Month: October 2011

Thoughts on the Literature Prize

12th October 2011 / / 5 Comments

I’ve been following with interest – and some bemusement – the kerfuffle surrounding the shortlist (and the longlist before it) of this year’s Man Booker Prize. There was a fair amount of commentary (not necessarily by people who had read the books) to the effect that the judges had somehow failed in their task to select the titles they considered the best from the pool of submissions (in some quarters, opinion seemed to be that the judges had failed in their task to shortlist The Stranger’s Child by Alan Hollinghurst). These arguments struck me as unconvincing because they sought to dismiss the shortlist (or longlist) out of hand, rather than engage with the books selected.

One of the key points of contention has concerned comments made by the judges on the ‘readability’ of their choices; this issue surfaced again today in the announcement of the Literature Prize, a new award being positioned as an alternative to the Booker. In the words of the Prize’s board, as reported by The Bookseller:

[The Literature Prize] will offer readers a selection of novels that, in the view of…expert judges, are unsurpassed in their quality and ambition…For many years this brief was fulfilled by the Booker (latterly the Man Booker) Prize. But as numerous statements by that prize’s administrator and this year’s judges illustrate, it now prioritises a notion of ‘readability’ over artistic achievement…

I think there’s something of a false opposition being made, there, between the concepts of ‘readability’ and ‘artistic achievement’ (isn’t a novel of any stripe a failure if it doesn’t make its readers want to turn the page?); but, more than this, the Literature Prize feels – from its name downwards – like a kneejerk reaction to this year’s Booker shortlist. One shortlist – one jury’s definition of ‘best’ – with which you disagree does not make the entire enterprise flawed.

I wish the Literature Prize well, and hope it brings to light some excellent and interesting books; but I also hope it can come to a more positive and robust sense of what it wants to achieve.

Book notes: Hampton-Jones, Fry, Wakling

11th October 2011 / / 2 Comments

Hollis Hampton-Jones, Comes the Night (2011)

Hollis Hampton-Jones’s second novel is a study of nineteen-year-old Meade Harden: bulimic, addicted to prescription drugs, and unhealthily obsessed with her twin brother, Ben Ho. Born in Nashvile, the Harden twins are currently in Paris, where their studies – Meade’s in cookery and Ben’s in art – are being funded by their parents. Concerned that she may be losing her brother’s attention to a girl he met at college, Meade takes up an offer from a fashion photographer, Majid, to get her into the world of modelling – but her downward spiral only continues.

Naturally enough, Comes the Night is very much focused on the character of Meade and her concerns; this has its drawbacks – Meade’s constant returning to the same few topics can become wearying. Yet, at the same time, there are some brutally effective moments, such as when Meade lists the contents of her own vomit as the ingredients of a recipe; and the tight focus on the protagonist’s subjectivity leads to some interesting disorientation – the novel’s sense of place is fragmented, for example, because Meade is so uninterested in the outside world. Comes the Night is a short novel which arrives, does what it does with a single-minded determination, then ends in what by then may be the only possible place.

Links
Hollis Hampton-Jones’s website
Some other reviews of Comes the Night: For Books’ Sake; Bookmunch.

Gary Fry, Abolisher of Roses (2011)

Having read and reviewed (and enjoyed) the first and third titles from Spectral Press, I now skip back for the second; however, I’m not as impressed with this tale as I was with the others. Peter, a successful businessman, travels with his wife Patricia to a gallery in the wilds of North Yorkshire, where some of her paintings are set to form part of an outdoor art trail. Peter has little time for art, or the arty types with whom his wife now associates; but he indulges Patricia’s hobby as something he’s sure she’ll soon get over – and anyway, Peter has his mistress to keep him occupied. Whilst following the art trail, Peter loses his way, and comes across some strange and macabre installations which hit closer to home than he could ever have anticipated.

The key weakness of Abolisher of Roses, I think, is that it could do with a bit more subtlety. Peter is portrayed in quite broad terms as a callous and uncaring businessman who’s contemptuous of his wife; it feels as though Gary Fry is signposting rather too heavily what we’re supposed to think of Peter. I appreciate the elegance of the story’s conceit, that Peter’s begrudging examination of art turns into a searching examination of himself; but I feel that the telling lets it down somewhat.

Link
Gary Fry’s website

Christopher Wakling, What I Did (2011)

Chris Wakling’s latest novel is narrated by six-year-old Billy Wright, who runs off one day while he’s out with his dad Jim. Eventually catching up with Billy as he runs out into a busy road, an exasperated Jim smacks the boy; a passing woman sees this, intervenes, and reports Jim to social services – and so the Wrights’ ordinary family life begins to unravel.

Billy’s narrative voice is a mixture of rambling, malapropisms, and references to the natural world (he loves watching David Attenborough programmes). For example:

I also have to warn you that nobody is bad or good here, or rather everyone is a bit bad and a bit good and the bad and good moluscules get mixed up against each other and produce chemical reactions.

