I took ages to read this book, but persisted, and it was worth it. I found it on my shelf - I hadn't bought it myself so wondered where it had come from. Intrigued, I decided to give it a go. It turned out that it belonged to one of my sons, and he'd left it with me without telling me. A friend who'd read it also recommended it, so I felt I had to.
First of all, it gave me a window on Turkish politics, something I knew absolutely nothing about. I was vaguely aware of controversy over headscarves for women, but that was all. Headscarves are central to Snow but it's about much more. Orhan Pamuk, the author, who I'm ashamed to say I'd never heard of, is one of Turkey's most celebrated writers, and of course, I now see his name everywhere.
I won't attempt to describe the events in the book, it's too dense and complex for a brief precis, but to cut a very long story short, it follows the progress of an emigre writer and sometime poet, Ka, who is commissioned to write an article on the seemingly large numbers of girls in the snow-bound town, Kars, where he grew up, who are committing suicide because, apparently, they have been forbidden by Turkish law to wear headscarves. A lot happens, which I won't pretend to describe, but the events in the book take place while the town is blanketed by thick snow, and this metaphor provides the central organising principle behind the book.
There are several themes running through the book - that of the impact of exile; Ka is viewed with suspicion, as tainted and polluted by Western values, yet there is enormous interest in him and he acquires something of an exalted status almost immediately.
Ka battle throughout with his atheism and the resurgent Islamism he finds all around him. Turkey is a country riven by conflict, but this makes it a vibrant, questioning country, in ferment. It's torn asunder by those who want it to becoome a fundamentalist state, and those who want it to be accepted into the EU, and become fully westernised. There's a much better review here which will relate the events in the book more effectively than I can, as it really is extremely complex, and I don't want to do the book a disservice.
I must say, though, that the translation isn't great. it's by the journalist Maureen Freely, who is British, but grew up in Istanbul. I suppose it's descriptive rather than literary, but I felt all the way though that I was missing a great deal - it seemed incomplete somehow. The prose didn't sing. Translation's tricky, but when it works, it's wonderful and there are some great examples. This isn't one of them, but the book still made me want to find out more. I now read news articles about Turkey in the paper with great interest, and it was Snow that gave me this. Not many books do that. A great achievement.
Tuesday, 5 August 2008
The Dark Knight
I saw The Dark Knight a couple of days ago - it's the sequel to Batman Begins which came out in 2005. Both reboot the franchise, which had started promisingly in 1989 with the Tim Burton films, then degenerated horribly, reaching its nadir with Batman and Robin. In didn't see that one, but it's dreadfulness was legendary, nearly scuppering George Clooney's caree before it had properly begun.
Anyway, I thought Batman Begins was tremendous, and I enjoyed it enormously. For a start, Christian Bale (one of my favourites) played the caped crusader, and it possessed a compelling atmosphere of dingy menace. I found the DVD on my shelf - I think it belongs to one of my sons - so I took the opportunity to see it again to get myself into the mood for The Dark Knight.
The Dark Knight will, first of all, go down in history as one of Heath Ledger's last films before he was found dead from an accidental overdose of prescription drugs. I always hesitate to use the word 'tragedy', and in the scheme of things, a well-heeled Hollywood/Aussie star crashing and burning is not the most pressing of issues. But Ledger had been showing signs for a while that he was moving away from routine leading man parts (see his performance in I'm Not There) and was becoming an extremely interesting actor, choosing parts which stretched and challenged him.
His performance as the Joker is superb; seriously scary. He really is someone with no moral compass on any level and knows it: 'Do I look like I have a plan? I’m just a dog chasing cars…I wouldn’t know what to do with one if I caught it. I just…do things.' My only criticism is there's not quite enough of him, but whenever he does appear the temperature visibly rises. His make-up is not designed to be amusing, but cadaverous, as if he's just been dug up.
Batman isn't much in evidence in this film - he's shown as seriously weakened by the Joker, and in many scenes, he's vulnerable and damaged. Bale has refined his portrayal somewhat, darkening and deepening his voice whenever he dons mask and cape.
