few times, I realised Faulkner likes to throw us into the delirium before offering his explanations for it. This lends a real sense of pandemonium and bewilderment to the reader, and ties in nicely to the character narratives.

The Bundrens could be the very people who inspired the phrase “dysfunctional family”. Each of them isolated from each other both physically and emotionally, the only thing connecting them is the rotting corpse in the back of the wagon. They respond differently to their mother’s death, some with physical or emotional distractions, some with physical or emotion reactions. The variance in each of them is gorgeous, as is seeing them attempt to achieve their purpose with no form of honest communication or understanding of one another.

In summary, this novel could be explained away as a comedy. Reading it, however, is anything but; Faulkner’s atmospheric melancholy and sense of hopelessness bleeds through the pages, and inadvertently shows us the turmoils of poverty in the Deep South. It was wonderful.


Saturday, 16 September 2017

Book #41

Fat Jimmy and the Blind Ballerina by Eddie Owens

This is the story of one young man’s desire for comedy fame: a tale of ambition and humiliation on the way to the top.
Fat Jimmy is a cynical, young comedian and writer, who desperately wants to make it to the big time. He wants it all and he wants it now.
Fat Jimmy loves women; he loves booze and he loves comedy. He is sweary and controversial, but always funny and always memorable.

A huge thank you to Eddie Owens for asking me to review this; it was right up my street.

Fat Jimmy is a stand-up comedian looking to break into showbusiness. He’s a crude arsehole of a man, with no shame, no filter, and no self-deprecation. If I met Fat Jimmy somewhere, he would be a victim of my famous death stare, but Owens allowed me to like him.

Jimmy’s journey through the labyrinth of showbiz is fuelled solely by his grit and determination. He stays true to his morals, never sucking up anyone’s arse, and making sure to bring people down a peg or two when they’re due it. He’s relentless, mortifying, hellbent on success, and so flawed. And a flawed character, as we know, is a great character.

My favourite parts of the novel were the small snapshots of Jimmy’s childhood, and the stories of his family. How his mum and dad met, the differing characters of his brothers and sisters, the fights they go into were all so real. I loved it.

There were a lot of sub-plots here, and I must admit I enjoyed these more than the main story. Many of these weren’t resolved entirely to my satisfaction, and I would’ve liked more than I got. But maybe that’s just real life.

I really enjoyed the metaphor of the blind ballerina - someone who makes it despite the obstacles life has thrown at her - but I would have liked this to be a bit more rounded. The ballerina was only referred to fleetingly, a few times, and I felt this could have been crafted into something bigger. For such a clever and impressive analogy to have so little exposure disappointed me.

A great wee story on fighting for your dreams, and being the person you really are. Even if the person you really are is a big-mouthed sycophant. 

Sunday, 10 September 2017

Book #40

Arms From the Sea by Rich Shapero

Lyle is a young man who hates his life in the State of Salt, a cultural and literal desert. He vandalizes a State icon, then swallows a poison pill that transports him not to death, but to a liminal realm—blue, watery, and wholly alien.
He’s rescued and shepherded by henchmen of the Polyp, god of the oceanic world they call “heaven.” A series of encounters unfolds between Lyle and the monstrous, seductive god, who gradually reveals his grandeur and mysterious purpose.
Lyle is horrified at first but soon finds himself falling for the Polyp, and the potent and bizarre creative potential he represents.

I have no idea what I’ve just read; it was like smoking a load of bad grass.

This is a standard dystopian future story where the protagonist is a paragon rebel caught up in a fight to overthrow the malicious government. Although this is usually an excellent formula for excitement and adventure, Shapero manages to miss the bullseye entirely by jumbling his prose and baffling his readers.

The plot is infernally foggy, with a tiring quantity of confusing imagery thrown in. It’s difficult to keep track of what’s going on - and what’s going on isn’t at all compelling, or even significant. The narrative slops along for a few pages at a time until something somewhat evocative happens, only for nothing to ever become fully realised. 

Lyle the protagonist is dull, with no real substance between his ears, making him incredibly difficult to connect with. His motivations and backstory are told, rather than shown, rendering any potential emotional connection null and void. 

There are various scenes where Lyle, after being whisked off to the water kingdom, has encounters with the Polyp, or water god. Many of these felt really creepy and sexual, as the god felt him up constantly with his tentacles, and whispered questionable things to Lyle. Think Robin Thicke with fins.


An utterly baffling story whose plot I am at a loss to describe; I’m only glad it’s over.

Tuesday, 5 September 2017

Book #39

The Reckoning by Edith Wharton


Two moving stories of love, loss, desire and divorce, from one of the great chroniclers of nineteenth-century New York life. 

I much preferred the first story, Mrs. Manstey’s View to the second, the collections namesake. Mrs Manstey is a lonely widow, who takes her only pleasure from the view of New York from her window. Wharton describes this view in it’s truly beautiful, albeit small, form, and familiarises us with Mrs Manstey’s pure love of it. When the view is threatened to be taken away from her, we see our poor widow take drastic action in her desperation and loss. It’s a very clever commentary on how the smallest thing in someone’s life can really be the most important.

The Reckoning itself is a quite amusing tale of how one’s own rules and ethics can become enemies with your needs and desires. The moral quandary the protagonist finds herself in is as delicious as it is heartbreaking, and truly underlines the contrariness of the human psyche.

Both stories well ahead of their time, they’re an excellent introduction in Wharton’s work. Another glorious addition to the Little Black Classics range.