Did you know cheetahs cannot retract their claws? (p. 2)

Over the course of a whole novel, this can be endearing and infuriating by turns; but it works both as a means of establishing Billy’s character, and as a screen between us and the real action of the story. Through that screen, we see that Jim is a loving father, but also that he can have a quick temper, without necessarily even realising. It’s a combination of these factors which makes the situation so difficult for Jim, because as far as he’s concerned, he has done nothing wrong; but it’s not easy for him to see how to present himself in a way that will convince the authorities of that. In its own way, the social-care system which Jim encounters seems just as opaque to him as the adult world is to Billy. What I Did is an effective portrait of innocently-intended actions spiralling out of control, and the difficulties of responding to that.

Links
Christopher Wakling’s website
Some other reviews of What I Did: Just William’s Luck; Isabel Costello; Random Things Through My Letterbox.

Angela Slatter, ‘The Coffin-Maker’s Daughter’ (2011)

8th October 2011 / / 2 Comments

Quieter in tone than the previous three, Angela Slatter‘s story concerns Hepsibah Ballantyne, a coffin-maker who arrives at the D’Aguillar household to deal with the recently-deceased father, and takes rather a shine to young Lucette D’Aguillar while she’s there. The coffin-maker’s trade is particularly important in this fictional world: get the rituals wrong, and the spirits of the dead will remain behind — as Hepsibah herself knows, because her own dead father, Hector, never leaves her side. The atmosphere of this story builds up quite nicely — Slatter evokes Hepsibah’s burgeoning attraction towards Lucette particularly well — and the  complexities of Heispibah’s character are revealed gradually and effectively.

Rating: ***½

Peter Crowther, ‘Ghosts with Teeth’ (2011)

5th October 2011 / / 1 Comment

Hugh and Angie Ritter return home to Tuboise, Maine (popn. 41), to find that something’s not right — people keep disappearing suddenly, or are in places they cannot possibly be. It’s Hallowe’en, and something is about to come trick-or-treating… Peter Crowther‘s story builds its atmosphere slowly, using commonplace things — a radio in the background, a phone call from a familiar voice — that turn abruptly sinister. The ending is also effective, making good use of the fact that, in a community as small as Tuboise, everyone knows each other — something that could have good consequences or bad.

Rating: ***½

Caitlín R. Kiernan, ‘Charcloth, Firesteel and Flint’ (2011)

4th October 2011 / / 3 Comments

A woman (spirit? Salamander in human form? Even she isn’t sure) who has an affinity for fire hitches a ride with Billy to a motel somewhere off the Interstate. All her talk is of fire, and Billy will see plenty of that when they reach their destination. Like King’s story, this starts with a conversation between two people and leads up to a supernatural denouement; Kiernan’s tale doesn’t quite get under the skin as much as King’s, but it has greater consistency between beginning and end, and rounds off with a neat little twist.

Rating: ***

Link
Caitlín R. Kiernan’s website

Guest post: Scott Pack’s literary dodos

4th October 2011 / / 3 Comments

That fine blogger, short story reader, book-swap organiser, and all-round top bloke, Scott Pack, is on a blog tour for his new book (written under his open-secret pseudonym, Steve Stack), 21st Century Dodos. The book is a compendium of once-everyday things (from VHS to the Green Cross Code Man and half-day closing) which have now either disappeared or are close to doing so; I can recommend it as one of those books that you start browsing and then find hard to put back down.

For this blog post, I thought it would be interesting to apply the concept of 21st Century Dodos to books; I’ll hand over to Scott to say more…

***

My new book, 21st Century Dodos, takes a look at over 100 inanimate objects that are on the verge of extinction. Some of them have vanished already. When David invited me over to blogsit today, he asked me to suggest three endangered books that I’d like to see revived.

It will be a pleasure.

Nowadays, of course, in this age of eBay, abebooks.com and Amazon Marketplace, pretty much any book can be tracked down – at a price. Thankfully, each of these literary dodos are available if you are prepared to put in a bit of effort online, but you are highly unlikely to find them in any bookshops.

The House of Nire by Morio Kita has never had an official UK publication, although you can get hold of English language copies from the States. It is actually two books in one – The House of Nire and The Fall of the House of Nire – which were written and published in the mid-1980s. Together they form an epic (750+ pages of small type) comic novel charting the fortunes and misfortunes of the Nire family, owners of an insane asylum in Japan between the wars. Its broad scope and cast of bizarre and unforgettable characters is reminiscent, in some respects, of Gormenghast but I wouldn’t want to labour that comparison.