This film has proved pretty controversial in this country due to its 12A cerificate, which allows children of any age to see it if accompanied by an adult. Many believe it should have been a 15 - I don't know, I can see their point, but I know that I would have allowed my children to see it. I once discovered that one of my sons at the age of 4, back in the very early 80s when videos were only just beginning to invade private homes, had happily watched a copy of Dirty Harry round at a friend's house. The friend's father had bought it and allowed the children to see it. So what can you do? It hasn't turned him into a raging psychopath, just a lifelong Clint Eastwood fan! In the end, I believe that it's always down to the parents to create the kind of atmosphere and environment at home that can withstand assaults on their values.
Anyway, I don't know how long this incarnation of Batman can run. Bale is certainly capable of much more, as is Christopher Nolan, who directed both films. Bale has been catapulted into 'A'-list territory, so we'll see - anyway, in my view an excellent summer blockbuster, though the cinema was pretty empty when I went. It's dark, dark, dark, both visually and thematically, perhaps too much so for popular taste, but apparently it's been a huge hit financially, and we all know, that's what matters.
.
Anyway, I thought Batman Begins was tremendous, and I enjoyed it enormously. For a start, Christian Bale (one of my favourites) played the caped crusader, and it possessed a compelling atmosphere of dingy menace. I found the DVD on my shelf - I think it belongs to one of my sons - so I took the opportunity to see it again to get myself into the mood for The Dark Knight.
The Dark Knight will, first of all, go down in history as one of Heath Ledger's last films before he was found dead from an accidental overdose of prescription drugs. I always hesitate to use the word 'tragedy', and in the scheme of things, a well-heeled Hollywood/Aussie star crashing and burning is not the most pressing of issues. But Ledger had been showing signs for a while that he was moving away from routine leading man parts (see his performance in I'm Not There) and was becoming an extremely interesting actor, choosing parts which stretched and challenged him.
His performance as the Joker is superb; seriously scary. He really is someone with no moral compass on any level and knows it: 'Do I look like I have a plan? I’m just a dog chasing cars…I wouldn’t know what to do with one if I caught it. I just…do things.' My only criticism is there's not quite enough of him, but whenever he does appear the temperature visibly rises. His make-up is not designed to be amusing, but cadaverous, as if he's just been dug up.
Batman isn't much in evidence in this film - he's shown as seriously weakened by the Joker, and in many scenes, he's vulnerable and damaged. Bale has refined his portrayal somewhat, darkening and deepening his voice whenever he dons mask and cape.
This film has proved pretty controversial in this country due to its 12A cerificate, which allows children of any age to see it if accompanied by an adult. Many believe it should have been a 15 - I don't know, I can see their point, but I know that I would have allowed my children to see it. I once discovered that one of my sons at the age of 4, back in the very early 80s when videos were only just beginning to invade private homes, had happily watched a copy of Dirty Harry round at a friend's house. The friend's father had bought it and allowed the children to see it. So what can you do? It hasn't turned him into a raging psychopath, just a lifelong Clint Eastwood fan! In the end, I believe that it's always down to the parents to create the kind of atmosphere and environment at home that can withstand assaults on their values.
Anyway, I don't know how long this incarnation of Batman can run. Bale is certainly capable of much more, as is Christopher Nolan, who directed both films. Bale has been catapulted into 'A'-list territory, so we'll see - anyway, in my view an excellent summer blockbuster, though the cinema was pretty empty when I went. It's dark, dark, dark, both visually and thematically, perhaps too much so for popular taste, but apparently it's been a huge hit financially, and we all know, that's what matters.
.
Wednesday, 23 July 2008
The Jewel in the Crown
A friend lent me the DVD boxed set of this famous TV series from the early 80s and I've just finished watching it. Of course I'd seen the original when it was first broadcast, so I was familiar with it, but that was over 20 years ago, so it was an interesting experience to revisit it.
I suppose the first thing that strikes one is that it was an ITV series. It's inconceivable now that the channel would be remotely capable of making a prestigious series like that. They'd recently produced Brideshead Revisited which was an enormous success, redefining British television drama and Jewel was another sign that the mantle of prestigious British TV drama had moved away from the BBC.
One of the most crucial points in both series was the use of eye-catching locations and film, as opposed to studio production recorded on videotape, which had been the Beeb's standard mmode of production ever since recording had begun in the early 1960s. They'd invested heavily in their studios at the newly-built BBC Television Centre, and filming on location had been sidelined. So the ITV series, both produced by Granada which was fast becoming a powerhouse of production, were a serious challenge to the BBC's hegemony.
Jewel is graced by marvellous performances, notably from the peeless Peggy Ashcroft. Her portrayal of Barbie Batchelor, the elderly missionary who has spent most of her adult life in India, and is now thrust aside as so much useless detritusas the country edges towards independence, is heartbreaking. Her lower-middle-class origins, her lonely spinsterhood, her gradual exclusion from British Raj society as everyone jostles for survival, is one of the greatest performances I have ever seen on television. I must also mention Judy Parfitt, lurching genteely around the comfortable bungalows and terraces of the Raj, glass in one hand and cigarette in the other, all the time ruthlessly disposing of anyone whose face doesn't fit, is frighteningly plausible . And Geraldine James and Susan Wooldridge, who play the young women caught up in it all - part of it, yet seeing all too clearly what is happening, are both superb.
I suppose I found myself thinking - how could I not? - that, not only would it be impossible to produce anything on this scale - certainly not without American money - but where would you find the actors who would be capable of depicting the British in India. For a start, the accents - is there anyone under the age of, say, 50, who could produce the sort of cut-glass accent that would be essential. Estuary would surely creep in, however hard anyone would try.
And of course, the subject. It's the story of the British, so, while Indian society is very much there, it's always peripheral to the main action. It could not be made now, however much money anyone came up with, because of that. A shame, but I guess that's progress for you. We're different now, and, while we've lost something, we've gained as well. We now have The Wire instead, which is a pretty good deal in my book.
Anyway, I still enjoyed it enormously, relishing the slow unfolding of the story, the camerawork, the locations, the acting, the lack of jittery camerawork, and the fact that I didn't have to switch the subtitles on to hear the dialogue - perfect diction all round!
I suppose the first thing that strikes one is that it was an ITV series. It's inconceivable now that the channel would be remotely capable of making a prestigious series like that. They'd recently produced Brideshead Revisited which was an enormous success, redefining British television drama and Jewel was another sign that the mantle of prestigious British TV drama had moved away from the BBC.
One of the most crucial points in both series was the use of eye-catching locations and film, as opposed to studio production recorded on videotape, which had been the Beeb's standard mmode of production ever since recording had begun in the early 1960s. They'd invested heavily in their studios at the newly-built BBC Television Centre, and filming on location had been sidelined. So the ITV series, both produced by Granada which was fast becoming a powerhouse of production, were a serious challenge to the BBC's hegemony.
Jewel is graced by marvellous performances, notably from the peeless Peggy Ashcroft. Her portrayal of Barbie Batchelor, the elderly missionary who has spent most of her adult life in India, and is now thrust aside as so much useless detritusas the country edges towards independence, is heartbreaking. Her lower-middle-class origins, her lonely spinsterhood, her gradual exclusion from British Raj society as everyone jostles for survival, is one of the greatest performances I have ever seen on television. I must also mention Judy Parfitt, lurching genteely around the comfortable bungalows and terraces of the Raj, glass in one hand and cigarette in the other, all the time ruthlessly disposing of anyone whose face doesn't fit, is frighteningly plausible . And Geraldine James and Susan Wooldridge, who play the young women caught up in it all - part of it, yet seeing all too clearly what is happening, are both superb.
I suppose I found myself thinking - how could I not? - that, not only would it be impossible to produce anything on this scale - certainly not without American money - but where would you find the actors who would be capable of depicting the British in India. For a start, the accents - is there anyone under the age of, say, 50, who could produce the sort of cut-glass accent that would be essential. Estuary would surely creep in, however hard anyone would try.