It also gives a rare insight, to our modern eyes, into a period of Japanese history that is poorly served by Western literature, or by available translations. For example, reading The House of Nire was the first and only time I had heard mention of kaiten – manned kamikaze torpedoes – one of which is piloted by a Nire son during World War Two.

I am surprised that this hasn’t surfaced as a Penguin or Vintage Classic. Perhaps it will now that I’ve mentioned it. I am sure they hang on my every word.

***

Phil Ochs was a lesser-known contemporary of Bob Dylan and Joan Baez. A friend, for a while, of both, he was never to achieve the same level of fame, partly because he stuck with protest songs for longer than they did, and partly because he was a volatile, divisive character. He eventually succumbed to alcoholism and depression but not before he had recorded some of the finest protest music of the 60s and a number of truly beautiful folk songs.

His life story is remarkably similar to that of comedian Andrew Kaufman – complete with bizarre alter-ego – and that story is captured by his friend Marc Eliot in Phil Ochs: Death of a Rebel. Even if you are not familiar with Ochs’ music, it is a fascinating and disturbing tale. I would recommend it to anyone interested in that period of American music. It also has a number of great Dylan stories.

***

If you were a young man during the 1980s, then chances are you will remember that sex scene from the movie Betty Blue. It was one of the most popular French movies of that decade, was nominated for an Oscar, a BAFTA and a whole host of Cesars, and Beatrice Dalle looked amazing in it.

What most people don’t know is that the movie was based on a book by Phillipe Djian, a book that is even better than the movie. And I say that as a big fan of the film version. It is the only book by Djian to have been translated into English but it is wonderful and well worth seeking out.

***

So there you have them, my three literary dodos. It would be amazing if you were prompted to read one of them following this blog post, but do make sure you read it after you have dipped into 21st Century Dodos!

***

Thanks for those, Scott! I’m particularly intrigued by the sound of The House of Nire, myself. If you’d like to catch up on Scott’s bloggish travels, yesterday Claire Marriott ran an extract from the book, about milk bottle deliveries; and tomorrow, Scott will be hosted by Catherine Ryan Howard. The full itinerary for the tour is also available on Scott’s blog.

Stephen King, ‘The Little Green God of Agony’ (2011)

3rd October 2011 / / 2 Comments

Well, you can’t start a horror anthology with a bigger name than Stephen King, so it’s clear straight away that A Book of Horrors means business. King’s story, however, doesn’t blow me away. Andrew Newsome, the world’s sixth-richest man, is in chronic pain after surviving an air crash; unable to find answers in conventional medicine (though Newsome’s put-upon nurse, Kat MacDonald – ‘a piece of human furniture in this big house [p. 1]’ – is more of the opinion that he has unrealistic expectations, and won’t put in the effort to help his treatment along), he turns to one Reverend Rideout, who claims that he can exorcise the source of Newsome’s pain. Kat is sceptical; but this is a horror story…

When the monster (for of course there is one) makes its appearance, the story comes into its own and is properly creepy. However, I don’t find the lead-up to that point – the conversation between Newsome and Rideout, with a storm blowing outside – quite so effective; it seems to me too conventionally-handled to fully create the kind of atmosphere for which it’s aiming. On balance, though,‘The Little Green God of Agony’ is worth reading for the ending.

Rating: ***

Stephen Jones (ed.), A Book of Horrors (2011)

3rd October 2011 / / 2 Comments

Launching a speculative fiction imprint with a lavish hardback horror anthology is a bold move, so good on Jo Fletcher Books for doing exactly that. Jo Fletcher is one of the most respected publishers in the sf field;, after many years at Gollancz, she has now joined Quercus to launch her own imprint. A Book of Horrors is the second book to be published under the Fletcher banner, a set of fifteen brand new stories, which I’ll be reviewing on here one at a time.

The book’s editor, Stephen Jones, sets out his stall in an introduction:

These days our bloodsuckers are more likely to show their romantic nature, werewolves work for covert government organisations, phantoms are private investigators and the walking dead can be found sipping tea amongst the polite society of a Jane Austen novel.

These are not the iconic figures of fear and wonder that we grew up with. These are not the Creatures of the Night that have scared multiple generations over the centuries and forced countless small children to hide under the bedclothes reading their books and comics by torchlight.

[…]

With A Book of Horrors we hope that we have lived up to that title and all that it implies.

Well, let’s find out. Here are the stories Jones has selected:

Certainly there are some excellent writers on that list; I look forward to seeing what chills they supply in this book.

September wrap-up

3rd October 2011 / / 0 Comments

This wrap-up post is a little later than usual, because I was away at FantasyCon over the weekend. But here’s what happened on the blog in September.

Book of the Month

My favourite read this month is a work of non-fiction (something I don’t read as often as I’d like). Joe Moran’s On Roads: a Hidden History is a look at the British road system in the post-war years, but there’s so much more to it than might appear from that description.

Reviews

 

 

 

 

 

 

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