And of course, the subject. It's the story of the British, so, while Indian society is very much there, it's always peripheral to the main action. It could not be made now, however much money anyone came up with, because of that. A shame, but I guess that's progress for you. We're different now, and, while we've lost something, we've gained as well. We now have The Wire instead, which is a pretty good deal in my book.
Anyway, I still enjoyed it enormously, relishing the slow unfolding of the story, the camerawork, the locations, the acting, the lack of jittery camerawork, and the fact that I didn't have to switch the subtitles on to hear the dialogue - perfect diction all round!
Sunday, 13 July 2008
Accident
I watched Accident the other day - a British film directed by Joseph Losey and released in 1967 and now vanished into the cinematic ether. I'd videotaped it years ago but had never watched it, so was catching up.
I remember going to see it when it was first released (I used to see practically everything in those days) but hadn't seen it since, so it was an intriguing experience, rather like revisiting the scenes of one's childhood. I can't remember what certificate it was, but I obviously managed to get in without any problems if it was an X. I do remember that it was a pretty notorious film at the time, with its sex scenes, and 'permissive' (in the parlance of the time) attitudes, and of course it featured Dirk Bogarde and Stanley Baker, both 'A' list British actors who were attempting to reinvent themselves after a decade or so making endless war movies, and in Bogarde's case, Fifties froth such as Doctor in the House. Part of this process involved working for Losey, for whom both he and Baker had already worked. Losey, an American, was a director of some distinction, who had come to Britain after being blacklisted by Joseph McCarthy, and, after starting with potboilers, proceeded to make films which became increasingly more complex and intriguing as the British Sixties film boom took hold.
The 60s saw the beginnings of the sexual revolution, which was depicted in films as consisting of predatory men and submissive and available women. Accident was no exception, though it did take a more nuanced view, showing Bogarde as tormented and confused by women, and the Baker character as opportunistic and callous.
Seeing the film now was a strange experience. I can't remember what I thought of it in the 60s, but this time I found it brought up a great many memories. I think it's the Oxford setting that did it - it caught the atmosphere of the time perfectly. Claustrophobic, with beautiful women, pretending to be enigmatic by whom one always felt threatened. It somehow captured the feeling of the period - I found myself remembering long-forgotten parties in sprawling suburban houses I'd never been to on the edge of Oxford. We'd hear there was something going on - that someone's parents were away, we'd all pile in someone's Morris Minor and rush off to God knows where for a party which almost invariably turned out to be a disappointment.
I suppose that's what adolescence is all about - excitement, uncertainty and let-down. You thrive on the rush, the buzz and it doesn't matter really about the outcome, though occasionly you'd get lucky, and meet someone, or actually have a good time.
Anyway, it really is a peculiar little film. It was obviously made pretty cheaply, but Losey makes the most of what he's got. There are several long takes of Bogarde's country house scattered throughout the film, and there's a rather unsettling lack of music, I suppose the cinemtic equivalent of Pinter's famous silences.
An interesting experience. People get all nostalgic about the 60s, but not me. I prefer the 70s, that supposedly God-forsaken decade. I was older, happier, wiser - and the music was better!
I remember going to see it when it was first released (I used to see practically everything in those days) but hadn't seen it since, so it was an intriguing experience, rather like revisiting the scenes of one's childhood. I can't remember what certificate it was, but I obviously managed to get in without any problems if it was an X. I do remember that it was a pretty notorious film at the time, with its sex scenes, and 'permissive' (in the parlance of the time) attitudes, and of course it featured Dirk Bogarde and Stanley Baker, both 'A' list British actors who were attempting to reinvent themselves after a decade or so making endless war movies, and in Bogarde's case, Fifties froth such as Doctor in the House. Part of this process involved working for Losey, for whom both he and Baker had already worked. Losey, an American, was a director of some distinction, who had come to Britain after being blacklisted by Joseph McCarthy, and, after starting with potboilers, proceeded to make films which became increasingly more complex and intriguing as the British Sixties film boom took hold.
The 60s saw the beginnings of the sexual revolution, which was depicted in films as consisting of predatory men and submissive and available women. Accident was no exception, though it did take a more nuanced view, showing Bogarde as tormented and confused by women, and the Baker character as opportunistic and callous.
Seeing the film now was a strange experience. I can't remember what I thought of it in the 60s, but this time I found it brought up a great many memories. I think it's the Oxford setting that did it - it caught the atmosphere of the time perfectly. Claustrophobic, with beautiful women, pretending to be enigmatic by whom one always felt threatened. It somehow captured the feeling of the period - I found myself remembering long-forgotten parties in sprawling suburban houses I'd never been to on the edge of Oxford. We'd hear there was something going on - that someone's parents were away, we'd all pile in someone's Morris Minor and rush off to God knows where for a party which almost invariably turned out to be a disappointment.
I suppose that's what adolescence is all about - excitement, uncertainty and let-down. You thrive on the rush, the buzz and it doesn't matter really about the outcome, though occasionly you'd get lucky, and meet someone, or actually have a good time.
Anyway, it really is a peculiar little film. It was obviously made pretty cheaply, but Losey makes the most of what he's got. There are several long takes of Bogarde's country house scattered throughout the film, and there's a rather unsettling lack of music, I suppose the cinemtic equivalent of Pinter's famous silences.
An interesting experience. People get all nostalgic about the 60s, but not me. I prefer the 70s, that supposedly God-forsaken decade. I was older, happier, wiser - and the music was better!
Monday, 7 July 2008
Nick Cave
Nick Cave is someone I've always been aware of , yet I've only got into his music relatively recently. I watched a compilation of his appearances on Jools Holland's Later the other day and it was fascinating to see the way in which he's evolved over the years. The earliest performances were from around 1990, when he would have been in his early 30s, and the most recent in March this year, so there was nearly 20 years to look at and appreciate.
He has certainly, unlike many musicians, become rougher round the edges as he's got older - his performing style is pretty deranged nowadays. The 50-year-old Cave is a true original, wild and woolly, and his recent garage-band album, Grinderman, and his latest, Dig, Lazurus, Dig, are albums I'll certainly be getting as soon as possible. I think my musical taste is evolving along a similar trajectory.
He's open about his insistence on dying his hair a stern and uncompromising black, has a fearsome moustache, and often dresses in an un-popstar-like suit and tie. He has an extensive online presence, with personal websites and a MySpace page which has several tracks available for listening. Films are something he's heavily involved in, doing the soundtrack for The Proposition and appearing in The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford, a wonderful film, whose treatment at the hands of the distributors was nothing short of scandalous. (It appeared at the Watershed in Bristol for a couple of weeks, and that was that. Although Roger Deakins won an Oscar for his cinematography, it was shamefully neglected in all the other categories, in spite of it featuring Brad Pitt's finest performance to date - I could go on...).
I discovered from his Wikipedia site that one of his songs featured in Ascension, an X-Files episode. Apparently, although he doesn't watch much television, he's a fan of the show, which in my book, is a major badge of honour. (I'm a massive fan myself, and will be blogging soon on the subject). I could go on on - what is there not to like? He also writes and paints, but one of his most endearing features is his Australian nationality. In spite of the fact that he now lives in Brighton, he's very much an Aussie. His singing's a bit tuneless, and his 'dancing' is not great, but he's retained a punk sensibility, while becoming a fascinating personality, and a bit of a polymath.
Anway, he's a pretty recent discovery for me, so there's lots to look forward to as I discover his stuff.
He has certainly, unlike many musicians, become rougher round the edges as he's got older - his performing style is pretty deranged nowadays. The 50-year-old Cave is a true original, wild and woolly, and his recent garage-band album, Grinderman, and his latest, Dig, Lazurus, Dig, are albums I'll certainly be getting as soon as possible. I think my musical taste is evolving along a similar trajectory.
He's open about his insistence on dying his hair a stern and uncompromising black, has a fearsome moustache, and often dresses in an un-popstar-like suit and tie. He has an extensive online presence, with personal websites and a MySpace page which has several tracks available for listening. Films are something he's heavily involved in, doing the soundtrack for The Proposition and appearing in The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford, a wonderful film, whose treatment at the hands of the distributors was nothing short of scandalous. (It appeared at the Watershed in Bristol for a couple of weeks, and that was that. Although Roger Deakins won an Oscar for his cinematography, it was shamefully neglected in all the other categories, in spite of it featuring Brad Pitt's finest performance to date - I could go on...).
I discovered from his Wikipedia site that one of his songs featured in Ascension, an X-Files episode. Apparently, although he doesn't watch much television, he's a fan of the show, which in my book, is a major badge of honour. (I'm a massive fan myself, and will be blogging soon on the subject). I could go on on - what is there not to like? He also writes and paints, but one of his most endearing features is his Australian nationality. In spite of the fact that he now lives in Brighton, he's very much an Aussie. His singing's a bit tuneless, and his 'dancing' is not great, but he's retained a punk sensibility, while becoming a fascinating personality, and a bit of a polymath.
Anway, he's a pretty recent discovery for me, so there's lots to look forward to as I discover his stuff.
Wednesday, 25 June 2008
In Search of the Midnight Kiss
I went to see this the other day, and enjoyed it very much. It's a tiny, low-budget film, made in black-and-white; very much in the mould of Before Sunrise/Before Sunset; clearly a major influence. 2 people, a young man and young women, meet up by chance on New Year's Eve, and wander the streets of Los Angeles all night. And that's basically it. It sounds simple, and it is, but it's a funny, touching picture of how people actually talk and behave, and how city streets actually are, not how they appear in movies.
Wilson, an impoverished and miserable aspiring screenwriter, posts a personal ad online, and meets up with Vivian, an aspiring actress on New Year's Eve. She's brash, challenging but beautiful, and they walk the streets of LA. There's plenty of funny, spiky dialogue, and I was able to enjoy my penchant for city streetscapes at night.
It gives us a very different view of the Los Angeles we know from TV and the movies - it's an unfamiliar LA, with small shops and grungy apartments. It shows us that ordinary people do live there, living ordinary non-Hollywood lives. It's not just a film set. This is underscored by a shot of the famous HOLLYWOOD letters up on the hills outside the city which pops up intermittently. There are no stars in this film, just people.
Anyway, it's a film which, in spite of its small scale, resonated. It's about something which concerns us all, and as the blurb which was handed out at the cinema tells us, 'the nature of romance in the age of texting, Facebook and MySpace'. But, as the blurb also noted, the film has 'a classic, timeless feel'. It mentions the cinematography - it's shot in black and white, which instantly gives it an extra edge, and disguises the low budget.
I loved it, and hope for more from this director. Very refreshing.
Wilson, an impoverished and miserable aspiring screenwriter, posts a personal ad online, and meets up with Vivian, an aspiring actress on New Year's Eve. She's brash, challenging but beautiful, and they walk the streets of LA. There's plenty of funny, spiky dialogue, and I was able to enjoy my penchant for city streetscapes at night.
It gives us a very different view of the Los Angeles we know from TV and the movies - it's an unfamiliar LA, with small shops and grungy apartments. It shows us that ordinary people do live there, living ordinary non-Hollywood lives. It's not just a film set. This is underscored by a shot of the famous HOLLYWOOD letters up on the hills outside the city which pops up intermittently. There are no stars in this film, just people.
Anyway, it's a film which, in spite of its small scale, resonated. It's about something which concerns us all, and as the blurb which was handed out at the cinema tells us, 'the nature of romance in the age of texting, Facebook and MySpace'. But, as the blurb also noted, the film has 'a classic, timeless feel'. It mentions the cinematography - it's shot in black and white, which instantly gives it an extra edge, and disguises the low budget.
I loved it, and hope for more from this director. Very refreshing.
Thursday, 5 June 2008
Sebastian Faulks
I've just finished a Sebastian Faulks marathon - I was lent a pile of his recent books and I read my way through them. I fancied reading them together to get a feel for his writing and style.
He's very much the popular writer of his age, but I detect in his more recent books, a desire to complicate and challenge. The actual content and themes of Human Traces and Engleby, his most recent books, although not at all difficult in terms of their style, were testing. Human Traces is concerned with the pre-history and germination of psychoanalysis, and it asks, implicitly, what if a different path had been taken? Freud isn't mentioned at all, yet his shadow hangs heavily over the book. The two protagonists, Thomas and Jacques, are striking out a path through the undergrowth of psychiatry in the late 19th century, but have no-one to guide them. It's an ambitious book, but not wholly successful, I thought. Faulks struggles with period settings and has trouble getting his characters to speak and behave as if they're actually living in the age into which they've been born. For example, Sonia, the main female character, can't help living speaking and breathing as a 21st century woman. Characters frequently employ modern vernacular and behaviour, and this made it difficult for me to be convinced by the book. Also Faulks has a rather literal, plodding style and sometimes you long for a poetic passage, but that's not his forte at all, so he sensibly steers clear.
Engleby was better, I thought, as it was set in the 1970s and 80s, a period though which Faulks has actually lived himself, so the book was much more convincing, though it still didn't stay with me after I'd finished it. He's not much good at narrative, and I felt both books meandered, and lacked a real focus. His books don't really satisfy, and don't linger long in the memory. I feel as if I've just munched on a Kit-Kat rather than a few squares of Green and Black's.
The Fatal Englishman was better. It's non-fiction for a start, the stories of three young men who lived in the 20th century and died prematurely for various reasons after living lives of great promise. I enjoyed the last one most, the story of Jeremy Wolfenden, the young gay man who died just before homosexuality became legal. Yet again, though, the books didn't stay with me for long, and failed to be truly memorable.
I don't know, perhaps it's just me getting old. Maybe my brain is less receptive. I'm going to go back to reading Jane Austen and the Brontes soon to test myself against the classics.
He's very much the popular writer of his age, but I detect in his more recent books, a desire to complicate and challenge. The actual content and themes of Human Traces and Engleby, his most recent books, although not at all difficult in terms of their style, were testing. Human Traces is concerned with the pre-history and germination of psychoanalysis, and it asks, implicitly, what if a different path had been taken? Freud isn't mentioned at all, yet his shadow hangs heavily over the book. The two protagonists, Thomas and Jacques, are striking out a path through the undergrowth of psychiatry in the late 19th century, but have no-one to guide them. It's an ambitious book, but not wholly successful, I thought. Faulks struggles with period settings and has trouble getting his characters to speak and behave as if they're actually living in the age into which they've been born. For example, Sonia, the main female character, can't help living speaking and breathing as a 21st century woman. Characters frequently employ modern vernacular and behaviour, and this made it difficult for me to be convinced by the book. Also Faulks has a rather literal, plodding style and sometimes you long for a poetic passage, but that's not his forte at all, so he sensibly steers clear.
Engleby was better, I thought, as it was set in the 1970s and 80s, a period though which Faulks has actually lived himself, so the book was much more convincing, though it still didn't stay with me after I'd finished it. He's not much good at narrative, and I felt both books meandered, and lacked a real focus. His books don't really satisfy, and don't linger long in the memory. I feel as if I've just munched on a Kit-Kat rather than a few squares of Green and Black's.
The Fatal Englishman was better. It's non-fiction for a start, the stories of three young men who lived in the 20th century and died prematurely for various reasons after living lives of great promise. I enjoyed the last one most, the story of Jeremy Wolfenden, the young gay man who died just before homosexuality became legal. Yet again, though, the books didn't stay with me for long, and failed to be truly memorable.
I don't know, perhaps it's just me getting old. Maybe my brain is less receptive. I'm going to go back to reading Jane Austen and the Brontes soon to test myself against the classics.
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